Work Text:
"She walked past me and asked what I was doing there. I said, Can we start over? She turned around. The ocean wept. I knew it was mutual love."
— Notes of a crocodile, Qiu Miaojin (translated by Bonnie Huie).
____
Megumi never believed in things such as fate or destiny; he'd be extremely depressed if he did, because it would imply that he was destined to live this life. Was it fate that made his molecules composed of shadows? Or some sort of joke that his mother named him as a blessing—an attempt at defying fate itself?
When he met Gojo, the white-haired teenager asked him if he wanted to be a sorcerer, as if either of them had the choice of not being one. It was stupid, he remembered thinking, even as a child. His dad sold him because of this same power; it’s not like he could’ve simply ignored it. It was a burden he couldn’t get rid of, would never escape from.
Facing the reality of his situation soon, Megumi thought it would be nice to at least live long enough to see Tsumiki grow up, settle down with someone she liked, and fulfill the wishes she prayed upon the stars to hear. He thought that this tiny bit of selfishness would do.
Sorcerers aren't allowed to dream. There's not enough time for it.
Why fool himself into thinking that he was ever deserving of such mundane things? Having the chance to watch it from afar had to be enough. Megumi never asked for too much.
It wasn't pessimism per se—just a way of self-preservation. Sometimes, when you're someone quite like him and you watch most things vanish from the knuckles of your hand, you just learn not to get too attached to anything.
But then his sister was cursed, and he couldn't help but think that he was indeed cursed in a certain way. That it wasn’t about himself or the circumstances around him—Megumi was just unlucky like that.
In that matter, he and Gojo were quite similar. Along with their power came the cruelty of righteousness. They were too powerful, too lonely, too frail to hold onto anything but themselves. That’s balance. That’s how they paid the price.
If Megumi were to use a term to define Itadori, it would be “a handful.” Too loud, too friendly, too bright. An outburst of life, colors, and bonfire.
It should've overwhelmed him; instead, Megumi’s eyes kept looking at Itadori, attracted like a moth to a flame. As if he were suddenly lost in a trance, unable to help himself.
He called it curiosity at first, because if not curiosity, then what else?
Megumi started to notice little things, like the way Itadori’s hair would capture the sunlight at dusk and reflect light like the sunrise. The way Itadori was soft-spoken whenever he talked to him, as if being too loud would scare Megumi away.
How he handled small gestures of kindness as they went about their day—petting stray dogs on the street, helping old ladies with heavy grocery bags. How he'd smile unabashedly at a stranger for no other reason than to greet them. How he said those stupid things all the time, but it was all genuine either way—overflowing affection.
How he cared, big eyes always attentive and tender. A sort of glow that adorned his very figure like it was second nature. Itadori, who looked a bit dumb at first glance, but who always remembered, always cared.
Itadori who was effortless, and didn’t even realize it himself because he never gave himself enough credit.
Itadori who was loud and silent, who filled empty spaces with nothing more than simply existing. Itadori who could've befriended everyone he wanted but still...
Itadori who treated Megumi like they were in a parallel world, and in their particular island it was always quiet and understanding—and Megumi was never alone anymore, because Itadori was always there.
Itadori who shone so brightly, whose agitated waves disturbed the tranquil, windless waters of Megumi's sea.
It didn’t matter how many times Megumi pushed him away—Itadori would always come back with snacks and his mangas and his cheap, silly conversations and make a home out of Megumi's personal space.
Megumi didn't cry when his dad left him—not even when his sister was cursed and there was not a flicker of hope that she would wake up again, even though the mere thought of her makes his ribs ache sometimes. But when he held Itadori’s body in his arms, he thinks he's crying, but he can't tell for sure.
It's raining a lot. It could be sweat too, he tells himself. Yeah, sure, it must be that, since his eyes are hurting as if someone sprayed pepper spray right into his irises. They might've sliced his very flesh open while at it, because it hurts like they did, and there's something in his throat, and Itadori is dead and gone—he can see Itadori’s raw heart a few feet away, if he dares to look, but like the coward he is—always was—he doesn't. And Megumi doesn’t think his legs are still working, nor his brain. Maybe his heart stopped beating too.
Itadori was the last spark of light Megumi had left in his life. Itadori made him forget that he wasn't supposed to wish, or have dreams, or look forward to the next week, the next year they'd spend together.
Megumi even forgot he had a heart left to swell and bleed.
They shouldn't have met. Megumi shouldn't have allowed Itadori to follow him around and therefore obligate him—for some stupid altruistic reason, because of course Itadori would feel the need to help some stranger—to eat one of Sukuna's fingers to save him. Because that's what happens to all people surrounding him: they're cursed.
Megumi lowered his guard, allowed Itadori in—a slight, almost imperceptible change that inevitably disrupted Itadori’s otherwise average, normal life.
Megumi is the chaos theory, and Itadori is the ecosystem suffering because of it; a side effect of that tiny shift for which Itadori ultimately paid with his life.
Megumi touches his wet cheeks and wonders to himself: why does it hurt so much to lose someone you barely had the chance to hold?
_____
Grief, he learned, felt suffocating.
He was scared of his subconscious, of letting it wander. He couldn’t dwell on anything. Every thought that passed through his mind spiraled into a chaotic jumble of guilt and horror. Megumi didn’t even need to close his eyes to see the same scenario repeating in front of his eyes over and over again.
Megumi is scared to look at his hands—the very instruments he uses to wield his power—because they are always red, no matter how many times he washes them.
What’s the name of the feeling when you think that a person carved a hole into your soul, and you didn’t even notice—probably would even welcome it if given the chance—how weird it is to function without them to fill you up again. Without them to make you feel whole.
“You seem to be taking it well, considering,” Kugisaki murmurs quietly.
“Same to you.”
“Of course,” her voice fades like background music, as if they’re watching all the words roll in front of their noses. “I only knew him for about two weeks.”
Is there even a feeling to name when you haven’t had time to feel it?
“I’m not some simple woman who breaks down bawling when a guy I barely know dies, y’know.”
It’s the way Kugisaki’s body shifts, hair covering the half of her face that’s turned to Megumi, that draws his attention.
“Jeez,” Kugisaki says, with something wet in her voice, like she forgot her feelings outside and now they’re soaked with midnight rain. It’s the softest Megumi has ever seen her, the rawest too.
It’s not that Kugisaki is breaking down. She’s a force of nature; fierce things like her character don’t simply shrink and melt.
It’s just that Itadori somehow found a way of occupying this place inside both of them, and they don’t quite know how to deal with his absence, with the few memories he left behind.
Megumi looks away, unsure how to comfort her. If Kugisaki even needs comfort. Jujutsu sorcerers are taught to inflict damage, to be lethal. They’re not taught how to care.
Kugisaki doesn’t say anything else for a while, but she doesn’t move, so he doesn’t either. I’m here, it’s his way of saying. It hurts a little too much.
It’s just that Kugisaki and Itadori complemented each other perfectly, and now it feels like there’s something missing when Megumi looks at the empty space between them.
Grief feels loud, bitter, and red like rage, he also learns.
It’s unfair. Itadori is a good person. Was a good person. Way too good of a person, and Megumi can’t help but think that upon meeting him, Itadori was cursed.
____
Itadori sits quietly at his side, not daring to look at Megumi or even move a muscle in his presence. You'd think Itadori is unabashed or shameless because of his easygoing nature, but really, it takes close to nothing to make the boy self-conscious.
It only took one look at Megumi’s face and their shared joke — his and Gojo-sensei’s — seemed not all that funny anymore.
"I'm sorry."
"Well..." Megumi’s voice sounds too loud for his own ears in the quiet of his room. He pauses, unsure which words to choose. Are there correct words to say, anyway? The person you've been mourning is alive and breathing. Megumi feels tired, but Itadori doesn't seem to fare any better, so Megumi takes pity on him. "It's alright, I suppose. It wasn't your fault."
Although Megumi could swear on the life of his mother that seeing Itadori again — breathing and apparently with a beating heart again because weird shit keeps happening to him — almost caused him a heart attack. Not that Megumi is going to tell Itadori any of that, either.
"I didn't mean to die," he says like it's a confession. Itadori looks so stiff, and the sight is unnatural on him. "I also didn't mean to hide that I was alive from any of you guys, really. Gojo-sensei said that he would help me get stronger so that no one would hurt us again, that we needed to keep it secret because of the high-ups, or something like that."
Megumi finds himself unable to resist the magnetic pull of Yuji's gravity as he looks at him. Their gazes connect almost instantly. Crispy chestnut popping to take a look at all the hidden points of Megumi's face. It's actually very nice that the only light in the room comes from the moon and the stars outside.
"I felt pathetic that day," Yuji keeps on saying with clenched fists, words and sentences overflowing from him with the same intensity as torrential rain. "So helpless. We were going to die. Easily, like we were bugs and... and I— I couldn't do anything. I was terrified." Yuji stumbles over his words like they're stuck beneath his tongue, heavy like they weigh tons.
"Itadori..."
"Yeah, I know," Yuji dismisses, but he isn't blunt—just tired. "I can't save everyone. But I thought, when I was dying, that it would be nice if I could save Kugisaki." A beat of empty silence that doesn’t taste hollow. "It would be nice to save you," he gulps. "To go to the movies after or eat something greasy that you would hate, probably, but I would find a way of convincing you anyway. And... and to hold Kugisaki’s endless bags of clothes and listen to her gossip about people I don't know, and spend time together like we hadn’t just fought with a monster."
Megumi swallows the lump in his throat and scowls. "You're such an idiot. Who in their right mind thinks about saving others when facing death?"
Yuji finds something in his expression that brings a swift turn of the corner of his lips upward, his conflicted expression melting into something honeyed. "Kugisaki and you are my only friends," Itadori states simply with a shrug of his shoulders.
Megumi doesn't know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything. He's not one for words, anyway.
"I kept thinking, because I knew you would come back looking for me since you're stubborn like that," he keeps on saying, a soft sad smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "That if you were the one who died," Yuji says heartbeats later, "I thought to myself, how lonely would it be to live without you."
There's so much to say, but words are flawed, and he doesn't quite trust his voice to utter any of them. Should Megumi tell him that he felt more than lonesome during Itadori's absence, as pitiful as it might sound? Even though Itadori himself admitted to sharing the feeling, nevertheless.
It's stupid.
Megumi’s never-faltering hands — pianist prowess, nothing less — tremble ever so slightly when his right palm meets Yuji's left cheek. Too caught in the sight, Megumi is awed by how easy it is to hold Yuji's face between his fingers, how easily Yuji gives in to him nudging warmth into the coldness of Megumi’s hand. He raises the other hand to the other side, entranced by the newfound knowledge of how sharp Yuji’s eyes look when half his face is covered.
"What're you doin’?" Yuji says, sounding funny with the way Megumi is squeezing his face between his hands.
It's stupid. Megumi finds himself in a losing battle with his facial muscles that seem to turn to mush whenever Yuji is in the picture. "I forgot how your face looks."
"It hasn't been that long!" Yuji whines, burnt-caramel irises gleaming with something Megumi couldn’t name.
He only notices he's beaming when Yuji’s gaze flickers ever so slightly to Megumi's lips. Self-conscious, Megumi’s smile falters and his hands recoil like they're burning. Yuji doesn’t look too fazed by Megumi’s reaction, an easy smile following Megumi’s movements — as if there's something, anything really, easy when it comes to them.
"It feels like you spent more time away than with us."
And at that, Megumi can tell from the way Yuji plays with his own fingers that he's upset with their situation, despite playing Gojo-sensei's prank earlier.
Megumi feels something collapse inside his ribs, a knife twisting inside his guts. Sharp, cold, turning warm when met with boiling blood. It could mean nothing, but to Megumi it feels like everything.
Megumi knows he's a difficult person to deal with. Many people said so. He hasn’t made it easy for them either, and he knows that many times keeping people at bay isn't healthy. That getting attached isn't a disease, but he still avoids it like the plague because being alone by choice is much easier than watching people leave on their own when they dare to get too close.
Yuji emits his light even knowing that it would take thousands, even millions of years to reach Megumi. Yuji looks at him like he sees him in a way Megumi himself doesn’t; like he doesn't care if his star is going to collapse before the light reaches Megumi’s Earth. It's like he doesn't care if it ever will, but decides to shine anyway. Hoping, wishing it would break the walls Megumi so carefully builds inside himself to shelter from clarity, to forever live like one of his shadows.
Megumi looks at Yuji's imploring eyes and sees himself. That he, too, was hurting—Yuji just has a better way of concealing it, a better coping mechanism. "My grandpa always told me that greediness is a sin, that we shouldn't wish for what we can't have." Itadori lets out a ragged breath as if his words are tearing physical wounds across his skin. "It should've been enough, bidding farewell to you that day. But I couldn't help being greedy, and you had— you had this look on your face and... you... and Kugisaki was safe and soon, when I was to be killed, you would be safe too and it was supposed to be enough for me. I shouldn't ask for more."
Megumi doesn't know for sure when the distance between them diminished, but it is clear that it happened sometime. "I thought that dying for you was something worth dying for. Y'know, when I switched with Sukuna." Itadori bites his lip. "But I'm greedy, Fushiguro. I wanted to see you again, and I wanted you to look at me and call me stupid, and to cook you dinner with so much ginger it would make a normal person's eyes tear." Itadori gazes at the window and something boils inside Megumi from his words. Dragonflies and butterflies, and Itadori is looking at him again with something resembling flames. "I wanted to be with you. Despite Sukuna roaming free. I'm not saying that I wanted to die before, but I made peace with it, because many people would—"
"Itadori," Megumi interrupts his rambling softly. It's funny how he looks a bit like a puppy like this, lips pressing together in a thin line almost instantly.
Megumi adores him. Megumi adores Yuji so much that he wants to pour out his heart to him, his weaknesses and his strengths, so that maybe then Megumi can find a home between his ribs and finally rest.
"Eh?"
"Shut up."
The warmth in Yuji's gaze when he looks at him—expecting, waiting, always waiting—is what breaks Megumi’s resolve.
When Yuji's mouth touches his, Megumi thinks he can finally grasp that light, can finally reach it.
Yuji’s hands find their way around his neck almost instantly, like he imagined it happening many times before, rehearsed behind the scenes, and now he crumbles and melts. Megumi is holding his round cheeks and soon his lips part and Yuji's tongue slips between them with an easiness Megumi can barely register, brain turning to mush.
It's like Megumi just got his first breath of life ever. Yuji's head tilts just the right amount to the side and his big hands — note: yeah, Megumi never thought about Yuji's hands before and he's not going to think about them now but maybe he should later — slide down to find his waist as Megumi’s arms snake around his neck to press their bodies as close as possible in their awkward sitting position.
But really, Megumi can't think any of this is awkward in the slightest because of course Yuji kisses the same way he does most things: smooth and effortless. Megumi should stop thinking about it because thoughts like those can wander into dangerous places and…
Yuji's on his lap and almost instantly Megumi makes a sound that should embarrass the hell out of him, but with the way Yuji separates their mouths just to flash a smile in his direction, a string of saliva still connecting them, Megumi can't bring himself to care as Yuji peppers kisses all over his face with so much tenderness Megumi thinks he's going to condensate — the warmth of their bodies enough to boil not only his insides but the entirety of him.
Yuji looks at him with a glint of mischievousness. Megumi blinks at him inquisitively, and suddenly Megumi is so distracted by Yuji’s hands touching the bare skin of his sides that he doesn't even notice the bastard shoving him onto the bed just to crawl on top of him to find a better angle to kiss him again.
Megumi thinks he should probably say something about it. Complain, maybe. Not that there's a single drop of coherence inside him in the moment.
Megumi isn't a fan of sweets himself, but he finds himself intoxicated by the faint taste of chocolate and something like mint that’s entirely Yuji's.
It's broken, it's bruised, it's patched, this heart. But because Megumi can't bring himself to do half-finished things, it's Yuji's if he wants it to be. Even if he doesn't, it's still his. As stupid as it sounds even in the confines of his subconsciousness.
If Yuji were the spider and Megumi the unlucky fly that happened to get caught in its web, even then, Megumi wouldn't care about being consumed by him.
Jujutsu sorcerers live on borrowed time, so that must be why Yuji kisses him like it's the end of the world.
"I really like your mouth," Yuji tells him, biting Megumi's lower lip like he's proving his point.
Megumi opens his eyes only to be flooded with the insurmountable amount of fondness leaking from Yuji's gaze. He's smiling, all sunlight and bonfire, and lazily turns his head to kiss Megumi's neck.
"Yeah?" Megumi says after an embarrassingly long amount of time, and Yuji's giggle reverberates against his own body with how closely they're pressed together.
"Yeah. And I like your voice too, and your eyes are definitely going on the list. Your hands are nice too, and I especially like your smile."
Megumi thinks he might be experiencing oxygen deprivation because there are no defenses left in him as he smiles. "What's more?"
Yuji seems to notice something in his voice that makes him raise from the crook of Megumi's neck to look at his face. What does he see? Is there anything guarded about the way Megumi regards Yuji? Does Yuji see beyond it—the things Megumi doesn’t think he'll ever have the courage to say?
There's something there, something that looks a lot like devotion shining in his irises. Yuji’s thumb presses against the corner of Megumi's mouth as if entranced.
"I like everything about you, really." Yuji mirrors his smile, eyes shifting from Megumi's mouth to look directly into his eyes. "Is it too soon? Because I really like you."
Oh.
Oh.
Ok.
"That so?"
"You're blushing."
"'M not."
"You like me too, don't you?" Yuji chuckles, resuming his position as Megumi's personal blanket. "Honestly, I was scared you didn't."
"And what makes you think I do?"
"You do, though."
"That's an understatement."
"Why are you suddenly using hard words?" Yuji shifts once again and Megumi holds his breath. "There's no hiding. It's all written over your face. I'm dumb, but not that much."
It's very hard to suppress a giggle, his cheeks burning. "Whatever you want to believe."
"Hide all that you want, Fushiguro."
"Sukuna's silent," Megumi finds himself saying, an afterthought that’s been prodding his mind for a little while now—an opening to hide from further embarrassment.
"Silent is not how I'd call it," Yuji huddles closer into his skin and sighs contently. From the way Yuji's whole body hugs him, it feels like they're one. "But it serves him well, I guess."
They stay silent for long after that, so long that Megumi is seconds away from drifting to sleep listening to Yuji's steady heartbeat and his warm breath in the crook of his neck when Yuji speaks again.
"Fushiguro."
"Hm?"
"I mean, there's morality in dying for the greater good, isn't there?"
The words take a bit to register in his sleepy head with the abrupt change of topic. "Do you even know what morality means?"
"No."
Megumi kind of wants to facepalm, but it's not a surprising statement. "It's no wonder you zeroed that test."
"You were distracting me," Itadori accuses, almost crushing Megumi with his arms, and Megumi scoffs.
"I did no such thing," he refutes with narrowed eyes, and Yuji giggles.
"Won't you worms ever shut—" Sukuna begins to say, his mouth popping up somewhere Megumi isn't sure where.
"Fushiguro! I'm right about morality, no?" Yuji cuts him off, voice sounding somewhere between amused and entertained.
"Brat, how dare you interrupt me?" the King of Curses raises his voice in clear distress. "I should've killed you for good."
"Yeah, but then your plans would've been ruined."
"You stupid bastard."
Megumi feels a bit peachy at hearing Sukuna's creative, bloody ways of killing the lot of them, but he wouldn't have it any other way. Megumi supposes it's fine to have a thousand-year-old curse mad at them if it also means having Yuji by his side.
They keep arguing until Sukuna decides that ignoring Yuji is better than trying to argue with him, and Megumi is almost falling asleep in record time — again — because Yuji feels so warm and cozy and Megumi is just so, so tired, until someone knocks repeatedly at the door.
"Fushiguro!" Kugisaki's voice echoes and Yuji groans almost inaudibly. Megumi is not proud to say he flinches like a wet cat at the sound, but it's a relief how oblivious Yuji can be sometimes.
"Is she still hunting you down with her hammer?" Megumi manages to say, peeking one eye open to look at Yuji's head.
"She already got Gojo-sensei," Yuji whispers, horrified, and it's very pathetic how easily Megumi's insides melt with how soft he looks like this—wide eyes and pink cheeks the same color as his hair. "It's a rampage."
"Should I turn you down?" Megumi asks with mirth in his voice, a subtle smirk blossoming on his lips as he looks down at Yuji’s face.
Yuji looks back at him ugly. "You're quite awful."
"You weren't complaining earlier," Megumi says, and Yuji opens his mouth to say something but is interrupted by Kugisaki.
"Fushiguro!" She yells again and knocks on the door with so much force Megumi thinks she's gonna bust in.
"I haven't seen him!" Megumi yells back and hears Kugisaki sigh.
"That bastard," she murmurs, knocking one last time on the door before muttering a simple thank you.
“Yuji.”
The said boy perks like a deer in the headlights at being addressed by his given name. "Hm?"
“I do like you, too.”
In the end, it's the sound of Yuji falling from the bed flat on the ground that catches Kugisaki’s attention.
“You two little shits. I knew it!"