Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Why did you call me that?”

It was a hard question to ask, for all that it was simple. A few words, a few seconds, but it felt scraped out of Megumi’s throat, rent and torn like so much meat. He asked it anyway. He had to.

Sukuna glanced at him with two eyes. Smirked. Barely a flicker of interest, Megumi knew, and yet it still felt heavy. This was the King of Curses, the Fallen One, the nightmare that hunted nightmares for pleasure, and a thousand other titles Megumi had forgotten because none of them mattered, nothing was important except for the bruises on Gojō.  

“I don’t remember giving you permission to speak,” came idle, a threat that didn’t care if it cast a shadow.  

Megumi felt very small. 

“I don’t care,” he said. “You won’t kill me as long as you want to keep Gojō-sensei.”

“Confident,” Sukuna said, almost musing, “but not wrong.” 

And then, with four eyes of focus, he looked at Megumi. It was a cold look. Cruel. It wasn’t as cruel as what came next.

“You’re wondering why I called you Satoru’s son.” 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

Four days ago, Sukuna and Gojō had disappeared. 

Megumi remembered the night in vivid clarity. It’d been cold. Chilly, in a way that festered. They’d all ignored it. 

Itadori had swallowed the last finger under a barrier that felt far too flimsy, and Sukuna had reincarnated onto the earth.

And then he hadn’t killed them. Hadn’t even looked at them. No, the King of Curses had four eyes and four hands and all of them were for Gojō. He’d grabbed Gojō with hands that would bruise, like Gojō was a thing, not a man. 

Gojō had let him. 

And then they’d vanished— the strongest sorcerer, and the strongest curse, swallowed up in the night.

Megumi had gone back to the dorms. He’d sat with Itadori and Kugisaki, letting them bully their way into his room without even a token protest. Too tired for complaints, just like they’d all been too tense for sleep, wrapped in blankets and staring into the night. It’d been quiet, at first. Eventually, Itadori broke the silence, shattering it and leaving it to die on their shadows. 

“Do you think… No. He’s the strongest,” Itadori answered, to himself, to all of them. “He’ll be okay.”

“That idiot?” Kugisaki scoffed. It sounded hollow. “He’s fine. He let it happen, so he’s definitely into the rough grabbing.” 

Megumi remembered five fingers brushing Gojō’s skin, and said nothing. He waited. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

There was only silence. No messages, no news. Their little world was picking itself up after the teetering horror of Shibuya, but no one had seen Gojō. 

The next day, Megumi cracked. 

You alive?

Yeah, plenty alive. 

Good. 

And that was all he heard. One text in four days. Gojō’s normal text rate averaged out to nearly ten an hour, a machine gun of everything from cat photos to mission briefings. Megumi had gotten used to it over the years. It’d been soothing, in a way he’d never admit. The sun rose, the world was unfair, and Gojō’s texts were a constant Megumi never had to doubt.

And then he’d gotten one text in four days. 

He’d asked where they’d gone. No one knew. It was a dangerous time for Gojō to be gone, too. The murmurings were beginning, of Sukuna bound to Gojō, of the other way around, of treason and punishment. The air was tense, at the school. Painful. 

And then someone came to the dorm and tried to take Itadori away— an agent of the higher ups, if Megumi had to bet, and he’d been ready to fight, to rend. Kugisaki had too, nails in hand. 

They hadn’t needed to. Okkotsu-senpai had appeared from thin air and stepped in front of them, effortless.

“Excuse me, Fushiguro-kun,” came with picture perfect politeness. “I’ll handle this.”

The door slid shut behind him.

Itadori blinked, wide-eyed. “Who was that?”

“An upperclassman, clearly. Must be the missing second year. Why’d he get a white uniform? It’s unfair,” Kugisaki complained, but the tension hadn’t left her hands. 

“Yeah,” Megumi confirmed, and let his shoulders relax, “that’s Okkotsu-senpai.”

“Should we go help him?”

“No,” Megumi said. “We’d only slow him down.” 

“Ah,” Itadori breathed. He looked a little sad. “He’s like sensei.” 

Megumi didn’t reply. Okkotsu came back a few minutes later, armed with a sword and a shy smile. He’d grown, since Megumi had last seen him. 

“It’s taken care of,” he said, and then introduced himself to Itadori and Kugisaki. They were charmed despite themselves, Megumi could tell. Kugisaki less so, but Kugisaki never liked people she thought she could bully. She’d realize Okkotsu had some steel in him eventually, but for now, it didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. 

Megumi was tired of waiting. He asked, “did Gojō ask you to come?”

“Yes,” Okkotsu said, and his eyes were too tired to look that kind. “He was worried what would happen while he was gone, so he had me come back as quickly as possible.” 

“Do you know where he is?” 

“No, I’m sorry. He didn’t tell me.” 

And so Megumi kept waiting. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

No one came for Itadori again. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

On the fourth day, they came back. 

It was just past sunrise, and Megumi had been asleep. Exhausted, and weighed down into dreams. He didn’t stay asleep— his door crashed open, and Gojō-sensei swanned in, smiling, yanking the curtains back far enough to drive sunlight straight into Megumi’s eyes. 

“Still sleeping, Megumi?”

“Sensei,” he said, relieved, before he could think to mask it. And then—

And then he looked at Gojō. 

There were bite marks, high across his throat, bright and fresh and red, like teeth had sunk deep enough to bleed him. The skin around them was a deep purple. It looked like it’d been sucked and nibbled that way. When Gojō shifted, the sleeves of his jacket hitched up enough to see more bruises— fingers, across his wrists. 

Gojō looked brutalized.

“What happened to you?” 

“Nothing I didn’t want,” Gojō grinned, and then headed for the door. “Glad to see everything is normal here. There are a lot of things I’m greedy for, but stopping executions isn’t one of them. Now, get up, Megumi, and fetch Yūji and Nobara! I’ve got a mission for my favorite first years.”

“We’re your only first years,” Megumi muttered, as Gojō disappeared out the door. It was half-hearted, relieved, and horrified. A strange mix. One Megumi had never felt before, and didn’t want to feel again. 

Gojō could handle himself. Megumi knew that. If the marks were there, it was because they’d been allowed, a scar permitted on the strongest. 

But Megumi…

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

He’d searched out Sukuna, after the mission. It was stupid. Reckless. He didn’t care. 

He’d found the King of Curses in one of the libraries, reigning over books that looked older than memory. Old and rare rituals, better sealed away than known— the kind that had gotten more than one sorcerer twisted into unnatural horrors, for power, immortality, or love. Sukuna looked at home there. Unconcerned by horror. 

Megumi had asked his question. And now, here he was. 

Satoru’s son. 

“Yeah,” Megumi said, tight. He didn’t know what else to say. 

“An answer for an answer,” Sukuna said. “Tell me why you call him Gojō.”

Megumi swallowed. “That’s his name.”

“That’s not an answer. Do better.”

“It’s his name,” Megumi insisted.

Sukuna snapped the book shut, and looked past Megumi. 

“Well,” drawled just behind him, “isn’t this cute.” 

“Satoru,” the King of Curses said, and reached out with a hand, welcoming, beckoning, waiting. It was an imperious gesture. Megumi had never seen Gojō obey an order, but he—

“Sukuna,” Gojō said, and stepped between Megumi and a monster. “Heard you sent a few sorcerers to Shōko. I also heard that you kept a few souvenirs.” 

“You heard wrong.” Sukuna’s voice was rich with humor. “I took nothing worth keeping.”

“Four arms and a leg, and you didn’t even keep them? What did you do, eat them?”

There was a disgusted noise. “I don’t eat the weak.”

“I just need to worry about my own arms, then,” Gojō said, damn near cheerful. “What a relief!” 

Sukuna sighed. He didn’t say no. 

And there was ease, to the way he reached forward. Megumi saw half the picture, protected by Gojō’s back. Four hands tugged, and Gojō followed, taking a step, two, walking right into the maw of a monster.

Two hands settled on Gojō’s hips, another on the back of his neck. The forth seemed to be at the chin, tilting Gojō up, to face Sukuna. 

Megumi really wished he didn’t notice. He wished he didn’t notice when Sukuna tugged Gojō’s blindfold down, nearly gentle. He wished—

Megumi snapped his eyes away, feeling harried.

“Can you not? You’re in public,” he muttered. He wished he could dive into his shadows and undo the last ten minutes, the last four days. It felt wrong, watching Gojō kiss someone.

And it wasn’t just someone. It was the worse possible someone. 

Sukuna just hummed. It sounded amused. Gojō turned, held in four arms, to grin at Megumi. He looked relaxed. He was still standing between Megumi and Sukuna. 

“Don’t be so shy, Megumi. Kissing is perfectly normal.”

“I need to bleach my eyes,” Megumi replied, flat. Gojō laughed. Megumi focused on that, and not the curse pressing kisses to Gojō’s throat. They were on the bruises— a kiss for each bruise, like a claim. 

Megumi’s fists clenched. 

“Your son is so fragile, Satoru.”

“I think we both know that Megumi’s stronger than you give him credit for.”

“Do we?”

“We do,” and then there was a burst of limitless, a hiss, a crushing pressure, and—

Sukuna laughed. It sounded, Megumi thought, like the last sound a man would ever hear. 

“If you say so,” came like fire, and then all four of Sukuna’s eyes slid closed. A dismissal, in all but words. Megumi felt like he was watching something private. 

“Go back to class, Megumi,” Gojō ordered. 

Megumi left.

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

The question crawled into him and festered.

Why call him Gojō? Because he was Gojō. That was his name. It’d always been his name. Most people called him that. There were only three exceptions: Ieiri-san, the principal, and Sukuna. They called him Satoru, in three different shades. Everyone else called him Gojō. 

Megumi thought. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

A routine gouged itself into their days, after that. Most of it was the same as it’d been before Shibuya. Classes, missions, sparring. Limits, pushed and prodded and forced further. The feel of it was familiar enough to sink into, an ache like a bruise, like shadows. Megumi sunk his teeth into it in turn, and kept getting stronger. He had to. 

He wasn’t going to be left behind again. 

The days got colder, a chill wind brushing from the city up, into the mountains. Life was, in many ways, the same. 

Except for Sukuna. 

The King of Curses didn’t show his face every day, but it was frequent, still. He stalked the campus like he owned it, a curse, free among pigeons. Maybe he did, Megumi thought, bitter as the edge of a blade. He owned Gojō Satoru, and wasn’t that nearly everything? It felt like it.

Not that Gojō-sensei seemed to mind.

The two strongest, Sukuna and Gojō, wrapped around each other like coiling snakes. It was unsettling. 

Megumi knew enough to know six eyes were watching Sukuna. It seemed like Sukuna was watching in turn, never far from their classroom, never far from Gojō. In lectures— for what lectures Gojō bothered giving— Sukuna’s energy was often dancing nearby, a beacon that didn’t care if it burned the world. Usually on a roof, though the curse haunted the libraries too. Megumi didn’t want to know why. 

And when they were out, training in the ring or the field, Sukuna was often out in the open beside them, arms wrapped possessively around Gojō’s waist, eyes lazily tracing their fights.

There was commentary, too. 

“Pathetic block.”

“A kitten could hit harder than that.”

“Is this what passes for jujutsu now? Satoru really is the only redeeming quality of this age.” 

Maki-san was the only one who got anything like interest. 

“You have almost no cursed energy,” Sukuna said, on one of the very first sun-stained afternoons, “and you’re physical strength is very good. But not as good as it could be. Your heavenly pact is incomplete.” 

Maki visibly tensed. The rest of them tensed too, as much as they could. There wasn’t much tighter to wind— the King of Cursed had a way of raising hackles. Megumi felt taut with it, strung thin under the autumn sun. 

“Incomplete? What do you mean incomplete?”

“Asking for answers is an easy way to stay weak.” 

“Don’t let him get under your skin, Maki,” Gojō said, but Megumi knew the smile on his face. A deflection. What was there to deflect? 

He didn’t find out. 

Sukuna smirked, and pulled Gojō somehow closer. Maki clicked her tongue, and turned away. Megumi looked away too, grimacing. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

There were objections, of course. Megumi had many of his own, and he wasn’t alone. Their entire world was unsettled by the sight of the King of Curses. 

Gojō didn’t care. 

“Sure, sure, you don’t want Sukuna wandering around campus,” he’d drawled, when a few sorcerers had stormed into one of their lectures. “So why don’t you stop him?”

There’d been a moment of long silence. 

“…we can’t, but— but you could, Gojō-san.”

“I already did,” Gojō-sensei said, smiling. “Why do you think you’re still alive?”

There’d been little to discuss, after that. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

“That’s not going to be the end of it,” Megumi said, quiet, later that day. They were sitting in one of the training rooms, Megumi drenched in sweat and Gojō untouched, glasses perched on his nose. They’d fought for an hour. Megumi hadn’t even scratched the chasm between them. He didn’t think he ever would. 

Gojō hummed, steady. 

“It will be. They’re too cowardly to face Sukuna themselves.” 

“Sensei—”

“Trust me, the elders won’t get their way.”

And Megumi did. Megumi trusted Gojō more than he’d ever admit. It was fine, wasn’t it? Gojō was strong. If anyone could carry the world, it was him. 

And yet. 

“This time,” Megumi said. He hadn’t meant to. 

There was a pause. 

“This time,” Gojō agreed, and then, “don’t worry Megumi. They’ll never get to another one of my precious students again. I learned that lesson.”

Megumi thought of Itadori, and said, “you aren’t always around. You can’t be.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” a hand came, ruffling his hair. Megumi took a second to shove it away. “Good thing all of you are getting strong, huh? Soon you won’t even need me to babysit you from assassins. You’ll be able to gut your own!” 

There was something there, in his voice. It felt familiar. 

“… is that why you called Okkotsu-senpai?”

“Part of it. I want Yūji and Nobara to get to know him, too. Having cute little underclassmen to take care of will be good for Yūta.”

“Doesn’t seem like it was good for you,” Megumi muttered, dry. 

There was a pause, for a heartbeat. Then Gojō snickered. “Well, Nanami isn’t very cute. Anyway, it’s not just the elders. All the sorcerers are unsettled about Sukuna. Idiots. They can’t do anything about him, and they don’t need to. Two years,” Gojō decreed, untouchable, “I’ll give them two years to get used to it.”

What would happen after that was left unsaid. Megumi didn’t ask. Instead, he shifted, tired. It was quiet in the room. 

“Is he worth it?”

“This world is,” Gojō answered, easy, and that wasn’t the same. It wasn’t. 

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is. The deal with him got us here, you know. Saved you more heartache than you’ll ever know, and the best confectionary in Shibuya.” 

“It didn’t save you from the bruises,” Megumi said, quiet, sharp.

Gojō paused. Looked at him, unflinching strength uncoiling, just out of sight. It was hard to meet Gojō’s eyes like this, glasses pushed down just enough for Gojō to really look at him. Still, Megumi looked back. 

He felt small. A boy, stumbling down a road he’d never known could be dangerous. And it wasn’t, it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Not when Gojō-sensei was watching. 

“Oh, Megumi,” Gojō said, and it was human. Fond. “You’re worried about me. How cute!” 

Megumi glanced away, for a moment. “Shut up and tell me.” 

“Alright, alright. Pop quiz! What’s the worst part of being the strongest?”

Megumi thought, then, of the years he’d been raised by this man. Of the lack of sleep, of the endless missions, of the unstoppable press of time. Gojō always went out alone. Megumi remembered watching his back, stretching into the sky. He’d gotten used to watching people leave. With Gojō, he’d learned they came back. 

“Solitude,” he said. 

Gojō blinked, behind dark glasses. He looked surprised. 

“Wrong, but not entirely. The worst thing is the boredom,” Gojō corrected, but his eyes were searching. “Before Sukuna, I hadn’t been challenged in ten years. If I was anyone else, I’d have stagnated. Instead I just got bored,” and then, quieter, wilder, “Sukuna… he burns it all away. Impossible to be bored with the King of Curses around.”

Megumi didn’t understand.

“That sounds insane.”

“We’re all crazy.”

“You don’t need to be brutalized for that.”

“Megumi,” Gojō said, voice near a laugh, “I like the bruises.”

Megumi grimaced. “I didn’t need to hear that.”

“You did,” Gojō countered, grinning, “or you wouldn’t have asked. It’s a natural thing. When a man and a curse fight each other very much—“

“Shut up,” Megumi hissed, and was cursed with a laugh. 

And that, mostly, was the end of it. 

Not that things went back to normal, of course. The King of Curses was still a frequent visitor to the campus, appearing out of the sunlight. Weaker curses would have come in the night, but Sukuna didn’t need to wait for the moon. He didn’t need to wait for anything, walking across the earth as if it was already his, owned and dominated. 

It was a familiar, Megumi thought. It was the same way Gojō walked.

The next day, Gojō sauntered into the class with… something, at his side. A man, on the surface, but boiling with a curse. 

“This is Chōsō,” Gojō announced, waving a hand. “He’s joining the school from today onward. He’ll help with missions and teaching. Oh, and he’s Yūji’s older brother, so be nice to him.”

There had been a lot to discuss, after that. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

“He’s really your brother?”

“I think so?” Itadori shifted, sitting on Megumi’s bed. Megumi twitched, and tried to ignore it. Kugisaki was on it too, lounging without a thought. They’d piled into his room in the shadow of dinner. 

These two…

“That’s such a half-assed answer,” Kugisaki complained, “this is why you don’t have a girlfriend.”

“I don’t want a girlfriend—”

“—boyfriend then,” Kugisaki cut in, rolling her eyes. She was still next to Itadori, though. 

“Gojō-sensei said he’s a cursed womb painting.”

Itadori glanced down. “Yeah. I…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Megumi cut in, looking away. It was dark, outside. Megumi could see shadows in the shadows, darker in darker. They felt peaceful. 

He didn’t look back at Itadori. He didn’t need to. He heard the relief. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

The next day, Gojō-sensei had fresh marks across his throat. More of them, worried in, like a beast had been allowed to close its jaw around Gojō’s jugular and linger.

Megumi tried not to look. He failed, boiling in something like rage for the rest of the day. It was a strange, familiar desolation. Megumi had always been an angry kid. It’d been easy to be angry, when the world was so unfair. 

He hadn’t been angry recently. 

“Ah,” came quiet, at his side, and Megumi flinched, taken by surprise.

“Okkotsu-senpai,” he greeted. It felt tight. They were outside, standing in the sunlight. The other students had started heading to lunch. If Megumi looked, he’d see where they were waiting. He looked, for a second. Caught a glimpse of Itadori, grinning, of Kugisaki, smug. Of Maki-san, and the other senpai. Not Gojō, though. Gojō had already left with Ieiri-san, sauntering next to her like he owned the world. Sukuna had been nowhere in sight. 

Megumi was glad. 

“Are you alright?”

Megumi narrowed his eyes. 

“Fine,” he dismissed. It didn’t sound convincing, but he didn’t care. It didn’t need to be. Megumi expected Okkotsu to leave, then. He didn’t. 

Gently, Okkotsu offered, “the situation is upsetting you.”

Megumi said nothing. 

“Why are you worried?”

And Megumi couldn’t help but ask, “why aren’t you?”

“Gojō-sensei is a little unpredictable, but he always knows what to do. I’ve faith in him,” and then, sheepish, “ah, sorry— you know him better than me, don’t you? He raised you.”

“He’s coming to campus with bite marks,” Megumi snapped. 

And Okkotsu— Okkotsu blushed. Just a little, across the edge. Megumi looked away before it burned him. 

“If they’re there, he’s, uh, allowing it. He has to be.” 

Megumi tasted ash. He knew that. No one touched Gojō without permission. The man himself had even said he liked them, grinning with a wild, stupid happiness. Megumi knew. It still made him uneasy, for a reason he couldn’t quite see in the light. 

“Just because he’s allowing it doesn’t mean it’s smart,” he growled, and turned to walk away. It was high noon. The sunlight was staining him, making it hard to cast shadows. 

Just how poisonous was boredom?  

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

The next day, Okkotsu stepped up to Sukuna, and asked, “may I have a spar, Sukuna-san?”

Megumi watched, frozen. They all watched, really. It was impossible to look away. 

Gojō and Sukuna were watching each other, Gojō twisted back to stare up. There was a beat of silence. A pause, caught on the look between titans. And then—

“Great idea!” Gojō clapped his hands together, grinning. “It’s good to get practice fighting for your life.” 

“Bold,” Sukuna said, at the same time. “I like it. But even if you’re Satoru’s strongest, you’re still too weak to give me a proper fight. Let’s make this more interesting.”

Okkotsu’s expression didn’t shift. Megumi was impressed. “What do you propose, Sukuna-san?”

Sukuna smirked. It looked like a nightmare that could make death wake screaming. Megumi remembered that look. 

He shivered. 

With a casual gesture, a circle etched itself into the ground, cut deep. Sukuna took four hands off of Gojō, rolled out his shoulders, and stepped into the circle. 

“One step,” came low, drawling, “if I take one step out of this circle, you win.”

It was a challenge, slick and kingly. Okkotsu didn’t look afraid. He just nodded, and looked to Gojō. 

“Rules of engagement, sensei?”

“No domains. Oh, and don’t use Rika directly. Let’s keep the Queen away from the King for now.” 

There was a low laugh. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.” 

“Everything suits me.”

Kugisaki started making wrenching sounds in the background. Itadori looked like he’d chewed glass. The upperclassman shifted, tense. Megumi said nothing. 

“Sensei,” Itadori began, and it was harrowed, concerned, the voice of someone who’d seen more than Megumi. 

“It’s fine, Yūji.”

Sukuna just scoffed, smirking. “If your teacher is worried, brat, he’ll stop me.”

“No need for that,” Gojō cut in, leaning back across the bleachers. “You’ll behave, won’t you?”

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

The fight was brutal, but not cruel. Fascinating to watch, for all that Megumi chafed at that. And when Yūta was done and beaten, slumped on the ground, Maki-san stepped right up. 

“My turn,” she said. 

Sukuna rolled out his shoulders, sighing.

“Be grateful Satoru already paid for your lives,” and then, with a hint of fire, of joy, “and make this worth my time.” 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

After, Megumi went up to Okkotsu. 

“Why fight Sukuna?”

Okkotsu looked towards Megumi. There was sadness sunk like shadows under steady eyes. That was normal. The wild edge was new, shining. It cast long shadows. Okkotsu looked a like a beast, newly born. He also looked a little like a kicked puppy. 

“For sensei,” Okkotsu said, “and also for you.”

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

The question still festered, in his heart. It was a rotten thing, but quiet. Only Megumi and Sukuna knew it was there. 

Why Gojō? Why not—

Megumi choked that thought before it could crawl free. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

After a week, Megumi cracked. 

“If you hurt him, I’ll kill you,” he said, and it was stupid, he knew it was stupid. He shouldn’t have even looked for Sukuna, let alone dared to threaten him. 

Megumi didn’t care. 

There was a pause like cracking bone.

“This would be funny,” Sukuna drawled, slow and unamused, “if it weren’t so pathetic. Open your eyes. You couldn’t even scratch me when I had three fingers. Know your place, boy.” 

Megumi thought of a monster, deep in his shadows. “I could.“

“Mahoraga won’t work,” Sukuna said, looking bored. 

The world went still. Megumi breathed in. Air tasted like shock. 

“How did you—“ 

It wouldn’t have been Gojō. It couldn’t have. It wasn’t, right? Sukuna blinked. He almost looked surprised, but that couldn’t be right. 

“Oh? Interesting. You’re so quick to doubt,” came with a cold ease, “but no. It wasn’t Satoru.”

Megumi looked away, just a little. He couldn’t turn. The animal instinct kept him there, kept Sukuna in sight. Turning his back to this monster was a bad idea. 

“You could have let me doubt.”

“A willing god is better than a conquered one,” Sukuna answered, tall, with a long shadow. It was such a casual claim.

Megumi remembered bite marks, and wanted to bristle. 

“So it’s all for Gojō-sensei. What do you want with him? If you—”

“If I?” 

It was quiet. A threat. 

Megumi swallowed. Sukuna stepped closer. 

“You could be strong, you know,” Sukuna mused, not even looking at Megumi, staring past him, over him. “If you didn’t give up so easily. But for now, you’re just a boy with a death wish. Boring.” 

Sukuna left. 

Megumi spent a long moment, still. He looked at the void where Sukuna had stood, the shadows that were swallowed up by light. 

It was an echo of what Gojō had said, weeks ago. Megumi thought he’d grown past it. He had grown past it, bleeding and bloody and hungry for victory. 

Sukuna was wrong. Megumi would prove it. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

The next day, Megumi walked up to the two strongest, and didn’t flinch. 

“Fight me,” he said, to Sukuna. 

“No,” Gojō replied, faster than light, and then, slower, with a smirk, “if you’re going to spar with a monster, it should be your favorite one, don’t you think? Asking for Sukuna before me… I’m hurt.” 

“Sensei—” 

“Come on, Megumi-chan,” a hand ruffled his hair, settling on his shoulder and tugging him away, towards the field, away from Sukuna. “Let’s see if you’ve grown.”

“Don’t call me that,” Megumi snapped, more out of habit than anything else. He hadn’t expected Gojō to say no. He hadn’t expected Gojō to say anything at all. The challenge had been for Sukuna. 

“But you’re so cute! How could I—”

“Satoru.”

There was a quiet, long dead. It echoed, and echoed, and echoed. 

They stopped. Megumi tried to glance back, but the hand on his shoulder was stronger than iron could ever hope to be. 

“Your son is wasting his talent. Fix it, or I’ll fix it myself.”

“Nah,” came low, drawling, “you won’t.”

And then Gojō tugged Megumi forward, step by step, into the grass. 

Nipping at their heels was a laugh.

“I don’t need to be coddled,” Megumi said, when they’d made it far enough to be alone. It was frustrated, he was frustrated. “Why did you stop me?”

“If he hurt you, I think I’d kill him,” Gojō answered, light, pleasant, “and we’re trying to avoid that.” 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

Megumi thought. Questions festered. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

That night, Itadori looked at him with wide, warm eyes. Kugisaki was lounging behind him. Megumi knew they were both watching him. He could feel the concern like a physical thing, thick enough to drown in. 

They were also both on his bed. Again. It was annoying. 

“Sukuna… he keeps calling you sensei’s son.”

Megumi looked into the shadows. It was easier, to watch the shadows. They only looked back when he wanted them to. 

“I lived with Gojō for a while,” he admitted, after a long moment. 

Kugisaki poked him, hard. 

“How long is a while? You never tell us anything.”

“Fushiguro! We both lived with sensei! Isn’t that neat?”

They kept poking him. 

“How long—”

“—come on, Fushiguro, you gotta tell us—”

“—we’re friends, aren’t we? Don’t be so closed off—”

“—he can’t help it, idiot, that’s who he is. But seriously, tell us—”

“Ten years,” Megumi muttered, but it was still too loud. 

They stopped. Crickets chirped in the background, far away. It was annoying. 

“What the hell, Fushiguro,” Kugisaki swore, vicious. “You never tell us anything!”

“Oh, so Gojō-sensei raised you then. He’s like your dad,” Itadori said, like it was easy, like that was all there was to truth, “that’s so cool.”  

“More like my benefactor,” Megumi said, and that, too, festered. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

A few days passed. They felt like tar, seeping around his feet. 

Megumi kept noticing things he shouldn’t. 

The first was strange— he bored the King of Curses. He’d have been fine with that, any other time. Megumi wasn’t proud the way others were. He didn’t need recognition. Living was hard enough. 

But Sukuna had been interested before. Megumi remembered the horror of that, the way Itadori’s chest had caved in and bled as Sukuna grinned at him, bones catching the sunlight the way they never should. And it wasn’t a lack of interest in the students, no. Sukuna was interested in the others, Maki-san especially, though not enough to stray from Gojō’s side often. 

It was just Megumi that bored him. A boredom like familiarity.

Megumi kept noticing little things. Sukuna wasn’t surprised when Megumi pulled a sword from shadows, when he flexed the fledgling wings of his domain. Sukuna knew his shikigami, knew how they should be able to move.

Sukuna knew his technique better than he did. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

Megumi should have left it alone. He didn’t. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

“How,” Megumi rasped, feeling small, “how do you know me so well? You shouldn’t.” 

Sukuna paused, for long enough to be telling. They were outside, in the sun. Alone, for once, even if the sparring grounds were near. Gojō was in meetings all morning. Megumi had checked. 

“He didn’t tell you. I wondered, after last time,” and then low, musing, came, “so even he can be a coward.”

“Tell me what.”

Sukuna looked at him with unflinching eyes. 

“I took your body. You were much easier to control than the brat, you know. No resistance. Your spirit was easy to break, though I took measures to ensure you’d stay broken. And then,” Sukuna said, and only here was there anything like emotion, “I killed Satoru using your body, and your technique. Your sister, as well.” 

Megumi—

Megumi couldn’t think. There was a fire, building and building, and the smoke choked him, his reason, his soul. Megumi couldn’t think, but he could feel, and all he felt was hate. 

“Domain expansion,” he said, and it was a wicked thing, scraped from his throat and poured out in shadows. 

Sukuna sighed. 

The fight was short, brutal, and entirely one sided. Megumi ended up face down in the cold, a strong hand holding his head to the geound, and then Sukuna sat on his back, punching the breath out of his lungs. Megumi groaned, and spat out dirt. He was bruised, but otherwise untouched. That couldn’t be an accident.

“You have potential,” rumbled above him, “but you get sloppy when you’re emotional. Fix that habit before you try to strike me again. I’ll be less merciful next time.” 

“I don’t understand how he can touch you,” Megumi spat, into the dirt. It tasted like horror. The hand on his head tightened, forcing out a wheeze. Megumi didn’t care. Megumi was glad. He smiled, wide and vicious. “That got under your skin. Hah, good.”

“You are very lucky Satoru cares about you.”

“Don’t say his name. You don’t have the right.”

“Of the two of us, only I have the right,” Sukuna growled, and the roil of cursed energy that followed was heavier than grief, than horror. Megumi could hardly breathe, frozen, a rabbit pinned by the wolf. 

Sukuna wasn’t done. 

“You think the world is unfair. You’re not wrong, but you are a fool. You chase justice.” Sukuna snorted. “Justice. There is no such thing. This world doesn’t bend to what is right. It bends to strength. You are weak, and I am strong, and so you grovel in the dirt beneath me. And yet… you live. Because he is strong, because despite his strength, he cares for you. But never forget, boy,” a threat like fire, “that he is mine.”

It was said like a truth. The sky was blue, the world was unfair, and Gojō Satoru belonged to Sukuna. 

Megumi hated it. 

Wheezing, Megumi said, “you killed him.” 

“I did. And still, he touches me. Willingly,” Sukuna answered, “eagerly, hungrily. He touches me, because no one else could hope to understand him. Not you, not his other students. Only me.” 

Megumi felt sick. 

“Get off of me,” Megumi said. 

“No,” and then, low and musing, “I don’t get it. You don’t worship him. You hardly tolerate him. Insubordinate, with no strength to back it up. Why would he protect you?”

“Maybe he’s too human for you to understand,” Megumi hissed. It felt vicious. 

The cursed energy in the air went thick enough to choke him. Megumi couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. 

“It’s annoying,” rumbled above him, burning, “that punishing you would upset him.”

Megumi couldn’t speak. The air was too heavy. 

“All this for a mere flower.”

And then the weight was gone, the hand was gone, and Megumi could breathe. He dragged his head up, out of the dirt, lungs heaving, desperate for air, for life. He breathed, and breathed, and eventually, he could see again. Megumi blinked, looked across the dirt and the merciless earth. 

Sukuna was walking away. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

Megumi went straight to Gojō. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Good afternoon to you too, Megumi,” Gojō answered, turning smoothly from— someone. A sorcerer, probably important, probably offended. Megumi didn’t care, and neither would Gojō. They weren’t there for long, anyway. Gojō pushed them out of the room and slammed the door without even looking, gravity twisting at a whim.

Megumi wished that wasn’t comforting.

“Now,” Gojō continued, waving to the empty chair across from him, “what didn’t I tell you?” 

Megumi didn’t sit down, didn’t move, not beyond a step or two. Gojō wasn’t far. He could have reached out, and ruffled Megumi’s hair. 

“The future,” Megumi said, and his throat felt tight. “He used me to kill you. My technique helped kill you.” 

“Ah,” Gojō said, mouth twisting. It was an odd look to see, on that face. Megumi wasn’t used to it. “He’s going to pay for this.” 

Megumi scoffed, sharp. “That’s it?”

Gojō sighed. 

“I was really hoping I’d get to go a few decades before this conversation. Dying of old age first would have been nice,” came bright, easy, and Gojō didn’t look unsettled at all. “The murder didn’t stick, you know. I’m still alive.” 

“That doesn’t—“

He stopped. Swallowed.

“I know,” Gojō said, “I will never forgive him for taking away your happiness. But I killed the Megumi that got turned into a curse-puppet. He’s dead.” A finger pressed into his forehead, hard. “You aren’t.”

Megumi didn’t know what to say. What to feel, really.

“You had to kill me because of Sukuna.”

“Yeah.”

“How can you touch him,” Megumi spat. It was crueler than he felt. It was kinder than the world. 

“People kill all the time, it’s not special. I’ve killed people I love,” and Megumi had guessed, but…

“This is different.”

“It’s not,” Gojō said, easy. “Are you mad because it’s me, or because your body did it?” 

“Both,” Megumi said, and it tasted like ash.

Gojō laughed, one unmoved breath in a storm. “That’s a little biased.”

“So what? I’m not a hero. I’m just a sorcerer, and I won’t forgive anyone that hurts the people I…”

“That are close to you?” Gojō hummed, considering. “Well, then I’m the first one you shouldn’t forgive, considering I killed your dad.”

Megumi blinked. Froze. 

“What,” he croaked. “When?”

“Ten years ago, before I came to get you. Kept meaning to tell you, but ah, you never seemed to want to know! My bad.” 

“I—”

For the second time, Megumi didn’t know what to say. It was a strange feeling. Not unfamiliar, but strange. This wasn’t a silence of rage, of growing limbs that didn’t fit well in his clothes. It was different. 

“So?”

“So?” Gojō repeated, watching closely. 

“I don’t care if you killed him,” Megumi decided, “he was dead to us anyway.”

Slowly, Gojō smiled. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

The story unfolded, then. Ten years old, but Gojō seemed to remember it with a fresh ease. Megumi listened, for once. He made himself listen. 

A girl, killed. Sensei, gutted. His friend, left to die.

And then, a rebirth. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

It was only when he’d left, that he realized Gojō hadn’t told him about the future. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

Megumi meant to avoid him. The both of them, really. It wasn’t from hate, though he felt it boil in him, tar blackening his fingers. It wasn’t from fear, though he felt it grow, poisonous, in his soul. 

It was just… it was a lot. It was all a lot. So, yes. Megumi meant to avoid them. 

The world had other plans. 

He was one day into it, sitting outside in the cold and skipping class like he used to, when Itadori sat next to him, and asked, “hey, why are you avoiding Gojō-sensei?”

It was easy, quick, and brutal. Itadori always was. Honesty, Megumi thought, came easily to him. So did emotion. 

Megumi thought of what to say. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

“Nah, class is over. You missed an epic spar. Maki-san and Okkotsu-senpai really went at it, it was so cool.”

Megumi just grunted. He let Itadori’s cheer shine over him, piece by piece. It was so bright.

Helpless, Megumi said, “he gave himself to Sukuna.”

Itadori looked down at his hands. 

“Yeah…”

They sat, for a moment, in silence. 

“Sukuna is evil,” came quiet, and when Megumi glanced over, he saw an Itadori he’d never seen before, and never wanted to see again. Then a breath, and, “but Gojō-sensei seems happier.”

He did. That’s what made this all so much worse. Gojō draped himself over Sukuna with a bright, unnerving ease, let four arms move him like he was a thing, not a man. 

Megumi had never seen him happier. 

“Gojō killed my dad.”

“What,” Itadori began, and it was frozen, that look. Disbelieving, caught between rage and a protective instinct. It was easy to read, on Itadori’s face, and not just because Itadori was so open. 

Megumi snorted, and then started laughing.

Itadori gave him a wild look. “Fushiguro??” 

“It’s just. Funny. I had the same reaction. ‘If Gojō-sensei killed him, my dad must have deserved it.’ And he did.”

“Ah,” Itadori blinked, and then smiled, looking a little sheepish. It was charming. “It’s hard to believe Gojō-sensei would kill anyone without a reason, you know? He’s Gojō-sensei.”

“Yeah,” Megumi agreed, forcing his eyes out, into the cold. “My dad attacked Gojō-sensei when he was younger. Almost killed him, and did kill someone sensei was supposed to protect. Sensei lost their first fight.” 

“It’s hard to think of him losing to anyone.”

“It was the last time, apparently. Other than Sukuna.”

Gojō had seemed happy, when he said that, biting at the name Fushiguro Tōji with a wild joy. 

He made me what I am today, Gojō had said, grinning, and isn’t that something to thank him for?

Megumi didn’t know. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

Megumi went to class the next day. Gojō looked up at him, and smiled.

“Welcome back, Megumi,” he said. Megumi scoffed, and that was all. Life returned to routine. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

He still avoided Sukuna. That lasted a week, and then the world decided it had other ideas. 

Megumi wasn’t surprised. This was an unfair world, after all. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

“There’s a call for Gojō-sensei,” Okkotsu-senpai said, and then, “it’s strange that he’s not answering his phone. He said he’d be available today, so it’s worth taking a look.” 

“I’ll find him,” Megumi promised, and then went to look. 

Megumi found him in the library, asleep. 

It was an odd sight. The blindfold was off, and his eyes were closed, casting shadows instead of light. His arms were crossed across his chest, loose. He was also curled against Sukuna’s body. Steadied, by two hands— one holding his waist, one at his thighs. He didn’t wake, when Megumi stepped a few feet away. He stayed, quiet, peaceful. 

Megumi could count the number of times he’d seen Gojō asleep on one hand, even after years. He’d never seen this. 

His phone rang. Megumi opened it without a word. 

“Fushiguro-kun? Have you found him?”

Sukuna looked up, book open in one hand. There was an itch of cursed energy on the floor around him— like a veil, but slicker, more subtle. Megumi shouldn’t have been able to see past it. Somehow, he knew no one else could. 

“No,” Megumi replied, “but he called. Said the first years should take the mission instead. Would you tell Ijichi-san, senpai?”

“Ah, sure. I can tag along too.” 

“No need,” Megumi said, and there wasn’t.

He hung up. 

A page turned, whisker-smooth, less than a whisper. Sukuna had looked away, dismissive, like Megumi was no one to watch. 

“Why does he trust you?” 

The question was quiet, but unstoppable. Megumi had felt it crawling up his throat for weeks. 

“It’s certainty, not trust. He sleeps, because he knows I’ll keep him from killing while he dreams.”

“That,” Megumi said, “is trust.”

He left. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

The mission was quick. Megumi spent most of it thinking about the look he’d seen on Sukuna’s face. 

“You okay, Fushiguro?”

Megumi turned to Itadori. Yūji. Megumi wanted to call him Yūji. He didn’t. 

“I’m fine,” he said. It wasn’t a lie. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

He went back, hours later, a bag of sweets in one hand. Not the worse for wear, beyond a few bruises. They’d handled the curse without issue. It hadn’t needed Gojō-sensei. It never had. 

They were still there, the two of them. Sukuna and Gojō. Megumi wasn’t sure if he should call them men. He didn’t want them to be gods, either. Gods were untouchable, unchanging. Gods didn’t raise boys with absent— dead, he corrected himself— fathers, and ruffle their hair, and they weren’t nearly as annoying as Gojō-sensei.

Or so Megumi chose to believe. 

Sukuna glanced up. Gojō didn’t, asleep and dreaming, from the looks of it. Still held up by Sukuna, without a hint of tension in his entire body. He looked younger, without the smirk, without the blindfold. How old was he, anyway? Megumi didn’t remember. It’d never seemed relevant. Gojō was eternal, a steady pillar that cast an irritating shadow. Megumi had never needed to think about…

He put the sweets down, just within reach of Sukuna. 

“Don’t tell him they’re from me,” he said, and stood to leave. He hesitated, for a second. Not for any reason. It couldn’t be for a reason. But still, Megumi lingered. 

There was a long shadow, stretching from him to the two. It was born in the arches of his feet, rooted like memories. The mission hadn’t needed Gojō. It was good that he’d slept. No one died. 

“He likes the ones from this store,” Megumi muttered at last. “You could get him more.”

Sukuna hummed, watchful. “Why would I?”

Begrudging, flat, Megumi said, “to make him happy.”

It was a truth he’d never admit if Gojō was awake. But he wasn’t. Gojō was sleeping. Restful, because of the King of Curses. 

“He’s already given me his everything, boy,” Sukuna said, and it was quiet. Careful. “Body, soul, and future. What makes you think I care for his happiness?”

It wasn’t a question, Megumi could tell. It was a challenge, writ large in gleaming strength. He’d lost to Sukuna once before. He knew. 

“Your tone,” he answered, matching Sukuna whisper for whisper. “You don’t want to wake him.”

Sukuna smirked. 

“Leave, Megumi,” came with a tolerant warmth. “I’ll give him your gift.” 

Megumi left. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

It was only in the void of that evening, as Megumi sat between a cheery Itadori and a grinning Kugisaki, that he realized. 

Megumi. Sukuna had called him Megumi. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

The days kept passing, then. Missions came and went. They did more of them, and they were easier, smoother. Megumi had fallen into an easy rhythm with Itadori and Kugisaki. They fought like shadow and sunshine, now, mixed together until the three of them moved with one thought instead of many. 

It was easy. Steady. Megumi might have even called it fun, in another life. 

It wasn’t just Itadori and Kugisaki. The whole campus felt playful. Megumi hadn’t known it could. He wasn’t sure he really wanted it to. 

Okkotsu had stuck around. He hovered around their dorms, an unassuming sentinel. The other upperclassman showed up too, on and off, but Okkotsu was the one that kept coming back.

Because Gojō had asked him to take care of Itadori, because of Sukuna, because…

Megumi tasted something worse than ash. 

Okkotsu wasn’t bad company, at least. He hovered, but Megumi could put up with that. He was competent. A soul Megumi could respect. One of the only ones. A little shy, under the strength. That was fine. Okkotsu wasn’t annoying. Refreshing, if anything.

Gojō was relaxed, too. Bright and brutal with it, pushing them harder than before. And they were all growing, faster and faster. 

It was good. It was all good. 

But Megumi had left wounds alone before, and seen how they bled. He’d looked away. He didn’t want to, this time. 

And so, a few weeks in, he sought out Sukuna. 

“If you possessed my body, you’ve seen my memories. You already know my answer.”

There was an idle hum, in response. Inattentive, bored. Sukuna was in the library again, four hands holding two scrolls, four eyes skimming them with a sharp focus. 

Megumi pushed on, and on. “Why ask, if you already know?”

“To hear how you answer.”

It was a lazy, uninterested response.

“You’re testing me.”

“Obviously,” Sukuna drawled, and pulled out another scroll. It was older, held together by a preservation seal inked in blood. Megumi glanced at it. He looked away. 

“What do you want from me?”

“It annoys me,” the King of Curses began, low and musing, “how much Satoru does for you. He makes himself so human.”

“He is human,” Megumi countered. It didn’t feel as risky to say as it would have, before. He didn’t feel at risk. 

Sukuna rolled four eyes. “He is divine, boy. He’s not meant for this.” 

Megumi bristled at the word boy, but more at the rest. It was wrong. It was so wrong. “If he’s not human, then why are you trying to find a way to extend his life?”

“Oh?” Sukuna looked at him with four gleaming eyes. 

“It’s what you’ve been looking for,” Megumi pressed on, and on and on. “You could just turn him into a curse, right? But you’re not going to. Because he wouldn’t let it happen. Gojō is the one person you can’t force into anything.” 

For a long moment, Sukuna said nothing. 

“Wrong,” Sukuna said, “but not entirely.”

Megumi shifted. Waited. Sukuna said nothing.

“Spit it out,” Megumi said. 

Sukuna smirked. 

“No.” 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

Sukuna didn’t say anything more. Megumi thought of telling Gojō, but…

Gojō was a smart man, with eyes sharper than Megumi’s would ever be. He must know what Sukuna was searching for. He didn’t need permission to understand. 

It was only Megumi that had been allowed to see. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

“Did Sukuna take my body for my technique?”

Gojō paused. Hummed, blocked Megumi’s next punch. It looked annoyingly easy. 

“Mostly, though he’s a petty bastard, so I bet he thought fighting you would unsettle me.”

“Did it?”

Gojō smirked. “Nah,” came low and drawling, “it was easy to whale on you. You look just like your old man, you know? I have practice beating up the Fushiguro men.”

“Liar,” Megumi said, quiet. 

Gojō laughed, and said nothing. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

Life went on, into winter. Snow smothered the campus, changing it from green to white, from color to canvas. Shadows stood out, on the snow. Megumi watched them for longer, let them linger. 

He let Kugisaki and Itadori linger too. 

That was how they stumbled into first names. 

“… so, what, you’re just going to accept it? Let Gojō-sensei stop you from fighting him? Megumi,” Kugisaki growled, “you are such an idiot.”

Megumi blinked. 

“Ah,” he breathed. The world felt strange.

“What,” Kugisaki said, and then, “oh. Your name.”

Slowly, Itadori smiled. It looked like the sun, rising to cast shadows. It was a comforting look. Megumi thought he could flourish in it. 

“Oh, are we using first names now? Call me Yūji!” 

“…I guess you can call me Megumi,” he said, and the name felt ripped out of him. 

Kugisaki sighed, loud and dramatic. There was a touch of pink across her face. It looked warm. 

“Fine. Since you begged for it, you can call me Nobara. But don’t forget it’s a privilege, you idiots.” 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

Winter was warmer, with friends. Megumi hadn’t known that before. 

But a wound was hard to leave, when it festered and festered. So Megumi kept searching out Sukuna. 

The King of Curses kept letting him. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

“If you hurt him,” Megumi began, the next time, “I’ll get strong enough to kill you.”

“I hurt him every night, just the way he likes,” Sukuna said, and turned a page. “Start training.” 

Megumi grimaced. “I don’t need to hear that.”

“Oh? I thought you didn’t want me to hurt him.”

“Not… ugh. I don’t care about that.”

And it was true, he realized. He didn’t care about the bruises. Not anymore.  

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

“Does Gojō-sensei seem different to you?”

Maki hummed, thoughtful, and spun the staff across her shoulders. They were inside, for once, all of the first and second years. Curled across the gym and sprawled over the benches. Talking, more than training. 

It was warm. Megumi found he didn’t hate it. 

Yūji shrugged. “He seems a little quieter, is all.”

“It’s a settled kind of quiet,” Okkotsu added.

“Salmon,” Inumaki-senpai agreed.

Panda twisted, thoughtful. “You think so? Huh.” 

Nobara clicked her tongue. “Can’t believe it took the King of Curses to make him less annoying.”

“I don’t like it,” Maki announced, and Megumi didn’t disagree. 

But he…

“Sensei was never annoying,” Itadori piped up, bright. 

Okkotsu nodded along. “I agree. He’s eccentric, but wise.”

“And so cool too!” 

“He really is, isn’t he?” Okkotsu smiled, warm. “It’s an honor to train with him.” 

“Dutiful sons,” Megumi muttered, under his breath. It’s what Sukuna would have called them. It was mocking, and cruel, and entirely correct. 

“What was that, Fushiguro-kun?”

“Nothing,” Megumi said, and it was more than a lie. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

The next day, out in the sparring grounds, Gojō-sensei clapped his hands with a smile like a starburst.

Megumi felt his hackles rise. He shifted, just a little, in the snow. Wary, and for good reason. Nothing good came of that smile. 

“Alright, let’s do something new today. No cursed techniques, just energy. Yūji, Maki, and Yūta against Sukuna.”

An interested noise came from the King of Curses. He was wrapped around Gojō’s back, per usual. 

“What’s in it for me?” 

“You get to show off for me, what else?”

“Your students aren’t going to push me anywhere close to that,” Sukuna said, and that was a purr, Megumi really wished it wasn’t. “Why don’t you get off your pretty ass and fight me instead?”

“I want a show.”  

“If you keep flirting, I’m leaving,” Megumi said, dry. 

They both smirked, in uncanny unison. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

“You’re happy,” Megumi said, later. 

Gojō hummed. “Well, my precious students are all alive and well,” he began, cheerful, “and I’ve got an equal. Of course I’m happy.”

Megumi thought. Questions festered. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

“He’s not my dad,” Megumi said, the next time he searched for Sukuna. The words were drenched, dripping in shadows. He said them anyway. 

Sukuna looked cold. Megumi ignored it. 

“Boy—”

“My dad abandoned us. We were left to starve, we— we spent weeks alone. The money was running out, and Tsumiki kept trying to make it last. And then Gojō came for us,” and saying that felt like admitting to sunshine, when he’d been made for shadows. Megumi didn’t care. “He’s not my dad. He’s better than that.”

Slowly, Sukuna smiled. 

“Finally, an answer with spine. There’s hope for you yet.” 

“I didn’t say it for you.”

“And yet you’re telling me, and not Satoru. How very alike you are.”

Megumi grimaced. “We really aren’t.”

Sukuna snorted. 

“I’m in the mood to be generous. Come on,” Sukuna drawled, and turned to go, stepping away, through the shadows of the library. 

“Where are you going?”

“To heal your sister.” 

The words echoed, and echoed, and echoed. Each had a shadow of its own, long and dragging. Each took a long heartbeat to understand. And then—

Megumi dug his heels in, and refused to let himself move. 

“I’m not going anywhere without Gojō-sensei,” he said, and it took everything to make that true.

Slowly, Sukuna smiled. “What a dutiful son.”

“I told you, I—“

“He’s not your father,” Sukuna waved an idle hand, rolling his eyes. “I know. That doesn’t mean you aren’t his son.” 

“Are you an idiot,“  Megumi said. Or tried to say, cutting and quick. The words never made it out, dying a whimpering death in Megumi’s throat.

Sukuna’s energy was overwhelming. An avalanche of power, come to crush Megumi to dust, to shreds, and he’d never been a survivor but he’d always been willing to take an enemy out with him, but—

He’d never be able to kill Sukuna. It was impossible. Megumi was too weak. 

If this was what he could do at a whim, then Sukuna had gone easy, every time. He’d been gentle. 

“There are other ways to get my attention,” cut across the weight, and suddenly Megumi could breathe again.

“This was faster.”

“What happened to your patience?”

“I spend it all on you every night.” 

A laugh, then, a hand on his hair. 

“You good, Megumi?”

“Yeah,” he managed, “fine.”

“Good,” Gojō chirped, and turned back to Sukuna. “So, what did you need? You did get me out of one hell of a boring meeting— do you know how much trouble the elders are giving me because of him, Megumi? Even the old drunk that leads the Zenin won’t shut up about it! The things I do for—“

“He said he can heal Tsumiki,” Megumi cut in, helpless, ripped at the hope. “Can you? Can you do it?” 

“I wouldn’t offer if I couldn’t,” Sukuna said, sharp, and to Gojō, “the boy’s sister is Kenjaku’s doing.”

“I knew that already. Doesn’t mean you could wake what’s in—“

“I can.”

There was a moment of quiet.

Megumi didn’t have the patience to wait. This was Tsumiki. This was his sister. 

“Who the hell is Kenjaku? What’s going on?”

“An ancient sorcerer that’s been body hopping for about a thousand years,” Gojō answered, like that explained anything. “Sukuna killed him in Shibuya, so he’s nothing to worry about now.” 

“What—“ 

“You could lure it out? Now that is interesting. An old friend of yours?”

“An admirer,” Sukuna corrected. “She’ll come out of her vessel with enough… encouragement.”

“Oh? Do I have competition, Sukuna?”

“Gods do not compete with ants, Satoru,” came like fire. It was almost…

“Stop flirting, and tell me if it’ll work,” Megumi spat, ragged, and then, “Gojō-sensei, please. Will it work?”

Trusting Sukuna was a fool’s game. So was trusting Gojō, in some ways. But not when it mattered. When it mattered, Megumi would bet his life with his teacher. 

“Yeah,” Gojō murmured, looking thoughtful, “it just might. Let’s try it.”

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

Gojō teleported them straight to Tsumiki. 

The hospital was the same. The windows, wide and sunny. The bed, plain and unchanged. His sister, asleep. Megumi could have scratched it into his shadows with his eyes closed. A cold womb of a place. 

This room was his haunting.

He took a step forward, shifting. Not towards Tsumiki, not away from Sukuna, not even towards Gojō. He felt strange. 

Sukuna had no such hesitation. 

“Fine work,” the curse said. “For all his faults, Kenjaku did excellent work.”

Gojō scoffed. “The parasite is dead, Sukuna. Stop looking at the work, and start fixing the problem.”

“Impatient,” Sukuna mused, and tapped Tsumiki’s forehead. 

There was a shudder, in the room. A gasp. Energy rolled and roiled and then—

Sukuna pried open Tsumiki’s mouth, and shoved his hand in. 

“You—”

Megumi jolted forward, vicious, but Gojō caught him. Stopped him. “It’s alright, Megumi. Trust the process.”

“To me,” Sukuna ordered, and it sounded like fire. “Now.”

Whatever was inside of Tsumiki followed that order like it was light, and they shadow. It writhed up and up and up, until Sukuna pinched it with two fingers and dragged it the rest of the way out. 

“Su…ku…na…”

It writhed, reaching out, climbing up Sukuna’s arm.

And then it was disintegrated into nothing.

“Oops,” Gojō said, “my hand slipped.”

Sukuna said something. Megumi didn’t really hear it. Couldn’t, all his focus on the bed, on the curse mark fading from his sister’s skin. 

And then Tsumiki opened her eyes. 

“Megumi?” 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

A day passed. It was warm, spent beside Tsumiki’s bedside. She smiled just as much as he remembered, though there was unsettled, hollow ache to it. It’d been a year or more. The world had changed, and she’d been left behind. 

But she was awake.

“You grew up,” she told him, when they had a moment alone over a dinner neither of them felt like eating. Hospital food was disgusting. It’d always been disgusting. Megumi was just glad she was awake to eat it. 

He shifted, sitting on a chair beside her. There was a long shadow beneath him, but it didn’t feel devouring. 

“I had to.” 

A pause, then. Aching. 

“Gojō-san is as silly as ever. It seems like you two are still getting along well,” Tsumiki said. Megumi paused, mid-bite, and scowled. He almost said no, but the lie was like ash.

“He’s annoying,” Megumi settled on, and it was a truth, “but reliable.”

“Did he… were you alone, when I was asleep?”

“No,” Megumi answered, “he stayed with me.”

There was a quiet breath. A smile that looked a little like a sob, and a lot like relief. 

“I’m glad,” Tsumiki said, “I’m so glad.” 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

Megumi slept at the hospital, in a cot next to her bed. It shouldn’t have been allowed. Megumi didn’t care, would have done it anyway. He wasn’t leaving his sister. 

But he didn’t need to push. Somehow, he knew Gojō had made it happen. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

“I brought some visitors,” Gojō said, the next morning, and that was all the warning Megumi had before Yūji and Nobara burst through the door. 

“Yooooo, you’re Megumi’s older sister! It’s good to meet you!”

“You’re so much prettier than he is,” Nobara said, and smiled. “I’m Kugisaki Nobara! Good to meet you.” 

“Oh, right— I’m Itadori Yūji, Megumi’s classmate.”

“You forgot to introduce yourself, idiot.”

“I remembered eventually!”

“It’s good to meet friends of Megumi’s,” Tsumiki answered, with a glance at him. “How long have you known him?”

“Well—“

Megumi let the back and forth wash over him. It wasn’t annoying. It was soothing, actually. He wasn’t sure when that’d happened. 

Yūji said something stupid. Weak, exhausted, Tsumiki smiled. 

Megumi had missed her smile. 

“Me— Megumi?”

Yūji’s voice was hesitant. Megumi didn’t understand why. 

“What,” he said. It came out rasping, wet. 

“You’re…”

Nobara elbowed Yūji. “Shut up, Yūji.”

And so they did. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

“Your friends seem sweet,” and then, Tsumiki smiled again. It was warmer, this time. “You really like them, don’t you?”

Megumi clicked his tongue, and looked away. 

“…maybe.”

“They call you Megumi.”

Megumi said nothing. He could feel a tiny bit of heat, rising across his face. He tried to ignore it. 

Tsumiki laughed. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

They went back to the school, eventually. Tsumiki came with them, tucked into rooms near Nobara. She’d seemed surprised, when it happened. Megumi had been surprised too. 

This wasn’t a place for non-sorcerers. It wasn’t safe, in a lot of ways. 

But he was glad she was here. 

“Not forever,” Gojō said, when he asked how long she would stay, “but for a few months, at least. She’s going to be feeling the aftershocks of what was in her for a while. We’ll need to keep an eye on her,” and then, with a glance to Megumi, “besides, you should get to spend time with your sister.”

Megumi looked down. “Yeah.”

“That’s it? Come on, Megumi. Don’t be shy with me.”

“Shut up,” Megumi scoffed, but it was fond. 

“Nah, I don’t think so.” Gojō lingered, by his side. “You worried?”

“A little.”

“Good.”

Megumi frowned. “Good?”

“If you’re worried, you’ll work hard,” a hand ruffled his hair, playful, “and when you actually try, you can do a lot.”

It took Megumi a long time to knock that hand away.

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

Tsumiki settled in to recovery well, and the school better. It was strange, Megumi thought, to see her here. She was so kind, so gentle. Everything sorcerers had ripped out of themselves and burned, for survival and strength and a chance at power. 

She got along best with Okkotsu. 

“He’s so polite,” she said, with a little smile, “and he’s careful.”

Megumi looked up, and caught Okkotsu’s eyes. There was a warm look, there, beneath the exhaustion. It felt comforting. 

“Yeah,” Megumi said, and then, “he’s the only upperclassman I respect.”

The flush was brighter, this time. Happy. Megumi pretended not to see it. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

Tsumiki couldn’t see Sukuna. That was for the best, probably. 

It still felt wrong. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

Megumi didn’t take weeks to find Sukuna. He went on that first day back, instead, searching the school for the blaze of cursed energy. 

He found Sukuna on a roof. It was the only roof free of snow— Sukuna must have melted it away. 

Megumi took a few steps forward, and sat down beside the King of Curses. 

“Thanks,” he said. It was the only thing to say, really. 

Sukuna hummed, idle. He didn’t open his eyes. 

They lingered like that, in the quiet. It was peaceful. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

Lanced and drained of rot, of puss, the question began to heal. 

Days passed. Megumi enjoyed them. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

“Megumi,” drawled out, fire burning in a cold winter day. Megumi turned, nearly automatic. He was met with an odd sight. 

The King of Curses was walking up the long steps to the gates, four hands relaxed, sleeves billowing behind him. It was a steady, kingly walk, just like Gojō’s. One conquering step at a time, until the steps up the mountain were claimed. It was almost comforting. 

And that distracted Megumi, for a second, from the person shadowing Sukuna. 

“What?”

“Rude brat,” Sukuna said, and it was too warm to be anything but fond. Megumi scoffed, and looked away.

“This is Uraume,” Sukuna said, tilting his head to the person beside him. “Uraume, this is Fushiguro Megumi, Satoru’s son. Treat him well.”

“Of course, Lord Sukuna.”

It came with a bow, to Sukuna, and then a nod, to Megumi. They were strange, this person next to Sukuna. Petite, with hair as white as Gojō’s, and an icy shade to their cursed energy. It fit well in the winter chill. 

Megumi nodded back. 

“Hey,” and then, to Sukuna, “did you need something?” 

“No,” Sukuna answered, and walked away. Uraume nodded to Megumi, low enough to be respectful, if sharp, and followed. 

Megumi blinked. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

It was later that day, sitting across from Gojō, that Megumi asked, “have you met Uraume?” 

It was funny how quickly Gojō’s face soured. 

“Yeah, I have. That little brat follows Sukuna around everywhere.” 

“They seemed fine,” Megumi said, flat, eyeing Gojō’s face. It was bright with annoyance, sharp and small. It wasn’t angry. “Who are they?” 

Gojō sighed, stretching out his neck. “Sukuna’s lackey from back in the Heian era. Good cook, but always around. It’s a pain to kick them out before we fight or fuck.”

“I think I like them more, now,” Megumi decided.  

“How rude, Megumi,” came low, grinning, and then, “why do you ask? Did you run into them?”

“Sukuna brought them to meet me,” Megumi said, and he hadn’t let himself put it to words, but it was true. It must be. Sukuna had made a point of it. 

Gojō blinked. Surprise, Megumi found, was a strange expression on Gojō’s face. It looked wild and quiet and hungry, all at once. 

“Huh,” Gojō said, and the smile that grew in the shadows of that breath was bright as a cataclysm, “he’s gone soft.” 

Megumi really didn’t think the King of Curses had. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

Weeks passed, then. Megumi enjoyed them. No, more than that. He was happy. Truly, quietly happy. It was a strange feeling, in an unfair world. Like the warmth of a smile, in sunshine, after years and years of rain. Megumi didn’t trust it. Couldn’t. But he’d live, anyway. He wanted to.  

Only one thing gnawed at him, in all of it. A burning memory. 

Because no one else could hope to understand him, Sukuna had said, all those days ago. Megumi wanted to make that a lie. He wanted to understand. He wanted to be able to understand. 

And to do that, he had to grow strong. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

“I want to fight you.”

It was easy to say, in the sunlight. 

Sukuna didn’t even open his eyes. 

“No.”

“Scared of Gojō-sensei?”

Two eyes opened. 

“You’ve gotten bold,” Sukuna mused, and then, indulgent, “but no. I’m just more interested in staying in his bed than fighting you.”

Megumi grimaced. “You can’t honestly think fighting me is going to get you kicked out.”

Two more eyes opened. They looked incredulous. 

“Are you a fool, boy?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’ll call you your name when you act like you can think.”

“He likes you,” Megumi said, and it tasted sour. “He’ll let you get away with it, especially since we’re… getting along. And I’m asking. He can’t get mad at you.”

“He is my equal,” Sukuna countered, an easy, clean drawl. He wasn’t smirking. There was no malice boiling in the air. “He can do whatever he wants, just as I can.” 

It was respect, Megumi realized. That tone was respect. Megumi would match respect with honesty. 

“I want to understand him,” he admitted, quiet.  

Sukuna looked at him. 

“Tell him that, and I’ll fight you.” 

“And if he doesn’t agree to it?”

“He will.” 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

Megumi went straight to Gojō.

“… so he won’t fight you unless I give my approval?” Gojō whistled, smirking. “What a well trained monster I have.”

“Don’t say that,” Megumi muttered, nearly twitching. It felt wrong to hear, about Sukuna. 

“Coming to his defense?”

“No,” Megumi lied, “I’m just annoyed by your antics. Can you be serious, please?”

Gojō laughed, tilted his glasses down, and looked at Megumi. 

Star-bright, he asked, “why Sukuna?”

“He’s like you, but he doesn’t care about me. He won’t go easy.”

“Wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Gojō mused. He didn’t deny the second part. “Megumi, I—”

“I want to get strong enough to beat him,” Megumi cut in. “I don’t care what it takes.” 

Gojō tilted forward, in that way he had, all uncanny curiosity and vicious focus. Megumi felt like an ant under the glass. He didn’t care. It didn’t matter what road Megumi walked, as long as Gojō was watching. But that wasn’t enough, anymore. Megumi wouldn’t let it be. Gojō might be a god to the world, but he wouldn’t be that to Megumi.

Sons were supposed to grow into men, weren’t they? 

“Not that I’m complaining, Megumi, but this is an interesting change of objective. Why now?”

“This world’s unfair. I want to be able to fix that,” and then, “and I want to beat you.” 

It was an easy truth to say, for all that it was nearly impossible. A few words, a few seconds, but a goal only two people had ever achieved. It felt like it’d forced its way out of Megumi’s throat, a bright and bloody dream. It didn’t matter. Megumi would do it if it killed him.  

Gojō froze. Looked with six eyes unwavering. Megumi didn’t look away. 

Slowly, Gojō smiled.  

“Well,” he said, and then, a man kneeling to watch over a boy, “if it’s a request from my precious son, how could I refuse?”