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Yuji could genuinely say this felt worse than dying. Seeing as he had actually done that before, he considered it a fair comparison.
The memory of his heart beating in his own hands instead of beneath his ribs did little to quell the already formed panic squeezing all the air out of his lungs. He tried to slow his breathing, to calm his racing heart – in his own chest thankfully, his mind quietly supplied – but deep red blood coated his vision every time he closed his eyes. A metallic taste filled his mouth, only serving to further his panic.
Memories merged with real life, like the whispered remains of whatever nightmare had rudely awoken him. They danced between his eyes every time he let them close, taunting him. Logically, he knew he must have bitten his cheek or lip, but in this state all he could see was the bodies.
Nanami. Kugisaki.
Every single person he killed.
Every person he murdered.
The smell of blood overloaded his senses. His vision began to spot around the edges as his short wheezes tightened into strangled coughs, little air making it into his lungs. Desperately, Yuji clawed at his shirt, gripping the fabric around his chest tightly, as if the small action could release the tension coiled throughout his body.
In for four, out for four. That’s what he was supposed to do.
Breathe.
In and out.
Breathe.
Yuji shut his eyes, tears steadily tracing down his face. The action pulled awkwardly, sending a small jolt of pain from his forehead through his whole head. The barely healed wound was still sensitive, pink and fresh and a reminder of everything Yuji had done.
It felt like eons before Yuji’s short coughs had sputtered out, replaced by shallow breaths. His lungs ached, burning as if he had just sprinted a full marathon. He let his head fall back, lightly bumping against the wall he had somehow found himself curled up against, the hard surface digging into his spine.
The floor was cold under Yuji’s bare feet, but he was mostly just thankful he could feel it. Gently prying his eyes open, Yuji let himself take a deep breath, relishing in the relief of real air. His head spun, threatening his stomach as he came back down to Earth.
Lazily, Yuji glanced over at the clock glaring at him from his nightstand, taunting him with the numbers 3:48 stretched across it. He groaned, letting his eyes slip closed again.
That was… bad.
He laid his arms across his knees as he pulled them tighter against his chest, letting his head fall gently on top. His entire body was shaking, the aftermath of one of the worst panic attacks he had experienced so far in his time as a jujutsu sorcerer. Or as a human, really.
Was he even human anymore? After everything he had let Sukuna do, everything he had done, could he even call himself a sorcerer? Did he deserve to call himself a human–
Yuji’s head shot up, a strangled noise unwillingly tearing out of his through. He mentally shook the thoughts away before his brain decided it wanted to go for round two. It was fine. He was fine. Everything was fine. He just needed to get a grip.
For now, he let himself sit, let himself breathe on the floor of his room. He traced the outline of his bed, the way the little sliver of light from the window highlighted the messiness. His blanket was strewn, likely thrown away in his panicked haste.
Steeling himself, Yuji pressed a palm into the floor. Dragging himself to his feet sent another wave of dizziness through him, nearly sending him right back down to the ground. Yuji swore under his breath, rising slower this time. His entire body shook, feeling one wrong step away from crumpling entirely again.
In and out.
As silently as he could, Yuji slipped through his door, out into the hall. All he needed was some water, then he would be fine. He could get a hold of himself. He padded down the hall, acutely aware of Fushiguro surely fast asleep in the room beside him.
Yuji wrapped his arms around himself, a small attempt to physically fight the shivers wracking his body. For once, he was grateful that he had been too lazy to change out of his hoodie before bed. The plush fabric embraced him in a way he felt he almost didn’t deserve, a decisive weight tethering him down to the planet.
The kitchen was empty, most of the food either out of date or stale. Neither Yuji nor Fushiguro had really had the heart to deal with any of it. Mindlessly, Yuji grabbed a mug from their ample collection, something Kugisaki had insisted they needed.
Her face slowly crumpled, blood leaking down the side as she fell. He didn’t save her. He couldn’t save her–
The mug slipped out of his grasp, clattering against the counter like a gunshot in the silence.
In and out. In and out. In and outandinandinand–
The sound of a door creaking open pulled Yuji from his thoughts. There was only one person Yuji didn’t want to see right now – Fushiguro.
He knew that was a lie, too. Fushiguro might be the only person he really did want to see.
Before he even realized it, Yuji had slipped into a performance. His moves became practiced, calculated, with an air of nonchalance he knew he didn’t really possess. He moved as casually as he could, grabbing a regular cup this time and turning his back to the hallway to fill it at the sink.
He willed himself not to tense up as he heard footsteps padding towards him, instead focusing far too intently on the water slowly filling up the cup in his hand. Little drops of water sprayed his hands, allowing him to focus on the cool sensation dripping onto his skin rather than the growing pit gnawing at his stomach.
The footsteps stopped.
“Itadori?” Fushiguro called quietly, tone indiscernible. Yuji shut his eyes, taking in a short breath as he turned off the water.
“Hey, Fushiguro!” Yuji spun around, a smile plastered on his face. He ignored the way it stung, how his marred skin sent waves of pain through his whole face. “What are you doing up?”
“It’s late,” Fushiguro said. Yuji tried to pretend he didn’t see the way Fushiguro’s face fell. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“You’ll never believe it,” Yuji started, launching into an elaborate story. “I woke up and, Fushiguro, I swear, it was like the desert moved into my mouth. I’ve never been so thirsty in my entire life.” He thrust his glass up, showing it off. “I knew there’s no way I could get back to sleep unless I dutifully stopped the drought.”
“You’re right, I don’t believe it,” Fushiguro deadpanned, narrowing his eyes as he studied Yuji. Yuji felt his smile falter, his shaking hands betraying him. Regardless, he only let his grin spread wider across his face, ignoring every pull and pain.
“Well, you never told me what you’re doing here, Mr. Calling Me A Liar At Four In The Morning,” Yuji punctuated the stupid nickname, subconsciously ramping up the performance under Fushiguro’s sharp gaze.
But he didn’t answer, didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, they stood there in silence. Fushiguro’s gaze never strayed, even as Yuji took a sip of his water, still leaning into the carefree persona he had adopted to avoid the very look Fushiguro was giving him now.
“Fushiguro? You’re kind of creeping me out man, just staring like that,” Yuji chuckled awkwardly, only slightly relishing in the pink that seemed to lightly dust Fushiguro’s face. However, whatever pride he’d felt quickly dried up with Fushiguro’s next words.
“Why do you always do that?” He asked, through gritted teeth. Yuji couldn’t stop the smile from slipping before he brought it back.
“Do what?” He asked, forcing the most air he could into his words. His resolve was crumbling, cracking into pieces like the mask he had put over his feelings.
“That,” Fushiguro rolled his eyes, gesturing vaguely to Yuji.
“You know, you’re going to have to be more specific–”
“You do this, where you break down and you tear yourself apart, but the second someone comes to help, you act like it’s fine. You act like it’s nothing,” Fushiguro snapped. He all but whispered as he added, “You act like you’re nothing.”
And Yuji’s mask shattered.
Megumi had never been a heavy sleeper. A fact he used to hate, but has come to be something he appreciated.
Sharing a wall with Itadori used to be near the top of his “Things to Kill Gojo For” list, but as he sits with his back to their wall with only the muted sounds of Itadori’s panic to fill the air, he found he was a little grateful.
It was hardly the first night spent like this. Despite what he might believe, Itadori was not a quiet person. It wasn’t in his nature.
On more than one occasion, Megumi had been torn from sleep by the screams of his friend. But, as soon as they’d start, the noises would stop, stifled and quieted in a belated effort to keep the eerie silence brought by the night.
On more than one occasion, Megumi found himself standing outside Itadori’s door, hand poised to knock, to help. But he could never do it.
If he wanted to talk, he would come to Megumi himself. That’s the mantra he always repeated. The last thing he wanted to do was make Itadori uncomfortable.
But as sleepless nights turned into restless days, Itadori never came and Megumi never pushed, not really. He’d emerge in the morning, plastering on that sickening smile that never reached his eyes. Every time Megumi would try to talk to him, seriously talk to him, Itadori would have some excuse, some joke ready to brush him off. It was infuriating, watching him slowly break down while Megumi… while Megumi broke down too.
Kugisaki’s room remained hauntingly empty, a fact both of them danced around, never daring to truly acknowledge. Silence wasn’t entirely unusual in their dorm, but it was never like this. Thick, awkward, stretching between them like a stifling cloud. Every day that Itadori kept pretending, kept pulling away, left Megumi more and more alone.
It was like losing two friends, instead of just one.
When the circles under Itadori and Megumi’s eyes both grew deeper, Megumi knew something had to change.
So he sat, back pressed against the wall, as he listened to Itadori’s panicked coughs slowly subside. And then the sound of a door, accompanied by footsteps gently creaking on the old wooden floorboards.
Megumi stayed there on the floor, muscles coiled tight like a spring about to fly, warring silently in his own mind. Was essentially ambushing Itadori the right thing to do? Or would it only fracture what semblance of peace they’d built? Did it even matter, when that peace was never actually real in the first place?
A clatter from the kitchen pulled him out of his thoughts, unconsciously startling him into motion. He pulled himself up from the floor, padding towards the door. The doorknob was cool under his touch as he pushed it open, not entirely caring about the noise it made.
It’s not like there was anybody but the two of them there to hear it.
Megumi took a breath, suppressing that thought until he had time to be upset by it later. Itadori was perched in front of the sink, a glass in his hand. Behind him, one of Kugisaki’s mugs laid on its side, as if it had been haphazardly thrown across the counter in front of the others.
That must have been the noise then, he surmised.
“Itadori..?” Megumi called quietly, not wanting to completely startle the other boy. Itadori’s entire body tensed, comically so. Megumi would’ve laughed, if he didn’t know exactly what would happen next.
“Hey, Fushiguro! What are you doing up?” Itadori turned around, sporting his worst cover-up to date. His smile wavered, despite how hard he seemed to be fighting to keep it up. His eyes were rimmed with red, only serving to further illuminate how dark the circles were carved under his eyes. His entire body was trembling, as if one rogue gust of wind could topple him.
“It’s late. I could ask you the same thing,” Megumi pointed out. He hoped Itadori could hear what he wasn’t saying, what he really meant.
I’m offering you the olive branch… All you have to do is trust me and take it.
“You’ll never believe it! I woke up and, Fushiguro, I swear, it was like…”
Megumi couldn’t help but deflate as Itadori rambled, the words tripping over each other in his haste to get whatever story he had concocted out as fast as possible.
“...I knew there’s no way I could get back to sleep unless I dutifully stopped the drought,” Itadori finished.
“You’re right. I don’t believe it,” Megumi stated, levelling his best stare at Itadori.
I’m not letting you get away with it this time. I’m not letting you shut me out anymore.
Itadori’s grip on his performance slipped, his eyes betraying him most as they dulled. But, in true Itadori fashion, Megumi’s refusal to play along only served as reinforcement to continue.
“Well, you never told me what you’re doing here, Mr. Calling Me A Liar At Four In The Morning,” Itadori shot back. Megumi only continued to stare, not even bothering to entertain it anymore. Itadori’s facade slipped again, something he tried to mask by bringing the glass of water to his mouth.
A lesser man would have crumbled beneath Megumi’s stare by now. Itadori, however, did not have enough of a brain to fall victim. How inconvenient.
“Fushiguro?” Itadori chuckled awkwardly, finally cracking under the pressure, “You’re kind of creeping me out man, just staring like that.” Heat snuck its way up into his face at the implication of staring ‘like that,’ but the feeling only fuelled Megumi’s fire.
“Why do you always do that?” Megumi said, the thought slipping out before he could figure out how to word it better. Itadori went rigid.
“Do what?” He asked breathlessly, like the air had been knocked right out of him.
“That,” Megumi sighed, gesturing at Itadori’s sad, trembling, mess of a form, fit with a casual air they both knew wasn’t real.
“You know, you’re going to have to be more specific–”
Despite everything, despite being caught like a deer in headlights, all he does is double down. Megumi was a fool for ever thinking Itadori would come to him, would open up, would trust him. It all came pouring out before he could stop it.
“You do this, where you break down and you tear yourself apart, but the second someone comes to help, you act like it’s fine. You act like it’s nothing,” At some point, Megumi had squeezed his eyes shut, the words tearing right out of his heart.
“You act like you’re nothing,” He whispered, daring to look up at Itadori.
If he thought the boy was a mess before, this must be a nuclear explosion. Itadori was trembling, harder now, from his head to toes, through to his hands and fingers. His grip on the glass was tight, though it looked as if it would fall at any moment, slipping through his grasp as if he were nothing but a specter. His eyes glazed over, a thin sheen of tears collecting along his lashes.
“Itador–”
“I’m sorry,” Itadori grit out, covering his face with his arm. He slid down to the ground, nearly dropping the glass unceremoniously beside him. He brought his knees up close to his chest, burying his head in between them as if he could physically hold himself together. His voice broke as he repeated, “I’m sorry.”
Megumi was an asshole.
Megumi was also right.
He shelved those thoughts for later, deciding to focus on Itadori instead, closing the distance between the two of them and sinking to the ground beside him in one fluid motion.
Whatever confidence that had spurred Megumi’s speech had dried up, leaving him fidgety and anxious. He had to resist the urge to pull at the skin around his fingers, a habit he hadn’t been able to kick. Should he have said that? Did he just make everything worse?
Megumi let his legs stretch out, a contrast to the way Itadori had curled into himself. He wasn’t good at this, he wasn’t comforting or nice or kind. He wasn’t good like Itadori, his mind whispered. All he could do was join him, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the kitchen floor in silence.
Yuji felt pathetic.
His stupid glass of water sat on one side of him, and Megumi Fushiguro sat on the other. Yuji didn’t know what to do now.
He wasn’t deluded enough to think he would fall back asleep after this, but he thought if he managed to get up and clear his head he’d go back to being fine. He wouldn’t be falling apart at the seams, his heart spilling out for Fushiguro to witness.
“Just go back to bed, Fushiguro,” Yuji mumbled, refusing to lift his head. Fushiguro let out a humorless laugh.
“As if,” He bumped Yuji’s shoulder gently. Yuji knew he wouldn’t leave, Fushiguro was far too stubborn for that. But Yuji didn’t expect this.
Yuji was the touchy one. He knew this. Fushiguro merely tolerated it, or at best didn’t entirely mind. But sitting here on the dirty kitchen floor, for some bizarre reason, Fushiguro stayed. Not only did he stay, but he pressed himself right up against Yuji, Fushiguro’s shoulder somehow serving as his only tether to the world.
It felt like an eternity that they sat there in silence before Yuji slowly moved his head to the side, peeking through his messy hair at Fushiguro. Yuji caught his eye for just a second before Fushiguro quickly darted his eyes away, pink dusting his cheeks. Yuji smiled faintly, warmth blooming in his chest.
“I’m sorry for…” Yuji trailed off, his voice a little scratchy. “All this.”
Fushiguro’s gaze shifted back to him, fit with that stare that made Yuji feel like he was being held under a microscope.
“Unless you’re sorry about your sad attempt at being ‘fine,’” He mimicked air quotes around the word, “I don’t want to hear it.”
Yuji rolled his eyes, but the small smile didn’t leave. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. Yuji lifted his head, uncurling slightly from the ball he had tucked himself into. He let his head fall back against the cupboards behind them, eyes tracing the faint outline of the ceiling he could make out with the little light they had. He could feel Fushiguro still staring, probably waiting to call him out if he tried to brush this off again.
Yeah, Yuji was fucked.
“I don’t know what to do, honestly,” Yuji admitted quietly. He knew it was vague, but everything felt jumbled and messed up in his head, words not quite parsing themselves out for him to say.
“About…?” Fushiguro prompted, bumping Yuji’s shoulder gently as he probed.
“Everything, I guess,” Yuji whispered. “Everything happening in my head.”
“Well, I can tell you what won’t help,” Fushiguro started. “Pushing people away and pretending you’re fine when we both know you're not.”
“Am I that obvious?” Yuji laughed, dry and humorless.
“I’ve heard sirens that were more subtle than you,” Fushiguro deadpanned. They both cracked a smile, something realer and warmer than before. Yuji let his eyes drift over to look at Fushiguro, who was dutifully staring back.
“You don’t… You don’t have to have it all figured out. You don’t have to have any of it figured out at all,” Fushiguro said softly. “But, Itadori, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”
Yuji sighed. Fushiguro was right, god he was always right, it was infuriating–
‘It’s all my fault, y’know,” Yuji admitted, before he could really think about what he was saying. “In… there.”
His eyes stayed glued to Fushiguro’s, the two locked in a glare together. Once it had started, Yuji couldn’t stop whatever fell out of his mouth next.
“It’s all my fault, Fushiguro. Nanamin and Kugisaki are gone because of me. Now Gojo is sealed and we have barely any allies and it’s all my fault.”
“Itadori, you can’t –” Fushiguro began.
“You know it’s true,” Yuji snapped, cutting Fushiguro off. To his credit, Fushiguro didn’t react, his gaze never faltering.
“Gojo only kept me alive for one thing, one reason,” Yuji spoke softly. “The only reason I’m here is because I can control Sukuna. I’m just a vessel.”
“And now everyone has suffered, all because I couldn’t do the one thing I was supposed to be able to do,” Yuji’s voice cracked ever so slightly. He let his eyes drift back up to the ceiling, unable to face Fushiguro’s stare anymore.
“Sometimes I wish Sukuna had just let me die in that detention centre,” Yuji whispered. He felt a tear embarrassingly trace down his cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on the way he could feel his chest rising and falling with every breath he took.
Every greedy breath he took, every selfish beat of his heart–
“If it’s your fault, then it’s my fault too,” Fushiguro said definitively. Yuji snapped his eyes open, turning to face the other boy.
“Fushiguro, that makes no sense–”
“It was Gojo who told me you were supposed to be executed, y’know. Outside your old school in Sendai,” Fushiguro started. “But I… I told him I didn’t want you to die. I told him to save you.”
“I mean, this is Gojo we’re talking about so he probably would’ve done it anyways,” Fushiguro began to ramble, seemingly unsure of himself all of a sudden. “But–”
“Why?” Yuji watched as Fushiguro’s jaw clicked shut. “You… You barely even knew me then. I was just some kid who got in your way.”
“Because you, Yuji Itadori, saved me. When you barely even knew me. You didn’t know what a curse was, what jujutsu was, who I was. Anyone else in your position would’ve ran.”
“But you didn’t. You actually explicitly ignored me when I told you to leave. Because that’s who you are.”
Yuji’s eyes inexplicably began to water again, but Fushiguro apparently wasn’t done, despite his eyes watering too.
“You jumped in, you saved your friends, you saved me. You stopped me from doing something stupidly idiotic like summoning Mahoraga when I was already down, by doing your own even more stupidly idiotic thing like eating the King of Curse’s finger for a little power up.”
Fushiguro laughed wetly, and Yuji couldn’t help but laugh a little too. They were both a little messed up, it seemed.
“You, Yuji Itadori, are stupid. You are reckless. You are selfless,” Fushiguro emphasized. “And you are so much more than Sukuna’s vessel. You are so much more than what Sukuna has done.”
Tears were flowing freely now, blurring Yuji’s vision. He brought a hand up, wiping furiously across his cheeks. He sniffed, suddenly acutely aware that Fushiguro was still staring.
“God, warn a guy next time, Fushiguro,” Yuji laughed wetly. Fushiguro only smirked, his own eyes tinged with red.
Yuji let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Before he could think better of it, he let his head drop lazily onto Fushiguro’s shoulder. Fushiguro tensed underneath the new weight, but quickly melted into the contact, letting his head rest on top of Yuji’s. His arm snaked behind Yuji, coming to rest on his other side in a strange half-hug.
“You don’t have to do it all alone, Itadori,” Fushiguro breathed out softly. Yuji let his eyes slip closed, the weight of the night suddenly pulling him down.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “I know.”
“I know I can’t just… completely change your mind or anything, but I need you to promise me one thing,” Fushiguro said, lifting his head off of Yuji’s to properly level his gaze. Yuji lifted his head, locking eyes with the older boy.
“Let me share some of the blame,” Fushiguro breathed. Yuji sucked in a breath. He opened his mouth to object, but immediately wilted under the intensity of Fushiguro’s gaze.
“Okay,” Yuji agreed.
On the floor, in that kitchen, neither of them were naïve.
They both knew that when the sun would rise tomorrow, Itadori would still plaster on a smile like nothing had happened. They knew that he’d still blame himself, still shoulder that burden alone.
But Megumi could only hope that maybe, maybe, when the sun set, he’d let Megumi in. Keep his promise and let them carry the weight together.
A burden shared is a burden halved, or something poetic like that.