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As the soft, lucent glow of the moonlight finally hit your otherwise dimmed room, offering a faint source of light, you decided now would be the best time to dye your hair.
You were always known for the vibrant hues of your silky locks. How it was still so healthy after multiple dyes was a mystery to you, and you figured you shouldn’t dwell on it too much before you end up jinxing yourself.
Stepping into the attached bathroom of your dorm, your fingers brushed against the smooth surface of the light switch, switching it on with a quiet click as you reached for the hair dye products that had been lingering in the depths of your storage cabinet.
As you sleepily placed the boxes down onto the sleek surface of the sink counter, you splashed your face mercilessly with cold water, allowing your drowsy state to fade away as you grew more focused.
Peeling the boxes open with ease, your gaze was fixed on the materials you pulled out. Ever since you were a kid, the vibrant shades of red always stuck out to you. It reminded you of countless things, like the soft hue of your favorite planet, the saturated color that bled through the petals of your favorite flower, or the faint tint that dusted Fushiguro's cheeks whenever you complimented him—
Wait. Fushiguro?
Quickly shaking your head, you snapped out of your reverie, baffled at how a single thought of Fushiguro easily turned you into a flustered mess. Having known him for a long time, you’ve found solace in his constant presence. The sound of his low, collected tone grounded you without fail, and you relished in the small touches you both shared— the faintest brush of your knees under the table, or the lingering feeling of his cold fingers brushing against your cheek as he tucked a strand of hair away from your face.
You only began to comprehend how much Fushiguro was involved in your life when he grew busier, caught in a web of constant studying to prepare for upcoming exams and grueling one-on-one training, fueled by his desire to grow stronger.
The relationship between you and Fushiguro was weird, to say the least. Being a sorcerer meant a lot of things, partly that you should always be ready to risk your life on a mission, and partly that you would barely have any time left for yourself.
You figured that was the reason why you and Fushiguro haven’t established anything yet. Through all the unspoken words, intentional touches, and nights spent together tangled in sheets and finding comfort in each other's warmth, you both silently came to terms with the fact that you could never bear anything more, that committing was too risky when either of you could meet your demise the next day.
Smothering your hairline and the nape of your neck with Vaseline, you finally slip your gloves on, parting your hair into different sections with practiced ease and quickly securing them with clips, worn out from years of use.
Mixing the formulas together, you carefully dipped the tint brush into the small container, beginning to apply the dye to your roots. You grew more and more fascinated as the rich mahogany pigment stained your hair, an approving hum escaping your lips. Mentally patting yourself on the back for the suiting color choice, you silenced the last of your stray thoughts and directed all your attention to the task at hand.
Halfway through the job, the sound of a heavy thump shattered your focus, eyes widening as you stared at yourself in the mirror before glancing back towards your bathroom door in pure terror.
As the quiet patter of light footsteps filled the silence and made your heart sink to your stomach, panic kicked in as you hurriedly set the tint brush down and instinctively grabbed the closest item to you— a dusty, unused broom that found a home in the overlooked corner of your lavatory.
The unsteady rhythm of your heart pounded in your ears as you clutched the ancient broom closer to your chest, fingers trembling as you noticed the hushed footsteps coming to a slow stop outside the washroom door.
Watching the door crack open slightly, you immediately took the chance to lunge forward, swinging the broom at the intruder's face as dust particles flew everywhere, littering the cold, tiled floor.
With the dust spreading throughout the cramped space, your eyes squeezed shut as profanities started to spew from your mouth in a desperate attempt to alarm the intruder. “Get away, you sick bitch! I’m studying to be a police officer, so don’t try me!” you lied through your teeth, flinging the broom around aimlessly. Hearing a low grunt coming from the intruder, you began to swing the broom hastily, feeling their fingers wrap around your wrist and halting your feeble actions.
Feeling helpless in their grasp, you screamed, voice cracking and raw at the edges until their large hand crept closer to cover your mouth, muffling your cries for help in an instant. Eyes shooting open to glimpse at the person who was about to brutally murder you in your own dorm room, your breath hitched as a hint of recognition filled your gaze and your heart began to slow down to its usual rhythm.
“Jesus, [Name], it’s just me.” Fushiguro blurted, an irritated expression etched onto his otherwise alluring complexion. Finally letting you go, his dark irises scanned over you, committing the humiliating sight of your half-dyed hair to his memory whilst he stifled a laugh.
“You idiot,” you hissed, giving him a harsh smack to the back of his cranium, the blow echoing throughout the hushed room. “You have a spare key to my dorm, why did you sneak in through the window? I thought I was about to die,” you grumbled, arms crossing over your chest as you shook your head exasperatingly at the dark-haired boy, watching him shrug off your frustration. Beginning to calm down, you noticed how his gaze lingered on your hair, remembering that you were in the middle of dyeing your head before getting abruptly interrupted by Fushiguro's frightening antics.
Gesturing over to the leftover dye sitting on the counter, you began to speak again, breaking the short silence that fell over the both of you. “I was in the middle of dyeing my hair when someone decided to sneak into my room,” you sighed, swiping the tint brush from where you’d left it and dragging it across the remainder of your hair, each stroke an attempt to try and mask the growing contentment you felt from his presence, earning a low, thoughtful hum from him.
“Do you need help?” he offered, his soothing voice ringing pleasantly in your ears, the sound bouncing off of the walls and echoing faintly. Turning to face him, you couldn’t hold back the smallest hint of adoration in your gaze, handing the brush to him wordlessly, cold fingers brushing against his as he took it from you.
“Now that I'm thinking about it, why did you come by so late?” you questioned, watching his reflection work in the mirror, admiring how surprisingly attentive he was. “I wanted to see you,” he admitted simply, his expression unreadable as his gaze subtly flickered back to you in the reflecting surface.
Your heart seemed to stop beating for a moment at his quiet admission, not expecting that answer from him after weeks of radio silence. As a genuine grin tugged at the corner of your lips, he raised a brow, expression softening into something fonder as he spoke. “You’re way too easy to please,” he murmured, applying the bold pigmentation to the last section of your hair, finally completing the job.
As he took a step back, you averted your attention to your own reflection in the mirror, marveling at the sight of your head fully dyed red. You looked like a completely different person, and it only made you feel more confident in yourself.
Thanking Fushiguro for finishing the task, your eyes landed on the cup resting on the counter, holding the contents of the last slivers of ink. A lightbulb appeared above your head in an instant, flickering on as you came up with a genius idea.
“Megumi,” you grinned, turning to face him with a cheeky expression plastered on your face, met with his confused and slightly concerned complexion. “Yes, [Name]?” he asked warily, though with a soft undertone, taking a cautious step back as you stepped closer.
“There’s still some dye left in the cup,” you hinted, dragging the words out one by one as they left your lips, drawn out in a playful tone. “What’re you implying?” Fushiguro sighed, already used to your antics.
“Well,” you trailed off, your grin turning into a small smirk. “It would be a shame to waste this dye,” you continued, sliding the cup off the counter and into your grasp, holding it up to Fushiguro's face. “So I was thinking, why not dye just a strip of your hair? You could match with me,” you spoke, clasping your hands around the cup in a slightly desperate, imploring manner.
Watching his expression shift into something more serious, he answered almost instantly. “No way,” he deadpanned without missing a beat, eyes turning into narrow slits as he stared down at you, completely setting his foot down.
But the second he noticed your slightly wide eyes, mimicking those of a puppy, holding the cup of dye in your hands as you tried to coax him into matching with you, he could already feel himself start to give in.
“Please?” you pleaded, hands lowering slightly to give him more room to breathe, though you already knew he couldn’t resist your requests, no matter how absurd they seemed to be.
Running a hand through his dark locks, Fushiguro felt himself begin to grow conflicted at your pleading, briefly peering at his reflection in the mirror. As he felt the heavy weight of your gaze, the silence beginning to stretch out into something more pressuring, he couldn’t help but mentally scold himself.
Since when did he get so soft? He was supposed to be the focused, closed-off sorcerer, and now he was reduced to his current form, willing to do anything for you if you asked— even if you subtly hinted that you wished to possess the moon and the stars.
Noticing his hesitance, you allowed your shoulders to drop the slightest bit, about to take back your request when his familiar voice filled your ears once more. “Just a strip,” he mumbled reluctantly, staring back down at the saturated pigment with knitted brows like it personally offended him.
The second the words left his lips, your energy instantly replenished, excitedly jumping in place as a shit-eating grin began to spread across your face. “Really? The Megumi Fushiguro is willing to dye his hair to match with me?” you giggled childishly, unable to contain your excitement.
Letting out a fond scoff at your sudden change in demeanor, he carefully took the cup holding the last remnants of vivid coloration from you, mentally preparing himself as he slipped past your figure and leaned against the sink.
Scurrying over to him with haste, you immediately began working, sectioning a small part of his bangs as your fingers threaded through the roots, watching as the color hardly pigmented his dark locks.
“I doubt the color will show up that well,” you commented, ensuring that you spread the ink evenly throughout the section of hair you parted. “Good for me,” Fushiguro mumbled under his breath, averting his gaze as he realized how close you were to him, feeling his face warm at the proximity.
Noticing the sudden blush dusting Fushiguro's cheeks, you fought back a smile as you ran your fingers through his now damp hair one last time before pulling away, granting him more space to breathe.
Shrugging the plastic gloves off and tossing them into the overbrimming trash can, you made a mental note to empty it later, focused on the new task at hand: finding your phone.
Humming a familiar tune, you strolled out your bathroom, feeling Fushiguro's watchful eyes trailing your movements. “Are you thirsty? I can make some tea,” you suggested, finding your phone tossed carelessly in your messy sea of sheets. “No, I’m okay,” Fushiguro answered, pushing himself off the sink and making his way over to you. He always found himself seeking your closeness, as if gravity itself was pulling him towards you.
“Suit yourself,” you shrugged, feeling his heavy presence behind you, peeking over your shoulder in curiosity as your fingers swiped over the dimmed screen. Letting out a muffled snicker, you positioned the screen towards his field of vision, allowing him to watch you navigate through the endless amount of apps on your device.
Finally finding the clock app, you tapped the icon, setting a thirty-minute timer to remind yourself to rinse out the dye. After watching the timer begin to count down, you slipped the phone into your sweatpants pocket, feeling the hefty mass of the object.
“Your room looks different,” Fushiguro stated bluntly as he followed you into the kitchen, flicking on a nearby lamp with ease, the orange glow illuminating the room instantly, softening the harsh shadows spilled across the walls and creating a more comfortable atmosphere.
Pouring some cold water into a kettle, you let a hum escape from your lips, feeling it vibrate in your throat. “Yeah, I did some cleaning and redecorating recently. Do you like it?” you questioned, setting the kettle on the stove and turning the knob to high. “It’s less cramped in here now,” he murmured, creeping up behind you, arms snaking around your waist as he pulled you back against his chest.
Surprised at the sudden embrace, your body tensed for a moment before relaxing in his loose hold, grabbing the small, metal tin resting on your countertop and pouring an appropriate amount into your mug. As Fushiguro leaned against you, nuzzling his face into your neck as if seeking your warmth, you could feel your heart swell as he let out a quiet whisper of a yawn, nose brushing against your skin.
“Tired?” you queried, observing the kettle closely, though most of your attention was on the way Fushiguro’s breath hit the crook of your neck. “Yeah,” Fushiguro whispered, his grip loosening as he began to grow more drowsy. “You’re gonna get dye on your shirt, clinging onto me like this,” you joked lightly, finally taking the kettle off the stove once the sound of boiling water filled the room.
“I couldn’t care less,” Fushiguro huffed, pulling back from your neck to rest his chin on your shoulder, watching your actions with a half-lidded gaze. “Be careful,” he warned, concern bleeding through his tone. “Do you want me to pour it for you?” he asked, not wanting you to burn yourself.
“Megumi, you're half asleep, I'm not letting you pour it for me.” you deadpanned, carefully tilting the kettle over your mug, pouring the boiling water into the cup carefully. Hands wrapping around the steaming drink, you let the familiar aroma reach your nostrils, eyes fluttering shut at the pleasant smell.
Blowing over the tea a few times, you brought the brim to your lips, taking a small sip before immediately flinching at the sudden burning sensation on your tongue, setting the mug down with a little more force needed than necessary. “Shit...!” you mumbled, your tongue tingling uncomfortably in your mouth as you heard a quiet snicker develop from the boy behind you, turning your head slowly as you glared at him.
“I told you to be careful, idiot,” he smirked, peering down at you as you turned away, letting out an annoyed grumble under your breath.
After waiting a few minutes for the tea to cool down, you passed the time by bantering with Fushiguro, who was growing seemingly more irritated the more you provoked him, despite completely denying his frustration. It was definitely a funny sight, and the banter felt so familiar it made your chest ache, though you weren’t sure why.
Finishing the tea, you felt your phone begin to vibrate in your pocket, signaling that thirty minutes passed and it was time to rinse your hair out. Dragging Fushiguro back into the bathroom, you rinsed out his dye in the sink, cold water spilling over his head as the excess dye ran down the drain.
Frowning at the barely noticeable change in his hair, you sighed dramatically before throwing a towel over his head, kicking him out the bathroom and turning on the shower, letting the water heat up before stepping in.
After making sure you thoroughly rinsed the remaining dye out of your hair, you exited the confines of your shower, feet wet against the cold surface of the floor as you slipped into some more comfortable clothes: an oversized shirt paired with soft pajama pants.
Drying your hair off, you stared at yourself in the mirror, pleased with how the color turned out, as it was your favorite shade of red and complemented your skin tone flawlessly.
Emerging out of the bathroom with damp hair and a towel draped around your shoulders, your gaze immediately landed on Fushiguro sitting on the edge of your bed, eyes scanning over the pages of a book he often read when he came over. “What part are you on?” you smiled softly, slightly startling him at your sudden appearance. Tilting his head up, he found himself marveling at your undeniable beauty, all the wind getting knocked out his chest in an instant as he took in the familiar way the corners of your lips turned up to create a slightly lopsided smile, cute, nonetheless.
“You look beautiful,” he whispered, completely ignoring your question. The words slipped out before he could stop them, but in that moment, it felt so right to express it, like confessing something heavy in your heart that you’ve been holding in for as long as you could remember. The unforeseen comment startled you, butterflies forming in the pits of your stomach as you processed his words.
Composing yourself, you quietly cleared your throat, taking a seat next to him on your bed. “What’s with the sudden compliments?” you teased, playfully nudging his shoulder as you leaned closer, watching him place the book down on your nightstand.
The faint scent of your shampoo began to waft towards him, and he couldn’t stop himself from inhaling it further, allowing it to burn in his lungs. “It’s the truth,” he replied lowly, his body tilting towards you as his hands brushed against your neck, bringing the towel over your head as he ruffled it gently, starting to dry it. His expression remained calm, completely opposite of how his heart rate began to pick up as his mind swarmed with thoughts.
You felt your eyelids begin to grow heavier as he dried your hair, the feeling oddly domestic, but that was considered normal between you and Fushiguro at this point. “Your hair looks nice, too. Though you can barely make out the red,” you spoke, words slurring together as your body felt like lead against his, slowly leaning more of your body weight onto his side.
Pulling the towel away from your now fully dried hair, he let out a soft huff as he tossed it onto your desk, staring at your half-asleep form. “You're falling asleep on me,” he accused, though his arms wrapped around your body securely, pulling you down onto the bed and pulling the covers over the both of you.
An uncommittal hum escaped your lips as he tucked you in, nuzzling closer into his chest, seeking his familiar body heat as you draped your limbs around his lazily. On the verge of falling asleep, the sound of his voice stopped you, and you felt your eyes flutter open the slightest bit to listen to what he had to say.
“[Name],” Fushiguro started, to which you replied with his own name. As the silence began to settle in again, you almost thought he had nothing else to say, but you were proved wrong as he let out an almost inaudible sigh, eyes shutting as he buried his face in your now bold-colored hair.
“I’ve been wanting to say this for a while,” Fushiguro continued, the words making your heart beat a little faster, and you hoped he couldn’t feel it, despite being pressed up against him.
“...As a jujutsu sorcerer, it’s obvious that you have to be ready for anything that happens. That you have to be prepared to risk everything on every mission, and that you can’t be promised a long life. After Tsumiki died, the will to live inside me extinguished, and I was left feeling inexplicably empty, like I was stuck drowning forever. But you gave me a reason to hold on longer. You gave me a reason to live, and I couldn’t be more grateful for that,” he whispered, his voice sounding more vulnerable than usual, and it made your heart ache.
Pulling him closer to you, your fingers traced invisible patterns on his back, encouraging him to keep talking. Taking a deep breath, Fushiguro swallowed the knot in his throat, grip tightening as he continued.
“I guess I eventually understood that, with the life I was destined to, nothing I have would be constant. Nothing in my life would last forever, no matter how hard I try. But I want you to be a constant part of my life, no matter how impossible that may be, and I’m willing to protect you until I physically can’t, just to be able to live in that reality.”
“And maybe it sounds naive,” Fushiguro admitted, voice hoarse like he was on the verge of tears. “But I want it so badly, and I’ll do anything just to have you by my side for the rest of my life. I swear I’ll protect you and take care of you. I swear I won’t let you slip away like I let Tsumiki and Gojo slip away. I promise you.” Fushiguro muttered shakily, one of his hands traveling to cradle the back of your head, pulling you closer to the crook of his neck.
The feeling of Fushiguro desperately holding onto you, like it’ll break him if you even dared to pull away, made something in you break. Despite the happiness you should’ve felt at his confession, hearing the words you wanted to hear for so long finally reach the surface, you couldn’t bring yourself to be happy when Fushiguro was like this, attempting to hold his tears back at the thought of losing you.
You wouldn’t allow it.
You wouldn’t allow Fushiguro to feel so miserable in your presence.
Starting to pull away to look at him, he immediately shot down your actions, his grip on you tightening as he stopped you from pulling back any further, not wanting you to witness him crying.
“Megumi,” you spoke softly, your hand moving to cradle his head, fingers slowly running through the strands. “I promise you, I’m not going anywhere,” you reassured him, pressing a lingering kiss to his hair.
“You can’t promise that,” he sniffed, and you began to feel the dampness of his tears staining your shirt. “I’m promising you right now,” you huffed, feeling his grip on you loosening and taking the chance to pull back, resting your forehead against his.
“You’re stuck with me, Megumi. I don’t plan on leaving you anytime soon, or ever,” you murmured, keeping your tone steady as your thumb brushed against his cheek, wiping any remnants of tears left on his face. “Stop being so stubborn and overthinking it,” you scolded lightly, trying to make out his expression in the dark.
The sudden warmth that Fushiguro felt as you brushed his tears away was familiar, yet suffocating all at once, but it made him feel so much more human. All this time, he desperately tried to maintain his distance and stoic composure, but you broke down his carefully built walls with your kindness and persistent care, and he’d be an absolute idiot to let you go now.
Pressing a final kiss to his forehead, a small smile tugged at your lips as you felt him lean into your touch. Burying your face in his hair, the familiar scent accompanied by his warmth made it easy for you to feel drowsy again, but you refused to be the one to fall asleep first.
“Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up,” you promised, continuing to run your fingers through his hair, coaxing him to fall asleep. As a final hum escaped him, the only sounds left to be heard were your quiet breathing and the faint whistle of the wind outside your window.
As you noticed Fushiguro's breathing starting to even out, you assumed he fell asleep, until one last whisper fell from his lips mindlessly.
“I love you.”
Feeling your heart stop for what seemed to be the hundredth time that night, you felt your jaw drop slightly at the quiet admission, not expecting it at all.
As you began to whisper it back, you realized he already drifted into a deep sleep, soft snores filling the room as his body went slack against yours, and your heart swelled at the thought of him trusting you so much that he felt completely safe sleeping in your presence.
As the night grew older, you felt yourself start to succumb to sleep as well, though your mind refused to fully shut down, mentally replaying the whole night over and over again. Fushiguro sneaking in, helping you dye your hair, and the unexpected confession made everything feel unreal, and you were terrified of the thought that you could wake up the next morning and everything would turn out to be a dream.
You wondered how you even got to this point. It all felt so scripted, and you couldn’t help but feel undeserving of this.
But as Fushiguro began to stir, mumbling something incoherent into your neck before slipping into sleep once more, you finally understood— that in this moment, nothing else in existence mattered to you more than he did, and nothing in the world would ever be enough to change that.