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“I hope you live a long life,” rang in Megumi’s head over and over and over again, always followed by the sound of Itadori’s limp body hitting the ground.
He has nightmares often, though they’re more like his subconscious torturing him by replaying memories that had actually happened.
Sukuna had tried to kill Megumi, and he had ripped out his best friend’s heart and killed him.
His nightmares replay the whole scene out, start to finish.
“Itadori? Itadori! Come on. No, don’t do that. No, no, no! Please, Yuuji—” he had allowed himself to cry freely, not that he would have been able to stop the tears anyway.
He had done this. He had killed Itadori. It was all his fault.
He remembers how cold Yuuji felt—because he always ran hot—and how heavy he was on Megumi’s back when he carried him. He remembers how much his heart hurt when he held Itadori’s face in his hands during the ride back to Jujutsu Tech. He remembers how sticky and red his hands were, and he remembers how much he cried when they took his body away.
Kugisaki held him as he wept, and despite staying strong, she had tears cascading down her cheeks as well. They don’t talk about that night. They don’t talk about how they feel. They don’t talk about Megumi’s reaction. They don’t talk about Itadori. He doesn’t want to.
He wakes up sweating, gasping for air, cheeks slick from tears. Every night, without fail. A constant reminder of how he had failed Yuuji Itadori.
It had been two weeks, yet the pain and the heartache did not lessen. If anything, it got worse with each passing day.
Another day without Itadori, another day of reliving that fateful night. The more the days passed, the realer his death became.
Usually, after he had awoken, he tossed and turned until he was able to drift off to sleep again, impossibly exhausted from his draining days followed by draining sleeps. Tonight though, he couldn’t.
It was raining tonight, just like it was when Sukuna ripped out Yuuji’s heart, and his too in the process. The occasional flashes of lightning and claps of thunder made Megumi flinch, doing nothing to calm him down.
He got up, wincing at the cold floor, and walked towards the door. He opened it before walking the few steps towards Itadori’s room.
He opened the door softly, gently, as if he were afraid to wake Itadori up. The sight of the dark and empty room made him want to cry. He closed the door behind him, shuffling over to the bedside table to flick on the lamp.
He closed his eyelids, the light harsh against his eyes, then opened them again.
He looked around the room, it was the same as how Itadori had left it.
Bed sheets messy and screwed up, clothes thrown on the floor, his bin overflowing with bits of crumpled up paper. He crouched down to pick up the clothes, put them in the hamper in the corner of the room before fixing the bed.
He cleaned the room until it was neat and tidy. Itadori’s room was never neat and tidy, save for the rare occasion Megumi would help him tidy it up.
Now Itadori had to come back. He couldn’t leave his room like this, so perfect and clean.
It needs to be clean for when Itadori comes back.
He’ll walk in, see that Megumi had tidied, then run into his room to thank him, to apologise to him. Get down on his knees and beg for Megumi’s forgiveness, because how dare he do this to Megumi?
How dare he worm himself into Megumi’s heart just to leave so quickly, leave such a large hole in his chest?
Then he saw that damn photo.
He walked over to it, his eyes filling with tears as he picked it up.
Nobara had taken a photo of them at the beach, taken after Yuuji splashed him with water. They began this stupid little fight that had escalated into Itadori tackling him into the water.
He remembers the feeling. The cold water rushing over him as his body was submerged, the feeling of Yuuji’s body against him as they fell, the happiness he felt when they came back up. They looked so happy, so carefree. He wishes he could go back to that moment, even if for a single second, to feel that way again.
Have Itadori in his arms and feel like a kid, rather than mourn the loss of his friend and have to kill curses everyday.
He didn’t know Itadori had this on display, let alone framed. He hugged it to his chest, sinking to his knees as he wept.
He bawled for what felt like an eternity, his tears never ending, just like his pain. He looked at the photo again, and a tear fell down, landing on Itadori’s face, obscuring it.
He stood up shakily, using the drawers to stabilise himself, and walked over to the bed. He turned off the light before lifting up the covers and climbing in.
He wrapped himself up in the blanket, burying his face in the pillow as he hugged the photo to his aching chest.
He breathed in deeply, breathed out shakily, then repeated. He could smell Itadori, his scent stronger than it usually was when he was sitting or standing next to him.
It was warm and smelled like sunshine, and he curled up on himself, wanting to be enveloped by the sunshine.
He listened to the rain on the roof. Drip, drip. He found it hard to differentiate the sound from that of rain and the dripping of blood out of Yuuji’s chest.
Boom, went the thunder, the sound of Yuuji’s heart hitting the ground.
“I hope you live a long life,” echoed in his head over and over and over again, never stopping.
Why did it never stop?
He wanted to cry again, he needed to take this pain and throw it as far as he could, but he couldn’t. He had cried all of his tears away, and no matter what, he couldn’t forget that sweet smile and the pain that came with it.
The smile he would never see again. And it was all his fault.
Megumi never should have spoken to Yuuji, never should have gotten him involved in this.
He should be sleeping at home, all the way in Sendai, not dead on a metal tray for Shoko to poke around in.
He hugged the frame tighter, its corners poking into his wrists. Anything to distract him from the pain. But the dull poke was nothing in comparison.
Even if he couldn’t stop Itadori from getting wrapped up in this, it should have been Megumi. He should be dead, not Itadori.
Why would the world take the kindest soul when Megumi was ripe for the taking?
Why? Why, why, why?
So many questions, no one to answer them.
So much hurt, no one to take it away.
Megumi fell asleep in Yuuji’s bed, thinking about him. Wishing he was here, wishing he would come back, open the door and climb into bed and hug him, or at the very least tell him to go back to his room. Because a world with Itadori Yuuji is a better one.
Please, Itadori. Come back to me.
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