Archive of Our Own

Tokyo, Japan. 2079. 

Fushiguro Megumi dies on March 19th, 2079. In Tokyo, Japan, surrounded by nothing but trees, mud, peat, and the long-lingering stench of a curse’s blood. 

The “Monster of Shinjuku”, marred forever by scars that shouldn’t have existed. The one puppeteered to an ancient evil’s will against the very one he wished to hate, but never did. The one whose technique decided his birth, life, and now, death itself. 

Fushiguro Megumi dies on March 19th, 2079. He is seventy-seven years old. 

His best friend, perhaps something more, is one day away from seventy-seven when Fushiguro Megumi dies. 

Fushiguro Megumi’s last thought is of breath that still feels warm on his cheek, soft touches that gently pad little prints on his skin, and a brush of pink hair on his ear. 

Yuuji’s the strongest now. 

It’s uncontested. Fushiguro – Megumi’s – gone, scattered to the wind. So is Okkotsu. They weren’t much of a contender for the title nonetheless, but now he’s unchallenged as the top of jujutsu, the pinnacle of what the ancient art can do. 

He watches in silence, the only one at the register not dressed in something black, as they deposit his charred remains into the ground, burying him under layers and layers of sediment that thump over him with an awful air of finality. 

Yuuji has not cried for years. Not when Okkotsu was buried. Not when Maki joined her sister’s resting spot. Not when Inumaki rested next to Okkotsu. 

But now, something pricks the corner of his eye. Warm. Wet. 

Tears. 

He loses track of where people are. Somewhere here, he knows, is Ui Ui. Kugisaki also, dressed in an ebony dress that complements her well-aged figure. Everything blurs over, and breath comes short to him, taking more and more effort to inhale. Someone’s taken a pickaxe to his chest and slammed it to the ground, shattering what meagre feeling he has in his bones. 

Well, now he knows. He knows how Gojo felt. How it feels being the strongest, unchallenged by anyone to take the throne, just for the sole reason of there not being a soul able to contest him for the unspoken title. 

And now he knows how it feels to be the strongest, and watch those you love die in front of you over, and over, and over, and over again. 

Being able to do nothing against the cold, relentless claws called death. 

The dirt slams onto the ashes remaining, burying Megumi under their earthy grasp, and in a way, condemning Yuuji to a life of solitude by a judge’s gavel. 

Tokyo, Japan. 2078. 364 days before Fushiguro Megumi’s death. 8:00 A.M. 

“Happy birthday, idiot,” Fushiguro mumbles into Yuuji’s ear as soon as he wakes up. It’s a welcome surprise, and Yuuji deigns to stay collapsed on the sofa for just a little longer before Megumi drags him out of bed. 

“I can see your eyelashes fluttering,” drawls Fushiguro dryly, and Yuuji sits up with a chuckle, scratching the back of his neck with one hand as the other stretches into the horizon. 

“Man,” Yuuji laughs softly, meeting Fushiguro’s emerald eyes with his own. They shimmer with untold depths, sapphire and hints of topaz within the greenery if one looks close. “Still can’t fool you, huh, Fushiguro? Not even after all these years.”

Fushiguro allows a brief smile to play on his lips before standing up with a gusty sigh, turning around to head to the exit. “Come on, Itadori,” he calls out. “We’re walking around today. Get out of bed, and let’s go.”

Yuuji jumps off of the musty cushions, a cloud of dust rising up from the long abandoned piece of furniture to dash after Fushiguro. It doesn’t take long, and his footsteps join the threesome of Fushiguro’s as he opens the door for him. 

“What a gentleman,” Fushiguro smiles, leaning on the engraved cane he uses to support himself through the doorway. “Still thinking about others first?”

Yuuji gives a simple thumbs-up and a grin, and the door slams shut behind them as they exit the long-destroyed living space they’ve been keeping base in for days. 

Tokyo, Japan. 2078. 364 days before Fushiguro Megumi’s death. 11:47 P.M. 

“Man,” Yuuji stretches his arms, yawning as he gazes out on the pretty night sky. “That was a fun day, wasn’t it? I think it was the best birthday I’ve ever had!”

Fushiguro sighs lightly, arms crossed as he leans against the crumbling balcony overset against the sea of lanterns. “You say that every year, Itadori. How am I supposed to give you the best birthday ever when you say that every year?”

“Because I always spend it with you, so another birthday is another day with you!” Yuuji grins without thinking, the words practically falling off his lips to be said. “You know, no matter where you go, I’ll always be with you, right? So obviously, every day I see you is the best day!”

Fushiguro’s breath catches, and his head bows down. “Fool,” he scoffs, but something tugs at his voice. “You’ll live forever, ‘cause of the curse blood in you. I’m getting old. Soon, I’ll die, and you’ll look not a day past twenty, Itadori.”

Yuuji hums, gently tipping Fushiguro’s head onto his shoulder for support. He feels the muscles in his cheek tense, but Fushiguro surprisingly lets him steady his head, and the comforting weight settles on Yuuji’s shoulder. “When you die, Fushiguro,” Yuuji mutters, “I’ll find you. No matter how many times it takes.” 

“Why?” Fushiguro asks, like it’s not the most simple declaration in the world. 

Yuuji gently settles his own head on Fushiguro’s, the silver hair cushioning his cheek as he’s careful not to place strain on his head. “Because I’m always gonna be there to save you, Megumi. Right? I atoned for my sins by saving you, but I’ll save you how many times it takes. Over, and over, and over, and over again.”

The sea of radiance below them dims to almost nothing at all in the silence that follows his answer, the only source of light being the silver-tinged moon above then, hanging above a star-painted navy. 

“I’ll count on it, Yuuji,” says Fushiguro after ten beats of silence. 

Beijing, China. Twenty years after Fushiguro Megumi’s death. 

Yuuji tugs the hoodie over his head even further, hiding from the recognizing glances sent his way already by several people in suits. His pink hair stands out too much, even when he tries to dye it, the tell-tale scars arching over his face don’t do him any favours. 

It’s a big city, after all. Tech-run as it may be, the scent of duck, tangerines, and baozi float through the air, merchants calling out their chants as normal. He’s only here because his soul managed to ping something to him, something he’d started to doubt was real. 

It leads him to a little alleyway in the corner of a building, rats squeaking in the crevices as he steps through. In the corner, hidden away, is a little kid, bunched in rolls of fabric as little hands clutch at the fraying threads. 

“Yo,” he calls out softly, watching as the little bundle tenses, as if preparing to flee. He holds his hands out in surrender, kneeling down to catch a glimpse of the face hiding behind the fabric. “I’m not here to hurt you.” 

Slowly, the fabric falls at his reassuring voice, revealing black hair hanging over a pale face, beset with twin eyes that hold the depths of nature within them. Azure, green, with a hint of scarlet. Familiar, stamped into Yuuji’s mind for years. 

When Yuuji releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, he pulls out a hanging plastic bag, offering it to the kid. The scent of food makes the kid’s nose twitch, eyes widening as they glance to Yuuji, ever the opportunist. He gives a reassuring nod, and the kid stumbles forward, as if he couldn’t believe Tantalus’ fruit being dangled in front of him. 

After the kid scarfs down the food, Yuuji gestures to himself, writing out the kanji for his name on the sand and asking for the kid’s own. He seems to understand, writing out the characters for “Below“, “Thanks”, and “Hero”, speaking something that seems to be “Xià Ēnjié”. 

He smiles. It fits him well. 

Nice to see you again, Megumi. 

Beijing, China. Seventy-two years after Fushiguro Megumi’s death. 

Yuuji’s legs cross over each other on a wooden stool, his hand holding another as his fingers brush withered skin. It brings back memories of a stubborn grandfather, laying on a hospital bed too big for his scrawny figure. 

“Dad,” Enjie – Megumi – mutters, obstinate, even after seventy-two years of knowing him. “You didn’t have to be here. I hardly doubt you’d want to see your son die, you know.” 

Yuuji doesn’t respond for a moment, remembering the past decades he’d spent as Megumi’s father. It was almost unreal, watching his best friend  – something more – grow older, and older, calling him “Father” instead of “Itadori”. At least he’d learned a new language though, right? 

“Kailun couldn’t make it,” Yuuji answers slowly, watching as Enjie’s face crumples just the tiniest bit. “And my sweet grandchildren aren’t here to wish you goodbye. So here I am. Remember that alleyway, all those years ago? Who knew the little kid I offered chenpi would become the successful head of a tech company? You inherited some brains, for sure.”

“Sure, Dad,” Enjie – Megumi, Yuuji can’t stop calling him in his head – mumbles. “You know, it felt like I knew you even before you met me. Kind of like you were my best friend or something, like a connection was born before I even knew you.” 

“Do you believe in the red string of fate?” Yuuji asks rhetorically, not waiting for an answer. “I told you before that I’m immortal in a sense because of a curse, right? My best friend died without me. I left him at Diyu, where souls are judged. The string tied to my finger led me to you, Enjie. I’ve never regretted taking care of you, not once. You were no replacement for Megumi. You were always your own person, and I was mine. Together in life, parted at death.”

He waits for an answer. 

He never gets one. 

Except for the steady flatline of a machine forever in his mind. 

Toronto, Canada. Ninety-three years after Fushiguro Megumi’s death. 

Yuuji meets Grayson Murrays at a bar. He’s one hundred and seventy years old, and Grayson is twenty-three. But his eyes still have the timeless feel to them, and he’s sweet, and he’s just like Megumi. 

The years go by in a blur. Somewhere along the line, Grayson gets married, has kids, and Yuuji is still the “cool uncle” who comes over and games with their dad for a day or two before disappearing to his flat in downtown. 

Yuuji doesn’t know when he switched from the man Grayson almost kissed to the man Grayson kisses his wife in front of with no fear, but something tugs at Yuuji’s heartstrings whenever he does so so carelessly, as if he’s not standing right in front of them. Yuuji’s not used a single aspect of jujutsu in decades now. 

When Grayson’s wife dies, he follows a day after, and Yuuji attends the funeral for them along with his two kids. His last words were nothing, but everything to him. 

His heart has been rebuilt to the stars and shattered three times now. 

People say when bones break and rebuild, they come back stronger. 

It’s not the same for a human heart. 

Paris, France. One hundred and twenty-four years after Fushiguro Megumi’s death. 

Thirty-one years pass after Grayson is scattered to the wind, and Yuuji never got to tell his unspoken feelings for him. Although he was married, although Yuuji loved spending time with his wife whenever he wanted to spend time with the kids and she needed to talk to someone, and he was the aromantic brother, he still wanted to whisper the words he never got to tell Megumi to his reincarnation. 

Technology’s far surpassed anything an average jujutsu sorcerer can do now. He’s heard rumours of his death back in Japan, since he’s not heard a ripple from his soul for years. But now, as he looks upon Jules Deniau, upcoming actor for Paris, he sees a shimmer in his eyes as he becomes what he wants to be on stage. 

Yuuji meets him in a bakery, and they become charmed with each other soon enough. Although Yuuji knows he cannot possibly replace Megumi, he can’t help but be enchanted whenever Jules speaks so enthusiastically of his upcoming role. 

“You know, Yuuji,” Jules would say in the husky French accent he always had, whenever he spoke English. “Acting is just lying. You lie to the audience, to the director, to yourself. Until someone can look at you and not believe it’s you.”

One hundred and fifty years ago, Megumi swirled a glass of wine as he spoke to Yuuji about a book he’d uncovered a couple days ago. “You know, Itadori, jujutsu is just lying. You lie about your technique, your capabilities, your limits. Until you cage yourself so much you trick yourself into thinking it makes you stronger.”

Jules Deniau acts with the same sparkle in his eye that Fushiguro Megumi fought with. It’s the same, pulling Yuuji into their grasp and unletting as he struggles to not drown in their presence. When the curtains go down, when the final spray of blood coats the asphalt, the shimmer dims, but does not die. 

Yuuji spends five years with Jules, and he’s two hundred and one when Jules opens a velvet box in front of a firework-lit sky, exploding with wishes long forgotten as a single diamond twinkles on a silver band. 

Yuuji says yes, lost in the illusions of a black-haired man with eyes that are curtained with long, long, lashes. 

Jules Deniau dies in a vehicle crash two days after, and not a single tear escapes Yuuji’s eye at the funeral that makes millions weep over talent lost. 

Talent is nothing in the eyes of love, because all unnecessary layers are peeled away when Cupid’s arrow strikes the heart once bet. 

California, America. One hundred and fifty years after Fushiguro Megumi’s death. 

Charles Ward sees Yuuji alone in a cafe and decides their unspoken bond of brothership. From then on, he’s enthusiastically referred to everyone he meets as Yuuji’s “brother from another mother”, and Yuuji doesn’t correct him. 

Because his eyes also sparkle with ocean depths, and while Charles is outgoing, a stark contrast to how Megumi was, he’s vulnerable with Yuuji. He confesses how hard life is, and it’s during those times when he looks so similar to Megumi his heart aches. From that moment, Yuuji cannot leave this man, no matter how hard he tries. 

Charles likes to read, just like Megumi. He talks to Yuuji about everything he reads, regardless of plot, characters, or not. It’s always a cup of coffee, a plate of cookies, and him with a tightly bound parcel of paper and leather with him and Yuuji. 

They study together, call, travel. It’s just having a best friend who never leaves you, not even for anything. Yuuji gets to know his family, he gets asked if they’re dating, to which both of them vehemently deny it. Charles takes Yuuji’s story of being cursed with a pinch of salt and his usual smile. 

Charles never meets someone to fall in love with. He grows old under Yuuji’s care, dying peacefully in his sleep, still with a book in hand and a smile on his face. They’re surrounded by the dogs Charles liked to feed, one black, one white. Yuuji attends his funeral, perhaps the least-known out of all of them gathered there. He brings a bouquet of white lilies. 

It’s not Charles’ favourite flower. It’s Megumi’s. 

Belgrade, Serbia. Two hundred and one years after Fushiguro Megumi’s death. 

Luka Filipovic is charming, a genius, and Yuuji’s newfound doctor. 

He found Yuuji, declared him his new patient, and now, Yuuji’s been living in his office for…thirty years now, is it? 

His colleagues all whisper of his genius in the medical field, how he’s a psychopath for taking in a random man that likes to wander the streets, and how his eyes never seem tired, even after long nights unpaid. 

Yuuji knows better. Luka is a kind man, kinder than most he’s ever met before. He;s seen the harsh reality of life before, watched it escape under his very fingers as he does a difficult surgery that leaves him crying on Yuuji’s shoulder for hours. 

He’s dedicated to his craft. Blessed with talent, but still works hard. It’s exactly like Megumi. 

Yuuji’s never attended a more crowded private funeral for a man before. He’d like to say he knew Luka, but he never really did. It just was never the same. 

And it never will be. 

Mutare, Zimbabwe. Two hundred and thirty-five years after Fushiguro Megumi’s death. 

All the people Yuuji has met are all blurred in his mind. All he remembers is the eyes all of them shared, covered by long lashes and filled with depths of the sea, unpolluted and clear. 

Tinashe Chigwida takes him in amongst the four children he’s already raising, treating him as a son although Yuuji’s five times his age. His eyes too, sparkle with such. 

He comes and goes, just as every other has. He has faded, too. 

His children still cling to Yuuji fondly, but they too, are lost to the wind. 

And Yuuji leaves a country with new memories once again. 

Tokyo, Japan. One thousand and two hundred fifty-one years after Fushiguro Megumi’s death. 

Nothing remains of Tokyo. Humanity was the end to its own reign, and buildings slowly disappear under nature’s growing clutches, ivy trailing over once well-kept parts of the city. 

Yuuji visits the graveyard where only the honoured ones lay. A simple surface-level Dismantle is more than enough to slice apart the greenery threatening to obscure the names of those who once stood, and he shuffles in his pocket for small mementos he’d bought over the years, crumbling at the edges. 

A sunflower pin he’d laid in front of Higuruma’s grave a while back, its plastic-metal petals withering from decades of living in his pockets. 

The makeup Kugisaki liked to bug him about goes in front of her name, and Yuuji makes sure to tell her exactly how expensive it was. 

A metal locket signed by Takada for Todo. No words are needed. 

A simple onigiri he’d made for Inumaki goes in front of his. He didn’t know his senpai’s preferences, so he hopes a simple tuna will suffice. 

The frayed edge of Okkotsu’s katana goes on his, along with the silver band Jules had given him so long ago. Yuuji tells him he’s afraid he never knew true love, and a little flash of metal glints in the corner of his eye. He digs it up, revealing a corroded metal ring that shatters in his grasp. 

A beautiful swirl of pure white spirals into existence beside him, snarling with claws out as a single eye glances around for an enemy to fight. Its – her – growls of confusion end when Yuuji holds out a placating hand, pointing to Okkotsu’s grave wordlessly. 

Rika stays silent as Yuuji moves on to Maki’s grave, leaving a tiny drop of blood on both hers and her sister’s. 

The next go quickly. Panda’s long been buried under the dust called time. Hakari and Kirara were buried somewhere he never knew, so Yuuji prays to the Southern Cross somewhere in the skies above them with a toss of a poker chip that lands far away from them in the overgrown grass. 

“Rika,” Yuuji mutters, and the cursed spirit turns to him slowly. He holds out a hand, reverse cursed energy swirling around it, and she seems to understand, turning to face Okkotsu’s grave. Yuuji nods in understanding, and he walks over and allows his cursed energy to gently cascade over her in front of the man she once loved, forced to bear eternity without him with no end in sight. 

He wishes someone could kill him as well. 

Rika glances at him, clearly sensing the feelings swirling within him, and she pokes his chest with a still solid claw, as if asking if he wants to be stabbed through. 

Yuuji shakes his head. “I wish, Rika,” he murmurs, watching as the final person he stood with as the remainder of jujutsu disappears under his touch. “I wish. Goodbye. I know what Okkotsu-senpai meant by pure love, though. Goodnight.”

Rika gives one final, fading chitter as she’s washed away from the world by his touch, and Yuuji bows his head before moving to where Gojo Satoru, the honoured one lies. 

He falls to his knees, brushing his fingers over Gojo’s stone plaque, the words too blurry for him to read, weathered by time and thief alike. “Gojo-sensei,” Yuuji mumbles, something holding his throat down as he struggles to find words. “I…understand what you meant by the strongest now. I’m sorry…I couldn’t…I’m sorry.”

Gojo doesn’t respond, but Yuuji can still hear the tinkling, reassuring laugh, and fabric seems to move under his hand as he moves to the final one. 

Fushiguro Megumi. 

Yuuji’s known him under so many names, though. His adoptive son in China. His friend in Canada. His engaged in France. His “brother” in America. His doctor in Serbia. His father in Zimbabwe. And so, so, so many more, all falling to death’s claws, just as Megumi had all those centuries ago. 

His grave is just as weathered as the rest, tainted by nothing but dirt and vines that overgrow his legacy. Yuuji takes out the katana he’d recovered from the depths of the vaults back in Kyoto, and the blade sings as it slips between his shoulder and neck. 

Something warm trickles down his body. A stab of pain, physical. 

And accursed flesh knitting itself together against his will. 

[                                        ], [                                                       ] after Fushiguro Megumi’s death. 

There is nothing to reflect Yuuji’s face at him now. Nothing to show the twenty-year old visage of someone who’s outlived the idea of jujutsu, humanity, and life itself. He’s waited patiently for years, for the merciless claws of death to come to him. 

Turning himself into a cursed object is an idea of the past. Now, no one can take him in to protect themselves, because he is all that remains. 

Funny. Sukuna had always jeered at him for being weak, and here Yuuji is, the last one standing after millenia. 

He doesn’t remember much nowadays. Not faces, not features, not hair, not energy, not strength. 

He’s even forgotten the names that had kept him sane for millenia. 

Save for one. 

Fushiguro Megumi. 

[                                        ], [                                                       ] after Fushiguro Megumi’s death. 

“Hey, Megumi,” Yuuji calls out, his own voice answering him. “What books have you been reading lately?”

“Nothing much,” answers Megumi, yawning as he stretches his arms. “Not much you can do in a post-war humanity, you know? Idiot.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Yuuji mumbles, rolling over to see Megumi’s face. It’s blank, with a single leaf drifting down to cover it. He doesn’t mind. “What do you wanna have for dinner tonight? I’m thinking of roasted fish?”

“I’ll eat whatever you cook, Yuuji,” comes Megumi’s easy answer. 

To the outside world, Yuuji is talking to no one. But there is no one in the outside world. So is he talking to someone? Perhaps they’ll never know. 

Tokyo, Japan. March 19th, 2079. 

Megumi’s bleeding out. 

He knows this, because there’s a curse above him, clicking its mandibles as it shows him vision after vision. 

They misgraded it, is all he can think in a daze. This is no Grade One. This is a mental-curse inducing Special Grade. 

And he can’t do a single thing, because it’s chanced upon the single weakness of his he can’t hope to beat in a mental bout. 

“Wanna see more?” it asks, still grinning with slit skin, sharp teeth tearing away at his flesh. “This is what could have been, sorcerer! Rejoice and look!”

And Megumi cannot look away, because the memories are slammed into his head as if they’ve always been there. 

Megumi scuffs at the sand, picking little patterns in the tiny grains that faintly resemble swirls in his childhood mind. He’s silent, the screams of children piercing and whistling through the air in his own little headspace that no one else seems to be able to come in to. 

Tsumiki’s playing with her friends, maybe gushing about the latest release of a book they’re reading, or talking about a show. She has friends. Tsumuki is her own self, and Megumi is him. 

The yells of the other children slowly fade away to background noise as Megumi focuses all of  his attention on the swirling sand dunes, imagining when he can get back to the house and crack open a book. He can already catch the scent of vanilla-like pages under his fingertips, spiralling him into a world of truths – and lies, of course. 

Megumi sighs. A light, little sigh that escapes his nose, brushing the dainty patterns he’s managed to create away. They’re erased. Five minutes of his life wasted away. 

…Not that he cares. As far as six-year old him is concerned, playing in the playground is but a waste of time. Megumi could be at home, reading the book that has a slip of paper stuck between page one hundred fifty-four and one hundred fifty-five. He could be at home, the rusty air conditioner could be blowing cool air about him. 

Megumi could be there, instead of out here, with the summer sun beating down on him. Why did he come here? Why couldn’t Tsumuki have left him at home? He’s plenty old enough to take care of himself. Not like the old man could do anything about it. 

“Hey!”

Megumi looks up. 

A bright face looks at him, soft pink curls falling over warm brown eyes. Cheeks pudgy and soft, not unlike Megumi’s. A big grin arcing over his face, revealing two tiny little dimples in the corners as the boy crouches down to join Megumi in the sandpit. 

“Why’re you all alone here?” the boy asks curiously, plopping down on the sand with a thump. Megumi tries to scoot away from him, but the sand crumbles down around him, and he finds himself stuck next to the kid. 

“Who’re you?” Megumi grumbles, glancing from the bush in the corner back to the boy. He doesn’t disappear. Must not be a dream. Someone is actually here, next to him, talking. 

“Oh! I forgot to introduce myself! Sorry!” The boy apologizes, ducking his head in embarrassment. It’s not a second before he looks up again, eyes sparkling. “I’m Itadori Yuuji! It’s nice to meet you! I just thought you looked really lonely, sitting here all by yourself, and I wanted to talk to you!”

Yuuji, huh. It’s a nice name, if Megumi has to admit. Pretty, but not a girl’s name. Is it standard procedure to introduce himself now? He’s still unsure on proper introductions between friends – people, he amends himself  – Megumi’s not here to make friends – and how he should be speaking with them. 

“Fushiguro Megumi,” he responds in kind, watching as Yuuji’s eyes light up at the answer. “Nice to meet you, I guess. Is there something you need from me?”

Yuuji shakes his head, still smiling that brilliant smile that he’s had firmly on his face for the entire time he’s been talking to Megumi. “Not really, Megumi!” he chirps happily. “You just looked a little lonely, and I wanted to be your friend!”

Megumi wants to get away from the sunlight that seems to weave through Yuuji’s toothy smile. It’s not like Tsumiki’s gentle ones, nor is it like the old man’s satisfied ones. No, this smile is simply happy and bright. For Megumi. 

“...I see,” Megumi mumbles, not giving Yuuji any more conversation bits he can latch on to. It’s not that Megumi doesn’t want to talk to him, though. He just doesn’t know how to start one that another person will be interested in, per se. 

But it seems it doesn’t matter, because it only takes five seconds of silence before Yuuji begins to talk and talk. About very random things, Megumi has to add. He starts with a show he’s been watching on the weekly. But then, halfway through his explanation of the villain, he points out a little butterfly that’s been steadily making its rounds to the flowers lining the playground. 

“Look at that, Megumi!” Yuuji’s eyes sparkle as he directs Megumi’s attention to a flutter of blue wings, catching the sunlight as a proboscis stabs into the juicy middle of the flower. “A butterfly! So cool! Look at him slurping up the nectar!”

“He’s not really slurping it up,” Megumi interjects before he can help himself. “It’s like a really long tongue that he can use to suck it up, kind of like a straw. Most people think it’s a tongue, but it’s more of like an elongated straw.”

After Megumi finishes his explanation, Yuuji is silent. Megumi turns away from him, mentally berating himself. He thought Yuuji might have enjoyed the little tidbits he had to offer. Nope. He was just like everyone else, waving off Megumi’s thoughts to continue talking about his own. 

Why did Megumi even put his hopes up, anyways? It wasn’t like Itadori was going to love every little information he was going to offer. Megumi should have just let him continue on about his interpretation of butterflies and villains. 

“Whoa, really?” Yuuji asks, leaning into Megumi’s personal space. “I didn’t know that! You’re really smart, huh, Megumi? Where’d you learn that? I haven’t learnt it at my school yet!”

“Idiot,” Megumi pokes at Yuuji’s face. The skin and flesh folds under his finger like dough as he pushes him away from Megumi’s face. “I read it in a book once. Do you read?”

“Mhmm!” Yuuji nods, looking unperturbed by the finger Megumi’s currently shoving in his face. “But I read a lot of picture books, not like the big ones the older kids read! Is that the kind of stuff you read, Megumi? Is that why you’re so smart?”

For the first time in Megumi’s life, something warm rushes to his cheeks, a tingly feeling settling in his chest as his heart beats just a little faster. He dismisses whatever thought floats into his mind at the time. 

It slips through his grasp whenever he tries to recall it, in his later days. Even when people ask him how he feels, he cannot tell them, because the feeling is unrecognizable. It can never return, not in the moment. He’s felt hot before. This is not feeling hot. This is feeling bubbles of admiration and indescribable emotion pop in your chest. 

“Idiot,” Megumi scoffs. The boy’s expression turns despondent at his joking jab, and a freezing wave washes over Megumi at the sight. “I mean, teachers say I’m pretty advanced for my age, so I guess that’s why,” he amends, unsure why he brings it up. The words practically jumped out of his mouth to be said, twisting over his lips to reach Yuuji. 

“So you are smart!” Yuuji deduces, victorious after piecing together the information Megumi’s provided him with thus far. “I knew it! Hey, Megumi, let’s be friends, okay? You can teach me all the stuff I don’t know about the world!”

The air feels hard to breathe as soon as the last word leaves Yuuji’s mouth. It feels dense, like the air people describe to be found on the top of a snow-blanketed mountain. Megumi’s sure his heartbeat must be heard to the center of the Earth, disturbing any creatures buried in the endless layers of sediment to its heart. Yuuji never stops smiling, even as he kicks at the ground, awaiting Megumi’s answer. 

Friends. It’s not a foreign concept to Megumi; he’s read hundreds of books about friends and family and compatriots and all that. Tsumiki’s not a friend – she’s family, surely. And the old man is just….the old man, stupid and lethargic. Megumi knows people at school. Are they his friends? No, because they do not show a “friendly” demeanor to him. But this boy. This boy named Itadori Yuuji has waltzed into his life and announced his intention to become Megumi’s friend. He wants Megumi to teach him about the world. He wants Megumi to tell him about all the words Megumi wants to say, but stay stuck in his throat whenever his fellow conversationalist’s face glazes over with politely masked boredom. 

“Sure,” Megumi manages to get out, wondering how Yuuji does not comment on the burning red his face must be right now. “I’ll be your friend. And I’ll teach your idiot brain how the world works, okay?”

“Yay!” Yuuji grins like he’s won the jackpot at a casino, even brighter than when the old man comes home with take-out chicken he’s won with gambling money. Megumi’s heart does not flip at the sight. No, that’s too simple of a descriptor. It would be more accurate to say that it dances in his chest cavity, twirling and dancing alongside Yuuji’s smile. “Then, let’s be best friends, Meguri!”

“Megumi,” he corrects Yuuji. “It’s Megumi.”

“No, you’re Meguri!” Yuuji counters. “Because “Megumi” means blessing and good fortune, but you’re not good fortune. You’re my blessing! So you’re Meguri now, ‘kay?”

“Sure,” Megumi concedes, only because the name isn’t bothersome, and he has a feeling Yuuji is the type of person to never give up on something once he has his heart set on it. “I’ll be Meguri. And you’re “Twin Tigers”, then? Should I start calling you that, Yuuji?”

“No!” Yuuji protests, a total flip to his prior demeanor. He shakes his head vehemently, his hair bouncing about with him. “I like it when you say my name, Meguri! When you say “Yuuji”, it’s so different from how Jii-chan says it, but in a good way! So please keep on saying it, please!”

If there’s ever been a highest recorded temperature for how hot the human body can feel, then Megumi has surely beaten it by how feverish he feels. He blames it on the sun. It’s June…24th, after all. This is Japan, too. Is it an all-time new high for the country?

Megumi opens his mouth to answer, the humid air coating his lips as he licks the skin covering them, unsure what to say for once. It seems Yuuji was about to say something, but he has seen Megumi about to say something, so he tilts his head curiously as he waits. 

Every little bit of information he’s ever read leaves him at that point. It’s almost like they just come out of his brain in droves, leaving his head empty of anything to say in the face of this guy. 

“Megumi!” Tsumiki’s voice calls for him, and both of their heads turn to where she’s jogging towards them, dress whipping around her legs in the air as she waves to Megumi. “I’m all done here! If you want to leave, we can…”

Her eyes stray upon a curious-looking Yuuji, sitting by Megumi, and her gaze grows fond and happy at the sight as she stops right in front of them, book in hand. Tsumiki’s feet throw up dust in the humid wave that follows her change in position, turning around with a joyful smile. “Never mind, actually!” she calls back, waving her hand as Megumi stands up indignantly. “I still have stuff to talk about with my friends, so you guys just have fun, okay? I’ll be around here if you need anything!”

Megumi stands up in a rush, hands balling into fists as a wave of scorching emotion crashes over him. “Tsumiki!” he hisses, running forward and grabbing her fingers. She steps back, patting his head fondly as she flicks her eyes over to where Yuuji is sitting on the playground, watching them, inquisitive. “I’m fine to go home. Let’s go, actually.”

Gently, Tsumiki pries his fingers off of hers, gesturing to Yuuji as she turns Megumi’s head around to face him. “Oh, no you don’t, mister,” she tsks, patting him on the back and pushing him forward. “Not when you’ve finally made a friend. I’ll take you home, but now before you meet that boy’s parents and make sure you guys can see each other again.”

“Tsumuki!” Megumi groans, walking towards her as she folds her hands behind her back. “I’m sure I can find him again! I don’t even know if his parents are here! It’d be so awkward for him, you know? You know how I am with people!”

He wants to find out more about Yuuji. But it’s…not the right thing to do, not when Megumi’s sure he wants nothing more to do with him. Does…Will Yuuji even remember him, a week from now? Surely not. Megumi’s done nothing to burn himself into his memory, for all his talk about being friends. 

It seems his inner debate lasts for longer than he thinks, because it’s not a minute before a pair of arms snap around his body, clinging and wrapping around him like a little koala bear. Megumi looks down to see Yuuji’s forlorn figure clenched around him, eyes wavering as he drags down Megumi’s shirt. 

“Meguri,” Yuuji whines, looking at him with eyes that appear to hold the entirety of the Pacific within them, deep and watery. “Are you leaving? At least tell me when you’ll be back next, so I can tell Jii-chan to bring me, ‘kay? We’re best friends now! I want to talk to you more! Weren’t you going to show me the world?”

Something stirs inside of Megumi. It makes him want to rip and tear little pieces of fabric, it makes him want to take an elastic band and stretch it tight until it bursts apart in a shower of rubber and fur. It makes his foot begin to vibrate and tap relentlessly in his too-small shoes, and it makes his fingers twitch and clench around each other, carving crescent indents in his skin. 

In that moment, my eyes couldn’t see anything but his face. It was like Tsumuki was but a blur on the Earth, which she wasn’t, and only Itadori Yuuji and Fushiguro Megumi were the two on this plane of existence. It’s like when you put on glasses for the first time after receiving a prescription. You can see, but it’s all blurry and unclear, with no details to accompany the shapes and colours. Then, when the nosebridge touches skin, and the frame settles around your face, you feel dizzy, perplexed with the sudden surge of information going to your brain, and everything sharpens instantaneously with colours painting every little surface. The individual granules of wood on a pencil. The edges and reflections on the peaks of graphite. The tiny grains of rubber left on an eraser. These little things are what make them pop in the everyday mundane feeling of life. Itadori Yuuji was the lens in my frames, settling over my eyes to show me what the world had to offer behind its painted backdrop of information. 

“Okay, dum-dum,” Megumi mutters, awkwardly patting Yuuji’s head as Tsumiki watches on, hands clasped to her heart as she sighs. “Where’re your parents? I guess Tsumiki can talk to them to figure out when we can meet up again.”

“Really?” Yuuji asks, sucking up air as he looks up from Megumi’s shirt, where bunches of the fabric are still nestled in between his fingers. “I’ll call Jii-chan over! Wait for me, okay, Meguri?”

He dashes off, hopping on one little leg and waving to the pair before disappearing behind a tree, becoming too blurry for Megumi to keep track of him. He thinks Yuuji’s talking to someone on a bench, or perhaps it’s just the heat getting to him. It would explain the steadily creeping flush that’s coming over his face. 

“Meguri?” Tsumiki squeals quietly, sounding as if she’s about to faint. Megumi turns to her, unamused, as she smiles and pats his head at the undoubted cat-like look on his face. “Sorry, sorry,” she laughs, combing through his hair with slender fingers. “It’s just you guys look crazy cute with each other, you know? How can I not want you two to be friends?”

“You’re only seven years old, Tsumiki,” Megumi huffs, leaning into her touch nonetheless. “Just eight months older than me. And Yuuji’s just a person. He’s not family, you know. He can’t replace what you are.”

Tsumiki’s chest rises and falls with Megumi’s as he listens nervously. Can Tsumiki hear how loud his heart is going right now, as Yuuji speaks to his parent? “That’s sweet of you, Megumi,” Tsumiki hums. “But soon enough, you and I will have to grow apart, you know? Sometimes, there’s things that you can only tell to a friend, not a family member. And I think this kid – Yuuji-kun, was it? Can help you through anything you need.”

Megumi doesn’t know what to say. Quite literally. Is Tsumiki implying that this random kid Megumi’s found on the playground is now his therapist? Then, what is family even for? The idea of family is to have an interconnected bond between people as a whole, so they can come together and care for you. It’s why he doesn’t consider the old man family, and it’s why when the teacher asks about their family, Megumi can only talk about Tsumiki. He doesn’t need anyone else in his life, and he never will. 

If Tsumiki ever dies, Megumi will kill himself. Because there’s nothing worth living for without her. 

Morbid thoughts for a mere six-year old, maybe. But Megumi knows how hard life can be. When Toji comes through the door smelling of sour, expired alcohol and flowery perfume, Megumi knows what it means. For all of Tsumiki’s sugarcoated mind and eyes, Megumi knows what his biological father does every night. He knows Tsumiki is his step-sister, not his sister. 

But Tantalus’ fruit dangles in front of him, and Megumi would be a fool not to pluck the fruit from his forever sweet-scented branch. 

“Meguri!” 

Yuuji’s voice jolts him out of his thoughts, and he turns to see Yuuji eagerly waving, other hand clamped around an old man’s wrist as he drags him over to meet Tsumiki and Megumi. Tsumiki hurriedly bows respectfully, motioning for Megumi to do the same. 

“This is Jii-chan!” Yuuji announces once he arrives, gesturing between the two and the one. “Jii-chan, meet Megumi! And…umm…”

He trails off, just realizing that he does not know who Tsumiki is. Yuuji turns to Megumi, his eyes shone over with confusion and guiltiness as his eyes flick to Tsumiki. “Meguri,” he says sheepishly. “Who’s that? Is it your sister?”

Tsumiki laughs softly at the guiltiness in his tone, ruffling Yuuji’s hair as Yuuji’s grandfather turns to her. “Fushiguro Tsumiki, Megumi’s sister,” she introduces herself kindly. “It’s nice to meet you, Yuuji-kun. You’re staying friends with Megumi, right?”

“Of course!” Yuuji says confidently, his hand shooting out and lacing his fingers with Megumi’s before he can move away. A flash of hot lightning shoots through him when skin meets, and Megumi’s chest grows heavy and tense before they flit away, nothing more than a little breeze on his body. “We’re gonna be friends forever and ever! Me and Megumi! He’s gonna teach me the world, ‘cause he’s super smart!”

“I see,” drawls the old man Yuuji’s brought over, holding out a weathered hand for Tsumiki to shake. She does so, standing on her tip-toes to ensure their hands do not fall from the tentative shake they have. “Well then, brat, since you’re best friends, we should make sure you two can meet again, right?”

“Mhmm!” Yuuji nods, bright and jubilant. It’s like God took the sun from the sky and weaved it through his lips, sewing the light through little gaps in his teeth. “See, Megumi’s great, Jii-chan! Tsumiki-neechan’s great too! So we should all be friends, right?”

Megumi sneaks a glance at Tsumiki, and she looks completely and utterly taken with this little puppy named Itadori Yuuji and his “Tsumiki-neechan” that breath comes easy once more to his respiratory system. Now, she realizes who Itadori Yuuji is. 

A pair of glasses, slid over one’s eyes to see the world just another tick sharper. 

Megumi holds Tsumiki’s hand as they walk down the street, heated stone warm under his thinning soles. The sun beats down relentlessly on them, the air humid with more than just simple calefaction. The shimmers in the normally unclouded air seem to ripple even more, creating the mirage of wavers in solid objects where there is none. 

Megumi lets Tsumiki talk about her interests as they walk, just as usual. Although this time, instead of the latest trends her friends like to talk about, she speaks of Yuuji and his grandfather, Itadori Wasuke. Not that Megumi has a problem with it. He feels as though he can’t get enough of Yuuji, even when they’ve parted and made plans to meet at the park every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday after school. 

Weekends are off-limits, and Yuuji accepts that without a single complication, everything falls in stride as they chat. Well, mostly Yuuji. Megumi’s content to just listen to his voice speak of animals and movies, cartoons and the convenience food that happens to look like a rainbow that he saw the other day, and “Wouldn’t Meguri like to try it?”

Megumi feels tethered to this world, for the first time in years. Instead of a tightly bound bundle of paper and leather roping him down, it’s a person, a human, a real-life one to keep him held tight against the tides of emotion that follow. 

They stop abruptly, and Tsumiki’s hand grows just a little tighter around Megumi’s as he looks up, the back of his neck immediately tingling as his eyes meet shaded azure, slowly stepping in front of Tsumiki against this unknown figure. 

“Huh,” the man drones, flicking the silvery-white strands that droop down in the sun. He wiggles his fingers in a very…suggestive manner at the pair, a bored frown adorning flawless skin. “Are these the kids Fushiguro told us about, Suguru? Sure doesn’t seem like it, they’re way too scrawny for my immaculate drawing.”

He waves a piece of paper in the air, crumpled and folded. Fractals shine through the folds in the paper, illuminating a hastily scribbled picture of two small children, stick-figure bodies and circle heads decorated with what might hesitantly be called a spider-nest. 

Megumi stands in front of Tsumiki’s body, trying to hide her from this man’s view as his eyes sharpen. “Who’re you?” he asks slowly, trying to make sense of what this man wants. Megumi cannot take down this lanky man all by himself, and Toji’s not here, so their only option is to run if things go south. 

“Satoru,” someone purrs, low and masculine, and Megumi tenses even further as someone appears from behind him, perfectly concealed. Hazel eyes swirling with hints of amaranthine look down on them, slit and fix-like as a single thick lock of ebony hair flops down from his forehead. “Don’t scare them. You didn’t learn how to care for children from Nanako and Mimiko? Approach them slowly, and we still need to explain what we’re doing here, if you've already forgotten.”

They tower over Megumi and Tsumiki, the perfect match of alarming and chill as they regard the pair, and Megumi, them. He’s not sure if this is a fight-or-flight moment, so it’s probably best to stay put. They mentioned “Fushiguro”, right? Which must mean they know Toji, because Megumi is very sure Tsumiki would never get herself tangled up with buffoons such as these. That’s a point to run, but is it not futile? Megumi’s not confident in the slightest that he can outrun these two people who look like they belong on the court, basketball shoes squeaking as they slam into the hoop. 

“Who are you?” he demands, holding Tsumiki behind him as he steps forward to them. Both of their gazes slide over to him, idle and disinterested. “Do you know Toji? If so, what do you need?”

“Oh!” The one with rounded sunglasses leans in, sharp, toothy grin arcing into existence on his face as he listens to Megumi. “Hey, Suguru! This one knows Fushiguro! Reckon they know his kids, too? Hey! Yoohoo~! Do you know a Fushiguro Megumi and Tsumiki?”

Anddd Megumi’s back to suspicious. How do they know his and Tsumiki’s names? Are they here to take them, because of a grudge with Toji? He wouldn’t put it past him to get into a disagreement with two aggressive teenagers about something or the other. 

“I’m Fushiguro Tsumiki!” Tsumiki pipes up behind him. Megumi wants to simultaneously slam his head into the pavement and scream out loud to the world. “And he’s Megumi. What do you want with us? Do you know Toji-san?”

“Ohohoho!” Silver-hair-sunglasses-weird-smile leans in, reaching to pat her head. Megumi slaps the offending hand away, glaring at him. The guy hisses at him, not unlike a cat, and cradles his hand as if Megumi had actually harmed him. “Suguruuu!” he whines. “These kids bite! Help me! Nanako and Mimiko weren’t like thisss!”

Scratch the cat. Megumi doubts Mako-chan is this dramatic. 

“Satoru,” ‘Suguru’ sighs, shaking his head as he hooks a lean finger around the navy sweater ‘Satoru’ wears and dragging him back. “When will you learn to not look down on kids? Just treat them with respect. We need to explain, not to confuse them further.”

Megumi already likes Suguru more. 

“Alright, alright!” Satoru groans, throwing his hands up in the air dramatically. “I get it!”

He turns to Tsumiki and Megumi, snapping his fingers. “Hey, kids! So, your father kinda got killed by something that happened on our school grounds, and it was also kinda our fault, so don’t tell anyone, but legally, now we’re required to take you in before your asshole family can! So yeah, I’m Gojo Satoru, the absolute best and strongest, and this is Geto Suguru! My boyfriend! We’re gonna get married soon, trust, and also, we already have two kids at home – Nanako and Mimiko – so you guys won’t be lonely! Okay! I think that’s it! So, Megumi, Tsumiki, got any questions? No? Great! Excellent! Fabulous! Stunning! Superb! Ya–!”

He’s cut off from his frankly terrible explanation by Geto karate-chopping him on the neck, leaving Gojo to rub at his neck in pain as Geto crouches down to meet Megumi’s eyes, calm and unperturbed. 

“Megumi-kun,” Geto hums, soothing and serene. “Forget all that Satoru just said.” He ignores the indignant sounds coming from his boyfriend squashed under his arm. “All you need to know it that we’re your new guardians, Fushiguro Toji is no more, and you’ll be moving out of whatever dump you call home right now. We can leave anytime, so go pack your things and meet us outside.”

Megumi’s mind is whirling – no, it would be more adequate to say that it is pirouetteing little circles around his thoughts, slowing them and making them move to its pace in the grand scheme of things. First, Yuuji. And now, he’s discovering that the old man is – dead? – and two weirdos, one moreso than the other, are adopting them. With two other children. 

“H-How are we supposed to trust you?” Tsumiki asks, voice shaky but unyielding as her fingers knot together. “Toji-san wouldn’t…leave us, would he? And where are we going? Why are we going with you, Gojo-san, Geto-san?”

Geto watches her with a sympathetic, almost understanding smile on his face. He’s silent for a moment before he speaks, low and empathetic. “I could explain it to you, Tsumiki-san, but I won’t. Not because I don’t want you knowing, but because your mind would be too overwhelmed by the information. I only want the best for you, and that entails ensuring you children are of a fit mind before I tell you what happened.”

There is a path in front of Megumi, illuminated with Geto’s words, and shown by the two’s figures on the parallels. It’s reassuring, but also nerve-wracking. He hates the old man. Sometimes, he himself thinks how easy it would be to stab him in the heart with one of the blunt kitchen knives in the cabinet, or how easy it would be to jump off of a building and never see this shitty life again. 

Yeah. Megumi knows what “shitty” means as well. He also knows a six-year old shouldn’t go about saying these things, but Toji doesn’t care, so neither does Megumi. But he would never do so. Not when Tsumiki is here, his sister who sacrificed her entire childhood to be with Megumi, who took care of every household duty like she was the wife around here. 

Tsumiki is seven years old. 

“Come on, Tsumiki,” Megumi pulls her hand as they head to the rusty gate, held by two wheezing hinges that welcome them to the house. She follows, sneaking a glance to the two men who wait outside with knowing smiles. “I can’t deny they’re shady as hell, but they’re getting us away from Toji, so let’s get Mako-chan and go.”

“Language, Megumi,”  says Tsumiki automatically. Megumi drags her up the crumbling stone steps, pushes open the fire exit door, and tramps up the groaning metal steps with worn ridges from years of use. “And you just said it yourself – they’re shady, right? If you want to go with them, I won’t stop you, but…you always say you won’t trust people like them, right? I’m not against it, but–”

The wooden door smells sweet at first, but quickly grows redolent of withered flowers the more one stands by it. The once coral paint peels off in little scraps of dried plastic, falling to the floor in flurries that suggest a clear spring day. The handle has a mysterious sorrel mold growing in the wedges, sneaking its drab trails across the surface. 

Megumi opens the door, not answering Tsumiki’s question as he prods her body through the frame, onto the squeaky, rustic floorboards that make up their section of the apartment. “Go get your stuff,”  he mutters, already heading over to where he sleeps every night. “I’ll get mine. If things ever go wrong, we’ll run away together, but I want to get out of here, Tsumiki.” I want you to get out of here, and be able to live the life a seven-year old girl should be living.

Behind his retreating figure, he hears slowly fading gaits that tell him of Tsumiki’s agreement. He blinks back something in his eye. Must be the dust.

Megumi lifts the cool bleached sheet that separates his foam mattress from the rest of the household, greeted by a thin gray cat that lifts its onyx eyes to glance at him, purring. Its golden collar sparkles as the light hits its figure, decorated with tiny studs that resemble the dharma wheels of ancient Hindu gods. 

“Mako-chan,” he greets it, scratching it behind its ears. Mako’s fur is falling out, malnourished and thin, but it’s retained its fluffiness in certain parts. Mako arcs his back under Megumi’s touch, leaning into it not unlike he did to Tsumiki just minutes ago. “We’re leaving this dump. You ready?”

Mako meows, shaking its fur after Megumi moves to pack his meager belongings in his hands. A little china bowl, scratched and worn from years of use, with cheap cat food still lodged in the ridges. A stack of durable slips of paper he uses to mark the pages of books he gets from the library. A book, dog-eared and worn, but clearly well-taken care of by the look of it. A single pencil and eraser, almost done. All of them go straight into his pockets save for the book, which he carries in his arms. “Come on, Mako-chan. Jump.”

Mako obeys readily, bunching its muscles under thin fur and leaping off the fraying edges of sheets to land on the cover of the book. His claws are sheathed, pawing at the leather as he curls into a little ball that’s easy to carry. His tail flicks through the air, ash lined with darkened layers of soot that tickle Megumi’s nose. He sneezes, spraying a little mucus on Mako’s fur. 

Mako lets out an exhausted hiss, but makes no move to clean his fur as Megumi treks over to the kitchen. Tsumiki’s there, pockets bulging as she moves through the cabinets worriedly, pulling out knives and forks alike that she seems reluctant to part with. A little notebook is tucked under her arm. 

“Tsumiki, let’s go,” says Megumi, stopping in front of the marbled counter. “I’m sure those two have those kinds of things at their place. If they’re going to take care of us, might as well make it worth it, you know? What kind of guardians would they be if they didn’t have them?”

Tsumiki sighs, turning to Megumi with distracted eyes. “I know,” she puffs, walking around the kitchen island to join Megumi, stopping to scratch Mako’s chin before turning to the door, casting one final look at the place they’ve called house for the past year or so. “But I can’t help but worry. What if we’ve forgotten something?”

“Then you’ve forgotten it,” comes a voice Megumi’s come to resent carelessly. “It’s no problem. I can buy whatever you guys need.”

Megumi tries to calm his racing heart. His breathing comes shallow for a few seconds as his soul slowly returns to his body from the shock that’d just went through his body at the unexpected sound, and he slowly turns to the now open door to see Gojo, standing there with his arms crossed as he leans against the frame. 

“Gojo…-san,” Megumi adds the honorific grudgingly. “What’re you doing here? Me and Tsumiki are fine to get all our stuff. You didn’t need to come here.” 

He’d prefer it if this guy didn’t come here, actually. It feels almost sacrilegious to have this man called chaos incarnate inside the peaceful balance of Eden that encompasses their musty apartment. 

“Just checking if you guys are fine to go,” Gojo inspects the non-existent specks of dust on his immaculate fingernails. “Suguru’s waiting outside, and I want to take him out on an ice-cream date before we leave, so chop-chop! I don’t have time to deal with miscreants like you!”

A light flush spreads across Tsumiki’s cheeks at the idea of being a nuisance, and she trips over her own feet to get to where Gojo is waiting, gesturing for Megumi to follow. “Sorry, Gojo-san!” she hastily apologizes, bowing. “I didn’t mean to – I’m really sorry, Megumi, c’mon, let’s go–”

“Don’t apologize to a guy like that, Tsumiki,” Megumi huffs, though he follows her without further complaint. Mako meows in his hands as he steps into the outside, undoubtedly suffering from the relentless sun as the door closes with an awful, yet satisfying slam of finality behind them. “Where do you live? Is there enough space for me and Tsumiki to live with you guys and the two other children you mentioned before?”

Gojo bounds down the stairs easily, almost as if his feet never touch the metal steps below him as he turns around, pushing his sunglasses up with one finger as Megumi and Tsumiki follow, peering over the cargo they hold in their hands carefully. Every time Megumi’s foot nearly misses a step, his heart drops, only for his breathing to even out as they reach the next platform. 

“I live in Tokyo,” Gojo answers after they reach the second floor. “It’s a really big house, so there’s no need to worry, and Suguru will take care of you guys really well, so don’t worry! You’ll also receive an allowance, a phone when Suguru decides you’re old enough, and the cat will be no problem at all. Three meals a day, snacks when Suguru decides you can have them, and a bunch of entertainment! I’ll also be sending you to the best schools in the area, so don’t worry about education. Oh, and call me Satoru-niichan!”

Megumi stops. 

That’s not right. 

“What’s up, squirt?” Gojo asks, leaning over, hiding the hint of concern he has behind tinted glasses. “Why’d you stop?”

When did Gojo become Satoru? 

He’s not. 

It isn’t right. 

Nothing….is right. 

“So, you’ve broken out?”

And Megumi’s left to die, bleeding out, as the curse escapes him to the undergrowth, with memories of a future once true to his mind. 

“So start by saving me, Itadori.”

In a way, Yuuji’s already fulfilled that. His only regret in life – 

Yuuji will grow old without him. But if only Megumi could find him in every life, he would, he would, he would. When he is reborn, or cast to hell, his only wish is to be with Yuuji. Even if it drags him down with him, even if it’s a selfish desire–

“Hey, Fushiguro?” 

Megumi is hearing things. But why is there a whisper of warm air on his cheek–?

“If only you’d asked, I would have gone to hell for you.”

But he doesn’t want to drag Yuuji with him. No. No, he’s willing to – because–

Oh. 

Oh. 

He’s in love with Itadori Yuuji. 

And Yuuji will never know. 

Because love is just another feeling to be brushed away by time. Though Megumi's kept to the shadows for all his life, he's never felt more seen than when Yuuji pulls him into the light. 

The grave called time claims yet another victim, slamming its gates shut to the one who chases, forever, but never.