Archive of Our Own

Megumi knows better than to place all his weight on one leg. Knows better than to let himself twist his ankle. Definitely knows when to retreat for a moment to gather himself and reassess the situation. Why he doesn’t heed his own knowledge is unclear. 

Maybe Yuuji’s voice calling to him from far behind takes his mind off focus, or he hit his skull a little too hard during his close-range fight earlier. No matter the cause, Megumi can’t pour much thought into what went wrong. The sinewy tail of the lizard-esque curse beats into his stomach and smashes him into the wall before he gets the chance. 

He could have slipped on the minefield of concrete shards, or his knee might’ve given out. He could have simply made the wrong move. It happened too quickly to figure out, even for someone as intelligent as him. 

They’ve been trying to dispatch this thing for a while, Yuuji and he. They found several more lower-grade curses when they arrived, but the main issue was, and still is, the 9-foot-tall beast with scales and a gullet. 

He has the sense to put his arms out and make an earnest attempt to soften the blow. It’s futile, though, and Megumi is tossed to the side like a fly swatted out of the air. 

It doesn’t hurt at first. Rather, the ringing in his ears is what he notices immediately. A few twitches of his feet let him know that he has definitely bruised an ankle, and the dust settling on his lashes is making his eyes burn. 

He soon hears another loud crash, followed by the airy clinking of bricks hitting the floor. The sizzle of settling debris makes his ears perk up, and the taste of hot metal overwhelms his tongue. 

Faintly, he hears his name called. Over and over until his headache recedes enough to register Yuuji above him, and the searing, jagged pain splintering up his left arm. 

Megumi remembers being lifted up, a pair of arms wrapping his waist and hoisting him upright. His ankle throbs like a rubber mallet is pounding on it, so he compensates too hard on his other leg, causing a jittery stumble. When he thinks his head is about to meet a solid pillow on the ground, he’s lifted up again, this time falling forward towards a warm body. 

Hands slide under his legs to pick him up, and he drinks the iron that’s been forming a pool around the back of his throat. 

There’s warmth on his face, unrelated to the shoulder his nose is buried into. Megumi assumes it’s more blood, and probably some snot mixed in. It’s sticky and thick and sinks down his neck, staining his uniform collar. Probably a hefty dry cleaning bill for Gojo. 

The temperature around him changes, and so does his pain level. There’s wind on him now, something the stagnant courtyard of the elementary school shielded him from earlier. The breeze cuts into his sleeves and sends a chill through his overheating body. His arm screams beside him. 

Then he realizes there’s been a lot of noise surrounding him. Not just the ringing, but what sounds like radio tones. Melodic intervals of high-pitched and low-pitched voices, waxing and waning as Megumi is carried like a sack of corn. It’s relaxing, in a way. To be carried and held and moved. Megumi only wishes his arm would hurt less. 

The next thing he knows, his eyes are stuck shut with what he assumes is more blood. He goes to reach a hand up and halts when his left side feels like it’s melting off. What feels like a wet rag is then at his face, gently wiping his cheeks and removing the crust from his lashes. He flutters them open, and the ringing in his ears subsides enough to hear Yuuji pleading for him to open his eyes. 

Megumi grunts as best he can. Yuuji’s big, nervous eyes mirror his own. He looks in poor shape, too, but far less so. A cut or two across his cheek and dirt smeared across his neck. His lip is busted and bleeding, swollen to hell.  He’d venture to say his knuckles are the worst part of him, if he could look down to confirm it. He stays in place and lets Yuuji wipe more blood off his face. 

“Fushiguro? Hey, can you hear me now? Fushiguro?”

Megumi senses softness behind his head and looks around to gauge his surroundings. He’s in a car—Ijichi’s car—propped sideways across the backseat. Yuuji is directly across from him, meaning Megumi is lying his head against the window, with what he presumes is a blanket behind him. 

His left hand is also covered in a blanket, and his fingertips are visibly red, from what he can see of them. 

He mumbles again, looking his head to the side. It’s immediately a bad idea, and Megumi thinks he might puke from the pain.

“Hey, we’re on the way to the hospital right now,” he hears Yuuji tell him. There are weights on his eyelids, begging him to let them close. There are more muffled words pelted at him, but Megumi can’t hear any of them. He lets the world go dark for a few more minutes before he’s tapped awake by Yuuji again. 

“Come here. Um, please.”

Megumi is wrapped in another pair of arms; he knows them to be Yuuji’s now, and is shifted awake. It’s a little less pain than before, but all his nerve endings are shot. He does nothing but allow himself to be moved, despite the rest of his pride telling him to get up and figure it out himself. 

“Can you stand?” Yuuji asks, quietly. Megumi is thankful for it. 

He nods, then steps a foot to the ground. His good foot. Yuuji braces around him and stands him up outside the car. 

Megumi gets a good look at Yuuji now, who looks miraculously put together for someone who dove face-first into a door as soon as they arrived at the mission site. 

“You’re doing great!”

Megumi tries to chuckle, but it comes out as a wheeze. He blinks his eyes to see Yuuji’s remorseful smile looking back at him. Ijichi’s voice says something to Yuuji, who grips Megumi’s clothes tighter as he does. Yuuji sounds like he’s fighting back, putting up an argument for something Megumi doesn’t have the bandwidth to register. 

Then he’s inside a building that’s too bright and too dry, being wheeled somewhere he can’t see. Megumi tries to count the ceiling tiles, but they melt into stripes of light as he falls asleep again, hoping fleetingly that something is done about his arm.

Yuuji is the first person he sees when he wakes up. He’s perched in the corner, legs jostling anxiously as he chews his nails and looks to the side. His hair is less dirty than before, but his clothes are the same ones he had on when Megumi was last conscious.

Ijichi is close by, sitting with his legs crossed in the chair across from Yuuji. He looks concerned but calm. Gojo, who usually appears when Megumi either needs him or fucks up, is noticeably absent. 

Though he’s remarkably cleaner than when he passed out, there’s a layer of grime he can still feel laminated across his skin. Isn’t this a hospital? He shouldn’t be dirty. 

His left arm is immobile, he notices. Well, his wrist is. He slowly flexes his elbow and is relieved when it moves without excruciating pain. The motion catches Yuuji’s eye, and he springs up to move to where Megumi is on the bed. 

“Fushiguro?” Yuuji says, just a little too loud for the hospital room. Megumi blinks the fog away and looks up at the boy standing over him. 

“Hey.”

Yuuji grips the railing on the side of the bed and peers over, sticking his head in Megumi’s face. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah.”

“How do you feel?” Yuuji asks, and Ijichi comes over too. 

“Fine,” Megumi answers, still trying to figure out what’s movable and what isn’t. His left wrist and most of his forearm is in a thin cast, but the rest of him feels free, save for the ice on his ankle and his forehead. He tries not to make any sudden movements, but the forehead ice falls anyway. Yuuji picks it up and places it back where it was. 

“You took a nasty hit,” Yuuji chuckles joylessly, still looking down at him with a gaze too intent to be comfortable with. 

“I see that,” he responds, shrugging. There’s an IV line in his other arm. “Are you okay? I don’t remember finishing the curse off. You didn’t do anything stupid, did you?” 

Yuuji shakes his head. “I took care of it, don’t worry! I know I’m still getting the hang of this whole thing, but I figured it out.”

His smile is strangely comforting, but the guilt for leaving him alone seeps back into his neck. Megumi is never to leave Yuuji alone like that, especially since they don’t quite know the extent of Sukuna’s control over his body. His mistake could have cost Yuuji and other people their lives. 

“Is Ieiri still away?” Megumi asks, looking around. Sorcerers don’t usually go to regular hospitals. Not when they have a doctor like Ieiri on call to patch them up when things get ugly. Megumi remembers Gojo telling them all that she’d be away for a while, something about a work thing outside of Jujutsu High. His head hurts too much to try to remember how long he’d been told she would be away for. 

Ijichi speaks up this time. “Yes, she’ll be gone for a little while. You needed your wrist fixed. We couldn’t wait for her to return.”

Megumi looks down at the wrist in question, covered in wrappings that hinder his movement. It still stings when he tries, then dulls into a low ache when he sets it back down. 

He realizes he’s in a hospital gown and grows stiff, unnerved with the idea that he’d been stripped of his clothing without his knowledge. He pulls the blanket across his legs up higher. Turning back to Yuuji, he looks him over. 

“You’re sure nothing else happened? Don’t lie to me,” he warns, watching Yuuji scrunch his shoulders like a kid. 

“I’m serious! I saw it hit you into the wall and I came running. It’s all gone now, all taken care of,” Yuuji hums happily, giving him a thumbs up. 

Megumi is uncomfortable with being surrounded on both sides as he lies useless and immobile in the hospital bed. Ijichi turns to Yuuji. “We should let him rest.”

Yuuji nods and gives Megumi a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Take another nap, you should be good to leave here soon.”

Megumi nods and watches him return to his chair, and sees Ijichi leave the room, announcing he’s going to collect something to eat. 

He waits until Ijichi is fully gone before returning his attention to Yuuji. “What happened? What did they do to me?"

Yuuji looks up. “They had to piece your wrist back together. Doctor said there were a few shards. You got some cool metal in there now, though!”

Megumi swallows the terrible implication of a shattered wrist and continues. “And the rest of me?”

Yuuji looks to the side like he’s crossing the street, then returns to Megumi’s bedside. 

“Bruised ankle and a possible concussion, but they said there’s no brain bleeding. Couple of bruises along your shoulder, if you haven’t already noticed. You also jammed your thumb a little, too.”

Megumi sighs and looks up. “What was our cover story?”

“Ijichi told them you were doing some urban exploration and fell.”

His head hurts from how hard he rolls his eyes. This makes Yuuji laugh. 

“They probably think I’m some kind of internet asshole that trespasses for views,” he grumbles, shifting to look at Yuuji more. His hair covers part of his ears now. In need of a haircut. 

“Isn’t the whole nature of our business to trespass?” Yuuji hums, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “You should really probably rest, sleep off the rest of the anaesthesia. I won’t disturb you anymore.” 

“Mm.”

Megumi needs to rest. He needs to close his eyes and nap until the rest of the anesthesia wears off so he can wake up with a clear head. The urge to sleep is overwhelming, and he doesn’t have the energy to fight it off. Despite the lowered lighting, his head still pounds terribly, and he gets nauseous when he looks up. 

Yuuji looks out the window and takes a deep breath, swallowing visibly as he does. His lip is less swollen but no less sliced. He notices the redness at the tips of Yuuji’s ears. 

Megumi falls asleep for the third time that he can remember, and tries to stave off the dread building in his stomach.

When he wakes, Yuuji is curled at his feet on the bed below him. It should make him feel more awkward than it does, but the soft sight of Yuuji’s sleeping face temporarily aids his nerves. Megumi can’t ward off the blush that blooms on his cheeks. Ijichi is on his phone across from him with a stern look on his face that no one can take seriously. 

When a nurse walks in, Yuuji pops up and slides off, saying nothing about his position or his nap. 

The nurse tells him about the healing process; about four weeks for the cast, and a brace until whenever. Megumi should be listening more than he is, but the back of his mind is counting on Ieiri coming home sooner or later to help him out a little more. 

He’s warned to take it easy during any sort of ambulation to help his bruised ankle heal, and is given a concussion test that he fails. Upon this, the nurse directs him through concussion protocol, which again, he doesn’t fully listen to, still holding out for Ieiri. 

The IV is removed and the doctor comes in to discuss the surgery they performed on him. He hopes Yuuji—no, Ijichi—is listening. 

When he’s allowed to change back into what he assumes will be soiled clothing, he’s greeted with a bag and fresh garments held in front of him from Yuuji. 

Megumi slides his legs to set his feet on the ground, raising an eyebrow. “Where’d you get those?”

“Ijichi had me go grab you some,” Yuuji smiles, holding the bag out. “I ran home so you wouldn’t have to wear your bloody ones.”

If Megumi’s math is correct, Yuuji would have had to literally run back to the dorms to grab his clothes, meaning at least a three-mile trek there and back. Unless Ijichi drove him—

“I wouldn’t let Ijichi drive me since I didn’t want you to be alone,” Yuuji follows, letting go when Megumi takes the bag. “I was scared you’d wake up alone and be sad. So I made sure he stayed with you.” 

Ijichi mumbles something in the background along the lines of, “I was going to drive, but Itadori insisted I wouldn’t grab the right ones.” 

“How long did it take you to get back there?” Megumi thinks about the gesture, too kind for someone like him to be on the receiving end of. “You didn’t get any new clothes for yourself?”

Yuuji grins nervously and steps back. “I didn’t even think about that. I wanted to make sure you had stuff. I’m fine in these, I’m not nearly as bloody.” 

Looking into the drawstring bag, he sees a hoodie and new socks on top. Digging further, propping the bag on his knee, he finds sweatpants and… new underwear. He rolls his eyes under his lids and looks down, trying to mitigate his headache. 

“Thank you, Itadori,” is all he can say. Yuuji gives him a thumbs-up and walks away. 

He starts by changing his underwear, which is far more difficult with only one hand and four non-jammed fingers. His party turns around to give him privacy, but he feels no less exposed. The sweatpants go on easier, but his first problem is the sweatshirt. 

He grabs at the base, trying to fling it open and get his head inside. The hospital gown is discarded, and he’s exposed if he doesn’t get the top on. 

Heat and frustration build in his face as he tries and fails to wiggle his sound arm and broken one into the loose fabric. The scene just doesn’t work, and his head throbs and pounds the more he moves. He can’t slide his left arm through without wincing, and his thumb does nothing to assist in pulling the sleeve away from the bulkier cast. Accidentally, he lets out an irritated sigh that probably sounds more like hurt. This gets Yuuji to turn around. 

“Got it?” he asks. Megumi grits his teeth. 

“I’m fine.”

Yuuji looks away. “You sure? I can help you.” 

“I said I’m fine.” 

He nods and turns back.

Megumi continues his plight of trying to get the sweatshirt on, and wants to scold Yuuji for getting a shirt so difficult to don with one hand. It starts to eat away at him, reminding him of how bitterly useless he is beginning to feel. 

“Fushiguro?”

His shoulders tense at Yuuji’s voice. He knows Yuuji will offer to help him again. Will hold the sweatshirt up and keep the arms open so Megumi can fit himself inside. It’s in his nature to care. It would take just a moment, and then Megumi could stop being irritated over this. 

But he doesn’t want help. He doesn’t need it. Yuuji doesn’t need to pay any mind to him. It’s not worth his time. 

Megumi doesn’t respond to him, just keeps his hand on the fabric and ignores the way his ears ring like wind chimes. 

“Fushiguro, you’re sure you don’t need some help?”

If his body were in any better shape, he’d push him away. Yuuji is right next to him now, hands extended. Megumi scoffs. 

“I don’t need help.”

Megumi doesn’t need help from someone like Yuuji. Someone who does the right thing even when it inconveniences him. Even when it costs him. Someone so admirable in ethics and spirit. Megumi couldn’t let him get his hands dirty. 

“Are you sure? It’s no trouble, I’ll just hold it—“

“It’s fine,” Megumi snaps a little harder than he means to. “I can get it.”

Yuuji looks like a kicked puppy, but doesn’t back down. He just nods and takes the sweatshirt from Megumi, who can’t so much as swing at him. 

Yuuji lifts Megumi’s arms and carefully bends his head down to pull the sweatshirt over him. It’s not completely gentle, Yuuji nicks his own hand against Megumi’s broken one, earning a hiss and a pant. Without stopping to speak, Yuuji pulls Megumi’s clothes on like he’s a toddler getting dressed by his mom. And despite his reluctance, Megumi doesn’t fight him, regardless of how badly he wants to. 

“All good?” Yuuji asks him, his tone slightly less cheerful. He stands up after putting Megumi’s socks on. 

Megumi nods and says nothing, wishing he were given the pain meds that knock him out. 

Going home from the hospital is silent. Ijichi drives, and the two first-year sorcerers sit without conversation in the back seat. Megumi tries to nod off again, but the skull-shattering ache of his concussion pulls him back from sleep each time he gets close. 

Yuuji plays on his phone next to him, the softness of his face ever so present in Megumi’s peripheral vision. 

He wants to say something to him. Perhaps apologize for snapping earlier, but his brain can’t find any words that sound like “I’m sorry,” so he keeps his mouth shut to avoid creating further tension. 

The dorms are quiet when they come home. Yuuji mentioned something earlier about Nobara going to dinner with Maki and Toge, so he isn’t surprised not to get a barrage of questions about what happened. 

He stops to speak to Gojo, Yuuji supplying information where his own brain fails to recall. Gojo laughs at him upon hearing about the scenario, but gives him a pat on the head to show that he does, in fact, care. Megumi wishes he had patted his shoulder or something. His head hurts. 

Yuuji takes care of the rest, tells Megumi to go back to his dorm, and that he’ll bring him something to eat later. Gojo seconds his statement and tells him to expect a visit at some point. Megumi rolls his eyes the best he can and heads to his room, feeling like walking death. 

The lights are off when he arrives. Megumi doesn’t bother to turn them on. There's nothing on his floor. 

He sits on the bed and kicks his blanket down towards the bottom to reveal his sheets. Sitting cross-legged, he looks out the window at the moonlight. 

It hits him finally that he will be out for a while. There will be no fighting or training or missions, at least until Ieiri gets back. He holds his broken wrist out to examine and wiggles his fingers. There’s a distinct lack of range of motion, and Megumi curses to himself. They hurt, but it’s manageable. The cast is the issue. 

Unless he can come up with a master plan to summon shikigami outside of hand signs, he is effectively useless. The cast prevents his hands from touching, let alone contorting his fingers into the correct animal shapes. There’s nothing for him to do here for now. 

Aside from the dull headache still present after some more pain medicine, Megumi feels fine. And that’s probably the worst part. No worse for wear. 

He turns to his night table for water out of habit, but it’s empty. He cleans his room top to bottom before every mission in the event he meets his demise. It would be a pain for someone to have to go through his things when they’re cluttered and messy. Megumi does the unfortunate soul a favor, since he seldom expects to return. Instead, he curls his knees up and hugs himself. 

The scene from earlier plays when he closes his eyes. Disgusting brown scales, flashes of light reflecting, clouds of dust, and footsteps that weren’t his. He should be grateful his head isn’t in worse shape than it is, given how hard he hit the wall. He remembers scrunching, trying to curl into himself before impact, so maybe his shoulder really took some of the blow. It hurts like it did. 

Megumi tries not to dwell; one of the first things Gojo told him when he started sending him on these missions was to not look back in regret, as it would lead to a life of being haunted by one’s own choices. Easier said than done. Megumi immediately regretted whatever the hell made him lose his balance to begin with. 

He tries not to think of the other moves he should’ve made. How he should’ve summoned his bunnies to create a barrier between them, or summoned a frog to pull him away before the impact. Perhaps summoned a dog as a diversion and got himself out of there. 

But he didn’t. He got smacked into the wall and broke his wrist. And his friend had to come save him. 

It’s the opposite of who he is as a sorcerer. Megumi is quick to sacrifice himself for the good of his judgement. He fights almost recklessly, sometimes dirty. He does what he believes to be the best option for the information he is given.  

He knows he should’ve been stronger. Or smarter. Or quicker. Or not himself. If Yuuji had been in that same position, what would he have done? A boy who had been thrown into jujutsu society by a bout of terrible random chance. Someone who should not have been where he was. Megumi should have made a different move back then as well. He's a complete novice to the intricacies, rules, and uniqueness of being a sorcerer, and yet Yuuji had to run and save his sorry ass when Megumi fucked up. It’s not fair to Yuuji to have to cover the mistake of someone who is already a grade 2. 

If something even worse than an injury were to have happened, there would be no way Megumi could ever forgive himself. Yuuji should never have been there in the first place. He should be in his hometown, going to a normal school, living a normal life. Far, far away from Megumi’s world of missions and curses and technique. 

Most of him wishes Yuuji had never intersected with his life. As much as he admires and harbors a great, terrible deal of fondness towards him, he wishes Yuuji and he had never met. He doesn’t wish this life for him. He doesn’t deserve to have to put his life on the line to save Megumi like that. 

As the moon beams ripple through his window, Megumi untucks himself from his cradle and dries his eyes. Tears he didn’t know he was spilling have dried in lines down his face, his skin feeling tight as he mashes his hand against his cheeks. There’s no telling how long he’s been in that position. The crickets outside are loud. Or maybe they’re cicadas. Megumi’s ears are ringing. 

He slumps to the side, the one that doesn't have a broken wrist, and stays still. He should wash up, change into sleeping clothes, and go to bed. He needs to take a shower for himself, not get wiped down by hospital staff. He needs to finish up some homework that he’d set aside to take a walk around the school with Nobara. He needs to get his things out for the week, needs to study for his test next Wednesday, and needs to drink some water to soothe his dry throat. 

But he stares at his bedroom wall instead. His body is unresponsive, and his own brain does even less to get him up. There is no motivation to do so. No words or threats or encouragement. Only the blank paint in front of him with little dings in it from his friends crashing into his bed too many times. 

It’s not nearly the first time he’s been weighed down like this, and it certainly will not be the last. Megumi is all too often paralyzed with the heaviness of simply being alive.

The steadiness of his breathing should pull him into a much-needed sleep, but he stares and stares at the wall until his eyes get glossy again. 

A loud knock from behind him sets him on alert. The door opens without a welcome, and two sets of footsteps drag into his bedroom. 

“Fushiguro!” he hears Yuuji call. “We brought you food!” 

He barely has the energy to turn back around to see them. 

“It’s not school food, either! I texted Kugisaki to pick some up while she was out!”

“We had to turn around to go back and order it since you were so late,” Nobara grumbles from beside him, dressed in pajamas with her hair up. “It was on Gojo’s dime, so I didn’t care.”

Megumi’s stomach feels hot when she mentions that she went back for it. 

“Here, sit up and eat! Hospital food kinda sucks.” 

Megumi doesn’t remember ever eating in the hospital. 

He feels a leg hit his own, and Yuuji is sitting at the end of his bed, while Nobara pulls his desk chair over and sits near his nightstand. Yuuji has damp hair and new clothes. He might want to sit up, but the crushing weight of lead overtakes his ribs and keeps him down. Megumi isn’t hungry right now anyway. 

“C’mon,” Yuuji hums as he unwraps the takeout he’s carrying. “It’s good, it’s that place that does the cold soba.” 

A plastic container is set out on his blanket. Nobara turns his lamp on. 

“So, you got your arm busted,” she smirks. “How do you feel? Itadori told me all about what happened.”

Megumi is still horizontal, frozen in place. 

“I feel fine,” he states. 

“Well, yeah, you probably still got some leftover adrenaline,” she shrugs, kicking her slippers off and propping her feet up on the mattress. “Took a tough blow, it seems.” 

“Yeah.”

She leans closer, taking a hand and lifting up Megumi’s arm to examine it herself. “Looks like you made it out pretty unharmed. Based on what Itadori said, you should have a lot crazier a cast right now.”

He’s certain that she is referring to how he should be a lot more physically broken, but he disagrees. He shouldn’t be broken at all right now.

“I guess.”

She lets his arm go and it flops back down to his side. Megumi hisses at the impact.

Nobara grunts. “You’re no fun tonight. What, did something happen to you?” 

Megumi rolls his eyes. He knows she’s being sarcastic. It’s harmless and distinctly Nobara, but tonight he just can’t handle it.

The sound of a lid opening fills the dead air. 

“Here,” Yuuji reaches out his hand. “Sit up and eat.”

Megumi blinks at him. He doesn’t want to eat. He doesn’t want to talk. He needs to shower and do his homework. He wants to lie down and never get back up. 

Yuuji sets the food aside and slides over. He takes his left hand and grabs Megumi’s good wrist, and wraps his other arm where he can wedge it under Megumi’s back. With a little force, Megumi is now sitting up and has a bowl of noodles in his lap. 

“Tell me how they taste,” Yuuji smiles brightly. 

Megumi isn’t hungry, but it would sour him further to see the look of disappointment on Yuuji’s face if he tells him so. He picks a few noodles up and eats them, stirring some more around. His thumb hurts from the motion, but not bad enough to stop. 

“Good.”

Nobara hums. “I picked them out, I thought you’d like them.” 

“And I’m sorry it took so long. I had a lot more to deal with from Gojo than I thought, and I wouldn’t let Kugisaki deliver the food alone. I really wanted us both to go together,” Yuuji shrugs. “I was a little nervous you’d be asleep already.”

Megumi is confused for a moment, since it’s surely only early evening. He looks to his alarm clock, showing 10:12. The moon has been up for hours, Megumi is reminded. 

“Oh. No, I wasn’t. You didn’t have any problem barging in here, though,” he says. 

Yuuji goes red in the face. “Oh, um, yeah. I’m sorry about that.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I probably should've been a lot quieter, I’ll know for next time!”

Megumi huffs. There shouldn’t need to be a next time.

He takes another bite out of sheer courtesy, using every bit of strength he can muster to get the food to his mouth. His arm wants to give out. 

“Sucks that Ieiri isn’t here,” Nobara declares, twirling in the chair. “How long till she gets back so she can fix you up?” 

“I don’t know,” Megumi mumbles. “She had something else to do for work. And today, I think Gojo said something about her visiting her family for a bit. It’ll be a while.” 

“That sucks,” she sighs. “No sorcery for you. You’ll be regular-person Fushiguro for a hot minute.” 

“Nothing wrong with being a regular person, Fushiguro,” Yuuji sings, leaning against the wall, head sitting on the windowsill. “I’m pretty normal myself.”

“No you’re not,” Megumi and Nobara say in unison. Yuuji just grins. 

“I am! I’m normal! Minus the whole Sukuna thing, I’m a regular guy!” 

“You’re far from regular, Itadori,” Nobara rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to Megumi. “Need anything from us before we go? I don’t really wanna sit here and watch you eat.”

“No, I’m good, thanks.” 

Megumi is partially relieved that he won’t have to put up a show for the food he was given. He’s thankful, so very thankful to have friends that would do this for him, but he doesn’t need it. Going back for food for him was unnecessary. 

They sit around for a while while Megumi listens to Nobara gab on about a new sewing kit that she wants to try for hemming her summer clothes differently. Yuuji engages her more and asks about the fabrics and colors and needle types. Megumi hums when prompted. 

“Let’s take a picture,” she suggests after a while, pulling the camera up on her phone. “So we remember when you fucked up your hand.”

“I don’t think I’ll forget,” he tells her, but it’s no use. Yuuji is already crawling over to get in frame, and Nobara twists the chair around so she’s facing the same way. 

“Everyone say ‘broken wrist,’” Nobara snickers as she takes the photo. Yuuji is the only one who does as she says. 

Megumi can see himself through the screen, disheveled and tired. 

Nobara spins around one last time and pushes off the bed, launching herself back to his desk and gets up. Her pajama pants snag on a drawer as she puts her legs down and swings it open. Of course, she looks inside. 

“Wow, lots of paraphernalia in here, Fushiguro,” she chuckles. “Didn’t know you did hard drugs.”

Nobara opened a drawer full of pens, pencils, erasers, and highlighters. 

“You know me,” he nods. “Junkie.” 

She laughs and closes it. “You’re weird. Get better soon. Goodnight.” 

The door shuts with a soft click after she collects her shoes, and it’s just Yuuji left. He’s been pretty quiet overall, specifically for him. Megumi almost wishes he’d leave, too. 

“Thank you for this,” he says, raising the takeout container. “Tell Kugisaki I said thanks as well. I’ll tell her myself tomorrow, but if you see her first, let her know, please.”

“We just want to show our support,” Yuuji smiles, though he looks like he wants to say something else. 

Megumi nods and eats the half-chewed noodle he was working on earlier. 

“It’s a good thing it’s not your eating hand, otherwise we’d have to take turns feeding you,” Yuuji continues. “Or maybe we’d blend your meals and you’d have smoothies. Like a pork smoothie or something. Or!” His eyes get big. “What if we had no blenders or anything to make a puree, and we had to chew the food up ourselves and feed it to you bird-style? How gross would that be?”

They stare at each other for a moment, and Yuuji realizes what he just said. His face melts into horror as Megumi grows a scowl.

“Don’t say any more bullshit to me tonight.”

“Understood.” 

Yuuji picks up his phone and relaxes, his back bowing down as he sinks lower onto the mattress. His legs hang off the side, and his neck is at a near 90-degree angle, propped against the wall. 

“Are you staying?” 

The boy looks over at him sweetly. “Want me to leave?”

Yuuji knows Megumi’s rules about his room. He knows that Megumi doesn’t like company and has repeatedly barred his entry during their time together. This has never stopped him from trying to bend those rules. 

Megumi thinks for a moment. Most of him does want Yuuji to leave. He wants to be alone so he can sort out his mind without an audience and finish staring at the wall. He needs time to figure out what he’s going to do about his hand in the meantime, and what that will look like for training and mission purposes. Megumi cannot be useless like this. 

Yuuji is still staring at him, waiting for him to respond. His big eyes look at him with a softness that Megumi wants to run away from. 

“For a minute, you can stay.”

Yuuji cheeses instantly, flinging himself over to hug Megumi’s waist from the side. “Yay! I’ll be good company, don’t worry.” 

Megumi rolls his eyes and takes another bite. 

The minute that Megumi set as law turns to ten, then to thirty, then to two hours. It’s well after midnight before Megumi realises he’s still awake. Yuuji pushes him to shower and brush his teeth, cleaning up and putting away the food Megumi didn’t finish. Yuuji is still there, curled in bed when Megumi returns from his shower, and is still there after he gets up to pee. 

The dim glow of two phones in an otherwise dark room makes Megumi’s eyes hurt. He doesn’t go on his phone much before bed anyway, so he can’t tell if it’s normal or the minor concussion he sustained. 

Yuuji has lived up to his statement of being good company. As good as he can be, Megumi thinks. 

He is remarkably quiet this evening as he sits at the end of Megumi’s bed. He’s kept to himself the whole time, which is slightly unnerving. Megumi is used to his volume and energy, but right now he’s idle. 

Pulling the blanket up, Megumi shifts to his side, which makes Yuuji look up. 

“Going to bed? Want me to go now?” 

Megumi looks at his face in the light from his phone. His eyes look tired and dark, eyelids drooping slightly. 

“If you’re tired, you should’ve gone to bed,” Megumi tells him. “You need to rest after the mission anyway.”

Yuuji shrugs and gives him a small smile. “I can sleep later. I wanted to make sure you’re alright.” 

“Why wouldn’t I be alright?”

Yuuji sets his phone aside and leans down to lie on his stomach. His head is propped up on his hands, right next to Megumi’s knees. He gestures his head to Megumi’s cast. 

“Because I’m sure you’re probably more upset about that than you’re letting on.” 

Megumi tilts his head. “How would I be more upset? I broke my arm and hit my head and have no way to fix it.” 

Easing Yuuji’s concern over him is his main goal. Yuuji has other things to think about than Megumi’s stupid injuries. 

“I mean, yeah,” Yuuji starts, shrugging. “But this kinda puts you in a shitty position. And… and I guess I just want you to know that you can rely on me for stuff. Whether it be helping you get your shirt on or making sure you don’t die. Y’know.” 

They stare silently at each other. Megumi feels his heart beating faster and faster as he takes in Yuuji’s words.

“You don’t—you don’t have to do that,” he manages, stabbing his fingernails into his palm. “You don’t have to take care of me.”

“I know,” Yuuji tells him softly. “I don’t have to, but I want to. And I will if you ask. It’s no trouble, especially not if it’s you.”

Megumi believes him when he says it wouldn’t be trouble. At least, Yuuji wouldn’t see it as trouble. He’s too kind and too giving to see the extra effort it truly takes to even think of someone that way, let alone enough to warrant additional action. He’s sure Yuuji would steal the moon for him, but Yuuji would do that for any cause he believes in enough. 

He sighs and looks away, the brown of Yuuji’s eyes becoming too encapsulating for Megumi’s comfort. 

“...okay.” 

Yuuji beams at him, then sits up and stretches like a cat. 

“Text me if you’re dying, ‘kay?” Yuuji tells him, collecting his phone and standing up. “Or yell. But I can’t guarantee I’d hear you.” 

“Whatever, Itadori.”

Yuuji waves and makes for the door. “Sleep good, Fushiguro. See you tomorrow.”

Megumi listens to the door shut and returns his eyes to the wall.

Megumi quickly realizes he never set his alarm that night. 

The light from the window is blinding him, even with his bangs covering half his forehead. It has to be close to midday with how yellow it is. 

Part of him is comfortably well-rested, having enjoyed the extra sleep. The rest of him is mortified by how he is easily three hours late for class. When he sits up and his arm and head still throb, he is reminded that it wasn’t a dream, and that he is still out of commission for the foreseeable future. 

Giving up immediately on going to class, he gets a new uniform to change into. He isn’t sure where his other one went. Yuuji said something about taking care of it for him. Pulling his pants on with no issue, he is delighted when the shirt sleeves are thick enough to go over the cast. A small sense of relief for getting to feel somewhat normal. 

The dorm halls are quiet when he leaves his room, feeling okay enough to show his face. He’s finally hungry and needs to eat, wishing he knew where Yuuji put his leftovers. Knowing him, it could be anywhere. 

Megumi doesn’t realize that it’s lunch time as he steps into the cafeteria. Greeted by Yuuji and Nobara per usual, Gojo is a special guest today. 

“Look who turned up alive,” Gojo calls, standing above the table where his friends are. “Good morning, sleeping beauty. Glad you could join us.”

Megumi grimaces and flips him off, sinking into the seat next to Nobara. “Good afternoon, Gojo.” He nods to Yuuji and Nobara, who stare at him cheekily. It unnerves him immediately. 

“So,” Gojo meanders around so that he’s directly above Megumi, “can I check out that thing you got? Now that you’re a little more lucid.”  

“You’ve never heard of a cast?” he grunts, watching Yuuji rock side to side in his seat. 

“Never needed one myself, but for regular people they’re pretty common, I’ve heard.” Gojo points to his arm. “Lemme see.”

Megumi knows it’s more work than it’s worth to fight him, so he pulls back his sleeve to show the white material. “Look.”

“It’s ugly,” Nobara laughs. “Not fashionable, I’m afraid.” She earns a scowl from Yuuji.

“Well, kid, I’m surprised this hasn’t happened sooner,” Gojo muses, lifting his fingers up and repositioning his arm to examine it. “With the amount of shit you get yourself into, it was only a matter of time before this sort of thing happened. I’ll take credit for your avoidance of real injury thus far, since I clearly taught you so well.” 

“The shit I get myself into?” Megumi scoffs. Gojo would sometimes send him on missions that he didn’t feel like doing. “Just tell me when Ieiri gets back so I can be done with this.”

“Not soon enough, I’m guessing,” Gojo grins. Megumi wants to punch him with his good hand. 

“Sensei, I think Megumi might be hungry,” Yuuji pipes in, holding a hand up. “I think we should let him eat.”

Nobara nods in agreement, smiling. “I second that. He needs food so his bones can heal or whatever. Get him some milk for calcium.”

Yuuji nods back at her. “Excellent idea!”

Megumi deflates and pulls his sleeve back down. Maybe he should’ve stayed in his room. 

“Where are the second years?” He turns back to Gojo as Yuuji and Nobara dash away to find him milk. Gojo sits down next to him in the meantime. 

“Doing a training thingie, I don’t really know,” he hums offhandedly. “They wanted to say hi to you once you woke up.”

Megumi’s stomach twists and not in a good way. This is bad attention; he doesn’t want pity. 

“Do they have to? I don’t need sympathy.” 

“It’s a good notion, kid. They care about you.” Gojo turns to him now and opens his mouth slowly. “And, for the record, I’m sorry I wasn’t there to babysit you in the hospital. I got a little caught up in a meeting.”

Megumi huffed a breath. “Sure.”

He holds his hands up in defense. “I’m serious. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” 

“Itadori and Ijichi took care of it. I didn’t really need you there.”

“I know they had it handled. But still,” Gojo shrugs, looking towards Nobara and Yuuji in the distance. “Sorry about that.”

Megumi really doesn’t care. He didn’t care when he woke up in the hospital to just Yuuji and Ijichi, and he doesn’t care now. There are no hard feelings. It’s just a wrist and an accident on a mission. That sort of thing isn’t uncommon. 

“It’s fine,” he waves Gojo off, watching Nobara smack Yuuji over his head for spilling a cup on the other side of the room. “I’m not upset.”

Gojo just nods and pats him on the head like usual. Megumi is about to say something else when Gojo speaks up again. 

“So for the time being, you’re on the bench."

Megumi sighs, knowing he’s useless for a while. 

“Yeah.”

Gojo ruffles his head, eliciting more pain. “Don’t worry about it, kid. Take it easy for a while. No sparring or intense physical activity, ‘specially not with your hands. You can run around, I guess, but only if your head feels okay. Don’t mess up that noggin of yours.”

Megumi mumbles to show he understands. 

“You can sit and watch the others train, or you can do something somewhere else. Might be good to do some watching, but you might feel kinda left out if you’re just sitting there. Do whatever you wanna do, doesn’t matter to me.”

“Alright. I’ll figure it out.”

“Shoko will be here in two weeks. I texted her earlier. More like eleven days, but close enough. You can hold out till then, right?” 

“I’m gonna have to, aren’t I?”

“That’s the spirit, kid.”

The sound of a dish dropping ripples through the room. They both turn to see Nobara shaking Yuuji by the collar further down. Gojo laughs to himself. 

“They got you something. Well, Yuuji did.” 

Megumi looks up at him. “Huh?”

“Ah, shit,” Gojo raises his shoulders and bows his head. “I probably shouldn’t have said anything. I think it was supposed to be a surprise.”

“I hate surprises,” Megumi states, growing slightly concerned. “What the hell did they do?”

“Nah, it’s nothing bad. Just something cute and sweet,” Gojo grins. “You’ll like it.”

Megumi doubts that, but he watches Yuuji and Nobara get closer and closer, his fate getting bigger along the horizon. 

“Fushiguro!” they say in unison. “We have your milk!” 

“I’ll leave. Come talk to me later,” Gojo tells him. He’s gone before Megumi can think of something else to say as a cup of milk is thrust in front of his face. He accepts it and takes a sip, then sets it on the table. 

“We couldn’t remember if you had a lactose issue, so we got you soy milk,” Yuuji declares. 

“I suggested oat milk, but someone insisted you’d prefer soy,” Nobara rolls her eyes.

Megumi blinks. 

“What if I prefer cashew milk?” he asks dryly.

Both of them deadpan and stare at each other, yelling in unison again, “Fuck! We didn’t think of that!”

Megumi almost cracks a smile at their ridiculousness. It’s silly and lighthearted, and as much as he outwardly denies it, his friends make him feel good.

“I’m kidding,” he says before Yuuji can run off and find another glass. “Soy is fine. I would like real food, though.” 

“Duh! That’s what I told him!” Nobara insists, pointing at Yuuji. “Do you like oat milk, though? I need to know my odds.”

“I like all kinds of milk substitutes,” Megumi assures her. “They’re all good.”

“What about a lactose issue? You seem like you might have one of those,” Yuuji blurts. 

Any trace of a smile he was cooking is wiped away. A swift punch to Yuuji’s shoulder sends him staggering back, completely unnecessarily. Megumi didn’t even hit him that hard. 

“Hey! I’m just asking!” 

“Don’t tell people they seem like they might have a lactose allergy, that’s not courteous,” Megumi grumbles, the thumb on his right hand throbbing slightly from the punch. “What’s that supposed to mean anyway? What about me makes it seem like I can’t process milk?”

“I think Itadori is trying to tell you that you have the phenotype of a person who can’t drink milk,” Nobara says. 

“Am not!”

“Fuck you, does my face really make you think my stomach doesn’t work?” Megumi argues, just for the hell of it. 

“No!” Yuuji cries, waving his hands around. “That’s not what I’m saying at all! Your vibes just give off lactose intolerance!”

Megumi laughs out of pure bewilderment. “Fuck off, I can’t do this anymore. I’m actually not hungry now.”

Yuuji lurches forward and grabs his shoulders, keeping him in place. “Forgive me! I didn’t mean anything by it!”

“Too late,” Nobara says, sitting back down at her plate. “You’ve already lost him.”

“No, please! Stay and eat!” Yuuji hangs off Megumi like a rock climber on a mountain. He’s not even trying to use any real force. Megumi flicks him off with a lunge. 

“No, I’ll eat later.”

“Please, I have something for you!” Yuuji pleads, pulling at Megumi’s good arm and pouting so egregiously that Megumi almost wants to cover his face with his hand. “Please, I’ll make you a plate, you can eat it and open your gift!”

Megumi pauses his backpedaling, and Yuuji puffs his lip out extra hard. If he were in any better shape with less of a headache, Megumi might still have walked off, despite the playful banter. But something about Yuuji’s insistence gets him to think otherwise. 

Sighing loud enough that it gets his point across, Megumi yanks his hand away from Yuuji and sits down. “I don’t need a gift.”

“Yes you do!” Yuuji exclaims. “I’ll make you a bowl and you can open it after. I wanna see your reaction.”

Again, Megumi is in no shape to put up this much of a fight. With the nod of his head, Yuuji is off to make him a bowl of something. Nobara is eating slices of fatty pork belly on a bed of rice, and now that Megumi has a bit of an appetite, it looks appealing. He hopes Yuuji gets him some of that. 

“Any idea of what kind of stupid thing he came up with?” Megumi turns to her as she’s scrolling through her phone. 

She chuckles and looks back at him. “It’s nothing too crazy, I promise. He actually ran it over with me to make sure it wasn’t too much.”

Megumi isn’t sure he trusts Nobara or Yuuji’s judgment of what’s “too much” in this situation. “That’s not very helpful.”

“Eh, you’ll be fine. It’s a sweet little thing anyway.”

Megumi doesn’t see a box or bag anywhere around the table, so unless Yuuji has developed some sort of new storage technique overnight, it’s not a physical present, thankfully. 

“Define sweet and little.”

Nobara hums in acknowledgement. “I can’t tell you more, you’ll figure it out.” 

“That’s what I’m trying to do.” 

“Then, it sucks to suck, because I’m not telling you anything else. Wait for him to come back.” 

Megumi rolls his eyes and pulls out his own phone to entertain himself while Yuuji fixes him something to eat. 

The lightness in his chest is beginning to fade, being eaten by his own mind. His friends feel good, but it won’t be long before he’s hollow with guilt and apathy again. 

When he returns, Yuuji has clearly made a portion fit for himself, not one for a regular person like Megumi. Yuuji eats unholy amounts of food when given the opportunity, so when Megumi sees the heaping pile of pork on top of rice just like Nobara’s, he begins to question Yuuji’s sanity, and the size of his stomach. Sukuna doesn’t have four stomachs like a cow, right?

“For you, Fushiguro,” Yuuji sings out, placing the bowl in front of him and sitting in his own seat. 

“You’re gonna help me eat this, right?” Megumi stares at him blankly. 

“Huh? I mean, I can if you want. But I got it for you,” Yuuji returns.

“This is enough meat to feed a small village,” Megumi says, making Nobara snort. 

“Fine, fine, I’ll help you out. No big deal,” he smiles, taking a piece of pork with his bare hands. Megumi wants to stab him with a spoon. “You’ll need protein to heal, too.” 

He takes a bite of the meat, trying his best to get some of the rice at the bottom. It’s good, nothing too special, but it settles his warm, empty stomach. 

“I have some notes if you want them from class this morning,” Yuuji offers, cheek smooshed against his palm. 

Megumi appreciates the offer, but Yuuji’s handwriting is barely intelligible, and he can almost guarantee that there are only a few lines written. He’s better off asking Gojo for the lecture notes himself. 

He wants to decline; Yuuji’s notes are typically useless anyway. But the way Yuuji is looking at him right now would make him feel like he’s berating a small animal if he tells him so. He gives in. 

“Sure, thanks.”

Yuuji erupts in a wide grin. “Sweet! I made sure to pay extra good attention today since you weren’t there.” He reaches down to his bag and shuffles for his notebook. Flipping to the page, Yuuji rips it out with no hesitation and hands it over. “All yours.”

To his surprise, it’s a full page of decently legible notes, complete with a few drawings, doodles, and annotations directed at Megumi himself. It takes him aback for a moment. 

“Thank you, Itadori,” is all he says. 

Yuuji hums and gives him another sweet smile that draws his eyes in like magnets. He lets Megumi eat for a while as he makes idle conversation with Nobara. It feels normal to sit with, and Megumi is once again thankful his right arm wasn’t injured so that he can eat.

Once he’s several more pieces in, Yuuji is visibly squirming in his seat. He reaches into his bag, unveiling a small white envelope and sliding it onto the table. 

“Here,” he says quietly. “For you.”

Megumi isn’t sure what to say, so he picks it up and examines it. It has his name written on it in cute penmanship, so he assumes it was addressed to him by Nobara. 

“It’s a card,” Yuuji continues. 

“I see that.”

“Open it,” Nobara tells him. 

Sliding his fingers along the sealed edge, he twists his pointer finger into the gap and tears the envelope open. 

A yellow and orange card with a grey dog on it meets Megumi’s gaze. It has a cheesy line about feeling sick, and Megumi realizes that it’s a sympathy card.

He opens it to find another sweet little saying about resting up and feeling better, with another little dog visual at the bottom. Around the text are a bunch of signatures. Gojo’s, Nobara’s, Maki’s, Panda’s, Inumaki’s; everyone he expects. Yuuji’s is there as well, but instead of signing just his name, or writing a quick “feel better, buddy,” like Panda, Yuuji’s signature is complete with a heart and a smiley face. 

Really, Yuuji wrote a small paragraph. Perhaps the most Megumi has seen him string together in one sitting. Nothing too incriminating, but enough to make his heart flutter. 

Heal fast, Fushiguro! I wanna go on more missions with you again, so don’t be down for too long. My offer still stands whenever you need me. At your service! 

Megumi looks up to see expectant eyes and a blushing face staring back at him. He must have signed the card last, since Nobara isn’t teasing him over what he wrote. 

“Um, thank you,” he chokes out. He really doesn’t need this. Doesn’t really deserve it. It’s touching, and he’s thankful, but he still wants to beat it into Yuuji’s head that all these extra lengths he’s going to are unnecessary. His torso grows hot, and he doesn’t understand why. 

“No problem,” Nobara says, scraping at the rest of her food. Megumi turns back to Yuuji to see he’s looking away now, intent on reading something on his phone.

“He said thank you, idiot,” Nobara speaks up again, getting Yuuji to jump.

“Hm? Oh, of course, Fushiguro. It’s the least we could do.”

“The least you could do,” Nobara murmurs. 

“You got the second years to sign it too,” he observes again, running the thick cardstock over his finger.

“Mhm,” Yuuji smiles again. “Panda wants to check your cast out, too. At least that’s what he told me.”

“Is a wad of tape and adhesive that much of a spectacle?” Megumi grumbles to himself but sets the card down gently. “This was kind of you, Itadori. Thank you.”

Yuuji is wiggling in his seat, nodding at what Megumi tells him. “No worries.”

He isn’t sure he’s ever received a sympathy card. He got a few birthday cards from Gojo in his youth, but nothing else. 

“I’ve never gotten one before,” Megumi says. 

Yuuji’s eyes go wide. “What? Really? I got one from my whole class when I was like, ten, because I sprained my ankle on the track.”

It’s hard to imagine Yuuji getting injured, knowing him, but the thought of Yuuji being shown great care from his classmates makes Megumi happy. He deserves that. 

“That’s sweet of them.”

Yuuji hums in agreement. 

Megumi eats the rest of his food, with Yuuji picking off pieces here and there. He listens to the video Nobara has playing, despite his efforts to allow them to leave, since he’s the only one still eating. They deny his request, telling him that he doesn’t need to eat alone, and Megumi gets to learn about the internet drama Nobara is filling them both in on. 

It lifts him up just a little, enough that his head doesn’t feel like a rock and he can breathe without taking on water. They take a walk outside, enjoying the sunny day, and Megumi plays with the card in his pocket, thinking.

After a long, boring talk with Gojo that afternoon, Megumi finds himself in his bed again, trying to itch his palm under the cast. It’s terribly irritating, and he thinks about just cracking the thing off. 

According to Gojo, they are free tonight. No training or additional lessons, just an open evening to do as they pleased. Megumi half-assumes the decree was due to himself. 

So instead of joining Nobara and Yuuji for a movie in the city, he deems it appropriate to go back to his room and do nothing, much to their flagrant protest. 

Not nothing, really. He has his textbooks spread around him like a cocoon, but no work is getting done. 

Megumi doesn’t do homework in bed, nor does he struggle this hard with it. As he reads and rereads every question, top to bottom, he grows more frustrated. Nothing comes to mind for any semblance of an answer, and his head won’t stay focused. It hurts and throbs and his brain is scrambled. And fucking hell, his palm itches. 

Stacking everything up and sliding it under his bed for now, Megumi goes to collect his laundry, something he can finally accomplish. Laundry is mindless and doesn’t require much thought. The hamper can be carried with one hand, and his clothes can be pulled out of the dryer with no real issue, though he cheats and uses the cast to catch the bigger piles that dare to fall. 

Returning to his room, he sees that the door is cracked, and he knows that he positively pulled it closed when he left. He kicks it open with his foot to reveal Yuuji, face down on his pillow, scrolling on his phone. 

Yuuji looks up as the door moves and waves at Megumi. “Hey Fushiguro!”

“What are you doing in here?” Megumi grunts, dropping the hamper as he shuts the door. “Do you think it’s funny to barge in?”

Yuuji purses his lips. “Not funny, but necessary. I wanna hang.”

“I can’t. I have laundry and homework to finish,” Megumi tells him pointedly. “Get off the bed, I need to fold these.”

Yuuji immediately springs up. “I’ll do it for you.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t need you to.”

Yuuji raises an eyebrow. “With one hand?”

Megumi looks down at his cast, the outermost knuckles hugging the line of where it stops. 

“I can do it, don’t infantilize me.”

“I’m not, I’m offering to help.”

“I told you I don’t need it, Itadori.”

Yuuji sits back on his heels, giving Megumi the bed back. “Okay, do it.”

Megumi scowls at him hard, trying to get him to just leave. He picks up an undershirt and sets it on the mattress. He straightens it until it’s flat, then picks one side up, folding it to the middle, then does the same for the other. Taking the bottom and pulling it up, he returns his glare at Yuuji, motioning to the folded shirt that he completed just fine and without any assistance. 

“Can I say something?”

Megumi sighs. “What is it?”

“How about we do it together?” Yuuji’s face is somehow unreadable, and Megumi can’t gauge whether he’s frustrated or eager. “I’ll work alongside you, and we can get it done faster.”

Megumi stops for a moment, contemplates telling him to piss off entirely, and nods. “Okay.”

There’s a boy at his side right away, folding the socks that Megumi had no plan for getting tucked together. Megumi does the pants, shorts, and underwear, while Yuuji takes the rest of the shirts. It’s a silent job, one that Megumi is surprised Yuuji doesn’t have more commentary for. But it feels better to be in a silent room with Yuuji than a silent room alone. 

When Yuuji finishes up the last pair of socks, he turns back to Megumi, nudging him in the side. “Teamwork!”

Megumi mumbles an agreement and sits down on what’s left of the bed. “Wanna put them away for me?”

Yuuji nods happily and picks up the uniform shirts. “Just tell me where they go!”

Megumi directs him from his place, now horizontal on his bed. Watching Yuuji do mundane things is far more entertaining than Megumi ought to think it is. Putting away his laundry is rather fun to witness. He isn’t sure if it’s the concussion talking or if he’s simply lost his mind. 

The warmth of Yuuji’s body presses against his leg once the last of the clothes are taken care of. 

“You should get your ears pierced.”

Megumi looks down from his phone. “Why?”

Yuuji shrugs, situating himself on the mattress next to him. “You’d look good in them. Plus, if you did it now, it might distract you. Adrenaline or something.”

Outside of what Yuuji is telling him, Megumi feels the urge to ruffle his hair and poke his nose. The feeling unnerves him, and he turns his head away.

“What makes you say that now?”

Yuuji hums and turns towards the ceiling. “I really don’t know. Just been thinking about it.”

“About me piercing my ears?”

“No, I mean, yeah. I’d do mine with you. We could go together. I’m sure Nobara would wanna come too.” 

“I’ll think about it.”

“What?” Yuuji jumps. “You’d actually do it?” 

Megumi has considered it in the past, specifically in his last year of middle school. Tsumiki told him he’d look cool, but he never ended up having it done. Something about not having the time. 

“Maybe.”

He can see Yuuji’s grin from how his cheeks puff. Yuuji’s always had such a smiley personality. Megumi isn’t completely sure why he’d been so consciously drawn to him in the beginning, but polar opposites do attract one another. Megumi has to fight Yuuji off his own bed sometimes, and Yuuji has to drag Megumi by his ear to do things with their trio. On personality alone, they’re water and oil. 

And yet here he is, fighting his body to keep his hand on his phone and not sift it through Yuuji’s fluffy pink hair as he lies beside him. 

“You’d look good with silver hoops,” Yuuji says like he’s daydreaming. 

“I prefer silver. I’d be okay with that.”

“We should do it sometime, I’m serious.” Yuuji arches his neck to look into Megumi’s eyes. He tries to keep eye contact, remaining focused and present, careful not to stare and get lost in the face he sees. He’s smiling at him, and Megumi takes a deep breath. 

“Thank you for helping me fold my laundry.”

“Any time, Fushiguro.”

The fact that Yuuji was able to fold his laundry with no issue makes Megumi wonder why there are piles and piles of clean and dirty laundry spread throughout his own room. It’s clearly not a skill issue. He shrugs it off and bites at his lip. 

At any moment, Yuuji could get up and leave. He could go back to his own room and use his time to do something he actually wants to do. But he insists on spending whatever time he has to himself on Megumi. Nothing Megumi deserves, but it would be worse to kick him away. He doesn’t mind how warm Yuuji gets. The bed is often cold.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep or seeing Yuuji off when he wakes the next morning. The sludge of residual headache is starting to recede, so making it to the training grounds where his friends are already listening to something Gojo is telling them is an easier task. 

What remains difficult is watching the people he spends his days with train for a greater goal without him. 

He is essentially sitting on the bench, metaphorically and physically. The dirt of the training grounds is sufficient for him, as he leans back against a pillar and observes Yuuji trying to explain how to do a handstand to Nobara. 

He really should be paying more attention to the instructions Gojo gives. There’s probably some valuable knowledge hidden in his words somewhere. He needs to stop swirling his shoes in the ground, making small loops and spirals with his heel. Yuuji shouts in the distance, and there’s a smack to go along with it—definitely Nobara. 

A star, then a square, then a circle, then a leaf. Megumi is about to wipe the dirt clear and try an apple shape when the shrill of Nobara’s laughter cuts through his thoughts. Gojo has his hands in a defensive position, parallel to Yuuji, then points to Megumi’s placement. This catches his attention. 

Yuuji looks up at Gojo with fervent determination, taking in what is being relayed to him with what appears to be utmost care. Yuuji does a few more motions, which look like strikes to an opponent, and nods at Gojo’s further instruction. Nobara laughs at something Yuuji says, and Gojo motions to have Yuuji demonstrate. 

From what Megumi can tell, it looks a lot like Yuuji is wrestling an imaginary bear. 

Under further observation, Nobara pulls out her straw doll and does something to Yuuji with it. Megumi intently works on making a sunflower with his feet. 

The more he watches, the more he wants to leave. The itch to be out there with his classmates is stronger than he realized it would be. He looks down at his wrist and curses to himself, angry his body was so weak to have sustained such a stupid injury. 

He doesn’t pity himself. Rather, he regrets not having been strong or smart or quick enough to demand another outcome. He should really be out there right now, being the other half of Yuuji’s sparring match or helping Nobara with target practice. 

Guilt settles on his stomach once again as he watches Yuuji out there. Megumi is so lucky that Yuuji was not injured or killed. 

Megumi knows that there has always been something wrong with him. Whether he was born with it or a victim of circumstance, there has been something wrong with Megumi’s head. He has no name for it, no diagnosis or documentation, but there has been a black hole in his mind since he could remember gaining consciousness. 

It sucks the good things inside before Megumi can get to savor them, leaving emptiness and a chilling hollow. The black hole holds onto memories and emotions and ideas and won't let them go. Megumi has tried to fight it, tried to wedge it loose and knock it out of his crowded brain. But its fixed position never budges. 

Megumi has learned to live around it. He accepts that there is something wrong with him that he cannot fix. He lives life the best he can, albeit with a metaphorical limp. He goes through the motions and enjoys what he can before the best moments are inevitably taken over by the collapsed star. 

He’s not devoid of love or light, but it doesn’t stick around for long enough. Megumi is used to shadows and darkness anyway. 

A pair of feet is at his side the next time he looks up. 

“Hey.”

“Hello.”

“What are you doing on the ground?”

“Artwork.”

Panda sits down next to him with a thud, crossing his legs. “Show your war wound off, if ya don’t mind.”

Megumi rolls up his sleeve to show the damn cast again. “Itadori said they had to piece it back together.”

Panda hums. “A puzzle with really high stakes.”

“If that’s what you want to call it.”

“Bet you wish Ms. Ieiri was here.”

Megumi rolls his eyes and brings his knees up. “No, I’d rather heal this naturally and have it take two months,” he says with just a little sarcasm. 

Panda pats his shoulder and laughs a little. “Take a little time to chill. It’s not every day you’re forced to do nothing. I wish I could take a day or two to lounge and kick around pebbles.”

What Panda fails to understand is that Megumi needs to be busy. He feels terrible when his mind and body become idle. There’s a reason he throws himself into training or homework or reading. When left unoccupied, the black hole starts to wreak more havoc than he can handle. 

“I don’t like being useless,” he says with melancholy. He doesn’t mean to, but it slips through anyway. 

“Nah, you’re too hard on yourself. You may be out for a minute, but you’re definitely not useless. You’re absolutely a force to be reckoned with. Hell, sometimes I get nervous when you put your hands together. Dunno why, but I worry something even scarier than those bunnies or dogs will appear.”

It reminds him that Panda has seen a fraction of the freak things Megumi can summon with the contortion of his hands. 

“You’d like the elephant.”

“You can summon an elephant?” 

Well, not right now.

He chuckles at Panda’s reaction. “I thought you knew that.”

Panda shrugs and looks to Gojo in the distance. “Guess I don’t remember. But I’m pretty sure that’s something a guy should remember.”

“You should probably remember a large elephant, yes.”

“I should be more observant.”

“You definitely should.”

They talk some more about what else is wrong with Megumi at the moment, with Panda demanding he look right into Megumi’s eyes to see if they’re still messed up from the concussion. After a once-over, Panda deems him a clean bill of health, minus the wrist. Megumi is certain that Panda would make for a terribly negligent doctor. The blacks of his pupils covered two different amounts of iris that morning when he checked. 

On the other side of his brain, Megumi is thankful Panda doesn’t have the utility to ask him what happened to earn him such a prize like a cast and messed up eyes. 

Yuuji has noticed Panda now and is walking over. Megumi shuffles his feet to erase the poorly drawn Kirby. 

“Panda! Fushiguro!” Yuuji greets. Nobara is clearly melting from boredom in the background from whatever conversation Gojo has her trapped in. 

“Itadori!” Panda waves. “How’s it going?” 

“Not bad, not bad. What are you doing here? Keeping Fushiguro company?” 

A bead of sweat has formed across Yuuji’s temple, trickling slowly down to his cheek. His sleeves are rolled up to reveal scarred arms. Megumi watches him carefully. 

“Came to check out the war wound,” Panda states, motioning his head to Megumi’s wrist. “Legend has it the fated Yuuji Itadori sliced down a monstrous beast to save the kingdom.” 

Megumi wants to throat punch Panda now.

Yuuji grins and sits down with them. “Nah, just had to knock it around a few times. All good!” 

Yuuji has been uncharacteristically vague about what he did to dispel the thing that caused Megumi to be in this situation in the first place, and Megumi hasn’t dared to ask. 

“Did you do it, or did… you know… he?” 

Yuuji shakes his head. “Just me! I did it all by myself.” He turns to Megumi and curls his lips up. “And really, I don’t even know what I even did. I was so focused on Fushiguro, I kinda blacked out.”

A rush of pain hits the back of Megumi’s head. It drenches his brain in a mist of tightness, squeezing his skull in a vice grip. He sucks a breath in, trying to stifle the face he’s making. His eyes are squinted and his jaw is clenched. Yuuji turns to him. 

“Hey, are you good?”

Megumi nods slowly, the pain only worsening as he does. He wonders if the black hole has finally materialized and is tearing away his mind from the inside. 

“You look kinda green,” Panda says. 

Megumi brings a hand to his face to cover the light bleeding through his eyelids. He doesn’t know what this feeling is. It’s different from his initial injury, and he has the strange sense that it has nothing to do with any sort of head trauma. 

When he goes to speak, his mouth fills with saliva. Slightly panicked and unsure of what’s going on, Megumi leans back against the pillar to ground himself. 

There’s some shuffling, then his cheeks feel wet. A storm of intense guilt blooms out of nowhere, leaving Megumi breathless and distressed. 

A conversation is being had around him. Yuuji is talking back to Panda, Nobara shouts in the distance, but someone is holding bells to Megumi’s ears. He can’t make out any sort of intelligible words. Just when he lifts his hand to signal to Yuuji, his face is in his lap, and everything else goes dark.

It marks what Megumi thinks is the fourth time he’s passed out within a one-week span. Unsurprisingly this time, Gojo and Yuuji stand above him. 

Gojo’s blindfold throws him off when he tries to focus on something, so he turns to Yuuji’s concerned face and homes in on his big eyes. 

A hand on his back helps him sit up slightly, and the familiar sight of his room welcomes him again. Gojo puts a pillow behind his neck. 

“You okay?” Gojo asks, taking his hand back. “Quit getting knocked out, it’s only fun to watch Yuuji carry you like a sack of potatoes a few times. After a while, it gets old.” 

Megumi turns back to see that Yuuji is not smiling, and is instead looking like he’s holding back tears. 

“I don’t know what happened,” Megumi grunts out. He looks down at his hands, then at his covered legs. Everything feels normal. Maybe his ankle hurts a little more, but nothing of any concern. Notably, his head pain is gone. 

“Panda said he thought you looked weird earlier,” Gojo says. 

In his head, Megumi wants to scoff. Panda would be wrong, his own assessment said otherwise. 

“I felt fine until it just happened. The back of my head felt like it was being crushed.”

He omits the feeling of deep dread that accompanied him. 

“Your head still, eh?” Gojo leans down to examine his face up close. “Your eyes look more normal now. Maybe passing out is good for you.” 

“Sure.”

Gojo takes a hand to his chin and tilts his face around. Megumi shies away. His hands are freezing cold. 

“Look at my nose.”

Megumi does.

“Good news, you’re not cross-eyed, and your beautiful green eyes are visible. Do that a few more times, and your arm might heal quick,” Gojo hums with glee. 

Yuuji sits down on his bed. 

“Do you know when—”

Gojo cuts him off. “I gotta go, meeting time. Take care of Megumi, Itadori. Pretty please. If he throws up or something, tell Ijichi to take him to the hospital.”

He’s gone with a slam of the door, and Megumi turns back to Yuuji’s nervous face. 

“What?”

“Hm?” Yuuji’s lip twitches. 

“What’s wrong with you? Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re upset.”

Yuuji crawls over to put his warm knuckles on Megumi’s forehead, pressing around. He looks tired and out of sorts, with soft lines of concern written between his eyebrows. 

“You passed out again. I’m worried about your head.” 

Megumi is still somewhat lying down. He goes to rise when Yuuji presses his hand onto his shoulder. “Don’t get up.”

“I want to talk to you,” Megumi protests. 

“Do it from down there.” 

“I don’t like being on different angles. I want to speak with our faces even.”

Yuuji stares at him for a moment, then moves his body parallel to Megumi on the bed. It’s too small for any real room between them, and Megumi doesn’t have it in him to disallow it. 

“How’s this?” 

Yuuji looks nicer like this. Right next to Megumi, looking at him with such concern that he wants to blush under the unfamiliar intensity. He settles into the grey sheets and huffs a long sigh. 

“How long was I out?” Megumi mumbles, the back of his neck tingling. 

“Ten minutes, maybe. Enough to haul you back here and for Gojo and me to figure out what to do with you,” Yuuji answers quietly, like he’s searching for something else in Megumi’s voice. 

“It’s not my head, I don’t pass out like that.” 

“I believe you,” Yuuji says quickly. “It’s something else.”

Megumi furrows his brows slightly. “What do you mean?”

Yuuji looks to the ceiling for a moment. It allows Megumi to get a good look at the scars where a secondary pair of eyes tend to appear. He shudders, and Yuuji notices. 

“Stress?” Yuuji asks. Maybe. Probably. “You look nervous.”

“Me?” Megumi tilts his head the best he can against the pillow. 

“Yeah,” Yuuji says solemnly. 

“I’m not.”

Yuuji’s breath is hitched for a split second, and he pulls the covers up to his shoulder. “Tomorrow there’s another mission that Nobara and I are going on.”

Megumi’s stomach flips. 

“So what?” he stammers, slapping away the guilt and embarrassment that swirl around his tongue. 

“I dunno. Just thought you should know before we just up and leave.” 

Megumi isn’t sure what Yuuji is getting at. Is he supposed to be excited that his friends are going without him?

“What are the details? Where is it at?”

“Hospital,” he hums. 

Megumi hates hospital curses. 

“What grade?”

“Probably a couple grade threes and a grade two. Gojo said it shouldn’t be an issue.”

The curse that handed his ass back to him was supposed to be a reasonable level of strength, but Megumi sees where that got him. 

“Please don’t do anything stupid. Don’t get yourself killed,” Megumi says with too much emotion. He’s nervous for Yuuji to go without him. 

But even if he were there, it might not even make a difference. Megumi was the one who needed help last time. He can’t even save Yuuji.

“I’m not gonna,” Yuuji says softly. “I’ll be okay. Don’t worry so much about me, I'm alright.” He smiles weakly at Megumi. 

“Then quit being so worried about me, too,” he retorts. 

“Are you scared of something?”

He says it unexpectedly that Megumi doesn’t have the time to find a response. He freezes, and the hair on the back of his neck sticks up. The wall behind Yuuji becomes interesting. 

“What’s that mean?”

Yuuji motions his shoulder so that Megumi returns his eye contact. “I mean, are you worried about something else?”

He frowns. “I don’t think so. Are you trying to psychoanalyze me?”

Yuuji crinkles his nose and shrugs. “If that’s the word for it, maybe. There’s something off with you, Fushiguro. I know you keep saying it isn’t your head, and I don’t think it’s the concussion either. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you just seem… bothered. I dunno what, but you seem too into your own head.”

Megumi stares at Yuuji. 

“And I know I keep sorta saying it to you, but seriously, whatever you need, just let me know. I’ll listen to whatever you need to say, if you wanna talk about stuff. Don’t think I’m judging you or anything. It’s important to me that you aren’t alone.”

Even if Megumi wants to say something back, he can’t. 

When they first got to know each other, Yuuji came off as an energetic sweetheart. A boy who bounced off walls and connected with everyone he met. His smile always reached his eyes and emitted an aura of joy and passion and enthusiasm. 

Getting to know him further, Megumi has come to realize that Yuuji has a lot more layers than he lets on. He is still all those things he noticed before, but now, Megumi understands more about what lies beneath the warm exterior. 

Yuuji knows what it’s like to be lonely. 

He doesn’t talk much about his family, just his late grandpa, who meant the world to him. The stories he tells of his life before he was sucked into the jujutsu sphere are those of school with just a few select peers. On the surface, Yuuji seems like a guy with a hundred friends. The Yuuji that Megumi knows now is a soft, rather solitary boy on the inside, who finds joy in the smallest of things because he has to. There wasn’t, and still isn’t, much else in Yuuji’s life that hands him happiness on a silver platter. Yuuji’s outlook on life is a product of his lonely upbringing. 

On that level, Megumi connects with him deeper than almost anyone else. Yuuji knows how it feels to be by himself and carry burdens with no one around to relieve him of duty. He doesn’t want Megumi to feel how he’s felt. 

Megumi wants to tell him it’s too late, that he’s grown up alone all the same. Tsumiki and Gojo were the only people who kept him company throughout his young life, and it’s put them in the same boat. 

However, Megumi can’t find it within him to push him away right now. 

Slowly, not fully sure of himself, Megumi shifts to the side and takes his good hand to Yuuji’s next to him. He fumbles his fingers to close around Yuuji’s, until Yuuji opens his hand and slides their palms together. 

“Thank you,” Megumi says earnestly. “Thank you, Itadori.” 

Yuuji has a soft blush across his cheeks as he rubs Megumi’s fingers with his own. “We don’t have to talk about anything right now. If you don’t wanna. But please let me in when you need it. It’s frustrating to be in your position, y’know. With everything else you go through. I sorta get it, at least a little. So let me help you when you need it.”

Megumi might be tearing up, he can’t really tell. His chest is heavy with guilt and reluctance still. It doesn’t feel right to accept care from him. Yuuji has enough going on inside his body that he shouldn’t divide his attention. 

Yuuji’s warm fingers reach to scratch at his wrist. 

“Why?” he sputters, watching Yuuji play with the hemline of his uniform. “Why do I matter so much to you? Why does it matter to you whether or not I deal with this alone?”

It’s an honest question, one that he can’t really believe he’s asking out loud. He’s thought of it periodically, but hasn’t had the gall to say it directly. Yuuji hums beside him. 

“Why do you care so much about me?” Yuuji returns. “You were adamant that they didn’t execute me on the spot for the whole Sukuna mess. What made you want to keep me alive? You didn’t even really know me.”

Yuuji’s voice is calm and even, washing waves of gentleness over Megumi’s seizing heart. 

“That’s different,” Megumi returns. “I wasn’t going to let you just die.”

“Is it really different?” Yuuji hums. “We were total strangers back then. If you couldn’t let a stranger die, how am I supposed to let my friend hurt on his own? That’s way worse.”

Megumi opens his mouth to speak, but can’t find anything to say. He stares at Yuuji’s hand in his own and listens to his lungs rattle, trying to figure out what he should do from here. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Megumi mumbles, pressing his face into the blanket. “Why do you care so much about me?”

Yuuji smiles and looks down, curling into himself just a little. “I think you’re pretty cool.” 

Megumi should flick him for that answer, but his good hand is being worked on and the other is in a cast. 

“It’s just a broken wrist,” Megumi says, reeling himself back in. “You care too much about a broken wrist.”

Yuuji shakes his head and rolls the cuff of the sleeve upwards, tracing up Megumi’s forearm. “It’s not about your wrist, Fushiguro. I was worried for you, of course, but you’ll heal. But you’re fully out of commission right now, which is something I haven't seen from you yet. Being hurt and still being able to function is different than being injured and out of it. I can tell you’re kinda bummed about not being able to be with us.”

“You guys can go on missions without me. I don’t have to be there for all of them,” Megumi insists, rolling his head to look at the other side of his room. 

“What I’m trying to say is it’s more up here,” he taps softly at Megumi’s forehead, “rather than a physical thing.”

Megumi shifts in his seat to look back at Yuuji. His soft cheeks and pink hair are ruffled from the pillow, soft brown eyes big and wide and sincere. He feels his chest blooming with a foreign feeling that makes him want to itch his insides. It’s like there’s a windstorm of leaves fluttering around throughout his torso, touching every piece of his stomach and heart and lungs. 

He suddenly feels terrible for every time he’s ever kicked Yuuji away in his attempts to be there for him.

Quietly, barely above a whisper, Megumi mutters, “I don’t think I deserve this.”

Yuuji takes the hand that had just touched his forehead and sets it on his cheek, running the pads of his fingers up and down slowly. “But you do.”

“How do you know that?” he breathes, tethered to Yuuji’s gaze.

“Why wouldn’t you deserve it?”

Megumi doesn’t think he can go into all the reasons he feels the way he does. It would take too long and freak Yuuji out. Yuuji’s thumb rubs the tip of Megumi’s nose. 

“I can’t tell you that,” he says. 

“You can tell me anything, Fushiguro.” 

Yuuji moves closer, head resting on Megumi’s shoulder. 

He should push him away and tell him that he doesn’t need to do this. Tell him to get out, to leave Megumi to his own devices so he doesn’t have to keep relying on other people to keep him going. He should brush Yuuji’s hand off his face and wrench his hand out of his hold. Keep his problems to himself, stop the bleeding as soon as he can. 

“What if I can’t tell you everything?” 

“Then I’ll be here until you can,” he smiles. 

“I don’t understand why you’re so kind to me.”

Yuuji lifts his head slightly, hovering just above Megumi, and sweeps the backs of his knuckles across Megumi’s cheek. “You’re deserving of kindness, Fushiguro.”

Megumi looks up solemnly and goes to respond when Yuuji smiles to himself, cheeks puffing as he moves. 

The look isn’t hesitant, but something softer, lighter. “I’m really sorry if I’m overstepping,” he tells him, and slides his lips to Megumi’s.

Megumi’s eyes flutter shut, taken aback by the sudden motion. Yuuji kisses him so softly that it feels almost like feathers caressing his entire face. His hand folds around Yuuji’s, soaking in the warmth. 

It’s gone just as soon as it comes. Yuuji pulls back and lays his head down on the pillow again, looking over at him with gentle, half-lidded eyes.

“I’ll never do that again if you don’t want it, but I wasn’t sure how else I could prove to you that you are deserving of love.”

Megumi’s mouth hangs open in both shock and fear. He takes a deep breath and nods, watching Yuuji stare back at him. 

“That’s fine,” he says quickly. “I’m not upset.”

Yuuji beams at him, sliding his arm behind Megumi’s neck and scratching the hair at his nape. Yuuji’s breath tickles Megumi’s nose as they lie there in comfortable silence.

“Whatever you want, I’m game. We can never speak of this again if you want. Or we can talk about it later. Don’t feel like you have to say anything right now.”

Megumi nods, then speaks before his brain catches up with him. “Can I kiss you one more time?”

“Any time, Fushiguro,” Yuuji almost giggles. He slides back over to kiss him again, just as soft and sweet as the first. Megumi keeps up with him this time, moving his own lips softly against the boy beside him. 

Yuuji is unfairly warm and soft to the touch. He holds Megumi so gently that he almost forgets that Yuuji is a master of brute force. Megumi is too stunned to do much else, so he lets Yuuji’s mouth kiss him over and over until he pulls away. 

He’s relaxed in a way he hasn’t been before. Maybe he should be on higher alert, but the moment doesn’t call for it. He kisses Yuuji one more time, chaste and quick, and makes him blush down his neck. Tan skin flushed with rosy pinkness. He catches his breath and watches Yuuji lay his head down onto the same pillow Megumi is on. 

“Want me to stay?” Yuuji asks sweetly. “I’ll have to shower and stuff, but I’ll stay if you want.”

“Do you want to stay?” Megumi returns, licking his lips of Yuuji’s saliva. 

“I hoped you’d want me to, since I’ve been trying to stay since we met,” Yuuji chuckles to himself. 

Megumi musters a half smile and nods. “I wouldn’t mind.”

His arm throbs after Yuuji leaves to collect his nighttime things, but feels right again once he returns.

They don’t cuddle or do much else. Yuuji sleeps on one side of the mattress, and Megumi sleeps on the other. Their legs connect slightly but don’t overlap. The wall is covered by Yuuji’s sleeping form, so Megumi leaves it alone for the night. He doesn’t mind the heat radiating off Yuuji, either. It warms his cold body through the center.

It keeps happening that way. 

Yuuji curls himself up against Megumi, warm and comforting, time and time again. He holds him in the evening and blocks the wall from his view. He walks with him when Ieiri comes back and heals his arm. He’s there when Megumi summons his demon dogs for the first time in weeks and squeals in excitement on the floor. He’s there when they go on a mission as a trio and come back completely unscathed. 

Megumi’s hands are never cold or empty. They’re filled with Yuuji’s as often as Yuuji can manage. And if they’re not holding Yuuji’s hands, they’re grasping at his collar, tugging at his sleeve, or swatting playfully at the back of his head. Megumi lets himself soak in Yuuji’s aura. 

Even after Megumi is physically back to normal, Yuuji asks him periodically how his head and hands feel. He makes sure nothing looks weird or wrong, asks Megumi to roll his wrist in a circle to check its range of motion, and always takes his left hand into his own at night to rub small circles into it. Forehead kisses and the constant (though welcomed) scratches at his scalp are Yuuji’s way of checking in on what happened that day. Though Ieiri’s work is thorough and has never failed thus far, Yuuji insists on keeping his own eye on Megumi. 

As a token of what Yuuji describes as their “unique bond,” he hangs the card he got Megumi on Megumi’s bedroom wall with a tack so it can be appreciated more often than it would be sitting on the desk. Megumi stares at it sometimes when Yuuji isn’t there. 

It’s nice for a while. Megumi almost gets used to Yuuji’s calm. Despite Yuuji being the opposite of relaxed in his normal life, Megumi latches onto the understanding that they are each other's pillar of mutual trust.  

They train and study during the day with Nobara, live life as usual before any of this happened. They aren’t seated any closer during lunch than they ever were. Nobara, who catches every undertone and body language shift she comes across, has said nothing to either of them. They are completely the same, Yuuji and Megumi. Friends, classmates, sorcerers. 

And then it catches up to Megumi that this is a terrible, terrible thing to involve Yuuji in.

He sits himself back on his bed, still indented from where Yuuji had been that morning. They spoke nothing of the weeks prior, nor any implications of what’s changed. Yuuji was quiet and soft, attentive and understanding. He gave him a peck on the nose before they left the room for breakfast and squeezed his hand as they walked behind Nobara to find Gojo.

Yuuji has no business being within the orbit of the black hole. Megumi cannot possibly let him far enough inside to allow it to suck Yuuji in as well. Megumi deals with it enough on his own, it would be evil to corrupt Yuuji too. 

If he hasn’t felt its pull so far, he will in due time. 

He locks himself up against the wall and stares once more. 

Whatever has come over him in these past weeks, whatever gave him the go ahead to allow Yuuji to kiss him needs to be addressed. Whatever has prompted him to kiss Yuuji back also needs to be worked through. And especially whatever continues allowing him to sleep in his bed night after night. 

Megumi thinks back to when it all began while tracing patterns of paint scratches. On the day of their meeting, Megumi felt like he was struck by a shooting star as Yuuji ran past. His chest had been searing hot, and his throat scarily close to squeezing shut. The boy in the obnoxious yellow hoodie with a look of sheer goodness that Megumi could never hope to replicate. 

Since the start, Megumi has been drawn to him. 

A moth to Yuuji’s glowing flame, a moon orbiting his gravitational pull. Megumi has allowed himself to wash ashore at the mercy of Yuuji’s rolling tide.

But he can’t let it continue. 

Love might be too strong, affection is too broad, and interest is too vague. Megumi isn’t sure which label he should place on what he feels towards Yuuji, other than how he has always wished to be near him since the beginning. He always wants to float around him, whether he allows himself to or not. 

And that’s the issue. Megumi can’t let it continue. 

He needs to push Yuuji away, not because he doesn’t want his company, but because it’s safer that way. It’s safer for Megumi to keep their distance so he doesn’t invade too hard and mess up Yuuji’s life even further. 

The black hole that is slowly eating away at Megumi’s brain will begin eroding Yuuji’s. Megumi is undeserving of a brilliant sun like Yuuji, no matter how often Yuuji tells him otherwise. 

He flicks a paint chip off the wall. 

Yuuji is adamant on showing him kindness that Megumi simply cannot fully accept. He does not deserve it, and he knows it. Megumi is both a terrible danger and a high-end liability. Useless and powerful. Megumi wishes his mind would just pick something to believe in and stick with it. 

Megumi finds little in life to look forward to. He needs to make sure Yuuji stops being one of them. It’s unfair to the boy who did nothing but try his best. 

Later that evening, Yuuji enters the room and smiles at Megumi’s still form on the bed. He pokes his cheeks and smooths his hand through Megumi’s ruffled hair. Megumi heats up at the touch, but the black hole has recognized something other than emptiness and is looking for another way to keep Megumi’s head beneath water. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Yuuji hums, sitting down beside him. “Sleepy?”

Megumi opens his mouth to respond, but stares vacantly up at him. 

Yuuji nods in understanding and presses a soft kiss to his temple. “Let’s go to bed early tonight. I’m beat.”

He fumbles his uniform top off and lies down in his undershirt, sprawled across what’s left of Megumi’s mattress. The sight elicits a stabbing pain through Megumi’s chest as he thinks about what he’s going to tell him. 

“You know,” Yuuji continues, stretching, “I smacked my elbow on the doorframe to the bathroom earlier. It still sorta feels like there are little beans swimming around my arm.”

Megumi nods and lets Yuuji bury his face into the sheets, the back of his throat tightening with every passing moment. Yuuji slings an arm around his torso. 

He’s grown used to this. Anticipating the gentle sweetness he’s been awarded for some time now. His arm had been a catalyst for Yuuji to slip into his head without protest. He’s scared he won’t be able to get him out without harm. 

They lie there for more minutes than Megumi can keep track of. Yuuji plays on his phone and rubs circles into Megumi’s side, and Megumi tries to figure out how to speak without spewing his guts out. 

When Yuuji gets up to turn off the light, Megumi feels the air expel from his lungs and decides to twist the knife before he can back away. 

“Itadori,” he starts as Yuuji crawls back over to him. He snuggles himself against Megumi’s shoulder, and Megumi wants to cry out. 

“Hm?” Yuuji answers, muffled by the fabric against his face. He’s covered in shadows but still illuminated by the bright moon. 

“I need to say something,” Megumi shivers. His face is burning hot, pricked by fear and hesitance. 

Yuuji catches his eyes, looking up to study him. “Yeah? What’s up? Something wrong?”

He cringes as Yuuji speaks, drawn to the wall behind him being blocked by his width. 

“We need to talk.”

Yuuji’s concern melts into something deeper. He rolls and sits up on his heels, prompting Megumi to sit up as well. His hands grip at nothing as he cocks his head to the side. 

“About what? Is everything okay?” 

Megumi’s heartbeat hammers against his eardrums in an erratic, nauseating way. He looks away from Yuuji’s face, unable to face him fully. 

“No.”

Yuuji nods once in acknowledgment. “Okay,” he says softly. “What’s going on and how can I help you?” 

Acid pools in the back of Megumi’s throat. 

“I can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

Megumi motions to Yuuji, then the bed. “Whatever we’ve been doing,” he chokes. 

Yuuji’s lips press into a straight line, turning white instead of pink. 

“Do you not like it?” he asks, swallowing visibly. 

Megumi hisses. Every moment he’s shared with Yuuji since this started floods back into his mind. He’s overwhelmed with the kindness, softness, and love he’s felt through him. Love that has lingered longer than most nice things do. He does like it. He loves it, even. Loves him. 

“I can’t do this to you,” Megumi trembles, lip quivering. “I can’t subject you to this.”

Yuuji stares at him. “To what?”

“To me.”

A hand folds around his own but Megumi pulls it away. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yuuji asks, setting his arm back down. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You didn’t, Itadori. It’s not you,” he shakes his head. 

“Then tell me what’s up with you, please,” Yuuji says earnestly. “You don’t have to be specific but tell me how I can help.” 

“You can’t,” Megumi shakes his head again. “There’s nothing you can do.” 

“How do you know? Please tell me,” Yuuji frowns, gripping his own thumb. 

Megumi studies his face with a hundred years of guilt weighing him down. Yuuji looks sad—terrified, even. Not for himself but for Megumi. 

“There’s something wrong with me,” Megumi tells him, breathing heavy. “There’s something wrong, and there always has been. I can’t keep letting you this close to me. It’s not good for you.”

Yuuji furrows his eyebrows and looks down, thinking. 

“Not good for me? Fushiguro, this has been the time of my life getting to be next to you.” 

Megumi figured he’d say something like that. Yuuji’s stare is too intense, too concerned, too pale for Megumi’s taste. 

He fumbles with his wrist, digging a nail into his palm. “You only know me when it’s sunny. You wouldn’t like the rain.”

Yuuji’s face softens slightly. “I don’t mind the rain.”

“How would you know? You haven’t been subjected to it yet.” Megumi looks down, cold. 

“I mean, maybe not a whole storm, but I’ve seen you when you’re raining. I still like you just as much.”

Megumi continues shaking his head. “You can’t possibly like me just as much when I’m like that.”

“I do, actually. I’ve got umbrellas,” Yuuji smiles weakly. He grabs for Megumi’s clammy hand again and Megumi doesn’t have the strength to push him off. 

He feels limp in his seat. Yuuji traces around the outside of his palm, the one that spent some time in a cast. 

“I’m here for you no matter what, Fushiguro. I want to be. I’m not just trying to be nice or anything. You’re important to me. I’m here to help where I can.”

“You cannot fix me, Itadori,” Megumi insists, flexing his wrist. “This isn’t something that quality time and friendship can fix. This will never get better, you have to understand that. It won’t even if I wanted it to.”

Desperation builds in his stomach, like he’s pleading for the rope to be cut so he can drift off into the water. 

Yuuji bows his head a little further and looks up at Megumi. “You don’t want it to get better?”

“I deserve everything I deal with.”

The remorseful eyes in front of him quickly melt into ardent disbelief. “You don’t,” Yuuji states thickly. “You don’t deserve any of the shit you deal with.” 

“Who are you to make that distinction?” Megumi challenges, heartbeat racing through his ears. “You always think everyone should be saved. But some people don’t. Some people deserve what they have coming to them.” 

“Stop it,” Yuuji coughs, shaking his head. “Don’t say that about yourself.”

“Why? Does it bother you?” Megumi spits. “That not everyone is deserving of a happy ending?”

“You are!” Yuuji yelps, clutching Megumi’s fingers tight. “You are deserving of that.”

“You think that about everyone. I’m not special, people in general are not special. Not everyone deserves that.” He heaves a breath in. “Why me? Is everyone deserving of your affection, Itadori? Who are you to decide that everyone should be happy?” 

Yuuji looks down, shaking his head still. His eyes are cloudy, darting back and forth, never lingering anywhere too long.

“I’m not saying everyone is a great person, but you of all people don’t fit into the category of evil,” he tells him, looking dead in his eyes now. “You deserve love because I say so. And I say so because maybe I’m selfish and want that for you. I deem you worthy of love just because I want to. Even if it’s not from me, I think you’re a good person who should get to feel loved and appreciated.”

Megumi feels his cheeks heat up and his eyes well with hot tears. 

“I’m not a good person.”

“Says who?”

Megumi grimaces as a tear drips down his face. 

“I’m just not.”

“Says who?”

“Me. I say so,” Megumi grits out, voice warbled as he bites down more tears. He flares his shoulders like he’s ready to fight, but there’s no energy to back him up. 

“So then we’re even,” Yuuji says, scooting himself closer so that they’re parallel. “You say you’re unworthy, and I say otherwise. Who do we believe?” 

Megumi squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, but can’t contain the tears that have been holstered to his lids through surface tension alone. 

“I don’t know,” Megumi whispers, wincing as he does. “You shouldn’t even be here to begin with.”

Yuuji tilts to the side. “What’s that supposed to mean? Why shouldn’t I be here with you?”

Megumi shakes his head and curls his legs inward to his body. “This life isn’t for you. You never should have been thrown into this pit of constant bullshit. You were supposed to live a normal life.”

“I mean,“ Yuuji shrugs slightly, taking a hand to Megumi’s knee. “You’re probably right, I probably shouldn’t have done all that stuff and eaten the finger to begin with. But I can’t change that now, and neither can you.”

“I messed up. I shouldn’t have let you do that,” Megumi nearly whimpers, throat growing tight. “I couldn’t even save you.”

“Fushiguro, you don’t blame yourself for this, do you? For me becoming a sorcerer?”

Megumi looks up at him blankly and holds his breath. 

“No, no no, Fushiguro, don’t blame yourself. Please don’t blame yourself,” Yuuji mumbles, shaking his head again. He’s staring so intensely, his lip almost trembling. “Please, none of that was your fault. I did that all by myself, it wasn’t you.”

“I didn’t stop you.” 

“You couldn’t, I didn’t give you the chance,” Yuuji urges. “It was never your fault. I was sorta just in the wrong place and the wrong time.”

“You still shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t have a bounty on your head.”

Yuuji juts his lip out now and looks down. “Maybe so, but then I wouldn’t have met so many people. Gojo, Kugisaki, you, the second years. And Nanami, Ijichi—all of them. I wouldn’t have these people around me to keep me company.” 

“You had friends at home,” Megumi laments. “Everything here has brought you nothing but danger.”

“Yeah, a few friends, but I really can’t say they’re on the same level as you guys are now. They were important to me, but since coming here, I’m a lot more intertwined with these people,” he assures and adjusts his legs. 

Megumi hears him but can’t do much but deflate, settling back against his pillow. Yuuji eases him down with a solemn expression, his eyebrows creased with concern. 

“I’m just sorry for all of this.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. What else could you apologize about? You’ve done nothing but make things easy to adjust to,” Yuuji tells him softly. 

“I don’t—” he gives up halfway into his sentence, forgetting what he was trying to say. A tear lands at the corner of his mouth and tastes of salt.

This is the worst. This is the worst thing he’s done. He has hunted and sliced and punched and kicked, but he’s never pushed someone like Yuuji away. It’s usually so easy. Megumi hates that it’s so hard right now.

“Just let me let you go.”

“No, I’m not gonna do that.” 

“Why?”

Yuuji lifts his hands to place them on Megumi’s cheeks. Cracking his eyes slightly, he sees Yuuji’s marbled image. 

“Megumi—Fushiguro—whatever, I like you a lot. I really do. I like your hair and your eyes and your sense of humor. I think you’re super cool and I think you look really badass when you’re fighting curses. It’s really awesome that you’re so smart and can teach me things that I didn’t even know existed. You’re so nice to be around, and there has never been a time when I felt dragged down by you.” Yuuji takes a hand to tuck a strand of hair back behind Megumi’s ear before he continues.

“We have completely different life experiences, and I think that’s okay. I don’t expect to ‘fix you’ or whatever, I just want to be around you. I wanna hold your hand and kiss your face and stuff. And when you don’t feel good or have some issues, I want to be there for you so you’re not alone. I promise you, I really don’t mind the rain. You’re more than a weather pattern.”

The delicate strings of Megumi’s heart fray the rest of the way and snap clean. Yuuji doesn’t let him respond. He wraps his arms around Megumi’s shoulders and pulls him into his chest while he weeps silently. 

Megumi could never hope to explain what truly goes on inside. From his skewed view of the world to his debatably grey moral code. It’s foolish to think that any one singular person can save or fix another. It’s just not how that works. Not for Megumi, and probably not for anyone else. One person rarely has that much pull over another, and it’s even rarer that a person can outmatch a black hole. 

But in this moment, Yuuji is not a savior or a hero or even a sorcerer. He’s a warm, safe body to collapse into while Megumi lets everything he’s kept inside spill out of him like a popped balloon. 

Megumi cries harder once Yuuji slips his hand under his shirt to scratch at his back. He draws lines up and down Megumi’s spine and holds the back of his neck with his other hand. Warm hands that don’t feel as rough as they should. 

He trembles terribly. There’s a moment where he feels that he can’t breathe, that he can’t get his throat to open enough to let anything through. His sobs make him twitch and gasp and wheeze, trying desperately to get air back in him. Yuuji pulls his head out of its place against his chest and places both hands on his cheeks. 

“Hey, look at me.” 

Megumi tries and fails, getting stuck trying to catch the snot falling from his nose from running down his chin. It’s ugly and disgusting; Yuuji should think less of him. 

“How about this,” Yuuji starts, pushing his thumbs across Megumi’s cheeks to clear some of the tears. “Let’s go over here.”

Yuuji sits against the wall, dragging Megumi with him. Megumi feels like a doll again, limp and pliant as Yuuji moves him into position. He ends up nearly on top of him, sitting in his lap so their chests meet. Megumi’s jagged cries contrast completely with Yuuji’s steady breaths. 

Yuuji throws Megumi’s arms around his neck and holds his waist solidly. 

“You’re okay, Fushiguro. I’m here for you.”

“You can’t do this for me,” Megumi chokes out, barely speaking over his own fluttering gasps. He’s tucked into the crook of Yuuji’s neck. “You shouldn’t.”

“I will ‘cuz I want to,” Yuuji hums in a soothing tone, hands returning to Megumi’s back to scratch calmly. “I want to hold you when it rains.”

“I’m getting you wet,” Megumi almost whispers. He means it literally and figuratively. There is a wet patch on Yuuji’s shoulder where his tears and snot have soaked through. 

“I’ll dry,” Yuuji murmurs. “I’m not made of sugar, I won’t melt.”

Megumi lets more tears flow out, tightening his grasp around Yuuji’s frame. 

“I should be left alone. I’m going to hurt you eventually. Or let you get hurt.”

Yuuji lifts his head to the side and presses a soft kiss to the base of Megumi’s neck. 

“But then I’d be alone, and I don't want that. Plus, I’m tough. I want to be a little selfish and keep you around me. Can I do that?”

Megumi grabs a fist of Yuuji’s shirt. “Be selfish?”

“Yeah, that.”

“You—you can’t be selfish. That isn’t who you are.”

Yuuji backs Megumi away from him to look him in the eyes once more. Megumi looks down pitifully to see Yuuji’s soft, warm expression. “For you, I am.”

What he sees is telling him that Yuuji means everything he says. The way Yuuji holds him and doesn’t shy away, even when he’s crying and terrible. How even in an ugly moment like this, Yuuji cradles him like it’s nothing, like it truly isn’t a bother. 

For a strange, scary moment, Megumi believes him. He believes Yuuji’s words. That maybe, there’s a possibility that there is life beyond the rain and the wall and the black hole. 

Accepting that idea isn’t easy, regardless of the state Megumi is in. He curls into Yuuji a little further, buries his face deeper into his neck while he rides out the rest of his moment. The soft rock of Yuuji’s breath mixed with the calm beat of his heart begins to diffuse the agony swirling through Megumi’s body. 

He cries for a little longer, wipes more fluids on Yuuji’s shirt, and listens to him mumble words of smooth comfort. 

When the well of tears runs dry, Megumi shifts his head back, and Yuuji leans forward to press their foreheads together. 

“Still here,” Yuuji says. “Take your time, Fushiguro.”

Megumi swallows and takes a deep, quivering breath, feeling empty and exhausted. “I still don’t get it.”

“Get what?” Yuuji asks, running his hands along the length of Megumi’s arms. 

“Why you’re doing this for me,” he tells him, squeezing his eyes shut and leaning his head back. 

Yuuji takes his hand and kisses the ridge of his knuckles. “Some things don’t need a logical reason. I do it because I want to, and I like you. It’s just how I feel, the same as how you operate based on how you feel with yourself.”

Megumi reaches his other hand up to wipe his soaked lashes. “I’m disgusting.”

“Snot isn’t even the worst bodily fluid,” Yuuji smiles. “I had your blood all over me when you broke your arm.”

Megumi doesn’t want to think of that right now. A part of him feels that he will always hold guilt for subjecting Yuuji to that, for taxing him with an incident of that severity. 

“That shouldn’t have happened.”

“Well, it did, so. No take-backs.”

Megumi sits back a little to stare down at Yuuji before him. The patch of his shirt is nearly transparent from the pool of tears soaked into it, scrunched in every direction from Megumi’s grip. He looks at how he’s seated on top of him, how Yuuji’s hands haven’t left his body since this began, and traces his eyes to meet the brown ones that have been begging him to connect. 

“I’m still sorry about it,” Megumi mumbles, tipping his head down. 

Yuuji shrugs. “I mean, I’m pretty used to sleeping in hospitals. It was no big deal, but even if it was, I’d do it over and over for you. I know I’m pretty new at this, and I know we aren’t some longstanding childhood friends or anything, but I really like what I see from you, Fushiguro. I think you’re badass and cool,” he says, then pauses for a second. “And you’re also really beautiful, when you’re dry and when you’re upset. I respect you a lot.” 

If Megumi had more tears to cry, he’d be at their mercy, but he doesn’t, so he just nods and puts his head back down on Yuuji’s shoulder. “You can call me Megumi if you want.” 

He feels Yuuji tense slightly, his shoulders broadening and his arms faltering for just a second. 

“Really?”

“You already sort of did.”

Yuuji huffs and wraps his arms tight around Megumi’s waist, snuggling his head against Megumi’s. “Accidentally.”

“I’m sure it was.”

“It was!”

Megumi doesn’t have it in him to smile, but if he were any less drained, he’d have a smirk on his lips. 

“I’ll call you Yuuji, then,” he states gruffly, not asking. 

“You say it nice.”

“Shut up.”

Megumi tries to kiss Yuuji’s neck as best he can. It’s not controlled or aimed but he does it anyway, not knowing what else to do in the moment to return a semblance of sentiment. 

He wants to say thank you again, thank him for everything he’s done and said and shown. But he’s short on words and hasn’t the brain to string anything together. So he kisses what he feels in front of him. 

Yuuji strokes his hair as he does, giggling softly to himself. Megumi feels his shirt being tugged at, so he leans back to see. 

“Can I kiss your face, or are you gonna keep eating my neck?” 

Megumi grunts and shuts his eyes robotically, fingers still clutching Yuuji’s shirt like he’ll blow away if he lets go. 

“You’re too okay with being gross,” Megumi sighs, rubbing his nose to scrub it of as much mucus as he can. 

“Not even that gross. Like I said, I’d venture to say blood’s a little more yucky. In my humble opinion,” he grins, lifting his chin up to invite Megumi in. “C’mere.”

Megumi takes a moment to see Yuuji as he is. Nothing more, certainly nothing less, but Yuuji as himself. Someone who cares so deeply for a person like Megumi, even when he probably really shouldn’t.

It won’t get better today, and it definitely won't get better tomorrow. It may not get better at all. There’s still a black hole, itching to eat everything. There’s still a wall that keeps him paralyzed in his seat. Rain comes heavy and often. But there’s a boy with his arms wrapped tightly around his body, begging and pleading to let him in. Someone who fights to warm Megumi’s cold hands and hold him when he cries. Someone who picks his limp body up when he’s hurt and makes sure he’s never alone. 

Yuuji pulls him the rest of the way down to kiss him fully. It’s short and brief because Megumi can’t keep his head upright, wanting so badly to just lie down and sleep. When he pulls away, Yuuji takes a hand to the base of his jaw and holds him there, eyes glossy and wide open. 

“You mean so much to me, Megumi. I’m so happy to have met you,” Yuuji breathes, a blush overtaking his skin. “Don’t count yourself out.”

Megumi kisses him again, harder, and thinks of a future less dim than before.