Chapter Text
“Oh Megumiiii~” Gojo’s voice grates like nails on a chalkboard in the boy’s ears.
Burying his face further into his sympathetic pillow, Megumi groans pitifully. The merciful jaws of night have released him, forcing him back to blinding reality. Even if he didn’t technically get any sleep, at night, nobody asked for things. It was blissfully peaceful to exist without the pressure to do. A pressure that was unfortunately banging on his door right that very moment, “I know you’re in there!” Gojo’s voice sounds muffled by more than just the door, like he’s shoved his face into the crook where the door meets the frame.
“I’m coming,” Megumi tries to make the words sharp, but they’re slurred in exhaustion.
God, he’s so tired.
Pushing himself from the safe confines of his bed, the dull ache throbbing behind his dark eyes becomes ever increasing. The warmth of his bed emanating from where he was just laying is almost cruel. His pillow is still creased from cradling his head, the slight indent beckoning him back; his disheveled sheets twist around his limbs, the gentle pressure seemingly begging him to stay.
What he wouldn’t give to let himself be dragged back into their sweet embrace for just 5 minutes…
“MEGUMI GET UP OR I WILL GET YOU UP MYSELF!!”
Dropping his head in despair, the spikey-haired boy does all but cry as his own limbs feel like stones as he rips them from his beloved nest. He doesn’t bother fixing the sheets or fluffing his pillow; their current positions are perfectly curated to his body. He’ll come back to this same merciful embrace once night falls again. All he needs to do is make it through whatever hell Gojo has planned for him.
Shooting his bed one last wistful glance, the dark-haired boy gently strides toward his closet, quickly dressing himself so Gojo doesn’t make good on his threat.
.
.
.
“You boys are in for a real treat today!” Gojo’s doing some stupid hand motion as he strides along the sidewalk, leading the two boys to whatever hellish mission that’d been picked out for them today, “we’ve received news of a high school that’s experienced thirteen missing people’s reports in the past week, they’ve closed due to the sheer number.”
“That’s terrible!!” Itadori flashes his huge, sad puppy-dog eyes at the blindfolded man, twisting his lips into an impressive frown to match.
“Yeah, it’s super unusual for a highschool-level curse to do that much damage in such a short time,” Gojo hums, bringing a hand to rest inquisitively against his chin, “usually, high schools experience 1 or 2 missing people over the course of that school year; thirteen people in one week is impressive.”
“You mean terrible, right?” Itadori's frown somehow deepens as he shifts his gaze to the tense boy striding quietly beside him. “Thirteen people, Fushiguro. In one week!”
Megumi just blinks (out of sync) at him, “yeah, I heard him.” He responds flatly.
Itadori doesn’t seem satisfied with his monotone response, but doesn’t push for anything else. Instead, he seemingly carries out his own emotional response in place of Megumi’s; bringing a hand to rake roughly though his blush pink hair in distress, “those poor people…” he trails off, the words basically a distressed whimper.
Megumi’s dark eyes get a little lost in the other boy’s antics.
Itadori is so expressive.
He always has been. From that first time Megumi slammed his nosy-ass face in his dorm door; Itadori had punched Megumi in the soul with the level of hurt in those huge, sad eyes. Whenever he ate something he particularly liked, Itadori’s features would actually melt; so much so that Megumi almost felt like he was sinking in with him. That stupid sunshine-akin grin he had plastered across his face when he jumped out of that damn box had almost sun-bleached his dark uniform.
It was impressive, his ability to feel was almost strong enough to transcend to another. It made Megumi just the slightest bit envious. The sun shining out of his ass was bright enough to light up even the darkest holes in Megumi’s mind. Holes he couldn’t lighten himself. The only time Megumi felt like smiling was when Itadori was beaming one of his own at him.
And when he was in his bed.
God, he misses his bed.
“Fushiguro are you ok?” Itadori’s voice has abandoned despair, instead shifting onto a tone of concern.
The question breaks Megumi out of his thoughts, and he horrifyingly realizes he’s been staring dead at the pink-haired boy the whole time.
“What?—Yes, I’m fine.” Megumi quickly flits his gaze back to the sidewalk in front of him, the tips of his shoes becoming momentarily visible as they carry him forward.
Itadori doesn’t seem convinced. “Are you getting enough sleep? Those bags under your eyes are getting worse.”
Megumi isn’t sure if he should be more concerned with the fact that he’s been caught, or with the fact that Itadori has been watching close enough to notice a change.
“I told you, I’m fine.” Megumi sharpens his tone, refusing to look directly at the boy next to him. “Drop it, ok?”
Itadori only hums in response, a sound Megumi hopes is conclusional.
It isn’t.
“I could help you if you want.” Itadori suddenly says, and the way Megumi physically jerks in surprise warrants further explanation from the pink-haired boy. “Help you sleep, I mean.”
Oh.
Oh no.
His evil, sleep-deprived brain is actively shuffling through the worst things that could possibly mean. Weird things. Things he really shouldn’t be imagining when the subject is actively like one foot away from him.
Itadori seems to take Megumi’s prolonged gay-panic as rejection. “I’ve got a kick-ass noise machine you can use, but only if you want to of course.”
A noise machine.
Of course that's what Itadori meant. Megumi internally sighs, a little disappointed.
He immediately chases away the feeling.
Get your head out of the gutter.
“It won’t make a difference,” Megumi replies gloomily after he’s recovered his composure. “Those noise machines don’t really work.”
Itadori just smiles, “yeah but mine is a kick-ass one.” His grin seems to shine, and it takes every ounce of willpower for Megumi not to melt right then and there. “And besides,” Itadori continues excitedly, “if it doesn’t work, we can just have a super fun sleep over, so win-win!” He bats his eyelashes bashfully in the direction of the exhausted boy next to him, almost daring him to decline.
Megumi doesn’t immediately shoot the idea down like he thought he would. Instead, his feet quicken their pace by the slightest amount as he finds himself considering the proposal. On one hand, a sleep-over would keep him separated from his godly bed and intrude into his precious alone time he craved on a molecular level. Having a sleep-over with Itadori felt like cheating on his beloved night-time; which was not something he takes lightly.
On the other hand, some sick, and twisted parts of Megumi are so, so curious.
“Maybe,” is all Megumi offers back, keeping the word curt and short.
Itadori doesn’t seem to mind. “Great!! Bring some stuff from your dorm tonight then, so it actually feels like a real sleep over.”
“I said maybe?” Megumi shoots the pink haired boy a slightly confused look.
Itadori’s grin just widens. “For now."
Megumi almost flinches at the slyness of the words. Damn, he’s never heard that tone come out of that sunshine grin before; smooth and low. Dark eyes are trained on the sharp canine of the other’s grin; it fits in perfectly with the teeth around it. It’s satisfying to gaze at.
Megumi wonders if Itadori will bless his ears with that sly tone if he entertains this sleep-over.
Out. Of. The. Gutter.
“You guys aren’t going anywhere until you exorcise this curse.” Gojo’s voice materializes, and Megumi quickly remembers he and Itadori aren’t alone. Actually, they’re worse than ‘not alone;’ they’re with Gojo. “And by the looks of it, it isn't going to be particularly easy.” Gojo isn’t even pretending to care, his voice apathetic.
Megumi just sighs, annoyed. “If this curse is such a high grade, why are we the ones exorcising it?” A fairly reasonable question due to what happened last time they went up against a curse too strong for them.
Actually, that day is one of the many reasons Megumi won’t sleep at night.
He has to physically stop himself from shivering at the memories.
“You’ve both advanced a great amount since the prison incident,” Gojo seems to read his mind, “and the curse you’re fighting today isn’t anywhere near special grade.” He pauses, thinking a moment before opening his mouth once more. “It’s just clever.”
“Clever?” Megumi raises his eyebrows unimpressed.
Gojo nods, “Yep.”
“I didn’t know curses could be smart.” Itadori pipes up, tilting his head at the blindfolded man.
“Most of them aren’t, but occasionally you get some anomalies.”
“Is that why so many people have gone missing?” The pink haired man shuffles his feet a little, adjusting his balance when a stray piece of concrete snagged his shoe.
“More or less,” Gojo replies noncommittally, “It’s figured out a way to harness its low input of cursed energy to increase its power, that being said, it shouldn’t be too difficult to exorcize when it directly comes down to it.”
“Fantastic.” Megumi can’t help but deadpan sarcastically.
Hopefully both he and Itadori can kill this stupid curse fast enough for him to meet with his bed, and entertain Itadori’s sleepover.
.
.
.
Gojo is never wrong.
It’s something that’s pissed Megumi off since he figured out about it because on top of being perfect at everything, this white-haired asshole also takes the cake by having anyone who doubts him look foolish. His stupid glowing aura casts a heavy shadow across Megumi.
A shadow the boy’s grown accustomed to.
However, even if Gojo is always right, that doesn’t mean he always tells the truth.
That’s not nearly funny enough.
Now in the safety of his room, Megumi lets out an exasperated groan. Bringing up a bruised hand to pull on an aching shoulder, his fingers weakly push into the muscle, searching for any sort of blissful relief. The action disappointingly does nothing to soothe the throbbing ache.
That stupid curse had been way stronger than Gojo had let both of them believe. It was plenty smart though, he’ll give the white-haired bitch that.
Somehow, they’d managed to get separated; probably the curse’s doing now that Megumi’s thinking about it. Despite how it happened, during that separation, Megumi got his ass absolutely handed to him.
Tossed in every direction at harsh, concrete-lined walls of the school, the curse went to town flinging him as many times as it could muster. Those bitch ass kids weren’t missing, they were dead. The only reason his limbs were still attached was thanks to his ability to strengthen his body with cursed energy. Although, he kind of wished they weren’t attached; maybe they’d ache less then. He’d managed to get a few good hits on it, but with his body essentially beat into useless jello, it didn’t do much damage.
By the time Itadori arrived, it was gone.
Yeah, the most clever thing about that little shit is how it knew it didn’t stand a chance against Itadori.
Unfortunately, that meant the two of them had genuinely spent the whole day chasing it around the school's humongous campus.
When they finally did catch it, Itadori was barely even winded; while Megumi all but collapsed into a useless pile of skin and bone. The pink-haired boy’s resilience must have something to do with his connection to Sukuna, resilience Megumi did not have.
And now, swaying unceremoniously in front of his bed, the dark-haired boy has a career-deciding choice to make.
His bed, or Itadori.
Something vibrates in his pocket, and Megumi distantly recognizes it as his phone. Deliriously pulling it out, he sees Itadori’s name in the notifications. He thumbs the little bubble a few times before he actually clicks it,
Itadori
: hey r u comin over still?
: Ik that curse messed u up pretty bad so I won’t be mad if u dont wanna.
Megumi reads the words, and then he reads them again; the screen’s glare is worsening his headache. He half contemplates turning the brightness down, but quickly decides that’s too much work.
Itadori’s right, Megumi’s been rearranged on a molecular level; he barely has the energy to stand, let alone entertain that personified ball of energy.
Then again, Itadori is the one who does the most entertaining.
His phone suddenly vibrates again, a new message from Itadori popping up:
Itadori
: Ive got a movie set up if u do come over
: I think youll like it it has a really tuff robot in it
Megumi knows Itadori well enough to know how badly he wants Megumi to sleep-over. His stupid sunshine-ass has always been absolutely ecstatic about spending time with him; the only problem is Megumi likes spending time with him too.
A little too much, actually.
And right now, he doesn’t have the energy to pretend he doesn’t.
Which is a huge problem.
Another vibration runs though his hands.
Itadori
: leaving me on read is crazy
Megumi’s lips tilt into an unconscious smile.
I’m thinking. :
: think faster i wanna watch the movie
Shooting a glance at his bed; it’s still in the welcoming state he’d left it in. It would certainly be much safer to collapse into it than whatever bull-shit Itadori has planned. Sighing, Megumi’s fingers dance uncoordinated as he sends a final message to the boy on the screen.
Itadori
I’ll be there in 10. :
Turning off the phone and stuffing it in his pocket, Megumi doesn’t wait for Itadori’s response, instead gathering his things in a cloud of dread and excitement.
.
.
.
“That was only 7 minutes!” Itadori’s gleaming smile greets Megumi as the dark-haired boy stands awkwardly in front of the other boy’s door, shifting his weight on socked-feet nervously. “You must be super desperate to see me.” The glow in Itadori’s smile is the only light that doesn’t give him a headache.
And the only light in the dorm; it seems like he’s already turned everything off.
“Don’t flatter yourself.” Megumi tries to deadpan, but the action morphs into an impressive yawn.
“Woah, I almost forgot the point of this is to help you sleep.” Itadori reaches for Megumi’s hand, the oversized shirt adorning his form shifting ever so slightly as his fingers gently coax the exhausted boy inside.
Megumi’s face warms at the comment, and he wills his cheeks to stay a normal color when he feels Itadori’s fingers on his. They’ve touched hands before, why does this feel so… different? He must be tired. “Nah, it’s ok, let's just watch your movie.”
“Are you sure? My noise maker really is kick-ass.” The pink-haired boy asks incredulously, his big eyes reflecting Megumi’s.
Something inside Megumi shifts, the feeling alien, uncomfortable even.
He tears his dark eyes from the contact, flitting over to one of the many Jenefer Lawrence posters that adorn the walls. “If you bring out that noise maker, I’m going back to my dorm.”
Itadori laughs, gentle and breathy, “Ok, ok, come sit with me over here then.” Megumi wants to figure out how to get him to laugh like that again.
‘Over here,’ Megumi quickly realizes is Itadori’s bed. Climbing onto the mattress, the sheets shift and bunch up under the weight of the pink-haired boy. His bed is bigger than Megumi’s, a double, maybe even a queen; superior compared to his lowly twin. It’s not just the size either, there’s way more pillows and blankets congregated on the surface of the sheets. Itadori’s nest puts Megumi’s to shame. Genuinely, how does Itadori get out of bed in the morning when this is what he’s getting out of.
“I know, pretty good right?” Itadori seemingly understands Megumi’s awe, patting the spot next to him with a series of gentle thuds, “come on, get up here.”
It’s at this point in the night that Megumi realizes he’s made a grave mistake.
Sleep-over.
Sleep-over in Itadori’s bed.
For some reason it didn’t clock to him that this was absolutely expected, and now he’s just staring dumbly at Itadori, who’s also staring back just as dumbly.
“It’s ok, you can come up,” Itadori pats the spot next to him a little harder, “I won’t even tickle you or anything.” He assures, like that’s what Megumi is worried about.
“You better not tickle me.” Megumi raises an eyebrow, with the momentary panic dissipated, the dark-haired boy cautiously pulls himself onto the bed. He settles a comfortable distance from the other.
“I just said I wouldn’t,” Itadori says obviously, reaching for a mass of pillows next to him. “Here, make yourself comfortable.” He punctuates his sentence by flinging said mass of pillows directly at Megumi’s scrunched face.
“Hey!” Megumi sharpens his tone as Itadori’s face morphs into that of a shit-eating grin, but the will to fling a pillow back dies as he’s overcome with another tear-jerking yawn.
Itadori leans toward him, grinning, “you sure you don’t want the noise maker?”
“Start the movie.” He tries to sound annoyed, but the sound combines with his exhaustion, transforming his annoyed growl into a desperate sigh.
Blissfully, Itadori doesn’t comment on the embarrassing nature of his tone, instead silently pressing the play button on the controller next to him. The screen along the foot of the bed spurs to life, and both the boys fall into a comfortable rhythm of gentle breathing as the sounds of the film fill the room.
.
.
.
Megumi is in agony.
For about 30 minutes now.
And It’s only been 45 since they started the movie.
In all honesty, the agony Megumi’s experiencing right now isn’t exactly new; it’s from his earlier encounter with that stupid curse. He’d already been terribly sore and aching the moment he left his bed, and with the added beating he took from that little piece of shit, his body was actively on fire.
And as the adrenaline of the day wore off in the wonderfully cozy bed of Yuji Itadori, it was getting progressively harder to pretend.
Shifting uncomfortably, Megumi counts the agonizing seconds in his head until he deems shifting again is ok. He really, really doesn’t want to ruin this for Itadori, and he knows the boy won’t let him stay if his suffering is discovered; he’ll force him to go to Shoko or something.
So far, the pink-haired boy seems oblivious to Megumi’s writhing, eyes glued to the screen, mouth slightly ajar. His loose-fitting sleep shirt and pajama pants have become disheveled during their time in the bed, revealing closeted spurts of bare skin underneath them.
Megumi really shouldn't be here.
The flush that’s dusted across his cheeks is from the pain he’s experiencing; and absolutely nothing else.
The dull ache in his shoulders has spread down to the small of his back, up along his nape, and deep into his skull. The pressure behind his eyes has become so bad, Megumi can’t even watch the screen, staring helplessly at the dark walls of the room; shifting his gaze as he writhes into different positions.
Once the counting in his head reaches his self-deemed threshold, the dark-haired boy cautiously flips over, curling further into a fetal position. The momentary movement gives him a mili-second of relief before the throbbing comes back full force again. He pulls his legs a little closer to his chest, furrowing his brows in discomfort.
Something warm brushes against the tops of his feet as he pulls the pair closer, peeling his eyes open at the contact. When he does, he’s met with the gaze of bright, concerned eyes. Megumi’s own eyes widen, and he quickly scrambles to return to a normal, movie-watching position, the sudden movement making him hiss in pain as his muscles protest the sudden action.
“Fushiguro, are you ok?” Itadori’s voice is painfully gentle, as he reaches a tentative hand toward the boy’s shoulder.
Megumi flinches away before his hand reaches him, hissing again at the sudden movement. “Yes I—Agh—Yes, I’m fine.” Megumi grits though clenched teeth.
“You definitely don’t look fine.” Itadori states, voice still gentle, but carrying a new sternness to it. “What hurts?”
Megumi thinks about lying, but with the performance he’s just put up, he knows it's no use. “My shoulder is killing me,” he admits, hanging his head, a little ashamed, “I think that curse messed me up more than I realized.”
Itadori hums at that, leaning forward to inspect Megumi’s shoulder with his eyes. “Is the pain in the joint or just the muscle?”
Megumi considers the throbbing ache for a moment before answering, “muscle, I think.”
Despite still being full of concern, Itadori’s eyes light up, “that’s good!” his cheery tone is out of place among Megumi’s muffled sounds of pain.
The fuck?
The dark-haired boy squints at the other, “how is that good?
“Because that means I can help!” Itadori’s hands are suddenly looming wayyyyy too close to him.
The dark-haired boy freezes at the action, eyes caught by the strong shadow that the movie’s light paints across Itadori’s stout fingers.
‘I could help you if you want.’
‘Help you sleep, I mean.’
A beat of silence.
Would Itadori ever use those hands to help him with more than just sleep?
His dark eyelashes bat closed a few times, Itadori’s fingers looming ever closer.
No. It’s not like that.
It’ll never be like that.
Which doesn’t matter because Megumi doesn’t want it like that anyway.
That would be weird.
“Itadori, back off.” Megumi warns, eyeing Itadori as the boy slowly inches closer.
“I’m only trying to help.” Itadori assures, eyes trained on the tense line of Megumi’s shoulder; shoulders that have been tilted as far away as they possibly can from those hovering hands; thanks to the way their owner has leaned away as far as he possibly can without falling off the bed.
That certainly wouldn’t help.
“I’ve seen the way you handle curses,” Mugumi sighs flatly, “I promise you’ll only do more harm than good.”
The other tilts his head ever so slightly, an inquisitive expression painted across his face. His poised hands drop ever so slightly, “I can do more than just handle curses with these hands.”
Oh.
He doesn’t mean it like that.
This is a threat.
Get a hold of yourself.
Megumi swallows hard, desperately trying to keep the hard line of his expression from revealing his despicable curiosity. “That’s great, but making this shit worse is not part of that list.” He snaps.
Itadori deflates at the words, hands finally dropping in defeat. “Fine.”
Megumi sighs in relief (not really, everything hurts but at least he’s safe from Itadori), feeling a small gaping hole of disappointment open in his chest as he watches the other’s hands fall limply into fluffy pajamas.
No, not disappointment.
That would imply he wants Itadori’s hands on him. Which is not what he wants.
That would be a super weird thing to want.
As previously established.
Good thing that’s not something he has to worry about
He must be really tired.
“You’re always so difficult.” Itadori pouts, his huge puppy-dog eyes working overtime to take Megumi straight to guiltsville. His arms are crossed in disappointed disdain. “I really could help.”
Megumi rolls his eyes, tilting his head teasingly at the pouting boy, shoving all morbid and unacceptable curiosity to the bottom of his aching heart. “Right, I’m sure you—ACK!” The sudden tilt pinches a sore nerve in his neck, sending sharp signals of pain down his spine.
“Ok, that’s it—” Itadori’s voice is somewhere in front of him, but Megumi’s eyes are pinched closed in pain. “You can punch me later or something,” is all Itadori graces the dark-haired boy with before Megumi is unceremoniously grabbed and pulled in Itadori’s direction by impressively strong hands.
Normal hands. Megumi corrects.
Because it would be weird to immediately characterize your friend’s hands as impressively strong.
The action is so quick and sudden, Megumi isn’t prepared for the wave of fresh pain it wracks though his body, “OW!” He grunts, tensing his form once he’s fully realized what’s happening.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
This is way too close.
Trying to twist out of his grasp, Megumi’s voice is akin to a panicked growl, “Itadori, you better let me go right now—”
His words are cut off as a strong hand digs into the crook where his shoulder meets his neck.
Oh.
Oh shit.
Freezing, the sharp words that litter his tongue are immediately abandoned as he snaps his jaw closed, tensing the muscles to narrowly block the indecent moan that’s threatened to rise out of his throat.
Megumi’s head is immediately emptied of all thoughts, because Itadori has genuinely balled them up and forced them out.
This isn’t weird.
He’s got socks on.
This is fine.
Itadori’s other hand has found Megumi’s second neglected shoulder, making quick work to dig into that very same crook. His thumbs trace the gentle edge of the other’s shoulder-blades, applying just enough pressure to evoke an involuntary sigh from Megumi’s traitorous lips.
“How—ah—where did you learn to do this?” There’s an unavoidable waiver in his voice, as Itadori switches his whole hand out for his thumb, plunging the digit deep into the heart of his sore shoulders. Sparks fly behind Megumi’s eyes as he begins to push harder, wiggling his thumbs ever so slightly to coax his taught form to relax.
Holy shit, why had he been so opposed to this before?
This is way better than his bed.
This is heavenly.
“I was at the hospital a lot,” Itadori’s gentle voice is like honey in Megumi’s ears, “My gramps was always complainin’ about being sore, but wouldn’t let any of the nurses touch him.” The boy pauses, clearly reminiscing. As long as his hands don’t stop, he can reminisce all he wants. “I’m definitely better at it now than I was before.” He chuckles softly.
“Mhhmm,” is all Megumi hums back, trying to keep some form of composure. He’s afraid that opening his mouth all the way might release a sound far more embarrassing.
This isn’t weird.
It’s fine.
Maybe better than fine.
“Seem’s like this is definitely helping,” Itadori's voice is sly as he returns his full grip Megumi’s shoulders, sliding his hands to knead into the sensitive muscles of his nape.
The even pressure is making Megumi’s toes curl, biting down another indecent moan, he compromises by lazily slumping forward, allowing Itadori better access to his neck.
“Pretty good, huh?” Itadori’s voice is close to his ear, despite the fact that Megumi leaned pretty far forward.
This isn’t weird.
This is good.
This feels good.
“Yeah…” Is all Megumi can get out, and for the first time, the words are not curt, flat, or annoyed.
Itadori’s hands work Megumi’s poor abused muscles, draining their dull ache as if he’s in a strainer. As the pain fades away, it’s replaced with a wonderful fluttery feeling. Itadori’s hands are warm across his skin, unwinding Megumi into a state of perpetual bonelessness. Suddenly the hunched boy can’t help but remember just how tired he is.
His eyes have already fluttered shut, but now they feel fantastically heavy, as if an outside force is pinning them closed. He doesn’t mind though; the darkness they offer goes soothingly with the pressure now expanding across the whole of his back.
Megumi’s not sure how much time passes, as his form gently begins to sleepily bob and sway in all directions. There’s something about sitting upright that’s just so hard.
He feels Itadori place a warm open palm in between his shoulder blades, temporarily ceasing its movement. The contact gently pushes Megumi downward; directly onto the soft fabrics of pajama pants that line Itadori’s lap; a pillow propped up against the pink-haired boy’s knee for Meguimi’s head.
The only response Megumi graces Itadori with is a blissed-out groan.
Megumi can’t see it, but the expression Itadori is regarding the dark-haired boy with is a face Megumi has only ever witnessed in his most closeted fantasies.
Itadori leans down and places a soft kiss on the top of the other boy’s spikey hair. His mouth lingers longingly for just a moment, “you’re so precious, Fushiguro.” Itadori’s voice is a fond whisper.
Drawing his lips back up, Itadori replaces them with a hand to card though dark locks with, using the tips of his fingernails to scratch satisfyingly at Megumi’s scalp
Mugumi’s own lips part as a gentle sigh escapes his lips at the ministrations, eyelashes laying relaxed on his cheek.
He’s so tired.
And this feels oh so nice.
Megumi’s distantly aware that he’ll be horrified in the morning, but now, with the feeling of Itadori’s fingers carding though his hair, sending bright sparks of pleasure down his spine, he honestly can’t find it in himself to care.
It’s in the final moments of Megumi’s waning consciousness, that he hears the soft hum of a noise machine.
“I told you, mine’s kick-ass…”