Archive of Our Own

Megumi's bones feel like sludge. He's lying in bed, urging himself to get up and do something. Life had regained some sort of normalcy after Shinjuku, if you could call it that. Some days he could get by okay, nothing triggering him too bad, being able to move through the motions of life without losing his footing. Those being the ones he spent with Kugisaki and Itadori. But days like today, that wasn't the case.

He was having an episode; everything felt fresh. He felt like the shell of a person, spending the day in and out of sleep and mindlessly scrolling on his phone. He couldn't read a book; none of the words stuck. He was just left lying, waiting for someone to come and pick him up out of bed and make him forget the past few months.

He can't win. With every step he takes, he's reminded of the loss he's had to face. The halls feel too empty without a certain white-haired sorcerer skipping through them. And with Tsumiki gone, the person he was fighting for and living for, everything has lost its color.

He can't sleep to escape it. He either lies awake at night, or his dreams just project Tsumiki's lifeless corpse staring back at him, and that horrific feeling in his stomach, as he felt himself sink down into the abyss, with Sukuna's haunting laugh piercing through his skull.

Megumi needs to get up. He needs to shower, or bathe or anything. Lord knows the last time he did. The water always consumes him, taking him right back to Shinjuku. It's such a stupid thing to be triggered by. It's just water; he knows that. Yet every time he steps under the stream, all his senses run wild, and panic consumes him.

He's so grossed out by the way he's been handling things; his room's a mess, clothes and cups and books scattered across the floors and surfaces. A room that had once been so neat, now reflecting his mind.

Get up.

Megumi urged his body to pick itself up and make its way over to the bathhouse. No matter how hard he tried, his bones were cemented to the mattress. He just felt numb. He racked his brain for reasons to even try.

Itadori.

What would he think if he saw Megumi like this? He went through all that trouble to save him, just for Megumi not to be able to get up and clean himself?

He cranes his head into his pillow, trying to drown out his senses. He knows he'll feel better after he cleans himself. But fuck, it feels impossible.

He picks himself up, pushing himself off the bed, his body feeling like a dead weight. As he stands up, sheets fall to the floor, and he feels lightheaded at the sudden movement. His vision grows blurry, and the floor seems to sway beneath him, his heartbeat echoing in his head as he grabs onto his bed frame, steadying himself.

Once he regains balance and the ringing in his ears subsides, he grabs what seems to be the last of his clean clothes and trudges to the bathhouse. He sets his clothes on the counter and takes a glance in the mirror.

Sukuna stares back at him. Cold, piercing eyes, with a devilish smile sewn onto his face.

He blinks.

It's Megumi again.

The person staring back at him is definitely Megumi, no question about it. But it doesn't feel like him. He hasn't felt in control of anything since Shinjuku; he hasn't really lived, just going through the motions. He's living in third person, detached from reality.

He reaches up and traces the scars on his face that Sukuna left. They're rough; two slashed down his left eye and one below the right.

Memories of Sukuna permanently etched on his face.

He couldn't leave Megumi with all the loss that was forced upon him in Shinjuku; he had to be reminded of it whenever he caught a glance in the mirror. He had to remember the weeks when his body wasn't his, and he watched his hands reach out and cause death, after death. Rendered useless.

The scars, they're just…

Ugly.

There's no other work for it. Just ugly.

He stares at them until he doesn't recognize himself. Then again, when was the last time he did? His face warps in the mirror as his breathing grows wonky and his head spins.

Megumi tears his eyes away from the mirror and focuses on the task at hand: showering.

He stares at it and just feels himself freeze. The showerhead taunts him, laughing at him. Any motivation he has diminished. God, he feels hopeless. He stares and stares and stares, in fight or flight, a deer in headlights. Everything grows numb, yet that familiar feeling of agony blooms in his stomach, wrapping around his organs like a vine as time warps beyond comprehension.

Memories flood his mind, every bad thing that's happened swallowing him whole. He's too far gone. He should've died. Parasites were already gnawing at his soul, eating it alive as it decomposed.

Megumi had been faced with two paths. Lord knows he had already been traveling down the road of death, ready to meet his end. And despite it all. A new path emerged, a beacon of light. Itadori still believed in him. Megumi made the begrudging climb towards the surface, towards the light that was Itadori Yuuji.

And this is what he was left with.

He needs to be saved again. Saved so he can be normal again. Saved so he can have one last day with his sister. Saved so he can get up and shower without feeling like a burden in his own body.

Someone must have heard his silent prayer, as the sound of footsteps emerges from behind him.

A voice rings through his head.

"Hey, Fushiguro!"

Megumi's eyes stay fixed in front of him; something in his chest loosens at the sound of that voice; it's murky, as if the sound waves are traveling through a cloud of fog.

Itadori.

His breath catches in his throat. He can only imagine how long he's been standing and staring for. He swallows down the lump in his throat. His bones still feel locked in place. All he can feel is shame. It travels through his blood like poison, like a fungus. It's suffocating.

He hears the voice again; the words don't register. It feels like he's back in that dark abyss after Tsumiki was murdered. He never left.

Megumi feels himself sway on his feet; everything feels a thousand miles away. The voice continues to bleed into the background.

Itadori steps in front of him, putting his hands on his shoulders. The touch feels like a tether to reality.

"Fushiguro, look at me." Itadori's voice pushes past his thoughts. His voice is gentle and grounding, concern etched in the words.

Megumi meets Itadori's eyes. They're big and blown wide with concern.

God, Itadori doesn't look like a boy anymore. He's not the same fifteen-year-old he met at the high school. He looks like a man, not even. He looks like a sorcerer, the battles he's fought now worn on his face.

Looking at him feels like a breath of fresh air.

"Are you okay?" Itadori asks; there's a softness to his voice that plucks on Megumi's heartstrings.

Megumi gains whatever composure he has and tries to somewhat snap out of it, focusing on the sound of Itadori's voice and the look in his eyes. His mouth feels like it's gone dry.

Megumi looks off to the side as he speaks; he forces the words out. It doesn't even sound like him.

"Yeah. I'm fine. It's just," he inhales a shaky breath, not even knowing where to start.

How are you supposed to tell someone you feel like a stranger in your own body? How do you tell someone that you reached out to death for so long that life now feels foreign? How do you tell someone you don't think you have it in you to fully heal?

"Doing stuff has been kind of hard today." Megumi whispers, barely audible, desperately trying to keep it together and hold back tears.

What a fucking understatement.

Itadori's eyes soften with a familiar sadness. He knows that feeling. It doesn't matter how many people you lose, time and time again. It's still death. It's still loss. And the worst part is, neither of them thinks they can ever outrun it.

But he understands Megumi's pain. The feeling of watching your own hands reach out and kill when your body isn't yours. He understands that Megumi blames himself. He understands that Megumi will never truly understand how special he is unless Itadori shows him.

Maybe that's enough.

"That's okay," Itadori soothes earnestly, squeezing his shoulders a bit tighter. "Were you about to take a bath?"

Megumi can't bring himself to speak any more. He just nods, pursing his lips together as he exhales through his nose. He feels fear creep up his neck, leaving him in a cold sweat.

He sees Itadori contemplate his next words out of the corner of his eye. "Do you," he pauses, looking to the side before returning his gaze to Megumi. "Do you want me to help you?" The question is hesitant, not sure if he's overstepping or not.

It's almost too much. Megumi isn't sure if he can let himself be vulnerable like that, if he can let himself be taken care of. If he deserves it. Panic stirs in his gut, not knowing how to even put into words the fact that being submerged in water might just push him over the edge.

The chances of Megumi making it through a bath without help are low, embarrassingly so. They've already seen so much of each other; what difference does it make?

Itadori loosens his touch as the lack of response. Right when he thinks it's no use, Megumi nods again, the movement jerky. Itadori's nerves ease as he sees Megumi's reaction.

"Okay, I'm gonna run the water while you get ready, alright?"

"Wait," Megumi croaks.

Itadori turns around expectantly, worry still carved in his expression.

Megumi takes a deep breath, trying not to choke on the lump in his throat. "I—" the words get stuck despite it all; he takes another shaky breath, trying to speak again.

Itadori walks back to him, bringing his hands to Megumi's side.

"Fushiguro, what's the matter?" he asks softly.

"The water," Megumi breaths. "I—I can't," his voice breaks.

Itadori softens his expression. "The water bothers you?"

Megumi nods, words failing him.

Itadori looks down, contemplating a solution. He then looks up, hesitant.

"Do you want me to just fill it up a little, or just not do anything at all?"

Megumi contemplates for a moment, "Just a little is fine." Megumi's voice barely rises to the surface.

Itadori nods, whispering a quiet "Okay," with a reassuring smile.

Itadori's voice is soft, like light shining through the storm; everything about him is, really. It's always fascinated Megumi, from what feels like lifetimes ago, at that old high school when he ate that godforsaken finger. Itadori really had no idea what he was getting himself into, was he?

He had no idea how much harm he would cause himself by eating that thing, just to save a few school friends. It's ironic, really.

Yet he saved Megumi. And here he is.

Itadori fiddles with the water temperature as Megumi peels off his clothes; he feels a blanket of shame wrap around him after he takes off his shirt.

All he sees are the stains Sukuna left on his body. Under his arms and on his chest. They're arguably worse than his face scars, sure; more people see those. But these ones. They're bigger and just… uglier. It's the only word that comes to his mind.

His fingers ghost over the marks, staring at them in shame. He loathes those scars; all they show is the misfortune he had to face. No matter how far the past may be, he will forever carry these reminders like a ball and chain. He can never outrun it.

The skin is tight there; it's coarse; his fingers don't feel like his when touching it. It all feels wrong. So wrong.

The room closes in on him as the sound of water splashing goes deaf in his ears. All he can hear is Sukuna's laugh burning in his ears.

It's suffocating.

Megumi can't catch his breath; the room tilts as he tries to steady himself on the counter. His vision clouds.

Shit.

He tries to control his breathing, but it's no use. His panic just rises. He's about to fully lose himself in hysteria when he feels a hand on his back and hears a steady voice in his ears.

"Hey, Fushiguro. Stay with me."

Something in his chest softens at the sound of his voice. The panic slowly begins to melt away as Itadori rests a reassuring hand on his shoulder. His chest still feels tight as he meets Itadori's eyes in the mirror.

Itadori flashes a sad smile; it doesn't quite reach his eyes. It's downturned, even. He looks at the two of them in the mirror, and all he sees is loss. Megumi almost finds himself wondering if Itadori's life would've been better if he had never gotten involved.

"You with me?" Itadori asks.

Megumi gives a slow nod; he's trying to make himself believe it more than anything. The water from the faucet continues to fill, steam, and the sounds of water consume the room.

Megumi's eyes trail back to the scar on his chest, looking at it like it might jump out at him. His eyes trace the edges. Guilt begins to bloom in his chest again. It must've shown on his face because Itadori speaks again.

"Fushiguro, you've got that look on your face again. Talk to me." He urges.

How?

What is he even meant to talk about?

Itadori saw it all. He watched Megumi cause death after death and still save him.

"I don't even know where to start," Megumi whispers, voice breaking. "Everything is so fucked."

It's the ugly truth.

And God does Itadori understand. He remembers watching as Sukuna reached out and killed person after person in Shibuya; he remembers all the loss that followed. He remembers everything. How he wishes he could forget. How he wished he could have stopped it.

But you know what he doesn't remember? Making a binding vow with Sukuna. One that let him switch with him and cram a finger down Megumi's throat.

It still makes him nauseous.

They both went through hell and back.

And this is what they're left with. Truthfully, they're not even sure they're all the way back yet.

Itadori gives a sad, understanding smile. "Yeah, pretty much," he whispers back, eyes falling to the floor. He pauses before speaking again. "But I'll always be here for you. Even if you don't wanna talk."

The bath continues to run. Itadori makes his way over to it, assessing the amount of water. It's less than halfway full, just enough to cover Megumi's lower half. He tries not to let it fill too much in case it bothers him.

Megumi waits until the bath is ready to fully undress, saving himself the shame that comes with looking at his body. Itadori asks him if the bath looks and feels okay for him to get in; Megumi nods and finishes undressing. Itadori faces the wall until Megumi is ready for help.

He feels so incredibly bare. It's scary and uncomfortable. Anything that covered him is now gone; he just feels exposed. He wraps his arms around himself and stares at the water, willing himself to get it. Itadori is patient, making sure he takes the time he needs.

When Megumi lowers himself into the tub, it's slow. He lets the feeling of the water creep up his body. All he feels is Sukuna's presence. The water is nice and warm, reaching just above his hips. It makes the rest of his body feel cold, but he can't bear being submerged above the chest. His breath hitches; it comes out shaky. Megumi brings his knees to his chest, trying to make himself as small as he feels.

"You okay if I turn around?" Itadori's voice comes out hesitant, but it's the only thing keeping Megumi from losing control.

Megumi hums in agreement; his voice doesn't sound like his own. Itadori turns to face him. He looks at Megumi with soft eyes and a sad smile.

"Doing okay?"

Megumi nods, but his expression reads otherwise.

"Do you want me to wash your hair?"

Megumi nods again. "Just don't," He pauses. Itadori looks at him with concern. "Just don't get anything on my face." His voice is hoarse and pleading.

Itadori gives a slow nod. "Okay."

Itadori grabs an old cup from the cabinet and walks back to the bath. He kneels next to it, pulling his long sleeve over his head, not wanting to get water on the sleeves. Megumi lets himself look at him. Itadori is built; it's undeniable, but he's grown since Megumi first met him. In so many ways, really.

His eyes trace his collarbone, his arms, his hands, his chest, everything. His eyes find where Sukuna ripped his heart out. Everything was so different back then. Sukuna's Reversed Cursed technique erased any evidence of it, no scarring, just smooth skin. But Megumi sees a scar in his mind; he sees Itadori holding his heart in his hand clear as day. It still makes him sick to his stomach.

Itadori died that day; he was never meant to come back.

That's what happened to Megumi, in a way.

Kugisaki too.

Who's next?

Something about looking at Itadori like this makes something bloom in Megumi's chest, not a new feeling necessarily. Like rain-wilted flowers re-blooming after a rainstorm. It's always been there, but Megumi is in no right headspace for anything of this sort, whatever it is, not with someone he depends so much on. It's bound to do more harm than good.

Itadori's voice brings Megumi out of his thoughts. "I'm gonna use the cup to pour water into your hair; I promise I won't get any on your face. Is that alright?"

Megumi swallows and gives a curt nod, bracing himself in a way.

Itadori sees his hesitation; he brings a hand to his shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze. "Tell me if you need a break or want to stop, okay?" He instructs softly.

Megumi watches as Itadori scoops water into the cup. He gently tilts Megumi's head back, placing his hand on his hairline as a barrier. He slowly pours the water into Megumi's hair; his breath catches, and he feels his body tense. The feeling sends goosebumps across Megumi's skin. Itadori frowns at the obvious sign of discomfort; he wishes this all was easier for the both of them.

Once the cup is empty, Itadori refills it and repeats, spiky raven hair slowly smoothing out. Megumi's closed eyes twitch slightly in discomfort. He reaches his hands to the edge of the tub, grasping it in an attempt to ground himself. Itadori pauses, looking at the way his hands flex against the acrylic. He thinks for a moment before removing a hand from Megumi's head and interlacing their fingers together.

Megumi opens his eyes, veering them over to their interlocked hands, then up to Itadori's eyes. He's silently asking if this is okay, hoping he hasn't overstepped. Megumi's eyes fall shut again; he grips Itadori's hand tighter.

This is okay.

It's going to be harder to continue with one of Itadori's hands occupied, but he can make do. He continues to fully wet Megumi's hair, being extra careful to not get any of his face while his hand can't serve as a barrier.

Megumi coaxes himself with deep breaths, squeezing Itadori's hand with more force than is probably necessary. It's the only thing keeping him grounded; the constant pressure reminds him that he isn't going anywhere, not until this is done at least.

It's not so bad with Itadori here; it's better than he thought. His presence is comforting; it always has been, even if he wasn't willing to admit it to himself. But they've been through too much for Megumi to tell himself it isn't; it's better for him if he lets Itadori stick around. Not that he'd ever admit that to anyone, of course; maybe one day.

He hears the cup being placed beside the tub. Itadori leans to the side and pumps shampoo into his palm using one hand. He looks at the hand with the shampoo in it and back at the hand holding Megumi's. It dawns on him that he'll need two hands to lather the shampoo before washing Megumi's hair.

"I'm gonna need my hand back for a second," Itadori says softly.

Megumi looks at him, eyes pleading, begging even. Begging to let him hold on for longer, but he knows the effort is futile. He needs to let Itadori finish washing his hair. The sooner he lets go, the sooner he can get out of here.

He slowly releases his near-death grip on Itadori's hand. Itadori silently thanks him, giving him a sweet smile; it doesn't rise as high as usual; there's a lingering sadness in his eyes that Megumi doesn't see often. It holds all the grief inside him.

Itadori lets it show around Megumi. He's so used to hiding behind his grief, either not letting it show or just fighting through it. But in these quiet moments with Megumi, he knows he doesn't have to hide anything; he doesn't feel like he has to. He can just be. He doesn't need to be a sorcerer, or Sukuna's vessel, or the next strongest.

He can just be Yuuji Itadori. The fifteen-year-old who loves manga, movies, Jennifer Lawrence, food, his grandpa, and a certain black-haired boy that saved him.

It's so hard for Itadori to look at the loss that surrounds the two of them and see how much pain Megumi has to face; he just wants to show him he doesn't have to face it alone. But God, does it hurt him to see Megumi like this. It hurts him more than he could ever admit.

But he has his own baggage too; it weighs him down as he trudges through each day. But for now, he has to stay strong for Megumi.

Itadori pools a small amount of water in his palm with the shampoo and starts to emulsify it in his hands until it fully lathers, a bubbly mass in his hands. He looks back at Megumi, who returns his gaze with a certain longing he can't quite place.

"Ready?" Itadori asks.

Megumi gives a small nod before tilting his head back. Itadori reaches his hands into his hair, now slicked back, exposing his forehead. It's strange seeing him without his signature sea urchin look, but it doesn't look bad.

It definitely doesn't look bad.

He massages the bubbles into Megumi's hair, who lets out a small sigh. It feels nice. It feels nice to take things slow for once, to let someone take care of him, no matter how scary it may be. Itadori rubs circles into his hair, careful not to scratch at it too much.

Megumi feels somewhat at peace for the first time in maybe forever, but of course, that comes with a strong feeling of bittersweetness as all the horror of the last few months comes crashing back into him and makes his stomach churn. Itadori's hands continue to tangle in his hair, and Megumi can't help but wonder what he ever did to deserve this.

What did he ever do to deserve Itadori? To deserve him staying, to deserve him saving him, to deserve any of it.

He caused him so much harm. He's the reason for Shinjuku, he's the reason for Tsumiki's death, for Gojo's, for Choso's, for every bad thing that happened. He was too weak to fight back.

He'll be repenting for his sins for the rest of his life.

A painful lump grows in his throat; he can't bring himself to care about keeping the tears down. His face pinches together in sorrow as a hiccup escapes his lips. Soft sobs escape him as Itadori's hands still.

"Fushiguro…" Itadori trails off, words soaked in sadness.

"I'm fine." Megumi retorts, trying to slow his sobs between shaky breaths. He looks up at Itadori to see his eyes pooling with tears also, lips downturned. A tear escapes him; he brings his arm up to awkwardly wipe it away with his forearm, sniffling.

Megumi tilts his head down, arms wrapped back around his knees, tears continuing to fall. He can't even pinpoint exactly what he's crying over; it just all feels hopeless.

"You know," Itadori starts, voice dying down. "What happened… in Shinjuku," He clears his throat, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. "What happened wasn't your fault; you need to know that, Fushiguro."

Megumi shakes his head, eyes darting up to Itadori. "How can you say that?" He bites back; his own tone surprises him; it's harsh and resentful.

Itadori's expression morphs into an apprehensive and confused stare, waiting for him to continue.

Megumi takes a deep breath, pursing his lips. "How can you say that after Shibuya? You blamed yourself for that, didn't you? How is this any different?" He's looking at Itadori through his brows, daring him to tell him otherwise.

Itadori looks hurt. As if he doesn't believe what Megumi just asked, his hands fall to rest on the side of the tub. It's a good question, really. How can he blame himself for Shibuya but not Megumi for Shinjuku?

There is a reason, that being that he's so incredibly biased when it comes to Megumi, regardless of what the situtaion is. Shinjuku could've actually been his fault for all he cares; he'd still find a way to save him and stick with him.

The question hurts him nonetheless; it would be hypocritical to say it's different. Itadori knows it's not. Megumi has him backed into a corner. He answers the only way he knows how to.

"Do you blame me for Shibuya?"

His voice is quiet, words stripped bare. Itadori knows it's not a fair question to ask, that they both blame themselves for things they had no control over, Sukuna specifically. But it's the only thing he can think to ask.

Something in Megumi softens when he hears his words; it hurts nonetheless.

"You know I don't," he breathes, voice softer.

If Itadori wasn't responsible for Shibuya, then he wasn't responsible for Shinjuku. But that's not right. It is Megumi's fault; he can't tell himself otherwise.

The silence is loud between them. There's nothing to be said; they're both biased, and there's no changing either of their minds.

Itadori draws in a long breath before breathing out. "I guess we both blame ourselves for things that really aren't our fault."

Megumi gives a slight hum in agreement.

There's an argument to be made against that, but neither of them has the energy to fight. They can pick apart the past all they want, but at the end of the day, it's already happened. They can't move on if they keep lugging it around, trying to place blame. It's going to drive them crazy one day; maybe they're already there.

They resume the bath. Itadori uses the cup to rinse the shampoo out of Megumi's hair. Both letting tears slip down their cheeks, not needing to fill the silence that's fallen between them. There's a mutual understanding that the silence speaks louder than words, just the reassurance that they're both here, in the present.

It's enough.

Itadori moves on to washing Megumi's body. He carefully runs a warm washcloth and soap over him, taking breaks when needed and offering tender words of reassurance. Megumi's hand has found Itadori's again; it's just second nature.

It's not as bad as Megumi thought it would be; he just focuses on Itadori and his calming touch, squeezing his hand on the edge of the tub. Itadori's touch is gentle, giving Megumi something to focus on other than the loss that's plagued him.

When done, Itadori helps him stand up and rinses him off after fiddling with the shower head, making sure the pressure is okay. He carefully lets it run across Megumi's body, rinsing off any extra suds or dirt. Megumi wraps his arms around himself, letting his head hang low, taking deep breaths.

It's just Itadori. It's just water. Itadori is here.

I'll be okay as long as he's here.

That doesn't help him from feeling exposed. His scars are on display; his body is completely bare. He's given any last drop of autonomy to Itadori.

"You're okay, we're almost done." Itadori whispers, squeezing his shoulder.

Megumi nods slightly, trying to make himself believe it. His vision goes out of focus.

Shutting off the water, Itadori helps him out of the tub, giving him a towel. Megumi is grateful he has something to cover himself with. Water trickles down his spine, leaving shivers in its wake. He walks over to the clean clothes on the counter, picking up his pajamas and turning them right side in.

Itadori pulls his long sleeve back over his head before turning to Megumi.

"Do you want me to leave while you get dressed?" He asks softly, hand on the door handle.

Megumi almost immediately shakes his head. "I want you to stay."

It seems like the only true thing that he's said all day. Their eyes meet in the mirror, Itadori offering a sad smile.

He stares at the floor while Megumi changes into clean pajamas. There's no point in getting in actual clothes; they both know the last thing either of them needs is to be doing anything important.

Megumi makes quick work of changing, grateful for the warmth. His hair lies flat, still wet; he doesn't have the energy to dry it. He turns to leave before Itadori stops him.

"Hey, wait." He goes to grab a small towel from the cupboard before returning to Megumi. "You're gonna be cold if you leave your hair wet." He says, giving a knowing smile, eyes so impossibly warm.

He reaches the towel into Megumi's hair, rubbing it through the strands. Megumi studies the look of concentration on his face, the way his brows pinch together, and his lips slightly part, letting his tongue peak out.

It just makes him cherish moments like these more. Lord knows how many they even have left.

He aches for when things were easier. For quiet days with Tsumiki, for loud ones with Gojo, and for exciting ones with Itadori and Kugisaki.

Healing hurts.

"Do'ya wanna watch a movie or something with me? It might help get your mind off of things." Itadori says, momentarily stopping his movements as he waits for a response.

Megumi agrees, and when Itadori deems his hair dry enough, Megumi follows him to his room.

Itadori props some pillows up before they settle into Itadori's bed, wordlessly sliding under the covers as Itadori grabs his laptop. There are stickers beneath the case of various manga and animal stickers, along with some other things.

His room looks just about the same as it did when he moved in. That stupid pin-up poster is still there; it never fails to put Megumi on edge; he could never think of why.

He slightly leans into Itadori, exhaustion settling back in his bones. Itadori clicks around on his laptop before settling on a random streaming service.

"Lemme know if anything sounds interesting; if not, I'll just put something on random."

Megumi gives a hum in agreement as Itadori surfs through movies, all looking forgettable. Comedies, romance, drama, anime—all of it. Nothing sticks out to him; his plan is to just let Itadori pick, and he can zone out for ninety minutes.

It's all going well until an actor catches his eye. He doesn't recognize her, well, he does, in a way. She looks strikingly similar to Tsumiki.

It all hits him again.

Looking at her corpse as blood pools in her mouth.

He was supposed to save her, and he let her die.

It's Megumi's fault.

The weight of her death pushes down on his chest; guilt rises in his throat like a curse. It hits him like a truck; he's trapped in his own body—Sukuna's body—he can't move; sweat breaks out on his neck. Faces blur together on the screen, titles morph; it all looks the same. It's too much. He can't think.

All he sees is loss, his surroundings melting away as his breathing quickens. It feels like his lungs are filled with water. Nothing will register.

He hears a voice, but he's too out of his own body to listen. He hears the voice again and feels a hand on his shoulder.

"Fushiguro?" Itadori's voice is worried and slightly panicked. He shuts the laptop, setting it aside before bringing both hands to Megumi's shoulders.

"Hey, Fushiguro, come here." Itadori pulls him close, speaking softly. He doesn't want to overstep, but he can't leave Megumi alone like this.

Megumi leans into his touch, and any last shreds of dignity snap. He fully collapses into Itadori's chest as the sobs overtake him. The dam has been broken. He grips at his sweatshirt as Itadori wraps his arms around him, cradling his head. Hot tears stream down his face; his breathing comes short and fast; it feels like he isn't getting enough air to his brain. As if he just emerged from the oceans after being held under for what feels like an eternity.

Itadori stays silent, occasionally giving quiet "shhhs" and whispers of affirmation. Megumi uselessly leans closer into him, practically suffocating himself, wanting to fully bury himself into his arms. It's not doing much for the lack of air getting to his lungs.

Itadori notices what's happening; if Megumi keeps sobbing like this with himself smothered into his shirt, he might genuinely pass out.

"Hey, you gotta breathe, c'mon," Itadori whispers, practically begging. It's not until he speaks that he realizes he's crying with Megumi; slow tears trickle down his face. He has to stay strong for him, so he refrains from joining him in sobbing.

He holds Megumi up, his bones going slack, and he props his forehead onto his shoulder so his nose and mouth can actually breathe. Megumi continues to heave breaths into his lungs, choked, incomprehensible syllables escaping his lips as he tries to speak.

Itadori quietly shushes him; his voice barely breaks as he speaks. "Breathe with me, Fushiguro; c'mon take some deep breaths." His voice is near pleading, trying to get Megumi to regain some sort of stability while trying to not lose his own footing.

Itadori starts talking big, slow breaths, hoping Megumi will catch on. Megumi tries, but his lungs aren't his; he focuses all his energy into matching Itadori's breathing. It feels futile; he struggles to match Itadori's smooth pace.

Itadori continues to hold him up, rubbing slow circles on his back while Megumi steadies. Megumi's breathing slows, still hiccuping up a sob or two. His face feels sticky with salty tears.

Itadori reaches for his bedside table for a tissue; Megumi wipes the tears before blowing his nose with it. He settles back into Itadori's touch. Itadori doesn't rush him, trying not to break this fragile moment or say the wrong thing. Megumi just presses his face back into his shoulder, his shirt now stained with tears, and whispers.

"I miss them so bad." Megumi chokes out; his voice doesn't sound like its own; it's barely audible; it holds all the horror he had to face.

Itadori doesn't need to ask who; he knows. He remembers Megumi's face at the realization of the fact that Tsumiki wasn't herself, the horror that had been etched into his entire being. He remembers hearing Sukuna's voice in his head, haunting him. And he remembers those marks appearing on Megumi's face, as Sukuna marked his next victim.

Itadori brings his hand back to cradle Megumi's head. "I know, I miss them too," he whispers sadly, an attempt at comfort. Knowing he'll never truly get to meet Tsumiki, or ever hear Gojo again, or listen to how proud Choso was to be his brother.

He really lost just about everyone, huh?

"I'm so sorry, Fushiguro," Itadori sniffles. "I wish there was something I could do to make it all go away." He presses himself into the top of Megumi's head; his hair is still damp from his bath; he just closes his eyes.

The room is silent, save for the sounds of quiet tears and sniffles.

Itadori is the one to break it. "Do you wanna, maybe talk about them?" He pauses, carefully choosing his next words. "You don't have to if you don't want to, but if you wanted to just talk about your favorite memories with them, it might help."

Itadori assumes his offer will be set aside. The words settle in the air as tears softly fall down Megumi's cheeks, thinking it over.

Tsumiki and Gojo.

The first thing he thinks of is their death, obviously. It seems to be the only thing he can think of lately. But before pushing any thoughts of them away, he thinks of their life.

Weekends spent with Tsumiki wandering the park as she taught him the names of different flowers, days with Gojo parading them around town with more money than was even comprehensible to them. The good days, the bad ones, and everything in between.

He can't help but let a sad smile start to pull at his lips.

That's what matters, not how they died, but how they lived. That's what should be honored.

"I might as well." He whispers reluctantly.

Megumi begins to speak, slowly, carefully choosing his words. He's hesitant to let Itadori in on this part of his life; he's never really been fond of sharing memories like this. It just feels so personal, intimate. It took him so long to even tell Itadori he had a sister. It's showing Itadori an entirely different side of himself, only reserved for when he's with the people he's closest to.

It's hard to talk about the memories; it feels good to relive them, but when they sit under such a heavy layer of loss, it can be hard to decipher the good from the bad. But Megumi can't think of anything worse than have the memories be pushed out of his mind to save himself the pain of thinking of their fates.

He recalls the days when everything felt so simple; he wasn't worried about Sukuna, or the Culling Games, or the people he lost to sorcery. He almost wishes he could stay in that block of time forever, but that would mean leaving a certain pink-haired boy behind. He pushes that thought out of his mind.

The tears slowly subside as he talks. Itadori doesn't push or pry anything out of Megumi; he stays quiet, listening to Megumi as he opens up. A sad smile barely paints his face as his eyes well up again.

Talking about Tsumiki has never been easy for Megumi; it always comes with so much pain that it feels easier to push it down. But with Itadori, it just feels right. He doesn't have to say anything that he doesn't want to; he can just talk and be heard, listened to. Even if it hurts, he knows he'll be okay.

Even if all he can think about is loss, it's okay. As long as Itadori sticks around, he'll be okay. He meets his eyes and feels a bit lighter.

Megumi isn't sure what to make of that.

He lets out a big breath as silence fills the room. Neither of them rushes to remove it, just listening to the sound of their own breathing. Megumi feels vulnerable having spoken so much about his past. It explains why Megumi is the way he is. He comes off as closed off, but he's just trying not to get hurt. There's no telling what will happen when you finally let someone in. Itadori isn't an exception, but Megumi didn't leave himself with much of a choice. Itadori has seen almost every part of him, and it scares him. But there's another part of him that feels like that's just how it's supposed to be.

He slightly leans into Itadori, close enough to feel the heat of his body and the softness that comes with his touch.

"I just wish they were still here," Megumi whispers.

Itadori looks down, slowly taking Megumi's hands into his. Megumi wraps his fingers around Itadori's palm. Itadori rubs slow circles on his knuckles. Megumi feels the need to lean even closer.

Slowly, Itadori starts to speak. "I wish they were here too," he breaths, hands slightly tightening around Megumi's. "But I'm so happy you're here, Fushiguro. I'm so grateful you chose to stay because," he pauses, voice slightly breaking, "I don't know what I would've done without you."

The words are so painfully honest. Megumi doesn't even know what to do with them. Itadori's eyes are still fixated on their conjoined hands; Megumi subconsciously grips him tighter. Tears fight his eyes again, surprised that he hasn't cried them all out already.

Itadori speaks again, words carefully chosen. His voice is shaky; he seems nervous almost. It's a strange look on him. "I just," he takes a breath, "I wanna get away from all this. I don't wanna deal with curses, or death, or sorcery. I just… He shuts his eyes for a second, trying to blink away whatever is bothering him, "I just wanna be with you, Fushiguro."

He then meets Megumi's eyes, and—

Oh.

Oh, shit.

What Itadori said must've triggered something within Megumi, because his heart feels like it's beating at a million beats per second; he can hear it in his head. Fuck, whatever this is, or whatever Itadori is making him feel, is overwhelming. He can't quite put his finger on it, but it flipped some sort of switch and made something swell inside him. It's warm, like honey pouring through his veins.

He's never liked sweet things, but this isn't so bad.

But it's overwhelming to what feels like a deadly extent.

I just wanna be with you, Fushiguro.

The words finally register, and truthfully, it makes zero sense. What do you mean Itadori Yuuji wants to be with him? Fushiguro Megumi? After all the blood that stains his hands and the problems he's caused.

Itadori Yuuji. The sunshine boy who continues to push through it all, who had the strength to keep going after Megumi's one weakness, played in his face. Itadori Yuuji, who had seemed like a god amongst men.

And he's looking at Megumi like he hung the moon. As if Megumi isn't the one who needs help doing simple tasks like showering, as if he isn't the one who can't make it through the night without waking up in a cold sweat, in the rare occurrence he even sleeps at all.

But Itadori doesn't see that, no matter how far Megumi will travel down this path, Itadori will always see the same boy he met at the hospital, the same one who saved him.

His blessing, truly.

Itadori's eyes are blown wide, cheeks stained with tears, and lips slightly parted as if he's waiting to speak or awaiting something different. He's looking at Megumi like he's the only person on earth.

Megumi's eyes trace Itadori's face, he just lets himself look. Look at the way his eyes are fixated on him, at how pretty his eyes are; those warm, brown irises might be the most beautiful thing he's ever laid eyes on. Megumi looks at the way his scars trace his face, and the only thing he can think to ask himself is: How could he ever hate his own scars?

How could he hate his scars when he sees Itadori's, and the only thing that his slowly melting brain can process is how beautiful he is? Despite the marks on his face and the things he blames himself for, how can he see the marks that remind Itadori of the worst battles of his life and find them beautiful? Despite it all?

Is that how Itadori feels about him? After everything? It must be, because even if Megumi has a hard time believing it, after all this time, there's no other explanation.

There's no other explanation for the fact that Itadori has stayed. No explanation for Itadori to continually hold Megumi's hands, rubbing soothing circles on his knuckles. No explanation for Itadori to put Megumi together back time after time and still stick around.

And the way Itadori's looking at him. Oh, god. Megumi thinks his brain might melt if they keep staring at each other like this. Yet he can't tear his eyes away. Itadori is looking at him with eyes that look a little too much like want, pleading even. It's enticing, almost knowing in a way.

Megumi's breath stills; he knows he should respond to Itadori, say something, anything.

I just wanna be with you, Fushiguro.

But he thinks he'd rather bathe in this moment forever. He can't put his finger on what he's feeling. It settles deep in his ribcage, pulsing through his veins and every move. It feels like being addicted to something. The want—the need—of something. Of someone.

He just wants to reach out and take. His brain is so unbelievably scrambled, he can't tell if this is making it better or worse; it feels like the only true thing he's felt in days—like a ray of sunshine shining through a cloud after a rainstorm. But on the other hand, on top of everything he's already been experiencing, it almost blends in.

This feeling isn't new though, no. He's felt it before. When he first asked Gojo to save him, when he asked Itadori to save him himself, to now, and every little moment in between.

But it's so overwhelming; it pools in his stomach and makes the back of his neck heat up. It feels like too much too soon. He's gone through too many emotions in the past month, and he sure as hell doesn't need to be dealing with whatever this is.

Megumi can feel a fresh wave of tears threatening at his eyes; he isn't even sure why; whatever he's feeling is too much. As one spills over, Itadori is bringing a hand up to Megumi's face, wiping the tear with his thumb, cradling his cheek. Megumi leans into it without even realizing. His hands feel like home; they're calloused, yet impossibly smooth.

Megumi can feel himself slightly lean closer to Itadori. He's not sure what drives him to do so; it just feels right. As if he needs him to breathe. And in a way, he does. Megumi's breathing quickens as Itadori mimics his movements. They're impossibly close; Megumi can hear his heartbeat in his head; it beats for him. Megumi tilts his head, continuing to lean into Itadori's hand; he continues to rub circles below his eye with the pad of his thumb. His touch is the only thing tethering Megumi to reality.

Fuck, they're close. So close he can count the eyelashes on Itadori's eyes and feel the warmth of him on his skin, like a fireplace in the winter. Itadori's hand on his cheek only seems to be drawing him closer. Megumi squeezes his other hand tighter around him; Itadori squeezes back.

No words are exchanged, not verbally at least. Megumi can still hear Itadori's quiet reassurances in his head.

I've got you. You're safe. I'm right here, always.

Megumi starts to draw in shaky breaths from his lips. He doesn't know why he feels so panicked, why Itadori is so close, why he is moving closer, or why he never wants to pull away.

It's terrifying, but then why does it feel so right?

"You okay?" Itadori asks softly.

Megumi nods quickly, head moving in jerky motions.

Itadori's eyes flick to his lips, then back up at his eyes. Megumi does the same, eyes tracing over rosy lips.

It finally dawns on him what has him so scrambled.

He wants to kiss Itadori.

There's no way. He can't kiss him; that would be absurd. But with the way Itadori is staring at his lips and the way Megumi can't help but inch closer, so close that Itadori can feel the shaky exhale of his breathing on his face.

Itadori meets his eyes; they carry a look of nervousness, worry maybe. His eyes go down to his lips and back up at his eyes again. A silent question.

Is this okay?

Megumi has never nodded so fast in his life.

Itadori slowly bridges the gap between them, slow enough where Megumi could stop him a million times if he wanted to. Megumi can't help but let out a sigh of relief when Itadori's lips press to his. The touch is small, but it's everything. His lips are smooth against his. Megumi's lips move, bumbling against his; clearly, neither of them is very experienced kissers, but it just feels so right.

It feels like the first drop of water after years stranded in the desert. It's foreign, but perfect. It's nothing like he's ever experienced; he never wants to stop.

Megumi's heartbeat is a million miles an hour. It's too much. All Megumi's emotions come rising up at once; tears spill down his cheeks as he quietly sobs into the kiss. Itadori keeps kissing him, muffling his cries. But he's not immune to it either.

It isn't long before they're both crying, lips pressed against one another, drawing futile breaths. A part of Megumi wants to pull away; he needs to think; he needs to breathe. By now, both of his hands are cradling Itadori's face, Itadori doing the same. He's drowning in Itadori's touch when all he should be doing is swimming to the surface.

But how could he ever pull away when all he's ever wanted is to be cradled in his hands? Itadori is so gentle with him; it's all so tender and perfect. He touches Megumi not as if he is fragile, something that can be broken, but something so perfect that it deserves every ounce of care this world has to offer. So painfully intimate Megumi isn't even fully sure what to do with himself.

Megumi swallows a hiccup as their tears merge with one another. They're not so much kissing anymore, more like crying with their lips pressed together, wiping each other's tears.

Itadori is the one to pull away. His eyes are red and glassed over; Megumi is sure he doesn't look so hot himself.

Megumi presses his forehead to his, craving the warmth of his touch. Their hands find one another again, interlacing their fingers in their lap. It's silent in the room, save for quiet sniffles and cries from the both of them. The lack of words speaks for itself. Megumi lets his eyes fall shut again, breathing Itadori in.

What now? What do you say after you kiss your best friend after practically pouring your hearts out to each other? Megumi has so many questions he needs answered; his brain is going into overdrive, but his mouth can't catch up. He stays quiet.

"Fushiguro," Itadori whispers; he says his name like a prayer.

"Itadori," Megumi whispers back.

Megumi hears him exhale and squeezes his hands.

"Fushiguro," Itadori breathes, pausing. "Fushiguro, I think I love you."

No. Nononono.

This can't be happening.

Megumi's breathing stills. The world tilts on its axis. Itadori loves him. And God knows he loves Itadori back.

But it can't be. Itadori doesn't deserve someone like him. No, he deserves the opposite, really. Itadori doesn't deserve someone so broken; Megumi will only weigh him down. He's no Jennifer Lawrence, just a sixteen-year-old kid trying to put the pieces of his life together. Itadori deserves more.

Panic spreads through Megumi's body. A dizzying nausea brews in his stomach and makes him lightheaded. Megumi shakes his head frantically; Itadori looks at him with eyes big with concern. It's all so wrong.

"No, no, Itadori, you—" Megumi starts, voice breaking as a painful lump grows in his throat. "You can't, I—you don't—" His breathing grows panicked, trying to spit the words out as he stammers. "Itadori, you don't deserve someone like me,"

Itadori's loving gaze shatters into something heartbreaking, brows pinching together in sorrow.

Tears threaten to spill over his eyes; Megumi blinks them away. He can't afford to cry anymore. "I'm too hard to love; you deserve someone easier. I can't—I can barely exist; it all hurts so bad. I'm—I'm not—"

"Fushiguro."

"I'm unlovable—"

"Fushiguro."

"It's not worth the trouble I—"

"Fushiguro." Itadori's words cut him off, eyes piercing through him like ice. Megumi slowly meets his eyes, scared of what's to come. He braces himself.

But what Itadori says is the last thing he'd ever expect. He thought Itadori would lash out at him, would realize that loving him is a lost cause, and give up all together. But Itadori secures his hands into Megumi's shoulders, holding tight, and whispers with utmost certainty:

"Loving you is the easiest thing I've ever done."

Something in the atmosphere shifts; it feels warmer. Like something in Megumi's chest melted after being frozen for years.

It doesn't feel real; after everything, Itadori still loves him. Itadori doesn't see him as something broken, needing to be fixed. There's nothing that he would change. He loves every little quirk and imperfection, everything that makes Megumi, well, Megumi.

Megumi brings their foreheads back together, not sure what else to do, and whispers, "I don't know what I ever did to deserve you."

And it's true, no matter how many battles he fights, or people he's saved, or killed. He'll never understand what he did for an angel like Itadori to ever love him.

"It doesn't matter what you did to 'deserve' me," Itadori starts, running his hands down the sides of Megumi's arms. "I still love you, regardless of it all."

Because that's what love is, isn't it? Seeing someone through their best and through their worst and still choosing to stay. Letting someone open you up and read you like a book while they take their time reading through each line and still stick around? Despite it all?

It's blinding, in a way. Will there ever be a point where Megumi crosses a line? Will there ever be a point where Itadori changes his mind? Where he finally peels back all the layers of skin, flesh, and loss, just to feel like he's been cheated? That maybe it's best if he backs away?

And, God, does it scare Megumi to know that he might lose Itadori. Is that how Itadori feels about him?

Everything's so scrambled, so Megumi whispers the only thing that seems to make sense nowadays, the only thing that feels true in the mess he's living in.

"I love you too."

Megumi doesn't know a lot of things, but one thing rings true throughout it all. Is that he loves Itadori, and he'll do everything and anything in his power to keep him around.

Megumi slightly pulls away so he can look Itadori in the eye. He brings a hand up to his face to cradle it and runs it through the back of his undercut and into tufts of pink hair. A smile plays on Itadori's lips, a blush spreading through his face, giddy as ever.

"Hey," Itadori begins, face growing a bit more serious. "Did talking about it help or make it worse?"

Megumi waits a beat before answering; his eyes fall to the sheets, bringing his hands down to idly fiddle with Itadori's fingers after intertwining them with his own.

With a sigh, he meets his eyes. "It helped."

Itadori's demeanor seemed to noticeably shift, his eyes lighting up with relief as he exhales.

"Promise?" Itadori asks.

"Promise."

It helped, definitely. It felt good to relive the good parts of Gojo and Tsumiki's life, the parts that weren't drowned in the memory of their deaths, the ones that just existed between the two of them.

With anyone else, Megumi knows he wouldn't be able to talk about them. It doesn't matter the circumstances; Itadori just understands. He can sit and listen and make Megumi feel heard. And even if he can't take the pain away, him being there is more than Megumi could ever ask for.

Megumi contemplates his next words, not really knowing where he's going when he speaks. But it doesn't matter, not with Itadori.

He holds onto both of Itadori's hands as he speaks.

"I'm just—I'm scared I won't be able to heal," Megumi bites his lip. "Like, what if I can't turn this around, and I'm just stuck in this constant cycle of trying to grow around it, but just end up smaller in the process? I don't know how I can ever come out of this."

The words are painfully honest. Megumi has no idea how to carry this weight and not let it crush him. He knows there will be days where he feels okay, where he can get out of bed and move through life like a normal person. But on the other hand, he knows there will be days where it feels like he's been reverted right back to when it first happened. What happens if he keeps getting stuck in this endless loop of getting pushed back into the throws of his grief and he can never truly get around it?

How will he ever get out of this labyrinth?

Itadori nods slowly, a small frown etched on his face. "I know it hurts, Fushiguro. "But you don't have to be brave." He presses his lips together. "You don't have to carry it alone; we can face this together. And I promise you. I'll stick around. It doesn't matter if there are days when I have to carry it for you, and it doesn't matter if you try and push me away." Yuuji takes in a sharp inhale of breath. "I'm not leaving you behind again."

Megumi nods, keeping his gaze fixated on his and Itadori's hands. He leans forward, letting his head fall on Itadori's shoulder, taking a deep sigh. Itadori takes one of his hands and puts it on Megumi's back. Despite it all, it feels nice.

He wants to bury himself here, let himself mold to Itadori's touch, and melt away forever.

Megumi finds himself speaking again, slightly muffled in the fabric of Itadori's shirt. "I see him everywhere, Itadori. And I know you do too, but fuck. I don't think I'll ever escape him." He takes a shaky breath, pressing his eyelids together as far as they can possibly go, trying to push out the sights from Shinjuku. "I get nightmares, like, all the time; all I can think about is the mess he left for me, and I look into the mirror and I see these"—he internally winces—"ugly scars; I can't even stand my own reflect—"

"Hey, hey. "Fushiguro, don't say that," Itadori interrupts, slightly sitting up.

There's a seriousness in his tone that slightly throws Megumi off. It's almost a soft scolding. Itadori slightly urges him to move back so he can look him in the eye. Megumi complies, begrudgingly.

When he meets Itadori's eyes, he knows he's not messing around. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed, lips downturned. And his eyes, his eyes are just… plain sad.

"Fushiguro, please don't say that." Itadori pauses. "Your scars are what make you human. They're beautiful, you'rebeautiful," Itadori takes a breath, "Your scars aren't just a reminder of the past; they're a reminder that you survived. That you went through hell and back and lived to tell the tale."

Megumi sighs and whispers. "It doesn't change the fact that they're ugly."

It hurts him to say it, but it's the truth. Reminders of Sukuna are permanently etched onto his body. He can't ever escape them. It's always going to be the first thing someone sees when they look at him; it's going to raise questions; it's not going to go away. It doesn't matter if he gets over it; they'll always be there.

"Fushiguro…" Itadori whispers. His voice is barely audible, more of a breath than anything else, but Megumi hears it. "Your scars aren't ugly," Itadori speaks softly. "You're the most beautiful person I've ever met; you're perfect; your scars are perfect. I just—Itadori looks down, contemplating something—"C'mere."

Itadori brings his hands to the sides of Megumi's face, holding them there. He tilts his head and leans in towards Megumi. For a second, Megumi thinks he's going to kiss him again. But Itadori's target is clearly far beyond his lips. Itadori travels near his eyes; Megumi closes them and inches away slightly.

That's when he feels a tentative kiss being placed upon the scar painted below his left eye, asking for permission in a way. Megumi grants it, remaining still.

It startles him. Itadori's lips are warm and soft. Megumi's nerves are slightly deadened where the scar lies, but it gives him a rush none the less.

He hears a murmur come from Itadori. "Perfect," he whispers. Then again. "Perfect."

Itadori continues down the scar, kissing the words into his skin. It tickles, causing Megumi to slightly scrunch his nose.

"Perfect, perfect, perfect, perfect, perfect—"

Over and over again, like a prayer.

Megumi tenses, listening to the words, muffled, as Itadori continues kissing him. He grabs on to the fabric of Itadori's shirt, grounding himself. His breathing falters, feeling the boy he loves worship the parts he hates most about himself.

But it's intoxicating. It's so freakishly intimate and scary. To let himself be open to this kind of praise, this kind of worship.

Itadori's lips then move to the two scars on his left eye. Repeating the same motions, babbling the words, a breathy whisper, with small smacking sounds as his lips leave and return to skin.

Perfect, perfect, perfect, perfect.

Itadori's touch is the only thing keeping him on earth; Megumi's sure of it. He fists the fabric on Itadori's shirt so hard his knuckles grow white.

It's so foreign to him, being treated like this. With such care and adoration. But now that it's happening, all Megumi can think of is how amazing it feels. It's overwhelming, feeling someone worship something that only ties him back to the worst crimes his body committed.

Itadori finishes his journey down his last scar, slowing down a tad, savoring the last moments.

"Perfect," a kiss. "Perfect," another kiss. "Perfect." His lips move down to the end of the scar, right where it meets clean, smooth skin. He presses his lips there, unmoving for a moment before pulling back slightly, just to whisper once more. "So perfect, Fushiguro. All of you, scars and all."

Itadori pulls back to look him in the eye. Megumi's blush has for sure spread to his entire being, burning red like a flame. But something isn't quite right; a piece of the puzzle is out of place.

"Megumi," he says. "Call me—call me Megumi."

And for that moment. It feels like he and Megumi are the only people on the earth.

Itadori lights up, a giant smile spreading throughout his face that lights up the entire room, like he doesn't believe that he just heard.

Megumi speaks again before Itadori can say anything. "I know it hasn't been long, and I usually don't do this so soon. But we've been through too much together for me to still be 'Fushiguro.'"

Itadori beams as he speaks, devotion laced in his voice. "Okay, Megumi," he says, testing the name down on his tongue, "call me Yuuji." He says softly.

It almost feels like jumping the gun; they haven't known each other long at all, barely over half a year. But at the same time, it feels like a lifetime. But he can't listen to Itadori continue to call him the same name he did when they first met. Too much has happened between them for them to stay as Itadori and Fushiguro. It's early, but it feels so right that neither of them can bring themselves to care.

Itadori looks up at him with those big honey eyes, and Megumi swears he's ascended into some higher power.

He runs a hand through pink hair before slowly inching forward. He sees Itadori slowly light up as he picks up on what's about to happen. He closes his eyes and smiles slightly in anticipation.

Megumi's lips find the scar that traces from the center of his forehead, down through the bridge of his nose and towards his left eyebrow.

He places a gentle kiss on the mark. "Yuuji." He whispers. He feels Itadori smile beneath him.

Megumi wordlessly places gentle pecks down the expanse of the scar. The gesture makes Itadori feel giddy inside, knowing he's going to be the only one who can kiss these scars better. The only one who gets to have him like this.

What a gift that is.

Megumi takes his time kissing the scar, savoring the touch. He lets his lips linger after each peck, before dragging it lower and repeating.

Itadori brings his hands to Megumi's sides; they travel up and down in soothing motions. His hands are warm against him, leaving fireworks in their path.

Reaching the end of the scar, Megumi pulls away slightly to see a blush spreading across Itadori's cheeks. Itadori peeks at him, smiling bashfully. Megumi offers a small grin back.

He leans in, finding the scar etched by the corner of his mouth. Megumi presses his lips there, letting them linger as he feels Itadori smile against him. He pulls away, not before pressing a quick peck to his lips for good measure.

Megumi takes hold of one of Itadori's hands from his side and brings it towards him. Three fingers. That's what Itadori was left with after Shinjuku. Cut clean off, one swallowed by Megumi, one by Rika.

Megumi brings Itadori's hand up to his face, circling his thumb over the nubs where his pinkie and ring finger were once connected. Itadori gives a sad smile as he watches, downturned in remembrance. Megumi then places kisses on what remains of those fingers. He keeps his eyes downcast, not confident enough to meet Itadori's eyes. They're smooth, a bit rough where they were cut off.

Itadori watches in fascination, eyes full of adoration. The only thought making its way through his cloudy brain is how beautiful Megumi is. Oh, how lucky he is to have him. To finally see those parts of Megumi that he's always kept buried away. The parts Itadori finds the most beautiful.

When Megumi deems that he's done a good enough job, he lowers Itadori's hand, staring down at it in his lap. He's gotten somewhat used to it now, but the sight of Itadori having lost two of his fingers is still relatively jarring. Especially knowing where those fingers went. Goosebumps prickle at the back of his neck. He can almost feel it.

The feeling of that finger being forced down his throat.

It makes his stomach churn.

Knowing what was forced upon him, knowing what he caused. His eyes unfocused, gaze lost on the absence of Itadori's fingers.

It's all his fault. If he just could've fought back, not let Sukuna shove that finger down his throat, it would've all been okay.

If he were a little stronger. Maybe things wouldn't be the way they are. Maybe Tsumiki and Gojo would've—

"Megumi, quit it."

Megumi snaps out of his thoughts with a quick intake of breath. He drags his gaze to Itadori's face. His eyes are pools of worry.

But care more than anything.

Itadori speaks again. "You've got that look in your eye." He brings his hand to the side of Megumi's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. He presses a kiss to Megumi's forehead; Megumi leans into the contact immediately, letting his eyes fall shut.

"It's not your fault." Itadori murmurs against his forehead before pressing another kiss. "I'd lose them all over again if it meant saving you." Another kiss, followed by the words he loves to hear most: "I love you."

Something in him melts when hearing the words. Megumi lifts his arms and wraps them around Itadori, above his shoulders, surrounding his neck. He then buries his face into the side of his neck and lets out a breath of something akin to relief.

Relief that Itadori loves him, relief that he'll stay.

"I love you too." Megumi whispers, muffled by Itadori's neck.

Itadori smiles and wraps his arms around Megumi in a near suffocating bear hug. But Megumi has never felt so safe in his life. Nothing can touch him here, truly. Itadori places soft kisses atop his head, burying his nose in freshly washed locks of raven hair.

They stay like that for many beats longer, Megumi letting Itadori's touch soothe him as they slowly rock back and forth. Megumi breathes Itadori in; fresh notes of citrus calm his nerves. The longer they stay there, the quieter everything seems to grow.

Until every thought in his head, feeling in his body, and static in his being, all of it, is reduced down to the feeling of Itadori's healing touch against his body. He can feel drowsiness slowly overtake him, slightly slumping into Itadori's arms. He can't be bothered, though. He could drown here for all he cares. The thought sounds nice even.

A peaceful way to go out for sure. The waves rush over his head as he breathes in the water, letting him sink to the bottom of the ocean without fighting back, letting the water take him in.

As Megumi's head starts to loll to the side, everything growing heavy, that's when Itadori loosens his grip, tilting his head back slightly to get a better look at the boy in his arms.

"Hey, let's lie down, c'mon Megumi."

Megumi lets out a grumble of disapproval. "It's not even late."

A futile excuse to stay right where he is.

Itadori chuckles softly. "Yeah, well, your body needs the rest, c'mon."

Megumi begrudgingly complies, too tired to put up a fight. Itadori props him up with one arm, using the other to place the pillows the way he wants. He then carefully maneuvers Megumi's head onto his pillow; Megumi lets his body ragdoll into the mattress. Itadori laughs softly, gathering blankets into his arms, before draping them over Megumi and curling up next to him.

Itadori clings to Megumi's side like a koala, letting his face fall into the crook of his neck, wrapping his arms around him. His hair tickles his jaw. But all Megumi can think about is how soft and warm he is. Megumi angles his body in towards Itadori, letting their legs tangle together like perfect puzzle pieces. He wraps his arms around him, rubbing slow circles on his back.

It's all too perfect.

As if somebody could pinch him and he'd wake up and realize this was all a desire-driven dream. But he knows it's real. He knows he gets to hold Itadori close and feel his chest rise and fall on top of him. He knows he loves Itadori, and he knows Itadori loves him.

He knows it's not a dream. Not that he dreams about anything pleasant, anyways.

He doesn't want this moment to end. He doesn't want to wake up and find Itadori is gone. What if he is gone? What if he wakes up and thinks one of them overstepped and leaves him behind?"

He looks down at the boy in his arms. He noticeably feels his body calm, but there's still something buzzing at his skin.

"Hey, Yuuji?" he asks softly, careful so as not to wake him if he had already fallen asleep.

"Mhm?" he mumbles, voice groggy.

"Will you be here when I wake up?" Megumi's voice wavers as he speaks.

Letting people get close and letting himself depend on them has always been, well, terrifying for Megumi. That's no different for Itadori. A voice of reason tells him that Itadori will obviously stay. He knows that. Yet he still can't shake the feeling that he might not stick around.

Itadori stirs slightly, veering his head up to look up at Megumi with honest eyes.

"Of course I will. I promise." All traces of sleep have been stripped from Itadori's voice; all that's left is pure honesty and devotion.

Something settles in Megumi's chest as he looks at him.

It's gonna be okay.

"Okay," Megumi breaths.

Itadori nestles back his neck, letting out a big sigh that tickles him.

"G'night, Megumi."

"Goodnight, Yuuji."

Megumi takes a moment before he goes to sleep to admire Itadori. He brings a hand to the back of his head, right where smooth brown hair meets tufts of pink. He looks at the way his chest slowly rises and falls, how his jaw hangs slightly open as he sleeps, how he twitches slightly as he dreams.

Megumi wants to memorize it; he wants this picture to be painted onto the inside of his brain.

Sleep tugs at his eyelids, but he can't stop staring at Itadori.

He doesn't want to stop until he can paint a perfect picture of him with his eyes closed.

But he has time; he knows that. He doesn't have to rush. He has Itadori, and Itadori has him. They can take the time they need; they can just exist with each other, loving each other. They have time to figure things out, to heal, to find peace within the storm.

But Megumi knows he's already found his peace.

It wasn't some grand discovery, or some groundbreaking adventure. It's as simple as Itadori sleeping, body curled up to snuggle him.

Megumi had never been a huge fan of physical touch, never loving how entitled people felt to be close to him, but with Itadori, it's different. It's a reminder that he's here, that he'll stay. Megumi's so incredibly blinded by love he can't bring himself to care.

He knows there will still be bad days. Days where he can't will himself to get out of bed, days where it all feels like he's been taken back to square one. But he has a light to follow, a crutch to lean on. He has a beautiful boy that will help carry the weight, and lord knows he'll be carrying his.

He knows he's not at the end of the tunnel, but he knows there's an end. And he knows he has someone to lead him. One step at a time.

And for once, it feels like he's made progress. Because as his eyes fall shut, he sleeps through the night. He floats through a peaceful sleep, Itadori's warmth being a blanket, yielding away any nightmares. Megumi wakes up to the light filtering through the curtains, painting itself onto Itadori's sleeping face.

And truly, what a blessing that is.