Archive of Our Own

The air was sticky and scorching, the kind of summer where you felt like peeling off your own skin to try to alleviate the ever-present heat. The kind where you had no energy to stand upright, but sitting meant your sweat stuck your skin like glue to whatever it touched and only served to make the heat seep further into your skin, down to the very marrow of your bones. The kind of heat that not even summer bugs dared fly too high in. They crawled and hovered just above wilting blades of grass, barely managing to do the tasks they filled their days with. Their normally gentle song sounded more like a plea for help, and no one would blame them for that. Even the ever-busy ants, that would have swarmed the sticky mess leaking from Nobara’s popsicle, seemed slowed and less than eager to have to come out into the sun and across hot pavement to have their fill of the sweetness.

The popsicle's owner seemed equally unbothered by the mess that was running sticky across her fingers. Megumi had just enough energy to turn his nose up at the sight. His own popsicle stick was hanging between his lips, void of any icy treat, but he was still diligently sucking on it every once in a while as if it would magically appear again. Sweat gathered at both of their temples and gathered where skin pressed or caved. Nobara’s hair was pulled up off her neck, and Megumi’s was pushed back away from his forehead. Sights not often gifted to him. Even with the heat melting his brain, Yuuji could appreciate them.

“God, I’m so glad I don’t have to wear those stupid uniforms anymore,” Nobara groaned. “I would have boiled alive.”

“Keep the students in your thoughts,” Megumi agreed, mostly a mumble. “I hate the summer.”

“You can say that again,” she huffed.

Yuuji never minded the summer much. Sure, the heat was horrid, but no classes meant there was more time for the things he wanted to do. Most times, it was hanging out with his grandpa, despite the man chiding him for not being outside with his friends. After he passed, it meant trips to beaches with Gojo, Megumi, and Nobara, his first year. It meant hiding away in the A/C and playing games or chatting with Nobara and Megumi, watching the fans they would have going, fluttering their hair, and tickling joy onto their faces. Summertime was far enough away from everything that happened to them in the fall and winter—and all the ugly memories—that it felt like he was just a normal young man. He could almost forget why Nobara wore her eyepatch and why Megumi couldn’t look at himself in reflective surfaces. He could almost forget the pull of rough scars against his own skin when he got too expressive.

Yuuji’s shirt was long gone, lying somewhere on the ground beside him. Megumi would refuse to take his off as he always did. It was harder not to look at the scars on his torso than at the ones on his face.

“I hope Nitta kicks your ass for taking your shirt off,” Kugsiaki spat at him. “That’s so not fair.”

“Like you haven’t done the same thing,” Megumi muttered.

Yuuji chuckled, sticking his tongue out at her. “Figured it was better than stinking the whole car up.”

Truly, he did feel a little sorry for her. For Megumi, too. They were both dressed far nicer than he was, for business, no doubt. It had been luck he’d run into them here after their intel mission finished. He’d been in the area, shaking off the horrors of what lurked behind the barrier placed around Shinjuku. He always took a moment longer to return to their shared apartment after being dispatched beyond the barrier. There was a reason even he was only allowed to venture so far.

And of course, returning to the place where he’d almost lost it all was not something anyone would enjoy doing, let alone regularly.

“Hana isn’t with you?” Nobara asked finally.

Yuuji shook his head. “She went home earlier. There was a new shop I wanted to check out here.”

Megumi studied him like he was trying to decipher how much of his story was simply twisted and how much of it was a lie. Yuuji figured he knew without even having to look, but he wouldn’t turn down the chance to have such pretty green eyes all to himself, even if just for a moment. Even if they rolled when they were done.

“Shopping without me,” Nobara grumbled. “Unbelievable!”

“Don’t go running ahead, idiot,” Megumi admonished with far more gentleness than Yuuji deserved.

Don’t leave us behind, their eyes scolded.

It became clear why Nitta, punctual as she always was, was having trouble reaching their agreed-upon pickup point. Under the scorching sun, a hearse crawled slowly toward an unknown crematorium somewhere in the distance. It was a slow, steady march, followed by a line of mourners in their own cars. For as common as the sight should have been to them, they all looked on with a sense of morbid wonder. Jujutsu sorcerers didn’t get rites like these when they passed. Certainly not those that the three of them would have been following in the slow procession.

Nobara was the first to look away; Megumi followed soon after her. Yuuji watched until he could no longer see the hearse, then a little longer. He wondered what it would be like for the two of them to know that was their ultimate destination someday. Tried to remember what it might have been like before the right of a fleeting life was stripped from him. He wondered if they thought about who might join their funeral procession or if they prayed—like Yuuji did—that maybe, just maybe, somehow they would be the first to go so they didn’t have to relearn a world without the three of them in it together.

Yuuji wouldn’t have a funeral procession if he died. Who would even care enough about him, maybe hundreds of years from now, to go?

“What an awful day to die,” Nobara muttered, closed eyes turned up toward the sun. She reached a hand up, fingers spread, casting just enough shadow across her eyes for them to peek open. “Must be pretty lonely to spend a day everyone is envisioning being at the beach and celebrating the arrival of festival season mourning someone. I can’t imagine what that would be like.”

“You won’t have to,” Megumi hummed. “I refuse to die in heat like this.”

Nobara shoved him until he bumped into Yuuji, and they all broke out into a gentle laughter.

—

Walking through the Tokyo campus with Nobara always brought a sense of peace. They could laugh about memories that came to mind as they passed familiar sights, sounds, smells, and people. Their conversation never really lulled, but it was a nice comfort to know if it did, there would always be something to bring them back together again. There was no sense losing yourself in your thoughts when good company was at your side. Certainly not when most days, their business here together was in search of a certain inky-haired sorcerer they rather liked frustrating, whether that be in front of colleagues or students, any spot they found him in was fair game.

There would be no finding him any longer. The same way there was no conversation between the two of them now.

The sun beat down on them, baking and unforgiving. It would have been easiest to find Megumi on a day like today. Lounging in the shadows or locked away inside, away from the heat he so despised. It was always far easier to annoy him, too. The heat would have done over half their job for them. It was rather hard to swallow that he would never get to kiss the frown from his lips again.

When they arrived outside the meeting room Ijichi summoned them to, Miwa was already waiting in the hallway. It was with all the tenderness she could muster while on the job that she instructed they would only be allowed to go in one at a time. She placed an understanding hand on Nobara’s shoulder when they agreed it would be Yuuji to go ahead. After all, she’d only arrived after Yuuji already confirmed his suspicions, and he certainly hadn’t told her any more than the very basics of what she needed to know. Putting her in danger for his own selfishness was out of the question.

The air in the room was stale, hot. It was harder to breathe with every step he took toward the chair waiting across from Ijichi.

He didn’t have to tell him much. Yuuji had given plenty of mission reports in his time. When the recorder clicked on under Ijichi’s practiced fingers, Yuuji took a deep breath.

“Fushiguro Yuuji, Special Grade. The time is 9:06 AM on August 7th, 2038,” Yuuji paused. Risshu, the start of Autumn. Just one more day. If he had only been given one more day. “Mission objective was a success. At 10:00 PM on August 6th, 2038, three Grade 1 sorcerers, Kugisaki Nobara, Kurusu Hana, and Fushiguro Megumi, and one Special Grade sorcerer, Fushiguro Yuuji—myself—were dispatched to Inhuman Makyo: Shinjuku. The objective was to find a location worthy of sustaining a suppression talisman to ensure our report about cursed spirits only existing within the confines of Tokyo can be heralded as truth and not a cover-up. This was the third reconnaissance mission conducted with this goal in mind by Megumi and myself. According to the writings of Special Grade Tsukumo Yuki and the testimony of both Fushiguros present, who are masters of study in her work, we have finally located a suitable epicenter for such work.

“Complications included several run-ins with lower-level curses on the outskirts of Shinjuku. Around 10:30 PM, Kugisaki Nobara was separated from the group somewhere in the mid-region of the Inhuman Makyo. She was recovered around 11:15 PM, unconscious and wounded. Kurusu Hana stayed behind to escort her closer to the outer edges and watch over her. The deepest parts of Shinjuku were reached, on foot, by 11:25 PM. Around 11:40 PM, while confirming the epicenter, Fushiguro Megumi and I came under attack by three Special Grade curses. During the altercation, we were separated. Megumi was fighting two on one, despite my best efforts to prevent that exact scenario. When I found him—”

When I found him, I did something unforgivable.

“When I found him, he was already gone. My best guess is Fushiguro Megumi fell in battle a little before midnight on August 6th, 2038. He was 35 years old.” Yuuji paused to take a breath. None of those geezers that would listen to this or skim over what Ijichi typed up deserved to know the kind of heartache that losing Megumi was. “With a lack of communication within the barrier, I moved Megumi from his resting place, collected what data I could, and began the journey back toward the barrier at around 2:00 AM. The group reunited at around 3:30 AM, at which time I lied to both Kugisaki and Kurusu about Megumi’s status. We met up with Nitta outside the barrier at 3:35 AM and were rushed straight to Ieiri Shoko for care. She pronounced Fushiguro Megumi dead upon arrival and confirmed the suspected time of death.

“Her report confirms that he was killed with cursed energy and Fushiguro Megumi’s body is to be treated as a non-threat,” which was a lie. Yuuji knew it; Shoko knew it. She trusted that he would be willing to shoulder the consequences of that lie. He wasn’t so sure that he was anymore, but if it meant Megumi could be treated to a proper burial at the very least, Yuuji would do anything. “This means he will be cremated and handed over to his husband for proper burial. Jujutsu High authorities are strictly prohibited by the will of his surviving mourners from having anything to do with his body or funerary rights.”

Ijichi waited for a moment, like he was expecting something more. When Yuuji made no move to say anything, he leaned forward and clicked the recorder off with the same practiced ease.

“Take the time you need,” Ijichi soothed before turning his gaze away from him. A sign of respect for his space when they both knew he couldn’t leave the room. “When you’re ready, you may step out and send Kugisaki-san in. After she’s done, the two of you are welcome to leave the campus if you so please.”

Yuuji stood without another word, dragging his feet away from stale air and all the words he’d spoken into existence within it. This was the first time he’d been the one to say Megumi was dead. Out loud, at least. It gave a different gravity to the situation. It ripped a bigger, gnarled hole through his soul.

Nobara still looked exhausted. When he opened the door, her head didn’t move from where it was resting on Miwa’s shoulder. Her eyes barely seemed to be able to stay open. She had only gotten a few hours of sleep after Shoko treated her. The first time she woke up, she’d asked after Megumi. Shoko started to cover for him or maybe try to play along with the fib he’d told her in Shinjuku so she would rest some more. He would never forget the sound of her pure, unbridled anger and quiet, fragile grief.

Now, she was uncharacteristically silent.

Even as she dragged herself upright and straightened out her appearance, she didn’t say a word. Her normal boisterous tone didn’t carry through the walls like it normally did.

Miwa, for the most part, didn’t seem too keen on speaking either. Yuuji was sure death was a topic she knew well and wished she didn’t. Truthfully, he felt almost a bit guilty grieving in front of her. After all, they’d had Megumi far longer than she’d gotten to keep Mai and Mechamaru around. She was no stranger to peers dying; she’d only gone through it at a far earlier age.

Nobara turned 36 years old today. Megumi never got to pick on her with Yuuji for being over halfway to forty. He certainly didn’t have the energy to attempt a joke like that now, nor did it seem in good taste when Megumi hadn’t even made it there himself.

What a present.

Miwa walked them both back outside into the heat in silence. A few steps away from the door, she paused, turning to face them. They were both given a hug and a personal delivery of her condolences for their loss. Yuuji could see it in her eyes that she understood what it was like to lose more than a friend when she comforted him, but it was beyond him to try to take a stab at why. Nor did he particularly care right now, when the chain around his neck was heavier than it should have been—two rings instead of one.

When he was deposited into Nobara’s arms, instead of the other way around, he didn’t have the energy to protest.

He didn’t go home that night. Instead, he let Nobara take him to her new apartment and hold him while they both cried.

—

The first time it happened, it was easy to chalk it up to lack of sleep, lack of care for himself, and grief all working against him.

Getting ready in the mornings was always a quiet thing for Yuuji. More often than not during the week, Megumi was far gone by the time Yuuji pulled himself out of bed. He would leave him with a kiss on the scar across his brow that would still be tingling by the time Yuuji’s eyes opened. A pleasant surprise every morning, one he never got used to. He would find little traces of Megumi’s morning routine all around the apartment—something in their shared closet shifted in his search for his things and left there, the last traces of fog on the mirror in their bathroom from a hot shower, Megumi’s toothpaste shifted a bit in their medicine cabinet, his coffee cup left to dry, and leftover coffee waiting for Yuuji in the pot. Even without his physical presence, Megumi was always part of Yuuji’s morning routine.

The days Megumi could afford to sleep in, he was always awake and waiting to start their day together. Yuuji would open his eyes to discover Megumi working in bed to pass the time, coffee sitting on their bedside table, or sometimes, when he was lucky, he would wake to the feeling of being held and admired by the most gorgeous eyes he’d ever seen. They would spend a lazy morning together, Yuuji making breakfast and Megumi helping to bring the coffee cup to his lips from time to time when his hands were busy. They would shower together. Get ready in peaceful silence. Sometimes they’d just stay in, but most times, Megumi would agree happily to a walk around their neighborhood. Those times, he was undoubtedly a presence at Yuuji’s side.

A presence that was gone now. No shifted objects or warmth on the other side of the bed.

Yuuji dressed for Megumi’s funeral service in silence. He hadn’t dared put the outfit in their shared closet. He tried his hardest to ignore all the things that littered the bathroom that belonged to the deceased. He’d cried when, in his haste to finish his shower, he’d knocked Megumi’s shampoo out of its place in their caddy. Dropped to his knees under the water and let it run cold as he clutched at the bottle. Megumi’s cup was in the way of his own, so he decided coffee wasn’t in the cards today. He burnt breakfast, staring too long at the set of kitchen utensils Megumi got him as a joke. As pink as his hair, he’d told him with a laugh. Breakfast was tossed. He wasn’t hungry anyhow. Not after he instinctively reached for two plates instead of one.

As he sat, fiddling with his tie on the couch, his lack of sleep caught up to him. For a moment, green eyes were on him from across the room, peeking around the corner as they did when Megumi was checking to see what he was doing. As if he could ever be somewhere without Yuuji knowing.

His gaze snapped up, expecting to see a flash of inky black hair retreating.

The smile on his lips dropped slowly, nothing but the void of shadows. If he looked close enough, he could almost pretend they shifted gently like water the way they did when Megumi hid within them.

A gentle knock at his door startled his gaze away.

It took him a moment to remember he was the only one around to answer it. Nobara stood on the other side, eyes sunken in and complexion dull. They left Yuuji’s exhausted hope behind.

That night and many days to follow, he would feel the same. Gorgeous eyes watching him, a hint of something inky, the warmth of someone standing behind him, a flash of green when he opened his eyes after a restless night. Every single time he reached out, full of hope that the last few days were nothing but a bad dream. Every single time, his hope was thrown back in his face, mangled and unrecognizable.

By the second week of the annoying game of hide-and-seek his mind was conjuring, Nobara came by with Drewell—her personal recommendation for sleeping pills—and enough packaged meals he was almost certain she’d probably bought out at least two convenience stores' worth of product. She shoved the bags into his hands and sat with him while he took two tablets and ate about two and a half of the meals she’d bought for him. It seemed to shock her how hungry he was, and truthfully, he was equally impressed.

It was hard to remember to be hungry when he was busy remembering how to be alone.

Sitting with her was nice. Pleasant. She chewed on a meal of her own and chatted with him while they waited for the pills to start to kick in. Nobara even managed to make him laugh, far more than once. Even with the guilt that gnawed at him for being able to smile while the second ring hung heavy from his neck, she made it seem easy. With her, things felt normal. They hadn’t buried a friend less than a month ago. He hadn’t lost the love of his life. They were fifteen again and naive to what was to come. Picking on each other and—

“Megumi—”

Nobara stopped laughing, her gaze scanning his face before following his line of sight. Nothing. There was nothing there. There was never anything there. No matter how real it felt. But this time he was so sure. He was so sure he’d seen him lingering in the living room, just past where Nobara’s smiling face flooded his sight. He was so sure that he’d been walking over to join them. To pull out his normal seat and sit down and just exist in the space with them.

He’d seen him. He’d seen Megumi. He was right there.

“Yuuji,” she whispered, like she was scared she might shatter him if she spoke too loud. “He’s not…”

“I know,” Yuuji replied.

He didn’t want to talk about it. Not with her. Not with anyone.

A thumb reached out to wick away a tear before it could fall too far from his eye. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

He didn’t argue. There was no point in arguing anyway. What was he supposed to do? Insist that he’d seen his dead lover in their shared living room? Admit that he’d been seeing flashes of him since the day or his funeral and they were only getting worse instead of better? Nobara may not have openly judged him, but it would no doubt get to Shoko at some point, or worse, he’d find himself sat down in a room with all his friends telling him they were hosting some sort of Megumi intervention. He couldn’t face them all. He’d barely been able to do so at the funeral.

Nobara tucked him into bed, pushing his neglected hair away from his forehead to press a kiss there. She stayed, holding his hand from his bedroom floor until he drifted off to dreams of folding laundry with the man he wanted to grow old with.

Both of them were gone in the morning. It didn’t shock him.

Nobara was grieving in her own ways. The fact that she took time away from her own feelings to insist upon caring for him when he couldn’t muster the strength to return the gesture made guilt pool cold and heavy in his chest. Megumi meant the world to both of them. Nobara cried, though she would vehemently argue otherwise, the day she moved out on her own. Megumi held her silently in her new living room, always a slightly awkward hugger, but so comforting. Yuuji wanted nothing more than to feel that hug now. He curled in on himself, facing the barren side of a mattress that used to feel too small to hold two grown men. It felt huge now. He would have to get it replaced.

He would have to downsize the storage in their closet. All the empty space would be impossible for Yuuji to fill when he still relied mostly on hoodies and simple clothes to style himself. Megumi’s bulky sweaters and layers and kimono for business would have to be put elsewhere at some point. That’s what people did after someone died. They got rid of things. It was better than having even more to remind you of someone who no longer existed by your side.

Yuuji hated the idea of giving away anything of Megumi’s. Throwing things away he wouldn’t use was even worse on his soul.

The thought of gathering all Megumi’s hygiene products, ginger tea, snacks Yuuji didn’t have a taste for—all his disposable belongings—made Yuuji ill. It twisted his stomach in a way that caused a far deeper pain than seeing them did.

When he stuck his nose into the chill of the pillow across from him, Megumi’s scent was missing. Not even a hint of him lingered on the fabric. At least he could finally wash the sheets again.

Stripping the bedding from their mattress took far longer than his normal messy way of tugging until they popped free and he could shove them into a basket. Each pillowcase slipped off their respective pillows with a sloth-like speed. The material where Megumi once laid his head was pressed to his nose in one last valiant effort to catch any whiff his lover might have left behind. Yuuji was met by nothingness. He moved on to their duvet finally, taking it gently from within the cover. Then the deep blue flat sheet. It made a gentle whooshing sound as it dragged across the fitted sheet below it. That came next, pulled from every corner with care. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend the last vestiges of warmth that he pressed close to his chest were from Megumi.

He was tempted to just tip the basket over the top of the washer and deal with whatever mess happened later. Except Megumi would have scolded him for doing so. He could almost hear him complaining about arranging things neatly so the washer didn’t knock itself off balance during the cycle. Though he felt his eyes watching as he placed the basket slowly back on the floor and once more handled each piece of bedding with a reverence reserved for handling Megumi himself.

“Separate those.”

Yuuji jumped.

In the silence of their apartment, the whisper was a roar. Megumi’s voice, he was sure of it. If he let himself believe, he could almost feel the phantom tingles where the air would have ghosted against his ear. His hands gripped at either side of the washer, aching. He thought he might have heard the metal creaking in protest. A chill ran up his spine, raising the hair on the back of his neck.

He wasn’t alone.

His own panting breaths were loud in his ears. He stayed frozen, hunched over the washer staring at the bedding as if not moving would make him vanish from the eyes he could feel on him.

“Megumi,” Yuuji’s voice cracked, “you’re scaring me.”

The eyes were gone just as quick as they’d appeared.

Bedding be damned, as soon as he could unfreeze his muscles enough to move, Yuuji ran far, far away from their laundry room and kept going until he was running straight out their front door.

—

For two months he played the game.

He would feel someone’s presence when he should have been alone, he would see glimpses of things he shouldn’t see, and sometimes he would get out of hairy situations on missions that he shouldn’t have been able to get out of unless there was someone else around, watching his back. Yuuji would catch himself biting his tongue more often when he thought he saw Megumi around, coming to join him and whoever he was with. He tried to bite his tongue when he was alone as well, because speaking to whatever this was would surely only make it worse.

The incident in their laundry room gnawed at the back of his mind. Since then, there had been no words from whatever entity his mind conjured up, so his worst fears seemed to be far from reality. Megumi died fighting. The likelihood that he hadn’t been killed using cursed energy, in that context, was nearly one-in-a-million. Except that, Yuuji couldn’t be sure it counted. After all, Megumi was still breathing when he found him. He’d begged Yuuji to kill him.

In his cowardice, Yuuji had been too late to grant him that last wish.

Yuta seemed more than pleased to see him. He waved as Yuuji approached the entrance to the Gojo Estate. He looked like a nice addition to those touristy postcards Yuuji found himself admiring from time to time. The estate behind him framed him nicely—autumn warmed trees, falling leaves, and the last surviving blooms soon to vanish in the coming winter. The colors were vibrant and the traditional robes he wore made him look less like someone Yuuji had gone to school with and more like he was transported back in time to meet some hot-shot heir to an even more important clan. Not exactly far off from the truth now, but it was more fun to imagine walking into a movie scene than remember what he was here to talk about.

The estate was just as well groomed as it always was, regardless of the season. As they walked and chatted, they were greeted by people busy at work and a group of children that he’d witnessed Megumi entertaining with various shikigami before. More often than not, it was Kon. Megumi argued he didn’t play favorites, but it was rather obvious to anyone with eyes that just wasn’t true.

They would have to find their own entertainment now.

When they settled in Yuta and Maki’s space, Yuuji was offered his usual cushion and spot at their table; Yuta even poured him a cup of tea. It was a fall blend, spiced and fragrant. A tickle of ginger under it all made his throat close up. He couldn’t even look at the cup.

“You asked to speak with me?” Yuta questioned, eyes flitting between Yuuji and the cup before settling on him. “So formally too. You’d never know we were friends.”

Yuuji winced. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure if you would be busy.”

“Too busy for you?” He tilted his head, eyes bright. “Never. Besides, Maki was excited to hear that you’d be coming by today. We haven’t seen you since August.”

“Since the funeral,” Yuuji corrected. “It’s okay. You can say it. That’s actually partially why I’m here today.”

Yuta didn’t say anything, only waited for Yuuji to continue.

It had become very clear to him the more he lost that sorcerers didn’t talk about death. Even now, when the sheer amount of it slowed drastically, Yuta seemed none too eager to talk about the fact that Megumi was dead. Maki wouldn’t wish to discuss it either when she joined them. Not even Nobara seemed to want to talk much about it. When they met up, she asked how he was and got cagey when he veered too close into speaking about Megumi instead of just himself. Not that Yuuji was much better than them. Anymore, discussing death felt like spitting in his own face.

Yuuji wished that damn tea didn’t have ginger in it. His mouth was dry.

“How did you know that Rika was real?” Yuuji started, swallowing around the balls of cotton on his tongue. “I mean, how did you find out you weren’t…”

“Crazy?” Yuta offered with a gentle laugh.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I really wasn’t sure until Jujutsu High picked me up. I thought, like so many, that every bad thing she did was just me. I thought I couldn’t stand that I had done those things, so I blamed it on her somehow. Imagined that she did them and made myself the victim,” he paused. Yuuji couldn’t look into his eyes, but he knew they were looking right through him. “Yuuji, Megumi died fighting curses. He can’t become a cursed spirit, you aren’t the kind of man to curse someone you love.”

“Neither are you,” Yuuji argued.

Yuta only hummed.

They’d only ever briefly spoken about what led to Rika’s creation. For obvious reasons, it wasn’t a topic Yuta enjoyed reminiscing on. Truthfully, it wasn’t a topic that Yuuji liked much either. The only time he’d really seen Rika in action was the day Yuta killed him. It didn’t really matter that he’d come back; Rika was imposing, she’d held him still so he could stab Yuuji and he’d thought, with his last seconds, he’d left Megumi alone. Left him behind to deal with the mess that he’d made by swallowing that finger that night they met.

“Yuuji,” he started, gentle and soothing, “Megumi was beyond powerful. If you cursed him in the end, there’s no way he wouldn’t have made some sort of move already. You’re tired. You’re mourning someone you loved. If Maki….” Yuta choked, fingers tightening on the edge of the little table. It creaked under the grip. “The point is, you’re going through an immense amount of grieving and you’re not giving yourself time to slow down for it. Seeing and hearing things is only natural. If you’re worried about it, why not go talk to Ieiri-san?”

The door behind them slid closed, audible in the silence that followed.

“Don’t tell me you’re sick.”

Maki’s voice reached his ears before he could see her. Truthfully, that was a good thing. It gave him time.

Megumi didn’t carry the Zenin name, but he carried their undeniable genes. As Maki and Megumi matured, they’d only grown to look more like the other. Sometimes, Yuuji wondered if Maki’s sheer will had reached out into Megumi’s very DNA to try to fill the void that Mai left behind. Maybe it was Megumi who reached out first, in search of what he’d lost when Tsumiki died; an older sister that would hold him accountable and care. They were the only family they had left. Maki was a common face in their apartment and Megumi was a common shadow on the Gojo Estate’s perfect grounds.

Was.

When she sat down next to Yuta, Yuuji nearly emptied his stomach on the tatami mats.

Meeting her eyes was near impossible, he knew what waited there was that same emerald color that was haunting his every moment. Her lips rested in that same indifferent look that Megumi’s always had until Yuta reached out to grab her hand and then Yuuji watched Megumi’s smile split her lips apart. He had to watch the way Yuta pressed a kiss to her scars the same way Yuuji ached to do for Megumi now. To feel that rough skin against his lips just one last time, warm and full of proof of survival. Even down to the shape of her nose she resembled that man he only saw in blurry flashes and dreams.

The sickening thought that he might just be forgetting Megumi’s face crossed his mind.

The hair that lay loose against her shoulders was the same inky color Yuuji kept thinking he saw out of the corner of his eye. Yuta brushed a strand of it behind her ear and Yuuji decided it would be easier to stare at the tan mats below them than watch them any longer.

“You’re going to see Shoko?” Maki asked, gentler than she had been with her teasing. “I have to go see her today anyway. Let’s head out together after lunch.”

Yuuji knew better than to argue with her. Her presence was imposing as ever, even without the sheer amount of cursed energy that belonged to the man beside her. Maki had a silent kind of strength that Yuuji always admired. Megumi admired it too.

“You have to go see her?” He picked at a thread on his hoodie, trying to avoid looking at either of them for as long as possible. The empty space next to him felt larger than ever; a gaping hole that threatened to drag him in and drown him in his own misery. “And here I thought the great Okkotsu Maki was invincible.”

She laughed, a sound so different from Megumi’s own that it relaxed his shoulders a bit. “Don’t get cocky. I can still kick your ass while pregnant.”

Yuuji’s head shot up, meeting her eyes for the first time that day. She was smiling, a hand placed gently over her stomach. Life really had gone on around him and it always would. No matter how much he wished to make it stop so he wouldn’t lose anything else, he was still just a man at his core. His fancy techniques and the purpose for which he was created meant nothing to time and fate. Megumi was gone. He was mounted and now people were ready to continue on in his absence. Could Yuuji ever stand to do the same? Would he ever be able to look Maki in the eyes again without thinking about what he’d lost?

He prayed silently that fate would be gentler to him and make their child look nothing like her.

Selfish, yes, but Yuuji wasn’t sure he could stand to watch another Zenin family member live on while Megumi’s ashes lay in the ground.

“Pregnant?” Yuuji balked. It was Yuta's turn to laugh this time as he scrambled to find his words. “That’s…how long have you known?”

“Only about a week,” she sighed, something that confused Yuuji crossing her features. He found out far too soon what that complicated look meant. “We went to tell Nobara and Megumi yesterday. You wouldn’t answer our calls.”

Yuuji’s phone had been dead for three days now. He hadn’t bothered to charge it until that morning when he reached out to Yuta.

“That’s alright,” he soothed even as the little breakfast he’d managed to stomach churned ugly in his gut. “I’m glad he found out before me. He would have been so happy for you.”

They weren’t just pretty words. Megumi spoke at length with Yuuji when they heard the Okkotsus were planning to marry. He was happy that Maki would be free of the Zenin name if she so pleased and he was ecstatic that she would get to live a life alongside someone she loved. Everything they’d lost, not just Megumi and Yuuji, but all of them, was a heavy burden to carry. Everyone deserved someone to help lighten the load. It seemed not all of them were lucky enough to keep them around.

Yuuji prayed once more that Maki and Yuta might not ever know the feeling in his chest until they had lived a long and fulfilling life together.

The air next to him shifted. A flash of soft pale skin and inky black hair. The green eyes came in the form of Maki moving herself until she was in his sights again. The look on her face was full of concern. He realized only after she’d called his name gently that he’d reached out to touch the empty space where Megumi’s hand would have been waiting for his.

Even when caught, he couldn’t move it.

Eyes glued to the back of his neck from the shadows cast by the early afternoon light.

“We’re happy for you.” Yuuji smiled.

“Thank you,” Yuta answered for them, like he knew.

Perhaps he did.

—

It took Yuuji another three months to work up the courage to find himself sitting in Shoko’s office. The chill of winter bit at his bones even inside. She looked no better off, layered up under her stark white coat, fingers trembling slightly as she typed away at the computer in front of her. He’d come in unannounced and without much to say, so she’d let him sit in his silence, choosing to work until he cracked and spoke up like he always did.

Yuuji wasn’t sure how to find the words. There hadn’t been another incident like the one that drove him to speak with Yuta. It was still mostly just vague glimpses and reaching out for something that wasn’t there, but it was becoming more and more common to find himself lost in his hallucinations. Blinking awake and reaching out to stroke the furrowed brow of his lover who wasn’t there, calling out to him when he thought he saw him in the distance and ruining the mood of any hangout, reaching for two cups or two plates when he would make a meal far too big for only one man, and seeing him plain as day.

That one was new.

The first time it happened, Yuuji was brushing his teeth, trying very hard not to notice the second toothbrush he still hadn’t been able to toss. He leaned down to spit, and when he straightened up, Megumi was smiling gently at him in the mirror. He never looked at himself when he stood in front of it, but he always looked at Yuuji. He jumped, whipping around to search for him.

His heart sank when his eyes met the wall behind him. The mirror was empty of anything but Yuuji’s wounded expression when he turned back around.

That night, he covered the mirror.

The second time it happened, he was watching a movie in their living room. It was late enough that the sun was beginning to turn the sky a light blue instead of the deep midnight of the earliest hours of the morning. Yuuji had tossed and turned in bed so long he gave up and decided he would lull himself to exhaustion with a film or two. Nothing new. It felt wrong to watch something Megumi couldn’t.

When his vision blurred and the birds began to chirp, Yuuji turned the TV off.

In the reflection, lounging at the other end of the couch, was Megumi. He was propped up the way he always did; long legs overtook the middle cushion and often found their way across Yuuji’s lap if he let himself sink a little deeper, relax a little more. He was reading. Some book Yuuji vaguely recognized as one of his favorites. This time, he wasn’t looking at Yuuji’s reflection. He was staring right at him.

That same chill crawled up his spine as the day Megumi spoke to him. Those green eyes that he longed to gaze into one last time were right there. If he looked over now, he was sure he would meet them. He was sure that meeting them would mean acknowledging something he could never take back.

Yuuji rose to his feet slowly, keeping his eyes staunchly ahead.

Each step made the chill dig further into his bones. Whatever it was that was sitting beside him was following him, he was sure of it.

“Megumi,” he whispered, hand on their bedroom door. When no answer came, he swallowed and continued. “We can’t keep doing this. You’re hurting me.”

The presence behind him softened. For a moment, Yuuji almost turned around to search for him. The chill long forgotten in favor of a familiar kind of buzz along his nerves.

Megumi didn’t let him look. He was gone again.

He counted exactly five more gentle times and two more bone-chilling moments before he broke and sought out Shoko.

Yet, his lips were frozen and his voice wouldn’t dare try to pry them apart. He sat in silence, staring at her like she would be able to read his mind and tell him what he wanted to hear without ever having to utter a single word. If anyone was a mindreader, it was probably Shoko.

“We cremated him,” Shoko said suddenly, deep brown eyes studying his face before turning back to her work. “The likelihood that Megumi is a cursed spirit is nearly impossible. One-in-a-million.”

“I keep seeing him,” Yuuji whispered.

That caught Shoko’s attention. She rolled her chair back far enough that she could face him head on.

“Seeing him?”

“It started on the morning of his funeral,” Yuuji explained, avoiding her gaze. “At first, I thought it was just exhaustion and grief. I would think I saw him out of the corner of my eye or think I felt him watching me. Then, one day, he spoke to me. Clear as day I heard him. Except it didn’t feel like him behind me. I told him to go away and he listened, but he hadn’t spoken since. I just keep seeing him. Keep reaching for him when he’s not actually there. Recently, it hasn’t been glimpses any more, I’ve felt like if I turned, I could look right into his eyes. I see him fully. His face, his hair, his body, he looks just like the day he…”

Shoko held up a hand. He didn’t need to say it.

There was something freeing about watching her expression stay indifferent on the surface. She wasn’t staring at him in pity or fear for his sanity. She took what he said and let it exist between them like it was the most normal thing in the world. Maybe for her, someone who lost so much, it was.

Her chin rested against her palm, staring right through him. “Have you ever heard of post-bereavement hallucinations, Yuuji?”

“Post-bereavement hallucinations? What? You think my grief is making me crazy?”

“Not crazy,” Shoko corrected in that strange slightly gentle way she seemed to soothe. The work of someone who did not have much left to give. “These kinds of reactions are observed often within individuals who lose someone very close to them unexpectedly or in traumatic manners. Specifically in those who lost a spouse. Everyone experiences these ‘hallucinations’ a little differently. It can be something as simple as seeing someone that looks like the deceased and finding yourself forgetting for a moment or something as extreme as feeling phantom touches or hearing phantom voices.

“It seems to me like you’ve got a severe case. That could be brought on by the guilt you feel or the fact that you have lost so much at a young age, but I can’t tell you for sure, it’s not really my job to pick apart your brain, kid,” Shoko sighed, reaching into her coat pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes. She lit one and then passed the lighter and pack across the desk to Yuuji. Smoke billowed from between her lips as she spoke on her exhale. “I can look into treatments for more severe cases if that’s what you want. My guess is that it would be some sort of medication to target the hallucinations. Have you thought about grief counseling?"

Yuuji flicked the lighter to life with practiced ease. He was never much of a smoker when Megumi was alive. The occasional social cigarette between friends, nothing more. The taste rotted against his tongue and thought his lungs.

“Right,” he scoffed. “Hey, doc, my husband was brutally attacked by a couple Special Grade curses and when I found him, instead of killing him like he asked me too, I let him die slowly and painfully. Now, even though we cremated his remains and did everything right, I think he’s either a curse come back to haunt me or I’m going fucking nuts because I keep seeing him.”

Shoko laughed, a dry sound but one full of amusement.

“I think you should work on your story,” she hummed.

Yuuji nodded, nursing the cigarette he’d bummed off her until there was nothing left. Ever perceptive, she slid a frighteningly full ashtray toward him. He found a little space in the sheer amount of cigarette carnage that existed and extinguished his only excuse not to talk.

“What if I don’t want to get better?”

Her brown eyes held a sort of understanding that felt oddly like Megumi’s hand in his own.

“None of us do, kid.”

—

The summer air was scorching, even as the sun began to dip below the horizon. It must have been unbearable during the peak of the day. Yuuji wouldn’t know, he didn’t often find himself outside anymore. He was far more content to watch the seasons change from inside he and Megumi’s apartment, continuing his days like the man was still with him. Two sets of everything, clothes still hung neatly in his closet, Yuuji replaced his hygiene products when he replaced his own. After all, if Megumi was still around, he deserved to have his own things.

Even here, in this wasteland, cicadas sang warning that autumn was near. Warning him that tomorrow, he would need to go see Nobara for her birthday. Not that she celebrated much anymore. They were two of the only people left from their generation of sorcerers and it wouldn’t be long until she left him behind too. He wondered if she’d join Megumi.

Walking through Shinjuku was no different than walking through a temple. There was something oddly sacred and vaguely unsettling about returning to ground zero. A grotesque growl or three erupted off to his side, but the curses made no move to actually approach. He silently commended them for their courage to even stay put in his presence. They couldn’t have been more than Grade 2. Before, he might have made them pay for sticking around, might have even chased them down if they tried to run when they realized he was looking for a fight. Now, he was old. He was tired.

His hands stayed put in his pockets, paying them no mind. The summer heat was sweltering in his hoodie, but the idea of exposing any of himself to the outside world was sickening.

The journey today led him deep into the center of Shinjuku. Deep into familiar wreckage. A journey through a past that felt thousands of lifetimes away. What a sick sense of humor fate had. Once, Itadori Yuuji escaped Shinjuku with Fushiguro Megumi. Not nearly far enough into the future, Fushiguro Yuuji lost everything in the same place.

Green eyes burned into the back of his head.

“I told you not to come here,” Yuuji scolded gently.

The presence behind him didn’t speak. It calmed from the always jarring initial chill into a soothing warmth when he spoke. It was like until he acknowledged it, it wasn’t truly Megumi. It would never be Megumi until Yuuji poured all his love for the man into it. Into him.

“I knew you would show up,” he continued. “You’ve been touchy all day.”

A sound twinkled from the shadows to his side. It didn’t sound like Megumi’s laugh, but the cadence was nearly the same. A curse skittered out and away from whatever it was that always made the noise. Yuuji couldn’t trust that it wasn’t himself any longer. Not since he’d stopped having to move much at all to use his techniques. He’d forgotten when that particular phenomenon manifested first. For all he knew, it had always been him, seeking comfort in his loss.

There was a whisper behind him and then a sloppy attack from the same direction. The curse came at him, intending to give everything it had. Yuuji dodged, clapped his hands together and ignored the way one of the streams of blood looked almost black. Megumi learned to use his shadows much like Yuuji’s blood manipulation at some point after they graduated. Their days together and the days without him seemed to blend and bleed the further they grew from the present.

“Show off,” he hummed, though he would never be sure it wasn’t just a trick of the light. “You were quiet on purpose. Just because you enjoy seeing me get thrown around doesn’t mean it’s okay to purposefully be coy about your warnings.”

Something cool brushed against the nape of his neck, familiar in the way the grip settled heavy and sure over him but lacking the warmth that once would have been there.

The touch didn’t stay for long. It never did.

Footsteps heavy, he made his way deeper into the cesspool of the once beautiful ward. He passed the place they’d been ambushed in, passed the many alleys and buildings full of wreckage that he’d searched desperately for Megumi within, and finally he arrived. It was surely his imagination, but it almost looked as though the way the wall was eroding with age matched up perfectly to where Megumi’s blood had leaked out around him and stained the concrete crimson.

Yuuji sat down, heart aching the way his bones should have at such an old age. He stared up at the sun until his eyes stung with tears and his vision was hazy. When he tilted his head away from the sky, Megumi was standing there. Still and void of much of what made him Megumi, but he was there. He was looking right at Yuuji with that same blank gaze he’d learned would soften when he acknowledged he was there.

“You must be tired, old man,” he teased, patting the ground next to him. “Come sit with me for a while.”

Megumi didn’t move. He never did.

“That’s okay, baby.” Yuuji smiled at him, letting his eyes fall closed. He would be gone when he opened them again. “It’s been almost fifty years. You don’t have to wait around for me any longer, hop on the next plane and get the hell out of there.”

“My,” a voice whispered against his ear, struggling to finish for a moment, “Yuuji.”

Megumi would never be getting on that plane with Yuuji. He wouldn’t be getting on without him either.