Archive of Our Own

6 YEARS OLD

It takes much less than Megumi thinks to accept the new stranger into his life. 

By mid-autumn, the colder air isn’t the only thing beginning to seep into the walls of suburban Tokyo. An extra plate and glass at the dining table on weekends is a habit rather than a conscious choice. The fridge has become a wall for one-way exchanges, blinding neon yellow post-it notes with a distinct messy scrawl and far too many doodles despite Megumi’s newly given phone. There’s also a spare pair of slippers by the entryway, ones far too big for him to ever grow into and far too easy to trip over— which Megumi has, multiple times, becomes the owner has a tendency to leave them in random places around the house.

It’s only been four months since they met, but Gojo has managed to intrude himself so thoroughly into Megumi’s life that the year before it has become something difficult to return to. 

The reason for this is simple— Tsumiki is far better for it. 

Tsumiki has always had a gentle smile around Megumi after it became just the two of them, but this was different. As weeks passed, he watched that particular smile become less frequent. She laughed more easily around him until ever so quietly, the smile buried under the weight of heavy responsibility that had always made his chest ache mellowed out into her old one— the one he remembered best. Kind, not only to him but to herself. Nothing could hold a flame to this smaller smile of hers, not when the previous had always been used to reassure him across unequal ground. From then, Megumi knew he would do anything to keep things this way.

“Almost done,” Tsumiki calls out from the stove, steam rising from the pot of stir-fry noodles. “I’ve made some extra too, so we can give it tomorrow when he comes.”

Megumi frowns from the dinner table. Tsumiki, unable to resist, walks over to smooth his unruly hair with hands that smell like ginger and a small smile. Megumi pushes her arm away.

Their first meeting was full of cautious distrust. Megumi has never done well with outsiders, but four months in and Gojo has eased into the walls of their home as if he's always belonged there.

Gojo doesn’t come. They’ve sent him to Kyoto for the weekend, he briefly calls them the next day to say. Megumi vaguely remembers Gojo mentioning a Jujutsu college there and wonders if that's where he’s gone. 

That evening, Tsumiki splits the box of noodles they'd left for Gojo into two equal portions and they have that for dinner. Tsumiki has already decided to make it again for the next time Gojo comes. They’ve gotten used to his irregular schedule, his appearances spontaneous and last-minute rather than expected. That didn’t stop Tsumiki from still preparing on weekends, as if making it a routine meant it was more likely to happen.

This newfound calm is a familiarity Megumi has gotten used to.

He finishes his noodles shortly after Tsumiki, and gets up to help her with the dishes. She washes them and hands them to Megumi to dry with a cloth and put away.

Autumn turns over with little resistance, the days shorter and nights stretching. Megumi doesn’t mind winter. It's far more bearable than the humid summers Saitama incessantly bears down year after year. He wonders, though, if the curses were worse in the winter period. Seasons are temperamental, and with it humans too. Maybe that explained why Gojo had visited them less often these last few weeks.

The strange itch arrives in the first week of winter holidays. 

Strange, because it’s not a physical, surface-level itch, but more so within his very bone marrow, the type that makes him scratch at his skin until it's red with no relief. Megumi has to stop himself from doing so in front of Tsumiki or she’ll worry. He doesn’t think it’s a rash, but he puts moisturising cream on his arms anyway and makes sure his sleeves are pulled down fully when she’s around. It’ll pass soon.

His phone buzzes, drawing his attention away from the workbook he’s been going through for the last half an hour. Megumi knows who it is before he even checks.

Not coming for a few more days

Things turned out different than expected. If you need anything I’ve sent over some extra money 

I’ll bring something back

I heard there's a place in central Kyoto that does good daifuku

Focus on the mission, Megumi thinks as he rubs the centre of his right wrist. His eyes drift back to the page he’d been reading absentmindedly.

Another buzz. Megumi checks his phone again.

No good luck? It’s a special grade curse, you know :0

Megumi stares at the little face made by text on the screen, before his eyes move to the sentence before it.

By now, Megumi has learnt a little. Gojo has explained the basics of Jujutsu society, about curses and cursed techniques, about the two Jujutsu schools in Japan for training sorcerers, an overview summarised in between sessions complaining about his latest mission. 

What Megumi came to understand the most, however, was this— Gojo, fifth-year student at Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College, possessor of both Infinity and Six Eyes, was sent on a lot of missions alone. Far more than the average sorcerer.

Buzz.

I might really run into trouble this time Megumi-kunnnnnn

He’s like a kid, Megumi thinks, eyebrows furrowing from hearing Gojo’s exact tone in his head. But…

The strongest sorcerer. Gojo had called himself that in passing once, and it wasn’t like he was bragging, Megumi had thought back then. Gojo had said it too easily, more like it was a simple fact than a bold claim. 

‘Be careful’ doesn't sound right. Neither does ‘Come back quickly’.

Megumi hesitates. 

In the end, he simply replies, Bring back extra.

Tsumiki likes daifuku after all.

The itch becomes an ache in the span of days. It’s a hollow thing, burying into his joints, particularly in his hands so that he’s flexing his fingers to get rid of the phantom feeling. It helps a little. More than once, Megumi catches himself interlocking his fingers tightly until his knuckles turn white and forcibly loosens them.

The worst thing though is that it eventually creeps into his sleep. The sensation dulls in his dreams, more like pins and needles across his whole body, except it's so vivid it doesn’t matter that it doesn’t hurt because he still feels it all. Despite this, Megumi still somehow manages to sleep without waking up. On the surface he’s seemingly normal and healthy, which only makes it ever the more maddening because there is something wrong.

No fever, no cold, no fatigue. He’s sick, but with no physical symptoms to show for it. To a doctor, other than being slightly underweight for his age, he would be a completely healthy patient. 

Normal.

Gojo returns a week and a day later. Megumi opens the door at two in the night to the sight of the man with a large green and white striped shopping bag. 

Megumi pretends not to notice the hint of eyebags under Gojo’s eyes, nor how he scans the entryway with a bit more vigilance than usual. Megumi can tell he’s got Infinity on, although his eyes aren’t visible behind his sunglasses to tell if Six Eyes is too. His gaze stops on Megumi last, and his head tilts like a curious cat.

The ache returns again. 

Recently Megumi’s been feeling off balance too, a shift in his centre of gravity that makes it seem like he’s falling even when standing up. Like now. He feels the ground slipping slowly, slowly, and he tightens his hold on the door handle, letting the cold of the metal bite into the warmth of his hand.

He blinks slowly and whispers to not disturb Tsumiki, still sleeping in her room, “It’s late.” He doesn’t add that it’s been more than just a few days, and that it meant ‘You’re late’ too. 

“I just got back,” Gojo whispers. “Mind if I stay a bit?”

Megumi simply sidesteps to allow him to pass, and Gojo pats his hair once in passing. It’s only a moment, but his hand is heavy like he’s using Megumi’s head as a resting place, before it slips away.

Infinity turns on again a millisecond later, the quietest fluctuation of cursed energy in the room, almost imperceptible.

It’s only after Gojo crashes asleep on their couch that Megumi belatedly realises he sensed the other’s cursed energy. He’s never been able to tell before, even a few weeks ago when Gojo demonstrated his technique after Megumi asked him about it. He puts it down to Gojo’s tiredness, a slip in control that even Megumi was able to detect. 

The couch is barely big enough for Gojo but he fits anyway, his body curled in a ball, knees bent but arms nearly dangling off the edge. It can’t be comfortable, but Gojo hadn’t even hesitated before slumping into the position, and he’s knocked out before Megumi can even think of an alternative solution.

He can tell the moment it happens, because the space that Gojo Satoru takes up in his living room suddenly stills, his presence there but a lower frequency, folded, contained.

Megumi carefully removes the sunglasses from Gojo’s face that he’d either forgotten or didn't care to take off. He briefly looks through despite knowing he'd see nothing through it, before placing it on the coffee table within arms reach nearby. He places a blanket over the sleeping figure. Gojo doesn’t shift from the added weight but there’s the smallest of creases between his eyebrows that loosens. His face looks strange when he’s not smiling, facial muscles completely relaxed, planes of his face soft against the moonlight.  

Not for the first time, Megumi’s reminded of how young Gojo is. Too young to act as a guardian for two children, old enough to fight special grade curses on his own. 

He feels like he’s staring too much though, so he turns away.

He stifles an incoming yawn. Glancing at the clock, he realises it’s nearing half past two. It really is late.

Megumi returns to bed. 

When he wakes up at nine in the morning, Gojo is already gone. The couch is empty, the blanket folded and placed on one end. He instinctively checks on the fridge door for a new post-it note, but there's nothing there. No new messages on his phone either. Megumi recalls the cursed energy he sensed and tries to see if there’s any residuals but the room is empty of that too. He checks the kitchen last but there's no mess or used dishes in the sink, just the shopping bag Gojo had left behind. It was the only thing telling Megumi that he hadn't dreamt it all.

Megumi’s mouth twitches. No breakfast, and minimal sleep.

Tsumiki wakes up twenty minutes later. Walking into the kitchen, she spots the unfamiliar shopping bag on the counter that Megumi hasn’t yet bothered to check.

She turns to him, blinking owlishly. “Did Gojo-san come?”

Megumi nods. 

“Really? Oh.” Tsumiki sighs, dejected and a bit regretful. “It’s been a while since he visited. I wish he stayed a bit longer.”

Megumi remains silent. Outside, the wind has started to pick up.

7 YEARS OLD

Two days later, and Tsumiki’s lighting the candles on a strawberry cream cake she’s bought from the store, the dark room bathed only in moonlight with shadows jumping on the walls. 

Megumi’s fingertips and skull and ribcage itch. The ache in his finger joints has gradually anchored home in his wrists, and he's massaged the pressure point there so many times to no avail. Today it seems his heart is giving up on him too because there’s a hole in his chest, and no matter how much he presses his thumb against his sternum it won’t stop the numbness there from spreading outwards to his limbs.

Megumi wonders if he's dying on his seventh birthday.

Under her breath, Tsumiki starts humming the tune of happy birthday because she knows how much Megumi hates anyone singing the words of the song.

There’s a second cake next to the shop bought one, a chocolate cake she hasn’t iced so it isn’t too sweet, because Megumi doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth even though she does.

There's a third cake too. Gojo bought it, a placeholder for his absence and delivered who knows when. Tsumiki must have invited him because she smiled apologetically when she placed it on the table. It’s vanilla, topped with an array of fancy fruits in the centre. Megumi doesn’t recall even telling him of his birthday.

It's fine, because Megumi never expected Gojo to come. It's far too trivial a thing anyway, even though they could probably have used Gojo’s excessively sweet tooth to help finish all the cake. His seventh birthday and he’s got two more cakes than he ever has before and not enough people around to justify the number of slices.

He watches Tsumiki's blurry shadow on the wall behind her from all the candles and then his own stretching shadow. He can’t help but feel like there’s something missing in his. 

Tsumiki’s humming finishes.

“Oh, wait!” Tsumiki reaches for something on the seat nearby and raises a camera. It’s one of those instant ones, he recognises. They’ve never owned one, which tells him enough about who must have given it. Megumi stays seated as she flutters around, trying to find a good angle to include the three cakes. 

“Smile, Megumi,” she reminds in that fake stern tone of hers when she finally squints into it. 

He doesn’t.  

She sighs hopelessly. Then she raises two fingers in an upside down V shape in front of the camera. Megumi doesn't understand what she’s doing when the camera snaps, the flash temporarily blinding him. 

He has to wait until the camera prints the photo and develops, an excruciating ten minutes with the film placed downwards in the dark where they cut and eat a slice of each cake, before he finds out.

The weird peace sign he assumed she’d been attempting wasn’t that. Megumi now has bunny ears in the picture made from a shadow on the wall behind him. 

She places it on the fridge with a star shaped magnet. He knows it’s now— for the first time— a two way exchange wall. Megumi watches it happen with marked indifference, knowing he can’t bring it down when she’s smiling so proudly at it. He eats the vanilla cake last, and listens to Tsumiki talk.

Later, they make a makeshift tent in the living room with the dining table chairs and blankets to sleep under. Tsumiki’s idea. It’s past midnight, far later than they usually sleep, and Megumi is holding a torch to the ceiling of their tent as Tsumiki raises her hands in front of the light. She does the bunny rabbit ears again as if practicing her form. She follows it with a butterfly, then a bird. 

Megumi cushions the torch upright between their two pillows and raises his hands. Lying beside her, he makes the hand sign for a different animal. Above them, the shadow puppet comes out a bit clumsy, the ears drooping and snout too small, but she still gasps in awe. 

“A dog,” she murmurs. “You’re good at this, Megumi.”

He feels satisfaction at that. More surprisingly, it feels oddly right, the way his hands join together like this. For the first time that day, the ache disappears completely.

It’s short lived though. 

By the time Tsumiki’s breathing evens out into deep sleep, it’s already returned.

It’s winter solstice, the longest night of the year, and Megumi feels every tedious second of it. His birthday has never felt so lengthy.

Still, winter solstice passes quietly, and Megumi tries to exhale its passing like every other year. 

Even as he sleeps, the itch doesn't completely leave, but it settles into a deeper prickling of his skin as the sun comes up. His wrists still hurt.

It lessens by the time winter break ends, the ache spacing out more infrequently and much less intense. Megumi attributes the phenomenon to shorter days and monochrome skies and worry, even if he swears that he never was.

Gojo hasn’t visited them in two weeks, which is why Megumi is more than a little surprised when he finds the man standing outside his school gates. 

He’s in his Jujutsu College uniform. His appearance alone is enough to draw attention, sunglasses in winter and white hair that Megumi has gotten so used to seeing that he’s forgotten it’s highly unusual, even when it blends into the lightly snowed pavements and grey clouds. He can feel eyes and whispers, children and parents both. It’s attention that Megumi doesn’t care for, so he doesn’t let his steps slow as he walks straight past Gojo. 

Gojo seems to get the hint because he follows behind Megumi, but at enough of a distance to not be associated together.

It’s only once they turn into the quieter residential roads that Megumi’s steps slow until he’s walking next to the other. 

“You didn’t say you were coming,” Megumi accuses.

Gojo looks at Megumi. “Remember the mission I had with the special grade curse over the winter holidays?” he starts explaining. “Turns out it wasn’t as simple as just exorcising it. Since I was around, the higher ups also shoved a whole lot of other stuff I needed to do. My hands were tied until now.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

That earns Megumi a violent head shake that he’s too slow to dodge. As the hand recedes Megumi’s hood is flipped up, blocking his peripheral vision. The wind sinking claws into his scalp and blowing past his ears is suddenly muted in the buffered space.

They walk a bit more, his fingertips numb and Gojo’s red without any gloves. It seems not even Infinity could keep the winter cold at bay. Megumi looks further downwards to watch Gojo’s shorter than normal strides and shoves his hands deeper into his coat pockets. 

Quietly, he asks, “Was it difficult?” 

“Huh?” Gojo asks, not catching it over a gust of wind.

“Never mind,” Megumi mumbles, because they’ve already reached the road leading home. 

When he gets to the door, Megumi unlocks it and shakes his boots before entering. Gojo follows, copying. As Megumi hangs up his coat, Gojo speaks from behind him.

“It wasn’t difficult. Just long.” 

Megumi pauses. Then he takes his scarf off, hangs that too, and immediately goes to turn on the heating in the kitchen-living room.

“Megumi? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Megumi replies as he searches for the heater remote. He finds it on the coffee table and switches it on, adjusting it to just above room temperature.

“Tsumiki-chan not back yet?” Gojo calls, still by the front door. 

Megumi waits until Gojo wanders into the room before saying, “She has an after-school club.”

“Oh,” and the single syllable has Megumi turning. “I’m not going to see her then.”

And Megumi knows what that means. His eyes scan the other’s face. “I thought you were staying.” 

Gojo leans against the wall near the door and folds his arms. “There’s a report I still need to finish.” 

A report. Again, when he’d just come back. Megumi’s cold, and the house hasn’t got the best insulation, and it’d be far easier if Gojo came in and closed the door so the room could heat up quicker because right now the floorboards may as well have been blocks of ice and the windows paper for the wind to enter through.

“Why did you come here then?” and Megumi can’t help the tightness in his chest that makes the words come out sharper than he intends. 

“I was nearby,” Gojo shrugs.

Megumi studies Gojo’s neutral expression. Something clicks. “You’re lying.”

“I am, but so are you.”

Megumi stills, a different kind of chill permeating into his bones. 

Gojo finally steps into the room properly, the door left open, and approaches Megumi.

“How are you really feeling, Megumi?”

And that’s the moment Megumi realises he’s been caught out. 

Since when? He’d thought it was gone by now, and it had been, he’d told himself that, so why now did he…

Gojo crouches in front of Megumi. Megumi tracks the movement with wary eyes. He’s not close enough to be in Megumi’s personal space but it’s close enough that if one wanted to, they could reach for Infinity and be faced with its own haunting chill.

Megumi finds himself hesitating. It’s a simple question. ‘I’m fine’ sits on his tongue, same as earlier.

Gojo waits.

But how can Megumi possibly explain it in words that would make sense? That for a while now he could feel it somewhere in the space between his ribcage and his lungs, somewhere from his shoulder blades to the tips of his fingers, a distorted space that shouldn’t exist but existed anyway? How can he tell him that in the deepest part of night, when Tsumiki’s fast asleep, where there’s all but a blackout in his bedroom, it isn’t monsters under his bed he’s worried about but an intrinsic pull, a centre of gravity that throws him off so thoroughly he would hold his breath against it and still swear that even though nothing whispered in his head, he could still feel something against his skin and his skull and his heart? How can he say that when he glimpses his own shadow, he sometimes stares at it for far too long, presses his fingers to the ground where it stretches out in morbid anticipation that they will just fall through the seams to the other side, slip by unnoticed or worse— that there were things on the other side waiting, waiting, waiting—

“You can feel it.”

Megumi tenses. 

“It’s normal,” Gojo assures, but what part of this could possibly be normal? 

It must have shown on his face because Gojo repeats, “It’s normal,” this time slower, the words filtering through Megumi’s barrier. “You have the Ten Shadows technique, remember? It’s one of the most well-known techniques for a reason. You already have an above average level of cursed energy for your age and without control and any output, it can make you feel off. It’s different to being sick with an illness.”

And the way Gojo explains it so simply, it does make sense. 

Gojo tilts his head. “It started during winter break, didn’t it.”

Megumi’s eyes widen. “How did you—”

“Winter solstice,” Gojo murmurs. “Predictably boring, but it makes sense. Jujutsu is like that sometimes.”

Megumi doesn’t get what that has to do with it. He doesn’t particularly care though, because attaching that date to it all doesn’t make it mean anything more. Rather, his mind is elsewhere, and he points to his shadow in front of him. “Is that why the shadows feel like… that?”

Instead of getting Megumi to explain what that means, Gojo’s quick to answer. “It’s probably because the shikigami are waiting for their user.”

…Shikigami. He knows that Gojo’s right, just from that alone. But hearing it makes him feel a bit strange.

“Want to give it a go, Megumi?”

“Give what a go,” he asks cautiously, even when he already knows.

Gojo raises his hands and splays his fingers out. “Jujutsu. Your cursed technique.”

The answer, Megumi knows, is already there. In the end, Jujutsu hasn’t given him much of a choice. He can tell from the way things have been recently. A cursed technique, previously slumbering under his skin, was becoming restless. 

Gojo points at Megumi’s shadow against the floor. It’s stretched, the window behind them an untainted source of daylight. 

Megumi senses it more than sees it. Something staring back. Gojo’s shadow is empty compared to this. 

“I think,” Gojo says slowly with a thoughtful expression, index finger pressing against the edge of that shadow, “they’re afraid they’ll scare you.” 

Oh.

“Thoughts?”

Megumi considers it, eyebrows furrowing.

Gojo had told Megumi that most sorcerers manifested their cursed technique between the ages of four and six. Megumi, however, was born with an inherited cursed technique. It was just that, up till now, he hadn’t paid particular attention to it. He didn’t see a reason to, and it’s not like it had affected him. 

But now, things have changed. Not only was it something he could no longer ignore, but remaining blissfully unaware was something Megumi knew better not to risk. Especially with Tsumiki around.

“I want to try,” he decides, eyes determined as they meet with Gojo’s hidden gaze behind his sunglasses. It wasn’t a commitment, just testing things. 

Most importantly, Gojo was here.

Gojo nods easily. He asks, “Ready?”

Megumi nods back.

“Like this,” Gojo says and reaches out for Megumi’s hands. Gojo guides his fingers into a much too familiar hand sign that he’s not even surprised, and Megumi can’t help thinking that even with Infinity on, Gojo’s hands still radiate a muted warmth that can’t possibly be contained.

Gojo’s hands move away and the new shape made by Megumi’s hands holds.

Megumi’s gaze drops back to his shadow on the floor. It aches. He’s not falling yet but he knows Gojo will catch him if he does. He doesn’t know how this works, but there’s an instinct pulling at him that he’s drawn to. He uses the lingering warmth on his skin as an anchor and pushes the ache outwards, calling without a name. 

The shadow doesn’t warp or get bigger or swallow him whole. 

But it does change.

Megumi steps back, eyes widening.

At first he doesn’t know what exactly he’s seeing. It happens so fast though that by the time he blinks, two dogs have emerged from his shadow. They look more like small wolves than dogs, one black and one white furred, strange symbols on their heads, and they step towards Megumi with a slow gait, and they’re his full body height without even trying, jaw big enough to bite his head clean off and— 

They nudge against his hands until the hand sign falls apart and nuzzle their heads against Megumi’s open palms. 

Soft, he thinks, fur trailing between his fingers.

His body feels more right than it has for months. A little tired, but he’d take it over the phantom ache, take it over not being aware this existed within arms reach all along. 

“Was it like this for you?” Megumi breathes into the space.

Gojo just smiles at that. “It’s a bit similar.”

At some unknown point, Gojo had placed his sunglasses on top of his head. Megumi looks into his eyes, the endless blue, and knows it’s not the whole truth even if it isn’t a lie. 

Gojo’s observing when he says, “I missed your birthday. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Megumi tells him. He doesn’t mind. The white furred dog cranes its head back to look at Gojo curiously as the black furred dog paws at Megumi’s shin.

Gojo’s still observing, but Megumi misses when he smiles ever so gently, like he knows the world isn’t watching this.

“Happy birthday, Megumi.”

The second time Megumi summons the shikigami called Gyokuken, he’s alone in his bedroom with nothing but time on his hand and a looping train of thought. 

Megumi tells himself it’s a necessary summon. He needs to test some things for one, and it’s not like he’s doing anything wrong. Gojo didn’t forbid him from this, although it’s not like he’d listen if the other had anyway. If anything, he has the sense Gojo wouldn’t be against it.

And that’s how Megumi ends up here, sitting on the floor in the middle of his bedroom, the two dogs laying opposite him. He doesn’t think for long before coming up with a way to refer to them separately. 

“Shiro,” he points at the white furred shikigami. “Kuro,” he points at the other black furred one. It’s simple, but it’s not like he needs them to be anything more than that right now.

They show no reaction to their newly assigned names.

After a few minutes of Megumi doing nothing, Kuro gets up. It paces around his room idly, sniffing at the desk and wardrobe. Shiro licks its paw. It’s not like they’re waiting for something, but Megumi gets the feeling they should be doing something. Shiro continues to sit on the floor, laying down its head but keeping its gaze focused on Megumi. Kuro continues to circle the room, brushing against his back as it passes behind. Megumi observes this all with curiosity. In a way, he’s waiting too.

He doesn’t know how much time passes like this until something changes. 

Kuro’s ears twitch and Shiro’s snout scrunches. The shikigami suddenly become more attentive. Their heads turn towards the door, waiting. Megumi’s eyebrows furrow.

A half-minute later, he hears a door unlocking. 

Tsumiki, back from school. He glances at the clock. She’s early— didn’t she have an extra class today?

“I’m home,” he hears her call out. 

He doesn’t reply because his shoes by the front door are enough to tell her he’s home too, but more importantly, Shiro and Kuro have slowly started moving towards the door. For a split second, he can’t help thinking that with their size and smooth movements, they look like they’re hunting.

Don’t, he thinks.

They stop. Their heads turn back to Megumi, synchronised, and Megumi’s fingers curl. Doubt twists his stomach. Were they really tamed like Gojo said they were? 

But then Shiro trots back, head bumping against Megumi’s hands like the first time they met, and Megumi unfreezes. His hand runs through the fur on Shiro’s back. Kuro holds back by the door, pupils bearing into his, and Megumi seems to sense that it wants to do the same too. 

He pauses. Something strings together in his mind. Did the shikigami…

Downstairs, Megumi hears Tsumiki walk into the kitchen and then her footsteps stop.

“Megumi, have you washed the rice already? You didn’t have to,” she speaks loudly.

Megumi picks himself up off the floor. “Follow me,” he whispers under his breath and they move behind him, soundless footsteps across the wooden floorboards. He heads downstairs without looking at the shadows taken form behind him.

Megumi walks straight into the kitchen.

“You’re early,” he says to Tsumiki, who’s already rolled up her sleeves and is now washing her hands at the sink.

“I finished up quickly. And I was really hungry,” she says. 

She’s not usually that hungry by this time. It was because of this that their dinner was usually later in the evening. “You didn’t have lunch?” he guesses.

“I didn’t eat enough,” she replies sheepishly.

Megumi moves to stand right in front of her, arms crossed. 

Tsumiki dries her hands on the towel and her head tilts to the left. “Did I forget something?”

“No,” he mutters. “Eat more at lunch if you get hungry. And I already cracked the eggs,” Megumi says, pointing to a bowl on the side. 

“Oh, I see” she blinks, checking the bowl. She smiles, “You’ve done well. Thank you.”

Megumi doesn’t respond. He goes to get out the plates and cutlery instead. As he does, he confirms his suspicions.

Tsumiki doesn’t see the shikigami, still trailing beside him. He’d expected as much even before testing it. What he didn’t expect though was Gyokuken’s careful approach.

He didn’t tell them to be quiet, but they knew anyway. 

He didn’t tell them quite a few things today. Which meant…

Tsumiki, Megumi thinks and observes them both.

Kuro’s ears twitch. Shiro goes close enough to touch Tsumiki’s shadow, but not any closer. 

Which is proof enough.

So they understand him. His intention. The original purpose of these shikigami was to fight. It only made sense then that doing so meant being closer to the sorcerer than simple things like familiarity and trust allowed. It was likely they could read his thoughts directly if he wanted to convey something without words.

Megumi didn’t mind. He saw no harm in it— not like this, when he could see his first ever command still reflected in Kuro and Shiro’s eyes, as behind him the eggs Tsumiki’s cooking in the pan begin to sizzle.

He thought it was enough.

And for a while, it was. Weeks pass by steadily. Nothing changes.

But like everything in Megumi’s life, it isn’t enough. Not because he wants more, but because he is tied down by the need to be careful about what he already has. Because he has someone like Tsumiki, and he cares too much about things that he wants to keep.

That’s what Megumi tells himself, Kuro’s head resting on his lap as he works through a maths question on the dinner table, and Shiro watches Tsumiki watch the weather reporter on the television forecast a light rain.

An opportunity presents itself to Megumi in early April. 

Tsumiki has a three-day field trip to Osaka at the end of the month. She’s getting ready to sign her name at the bottom of the slip of paper confirming she won’t be joining.

“You should go,” he tells her.

The pen hovers over the paper. 

“I want to stay here,” she replies without hesitation and it’s the truth as much as the other one she won’t say aloud. She wants to go too. He can read it in her eyes, ever so slightly shining in the living room lights. Osaka isn’t that far from them by train, yet neither of them have been.

Megumi says, “We have Gojo-sensei now.”

She blinks. Then she smiles that peaceful smile, and he knows he’s managed to convince her. 

Megumi has always been a light sleeper.

Today though, it takes two separate rings of the doorbell before he registers the sound. He groans as he rolls over, warm blood sluggishly moving through his veins and mind slowly crawling into function. He blindly reaches under his pillow for his phone and checks it with squinting eyes. The time jumps out— 01:37. 

Then his eyes land on the eleven messages and three missed calls from Gojo. He unlocks his phone.

The messages are simple. 

Megumi

(01:04)

Megumi-kunnnn

(01:05)

It’s cold out here 

(01:07)

Are you awake?

(01:09)

Megumi

(01:14)

Megumi-kun, you’re so cruel

(01:15)

Megu

(01:17)

There's an old lady who passed by just now

She looks like she’ll kill me

(01:18)

I think she’s your neighbour

(01:19)

It was nice knowing you Megumi

I hope ignoring me was worth it

(01:24)

I’m going to kill him myself, Megumi thinks darkly as he gets up. His limbs feel heavy, and it takes every bit of his energy to not stumble into anything in the dark; He doesn't want to open the lights if he can avoid it. 

The first thing he says when he opens the door, annoyed, is, “You have the keys.”

Megumi had given him a spare set weeks ago— mainly to avoid this sort of thing. 

Gojo cranes his head to look up at him— because of course he was sitting on the floor against the wall pitifully like he was in the middle of some sort of late-night heartbreak. “I don’t have them with me right now.

What’s the point of giving it to you then, Megumi thinks in his head.

Gojo uses his knees to push himself off the floor and stretches his arms up languidly. “You opened the door just in time. Any longer and I would have broken it down.”

“Can’t your Six Eyes see I was sleeping inside?” 

His expression turns to one full of disbelief, eyes narrowed and eyebrows scrunched. “Huhhhh? Six Eyes don’t work like some sort of night vision. That’d be problematic if it did. Seriously, I’ve explained my cursed technique to you befo— oh. Oh.” Gojo blinks. His face morphs into glinting eyes and a wide grin, insufferable, delighted. “Megumi.”

Megumi’s already turning on his heel. 

“Megumi, was that meant to be sarcasm?” There’s awe in his voice, and something a bit too much like pride.

Megumi walks away, intending to go straight back into bed. 

Gojo, naturally, follows. The door clicks shut. What he doesn’t expect is that Gojo follows right behind him– Not to the living room where the couch is, but up the stairs and right into Megumi’s bedroom. 

“Megumi-kunnnn…”

It’s the voice of someone unsatisfied with something and wanting to complain. Megumi doesn’t even have the energy to kick the grown man out of his room. He’s already crawling back into bed, throwing the duvet over his head. 

There’s no point. The lamp turns on a second later, visible through a crack between the duvet and pillow. 

Megumi’s irritation flares. Seriously, what is Gojo doing? It’s Sunday, nearly 2 a.m., and Megumi has school tomorrow. 

Today, he corrects in his head. Tsumiki is also coming back from her trip in the evening, today.

He suddenly wishes he hadn't opened the door.

He peeks from under the covers, squinting his eyes. Gojo’s dimmed the lamp on the desk to the lowest setting thankfully, and it doesn’t take too long before Megumi’s eyes adjust and he doesn’t have to blink several times each second just to see. 

Unfortunately for him, sleep has left his body even as exhaustion hasn’t. Megumi knows a losing battle when he sees it and knows to accept defeat. He sits up and crosses his legs, wrapping the duvet around his shoulders to ward off the chill. Maybe if he listens to whatever the other has to say, it'll be over quicker. He’s not sure what expression he’s making right now but he does nothing to hide it.

Gojo, it seems, doesn’t either. He’s still grinning, carefree. Somewhere between now and the walk from the front door, he’s also taken off his glasses so that Megumi’s facing those depthless blue eyes head-on.

It’s unsettling. 

So he looks away.

Now he’s watching the empty wall to his right. 

Empty, apart from two distinct shapes. Megumi stares at their two shadows, overlapping. Feeling the urge, he leans back slightly until the outline of the silhouettes separate. It’s only a hair’s breath apart but the distance feels important. 

He stares at his shadow. 

And stares. 

Nothing stares back.

Eyes shifting to Gojo’s shadow, Megumi realises something. 

He’d been wrong. With a side by side comparison it’s obvious. It’s not that his shadow was ever missing anything— it’s that everyone else’s was. 

The depth of his shadow is enough to fall into easily if one isn’t careful, denser still, and most importantly there’s something else in it. He doesn’t mean Gyokuken. There’s something more.

The back of his neck tingles. 

“Megumi.”

He can hear the smile in Gojo’s voice before he even drags his focus back to look. 

He can also tell it’s one of the more hopeless ones to argue against. 

Gojo’s gaze is unwavering and fixed on Megumi. “You did an exorcism ritual.”

Megumi jolts, eyes widening. 

The terminology is unfamiliar but he understands its meaning all the same. He knows his losing battles—he always has— but this doesn’t even qualify as a fight. 

So he gives himself away with the next words, knowing that denial is useless with who he's up against. “How did you know?"

Gojo gestures to the room, his index finger drawing a circle in the air. “There’s residuals everywhere. And your cursed energy is lower than usual. You’re still feeling the after-effects of it, aren’t you?”

Megumi bites the inside of his cheek. Gojo moves further into the room to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of Megumi’s bed. Even with Gojo sitting, they almost meet at the same eye level. 

“Last I checked, you didn’t know much about your cursed technique,” he says.

“There’s ten shadows,” Megumi replies. 

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“There’s ten shadows,” Megumi exhales, “and you already showed me the hand sign for one of them.” Megumi steadies himself and looks straight into Gojo’s eyes. “I just kept on trying until I got it right.”

Gojo considers this. “And exorcising it?”

“Shiro caught it.”

“You succeeded,” Gojo states, and he doesn’t sound the least bit surprised.

Megumi’s hands slowly raise out of the duvet. Gojo watches with sharp eyes as his hands slot together, his middle and ring finger held up for ears. He doesn’t say the incantation but he doesn’t need to. Gojo knows anyway. 

“Rabbits,” Gojo says with a tilt of his head that has his bangs shifting to the side.

“They’re harmless.”

“They are now that you've exorcised them. You couldn’t have known that before though.” 

Megumi stays silent. He couldn’t have, but there's a reason he only searched for the hand signs of animals small enough for Gyokuken to deal with.

Gojo’s expression turns strange, not disappointed but like he’s faced with a bitter medicine of his own making. He straightens. “Your arm.”

Megumi blinks. Gojo waits patiently.

The rabbit was small enough for Gyokuken to deal with. But it had been swifter, and his inexperience was an impossible factor to overcome. If it weren’t for Shiro and Kuro’s seamless teamwork, he’d have been in trouble. Megumi had been lucky.

He rolls up his left sleeve. 

There-quarters way up his forearm, about the size of his pinkie, is a round blue-black bruise. 

Reaching out, Gojo carefully holds Megumi’s arm as he studies the injury closely. “Not broken, just bruised,” Gojo assesses. “It’ll heal. How’s the pain?”

“It hurts, but I can handle it.”

A nod. Gojo takes his word as truth so easily that Megumi’s surprised. He expected some form of doubt, and he’s unsure of why he's been deemed worthy of the trust after all this.

“I placed a pack of peas from the freezer on it after. That’s when the pain was the worst.” He’s not sure why, but he mutters, “I didn't know rabbits could kick that hard.”

Gojo lets out a laugh. Megumi stares. Gojo laughs often, but not like this— softer, a little bit less practiced as if he's been genuinely caught off-guard. Megumi feels a little bit lighter from it. His shoulders loosen from where he's been unconsciously tensing them.

The sound slips away and Gojo takes a deep breath. “We need to work on your recklessness.”

“I’m not—”

“Rabbit in your home, Megumi,” Gojo reminds him.

…He can’t argue against that. It’s not like he needed the reminder either. 

“Any damage?” Gojo asks, gesturing around.

“No.” The rabbit had strangely stayed in his room, didn’t multiply like Megumi could strangely sense it could and luckily hadn’t thrown anything around. 

A hum. “Don’t worry about going to school. I’ll call them in the morning to say you're sick. Then we’ll go see Shoko to check on that bruise before Tsumiki-chan gets back, just to be safe.”

He’s not sure who this Shoko is, but it’s enough that Gojo seems to trust her. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, but Megumi feels weirdly calmer. “Okay,” he agrees obediently. When it comes to tying up loose ends, Gojo is surprisingly efficient.

“Are you also planning on hiding from your shadow forever?”

Oh. 

Of course Gojo had noticed that too. The rooms, all curtains closed, a man-made blackout for one. If there was no light, there couldn’t be a shadow. And if there was no shadow…

“It was just for a little bit,” Megumi answers honestly. “I needed some space to think.” 

Another accepting nod. Then— “Show me?”

Megumi raises his hands. He really had learnt it the hard way, a whole dictionary of hand signs online tried to no avail. Intention wasn’t enough here— the shikigami wanted something more from him, and the rabbit happened to be the first to offer a door into it. 

“Datto,” Megumi calls.

And suddenly there’s a rabbit jumping out of his shadow. Then another. Three, five, ten, until it’s impossible to keep up the count. The ones that have made their way to Megumi’s legs hop around the duvet still partially wrapped around his frame. He gazes around the room, unconsciously following along an unseen path, until he locks eyes onto one of the rabbits. It heads towards him. Leaning down the side of the bed, Megumi picks it up, fingers brushing against the sign hidden underneath its belly. 

When he looks back, Gojo’s grin is so wide, Megumi almost dismisses Datto back into the shadows right there. 

But then Gojo looks down and lifts one of the rabbits trying to climb onto his lap. He strokes its back, scratching the nape of its neck intermittently, and the knot inside Megumi’s chest eases, just a bit. 

Resting his head on the side of the bed in a way that didn’t look entirely comfortable, Gojo hums. “I should have known you’d get curious.”

“That’s not it.”

Gojo hears his firm denial and waits. 

Because the room full of rabbits tells a different story.

“I can’t just ignore it. There’s things I need to keep safe,” he responds eventually, looking straight into Gojo’s eyes. 

A pause.

“Okay,” Gojo says eventually when Megumi doesn’t say anything else. His eyes narrow in thought, the blue more muted in the dark of the room. “Leave it to me.”

“Leave what?”

Gojo just smiles. It’s a smile of acceptance, and a tinge of something Megumi hasn’t learnt to read just yet.

It’s three weeks later when Gojo hands him a small notebook. 

Megumi stares at it with distrust. The hardcover is non-descript and black, but Megumi has come to terms with Gojo’s flippant spending habits to know one thing with certainty— it’s expensive. 

“What’s this?” he frowns.

“Everything known about the Ten Shadows technique.”

Megumi’s eyes widen.

“How,” he demands, as he reaches for the notebook. Gojo relinquishes it with ease.

“I told you before, didn’t I? About how the Gojo clan and Zen’in clan have ties.”

Gojo had, when he mentioned the three main clans governing the Jujutsu world. That isn’t what he’s asking though. 

“How,” Megumi repeats as he opens it to the first page with careful fingers.

Gojo looks around the room absentmindedly, before returning his gaze to the notebook. “There were records left behind by the Zen’ins, plus the information the Gojo clan has. Usually an inherited technique makes it difficult to hide anything, but the Zen’in clan has tight security on the details from previous users. Especially,” Gojo drawls, “against a member of the Gojo clan.”

He’d figured there had to be records, since according to Gojo, it had been centuries since the last user. But Megumi had simply accepted that he’d never be able to get a hold of them.

“Why against your clan?”

“I’ll tell you when you're older,” he dismisses.

Megumi nods mindlessly and Gojo takes the opportunity while he’s distracted to rub his head, tousling the already messy strands. Megumi swats his hand away but Gojo’s faster— he’s already moved away by the time Megumi registers the loss of the gentle weight.

“Study carefully, okay? This cost me a lot,” Gojo says mock sternly.

“You can afford it,” Megumi mutters.

“I’m not talking about money.”

“I know. You stole it.”

Gojo shrugs. “What use is keeping information like this stored in an old bunker. For who? I always thought it was stupid.”

He sighs heavily, leaning against the wall nearby. Gojo stands straight, but the drop of his shoulders gives him away. 

It may not have cost Gojo anything but time. Megumi finds that’s a more reliable currency to deal in, yet he doesn’t know why he suddenly feels like he has a debt he can never fully pay back. He’s been feeling like that a lot more lately. 

After Gojo leaves saying he has a briefing to attend, Megumi opens the notebook. He traces the lines on the first page, drawings of hand symbols, the specifics of their formation. Angulations and perfection. The notebook is short— sixteen pages. The rest is blank. 

Sixteen pages, and it’s the heaviest notebook he'll ever hold.

He reads the handwriting between the margins, an almost illegible scrawl that borders on what seems like lack of care from its writer. But Megumi can sense the patience within the sharp turns.  

There isn't anyone alive who can tell Megumi how to use his technique properly, but Gojo tries anyway. 

“How many of you are there?”

Datto, sitting perched next to Megumi, begins nibbling the cuff of his shorts. 

Megumi gently pokes its side and it bites his finger in retaliation, but not hard enough to hurt. Datto lets go a second later and then raises itself on its back paws. 

Within a blink, the rabbits begin to multiply. Or maybe they’re coming out from his shadow on the floor, or both, because the speed of their appearance makes his eyes widen in alarm.

“Okay stop, stop,” Megumi rushes to say before it gets out of hand. 

The number of rabbits seems to stabilise, the room only half-full. He tries to assess his cursed energy next— tries, because it’s more instinct than actually knowing what he’s looking for. Megumi doesn’t feel any different, not like after he first summoned Datto. Did the amount of rabbits not matter? If so, this was useful. He should check the notebook later to confirm if there was anything about that.

The original Datto— the only rabbit with the symbol on its belly— hops back to Megumi. It paws at Megumi’s right hand until he holds it out upright. 

And then it punches Megumi's palm. There’s no force behind it, just a light tap. It kicks and jumps, using his hand as a makeshift punching bag. Megumi’s a bit dumbfounded as he watches. It’s sparring, deftly avoiding imaginary attacks while its small head bops up and down.

He realises something. “You like to fight.” 

Its button red eyes stare into Megumi’s.

And then it starts climbing onto Megumi’s hand, and he has to bring both his hands together to try and hold it. Even that is barely enough— the rabbit is bigger than the length of his palm. It points into the distance, where some of the other rabbits have at some point formed what suspiciously looks like a net in the middle of the room. Megumi’s eyebrows shoot up. Did they…

The rabbit in his hand tightens its body into a ball. Ready, it taps a front leg to say. Megumi can’t help but be curious. He adjusts his hold awkwardly, the curve of its back against his palms, and lifts the rabbit up. It’d be easier to just grab the ears but…

Megumi throws the rabbit in an underhanded throw. He feels the rabbit push against his hands at the last moment like a springboard. It flies through the air, and as it reaches the highest point of a graceful arc, it flips. It lands in the centre of the net easily, a soft pillow.

The rabbits go into a frenzy. And suddenly the ones nearby begin to line up in front of Megumi. 

Megumi’s dumbfounded, again.

But before he can even consider continuing, the rabbits begin to dissolve quickly. Megumi watches it happen, confused, because he hadn’t dismissed them yet, until only one remains. It hops back to Megumi and jumps into his lap, before curling up there. 

He’s thinking of Datto in a new light, when its ears twitch. Its head nudges against his stomach and Megumi gives his hand, expecting it wants to play-fight again. But after a good half-minute of nothing, he ends up resting it on the soft curve of its back.

Datto is… wild, but not in the normal sense. He hadn’t expected it, so different from Gyokuken, but in a way he thinks he can see it, characteristics pieced together from their first fight. They’re small but packed with so much vitality that Megumi is left, hopelessly, a bit in wonder of them.

Gojo advises him that he should practice maintaining a steady balance of cursed energy in his body before attempting the exorcism ritual again.

Just not in those exact words.

“Your cursed energy control is sloppy.” 

Megumi glares at him. He wants to snap back ‘I’m trying’ but by seven, Gojo was probably using cursed energy as easily as breathing, already second or third nature. 

Megumi was faced with probably the best person in terms of skill and experience, but that also meant he was faced with the highest standards in perhaps history. Gojo’s training, he learns, is brutal. He was doomed to fail from the start. 

“I told you, don’t look at me like that. It’s scary,” Gojo shivers, a full body chill. 

The only weapon he has is his stare, because apparently it’s enough to make even Gojo uncomfortable. The downside is that it’s at the expense of his hair ruined, because Gojo would always make sure to ruffle it to mess it up beyond recognition. 

And sure enough, the hand descends and he endures a thorough rearrangement of his hair.

“Concentrate.”

Megumi is.

He must have let it slip out loud because Gojo dismisses, “Your cursed energy is fluctuating again. Look, Shiro is lagging behind.”

Megumi turns to look behind and sees Shiro resting on the ground, lethargic. It knows its owner and is conserving its energy to not overexert Megumi. 

Megumi raises an arm. Shiro complies after a hesitant moment, padding over and gently nuzzling into the crook of Megumi’s arm with a whine. Kuro follows, standing behind Megumi so that he can lean against its side. 

“A little more, Megumi."

Except Gojo has been saying that for the last hour. He hadn’t been aware of how intricately his Jujutsu was joined to the very fibres of his being. The fatigue he now feels is beyond reason.

But he knows Gojo knows his limit, perhaps better than Megumi himself did. 

Twenty minutes later, and the clock strikes eleven in the night. It’s been eight hours since he’s activated his cursed technique.

Gojo crouches in front of him. “That wasn't so bad was it?”

Megumi’s practically leaning over Kuro entirely as support. He gives up and finally lies down. He inhales deeply, but it doesn't help. It’s not oxygen he’s lacking. “I hate you.”

“Ouch. That hurts Megumi-kun.” Gojo dramatically clenches his t-shirt over his heart.

Megumi sighs inwardly. 

A little more, he thinks.

Gojo observes that resolve with unreadable eyes.

Megumi groans, then rolls over to his side. Gyokuken settle either side of him. He curls up, eyes fluttering closed as he attempts to regulate his breathing. He never thought his cursed energy would be some sort of infinite reservoir, but the physical effects of it are more tiring to deal with than expected. Endurance, Gojo had said. It was difficult to control something when it acted like a new extension of his own body.

He feels the moment his control on Gyokuken finally slips. He doesn't open his eyes as they settle back into his shadow, a weight he can feel but one that doesn’t drag him down.

Eight hours and eleven minutes. 

“You did well,” Gojo says, voice sounding distant.

Megumi doesn’t know why but there’s a contentment in his chest at the words. Pride, maybe.

Before he can figure it out, a set of hands wrap around his back and legs and he feels weightless as he's lifted. He doesn’t have the energy to stop his head from listing onto the other’s shoulders. His hands are moved so they aren’t dangling off the side. Haziness renders everything in muted sensations, until Megumi’s breathing slows down and his thoughts begin to trail behind.

Warm, he thinks drowsily.

He can feel a low reverberation. It takes him far too long to realise it's a soft humming, an unfamiliar song.

Megumi’s consciousness is the next to slip away as exhaustion finally pulls him under.

Gojo takes Megumi along with him to his first mission in the summer break of second grade. 

It’s a grade two curse. Large, a mass of writhing flesh and garbled noises. It sits in a playground, hiding under the slide, and asks if it can use it next, that hey I was first, I’ve waited so long, it’s my turn next okayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy—

Megumi winces at the high pitched gurgle of pure noise.

“Just watch me, okay?” Gojo walks leisurely towards the curse.

It takes Gojo three minutes to exorcise the curse. 

Two of those minutes are spent explaining, and Megumi knows the rest is stretched out so he can watch what Gojo’s doing in slower motion than he normally would. He’s not even using Six Eyes or Infinity, because ‘What’s the point in seeing my cursed technique? Focus on sensing the output of my cursed energy’.

There’s not much to watch when one is the strongest. 

But when Gojo asks later what he observed, Megumi tells him about the negativity fuelling the curse, about the steady cursed energy he sensed from Gojo, about the precise control needed to take a curse apart in a heartbeat. 

What Megumi also learns however, is that no one alive could possibly come close to Gojo Satoru. He doesn’t know why Gojo ever thought Megumi could.

“Finish your plate,” Tsumiki scolds gently.

“Don’t wanna,” comes the stubborn reply from the opposite side of the dinner table.

“There’s cookies if you finish.”

Hesitation. “…I don’t like cookies.” A lie, but with how obvious of a lie it is...

A sigh. Tsumiki firmly says, “Don’t make me count down from ten.”

Silence. 

“Ten, nine…”

Gojo, finally realising the severity of the situation, snaps his head to the only other person on the table. “Megumi-kun, your sister is being scary.”

Megumi takes another bite of rice and chews. He can feel the stare on him, but pretends not to see it. There’s no possible help here anyway. This was something only Gojo could resolve.

“Eight, seven…” Tsumiki continues.

Seeing Megumi was not going to step in, Gojo turns back to Tsumiki. He quickly reasons, “I’m not hungry. I had something to eat earlier.”

It falls on deaf ears. “Sweet treats don’t count.”

“But—”

“Six, five, four…”

“Tsumiki-channnn…” Gojo complains softly and slumps down, all heavy limbs solely supported by the chair. With his messier than usual hair, extra baggy white t-shirt and sunglasses blocking his eyes, he really does look like a drowned cat.

It works. 

Tsumiki pauses. Megumi stops eating to observe her. She’s gazing at Gojo’s plate now, the barely eaten pile of rice she put in for him, and sees the calculating light in her eyes.

Gojo is smart enough to not jump on chance, the new crack in her armour. He studies the opening and waits.

“At least finish the takoyaki,” she concedes a moment later with a decisive tap of her index finger on the table. 

Gojo opens his mouth to speak—

“Megumi’s already eaten more than you,” Tsumiki says, and there's nothing but calm observation in her tone. “If you don’t like it, I won’t force you. We can order whatever you want right now for delivery… Just eat something. Please.” She smiles, a small curve tinged with worry.

Megumi stares, and his hand tightens around his chopsticks.

Ding.

A timer goes off in the kitchen. Tsumiki excuses herself from the table and goes to check the oven. It’s chocolate chip cookies today, the vanilla ice-cream already out on the counter to defrost, because Gojo-san likes sweet things, so do you think he’ll like this too?

In the corner of Megumi’s eye, Gojo straightens in his chair and picks up the teriyaki. He takes a big bite and chews slowly. 

He’s not hungry. That much wasn’t a lie, even if sugar wasn’t really a substitute for actual food. Gojo’s food intake had begun to shift to smaller meals and quick sources of energy consisting of pure sugar highs for a while now, something both Megumi and Tsumiki hadn’t failed to miss.

Megumi thinks briefly, then reaches for Gojo’s plate. Tsumiki’s still turned away, crouched on the floor to look into the oven. He adds a portion of the rice into his own, gives the plate back, and continues eating. Gojo watches this happen with no change of expression— or at least, if he does, Megumi doesn’t notice because he’s looking down at his plate. 

Maybe they were both weak when it came to Tsumiki. 

When Tsumiki comes back to the dinner table, she can't hide the relieved light in her eyes at seeing Gojo’s portion, now diminished in size.

Gojo eats the last bite of teriyaki. As she sits back down in her seat, he randomly asks, “What middle schools are around here?”

She answers easily, “There’s Saitama Urami East Junior High. It’s good enough for college and it’s nearby.”

Anyone could tell the second factor was the deciding one for her.

“College,” Gojo muses, like it’s an unfamiliar concept.

Tsumiki doesn’t pick up on the subtlety of the tone. “Yes. Like you,” she replies simply.

Megumi glances at Gojo. He senses Megumi’s stare and turns to him with a tilt of his head. It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking though, so Megumi scrapes his plate, making sure to get the last grain of rice, eats it in one bite, and gets up to put away the dishes. Tsumiki’s still eating after all, and there were still the cookies baking in the oven.

Later— after they’ve finished clearing up and the cookies have cooled down enough to eat— they migrate to the living area. Tsumiki’s already placed the ice-cream and spoons in the middle of the coffee table so they can eat straight from the tub without making more dishes, and Megumi’s lined the cookies in a container they can pack the leftovers in. 

They’re waiting. Tsumiki’s gone to the bathroom and Megumi didn’t bother listening when she said to start eating without her.

Which means Megumi’s left alone with Gojo.

Gojo’s sitting on the floor against the couch, leaning his head back on the seat so that he's staring up at the ceiling. Or at least, he looks like he is, because Megumi knows those sunglasses allow nothing through them.

Megumi settles on the sofa beside Gojo’s head. The seat dips slightly, but the other doesn’t stir. His hair splays against the grey fabric like a muted halo, looking even messier than before. Megumi resists the urge to straighten the strands into something less chaotic, and leans over to block the other’s non-existent view, looking down.

Slowly, Megumi reaches over and takes off the sunglasses.  

Gojo’s eyes are closed. Megumi waits, but they don't open. Without his usual smile, Gojo almost looks like he’s sleeping.

Almost.

Megumi slips the sunglasses back on carefully, making sure it sits properly over the bridge of his nose and on top of his ears. He moves his hands back to his lap. Only then does Gojo move, head listing over to Megumi’s side.

“You don't have to take them off when you're with us,” Megumi says, and he’s met with his own reflection staring back.

“I’m always wearing them,” Gojo replies, more alive than doll-like now, having broken the illusion of rest. 

“Sometimes you don’t when Tsumiki’s around.”

“Maybe it’s when I don’t need to.”

Megumi goes quiet.

Gojo hadn’t even bothered opening his eyes when Megumi had taken the sunglasses off. 

He recalled Gojo’s explanation of Six Eyes when he first told him about his cursed technique. Information overload had sounded like a nightmare. Permanent brain damage was terrifying. To have to cut off sensory inputs to navigate those otherwise unreachable grounds…

“Don’t take them off when you need them,” Megumi amends, because he’s not like Tsumiki, and please doesn’t sound right here. 

Gojo sighs softly, like he’s troubled with something. A moment later he says, “Okay.”

The lights in the room dim.

They both instinctively look to the door. Tsumiki’s standing there, a hand on the light switch. Her eyebrows are furrowed and she gestures, “Your eyes are hurting again. Does this help?”

If it wasn’t for the fact they had a squeaky floorboard outside the door and that Tsumiki wasn’t one to sneak around, Megumi would have thought she’d heard their whole conversation. It turned out that Megumi wasn’t the only one who had noticed, but that was to be expected. Tsumiki’s concern flowed into cracks that others often missed or overlooked. Her kindness was second nature.

Gojo smiles at her. “Thank you, Tsumiki-chan.” 

She shakes her head like saying no problem. Then she navigates the almost dark with ease, sitting on the floor on the other side of the coffee table. Gojo perks up now that she’s finally joined them. His hair brushes Megumi’s hand as he readjusts, leaning against the side of Megumi’s legs. Heavy. Megumi nudges the new weight, but Gojo doesn’t move away. Truthfully, it’s not too much of a weight, because Gojo’s not fully leaning into the makeshift support he’s designated Megumi’s right leg as.

Gojo scoops his cookie into the softened puddle of ice-cream at the top of the tub and eats it and Tsumiki’s eyes crinkle at his garbled sound of enjoyment, but Megumi’s mind is still on Gojo’s last words.

Your eyes are hurting again. Does this help? 

Thank you, Tsumiki-chan.

Megumi notices how Gojo hadn’t said yes.

Training mainly happened when Gojo was free. It focused on building his foundation of cursed energy and using the shikigami he had more flexibly. 

That doesn’t stop Megumi from also practicing by himself. He sometimes summons Gyokuken first thing in the morning and dismisses them at night. 

It’s two months later when he discovers that the shikigami can remain even after he falls asleep. Unless he dismisses the technique and as long as he has enough cursed energy, they stay summoned. It’s a small discovery, but one he learns himself when he accidentally falls asleep before deactivating his technique and wakes up to Kuro sleeping beside him and Shiro keeping watch by the door. 

With this, Megumi tries to keep them summoned for longer. He tests a new limit before he feels the telltale signs of tiredness. He’s not aiming for exhaustion— he’s building stamina with his cursed energy. 

Eight hours and eleven minutes turns into two and a half days. 

It’s a massive jump from nothing. Progress, Gojo agrees when he tells him.

8 YEARS OLD

A month before he turned eight, Megumi thought he was ready.

He waits three more months until he brings it up though.

He tells Gojo. Gojo just nods and says, “If Megumi thinks so. Being able to judge this yourself is important.”

So they spend an evening going over the exorcism ritual. This time, there’s new things to consider. 

Gojo can be nearby but not close enough that Megumi drags him into the ritual itself. Gojo can’t help either, because it would nullify the strength of the shikigami once it was tamed. It has to be Megumi alone. The house isn’t a possibility like he did with Datto, so Gojo suggests Jujutsu Tech. There’s a training ground there, and technically speaking Megumi has access to it all given the agreement they have with the school about his future as a sorcerer. They just had to tell Tsumiki something on the day, but as bad as it sounds, Megumi thinks that’s the easiest part of it all.

Megumi’s been practicing the hand sign to near perfection in preparation, studying a singular page of the notebook to memorise it. He thinks he can recite the words in his sleep.

They decide to start with Orochi.

Independence, Megumi learns once again, is not as peaceful as it seems.

He didn’t realise how much he unconsciously relied on Gojo’s presence in their training lessons until now.

He knows, realistically, that Gojo is a simple phone call away.  

Megumi knows, yet he won’t be the first one to call. Not because he doesn't want him to come if something goes wrong but because if something did go wrong, the consequences wouldn’t then only be on him. Gojo knows the risks, but he still lets Megumi anyway. Some would call that irresponsible. Megumi knows otherwise. 

It’s not the kindest first summon to choose from, but faith is its own harsh teacher. And Gojo believes in Megumi.

The timing Megumi decides on is intentional. The only time he has, a short timeframe just before the sun begins to set. The last moment, where the shadows cast on the ground were the longest. 

He brings his hands together, and takes a slow breath in. The grass here is short, impossible to hide in yet a familiar environment to the shikigami he’s about to call. 

“Orochi,” he calls, signing the hand symbol of the most temperamental of the shikigami according to the notebook. There’s a transient moment where he feels the draw of something difficult to describe.

He hears it before he sees it. A low hiss, the slithering of a heavy body taken form on the ground. He turns.

No drawing would have prepared him for this. 

Megumi inhales sharply. The shikigami is larger than he expected. Its scales are white for the most part, and along with the slits in its yellow irises and striking red around its eyes, it was impossible to miss. Megumi finds he can’t quite look away.

And then it springs towards him. 

Megumi unleashes Gyokuken before he even knows it, hands slipping into the symbol and name tearing out of his throat. They immediately pin down the large serpent. 

Or try to. Shiro is near the head and Kuro at the tail, but he can tell it’s taking them everything to do so. 

It doesn’t hit him that he’s just summoned more than one shikigami until he feels a familiar heaviness to his body. His cursed energy is already this unstable. Not good. But there’s nothing he can do about that now, because ahead of him Orechi’s jaw opens and Megumi glimpses two sharp fangs. When it hisses with its forked tongue slipping out, there’s an undercurrent of pure hostility.

The shikigami questions its summon and Megumi must answer.

A chill permeates his skin. It isn’t fear, but it’s enough.

“Orochi,” he calls, voice steadier than he feels. 

The snake hisses louder, scales reflecting the last rays of light as its body tightly coils. Shiro presses down harder with a sharp bark, claws trying to sink into reinforced skin with little success. Kuro barks at Megumi, a warning to stay back.

“Orochi,” Megumi tries again, staying where he is. 

It hisses at him again, vicious and headstrong. Megumi can’t help the twitch of his lips and a rush of adrenaline. So far the shikigami he has tamed were nothing like this. Datto had submitted after being subdued, but Orochi’s pupils show no signs of giving up just yet even with the threat of exorcism looming.

“Orochi,” Megumi says, quieter. 

It coils up as if sensing danger. This time, there’s no hiss. Instead there’s a newfound cautiousness, a predator assessing a predator.

Megumi is patient. He will tame it, no matter how long it takes. 

Tsumiki’s at the dinner table, textbooks out and pen scratching as she writes in her notebook. 

He glances at the clock. It’s nearly ten, but she doesn’t seem anywhere near finished judging by the slight scrunch of her eyebrows. 

So he goes into the kitchen and grabs a glass, filling it with water from the jug in the fridge. 

Tsumiki doesn’t look up until Megumi places the glass down on the table. His eyes naturally land on the page of her open notebook and he pauses. 

Stars. 

Not the five-pointed ones that all kids liked to draw when doodling, but lines connecting small dots, names of constellations underneath. They weave across mathematical equations and unsolved questions.

“Oops, you caught me,” Tsumiki says without remorse and smiles broadly. 

She moves her hand away from the corner of the notebook and it’s there that he sees it. A different drawing, more rough. 

“What’s that,” he questions.

“It’s your favourite, isn’t it?”

He frowns. “Favourite?”

“You do it a lot. With your hands,” and then Tsumiki demonstrates. She raises her hands towards the light and makes a shadow puppet on the wall of the same hand sign she’s drawn.

Megumi has to stop himself from instinctively looking down, to the point where his feet meet the floor and something stretches within the accompanying shadow. He wasn’t aware the action had been caught by Tsumiki. He wasn’t aware he’d even been doing it often enough for her to notice.

Her hands drop back to the table and she picks up her pen. “You must really like them.”

He knows she doesn’t mean Gyokuken, but his heart still skips a beat.

His eyes drop back to the paper. He says, “You must really like stars.”

“I do,” she replies easily, and Megumi doesn't know what to say to such simple confidence. 

She seems to be waiting for something from him. 

He doesn’t know what. So he looks to the window, where the faint patter of rain has started. He says, “If you’re done working, you should sleep.”

“Mmm. Megumi’s all grown up,” Tsumiki says, sighing.

He pauses in watching the rain drops trail down the window and flicks his gaze to her. Her tone is nostalgic and wistful, as if she really is lost about where the time has gone. 

He feels the same as before though. Unchanged. 

She’s looking at him with a spark in her eye like she knows what he’s thinking.

She sighs again, this time more exaggerated and drawn out. “What should I do… He’s started hiding things from me.”

Megumi’s fingers twitch. 

Tsumiki’s intelligent. It’d be strange to expect her not to notice. In a way, he’s been bracing for this for a while.

“It’s not something you need to know,” he says, because he doesn’t want to lie to her about this and knows Tsukimi won't push him to tell. 

“Gojo-san knows, doesn’t he?”

He nods slowly. Her expression doesn’t change, and he can tell she’s not hurt by it.

“That’s good. I trust him.”

Megumi blinks.

Tsumiki’s never said that before. Her trust has always been more free flowing than his by nature, but this is different. He’s not sure why.

Tsumiki closes her notebook and piles everything up into the corner of the table. As she stretches, she yawns and starts heading towards the door. Just before she turns off the light, she looks back at Megumi, unmoving from where he stands.

“Megumi?” she calls.

He shakes out of it and follows after her. The light clicks shut. They head upstairs together.

Megumi wonders if this is meant to feel as easy as it does.

Megumi becomes more careful about releasing the shikigami around Tsumiki. She can’t see them, and they’ll never hurt her of course, but he doesn’t want to involve her in this world unnecessarily. 

With that, his thoughts drift to another.

Megumi wonders about Gojo. If he is fighting for his own version of peace and if this is what it looked like. Last-minute missions and reporting to higher ups and lone training because ‘I have Six Eyes and Limitless’.

He doesn’t understand it. Sorcerers fighting to protect strangers. This sense of duty and a line separating right and wrong. He understands wanting to save people, but he thinks his own saving would be selective in nature.

Megumi has Tsumiki. That was enough to protect without worrying about anything else. 

Megumi has Tsumiki, and Gojo now has them both. 

Maybe that makes him a hypocrite. They were once strangers to Gojo too, yet he saved them.

The strongest. 

Megumi was just another one using that strength. It’d be conceited to believe otherwise. 

And as much as he would hate to say it out loud, he’s grateful. 

Get stronger, Gojo had said when they first met. Strong enough to keep up with me. 

Even if Megumi was doing this in part for Tsumiki, he was glad he was also inadvertently keeping Gojo’s promise-not-promise. Because even back then, Gojo hadn’t made Megumi agree to do so.

So he practiced. On the walk back when Gojo sometimes collected him from school. When Gojo visited on the weekends, or in the evenings after he finished missions. He started physical training with Gojo. Attack and defence. Not for combat purposes, but because taming shikigami required a certain level of physical prowess that Megumi noticeably lacked. He practiced alone too, when Tsumiki was asleep or when school got monotonous enough that he found himself patting Gyokuken as they lay in the shadow at his feet. 

Megumi has no interest in becoming a sorcerer. While they focus on saving people, Megumi’s selfishness is his own saving grace from it. 

Megumi has Tsumiki, and maybe now he has Gojo too.

“If Tsumiki-chan finds out you’ve been feeding me this many sweets, she’ll be angry.”

“I’m not telling you to eat them all now,” Megumi points out. 

Gojo takes the next sweet and unwraps it, waving the wrapper in the air. “How else are you going to get these?” As he says it, he stuffs the sweet in his mouth. He chews contentedly.

Megumi takes the box on the table and places it behind him on his seat, out of reach from the other. 

He wasn’t going to be responsible for the inevitable sugar crash.

Megumi stresses, “I only needed four. Four. You’re the one who ate more than that.”

Gojo glances at the pile of carefully flattened wrappers on the side of the dining table. There’s undeniably more than four there, but all he says is, “So what’s this for again?”

He sighs. Megumi knows it’s a deliberate change of subject. “A sun catcher.”

“What?”

“A sun catcher,” he repeats, louder as he flattens the creases out of the latest wrapper under careful fingers. He’s got two blue ones now, one red, one yellow, and two greens. They stack on top of each other into a blended brown.

“I know. I heard you the first time.” Gojo’s tone is amused, which is why Megumi looks up.

One look at Gojo’s face across the table, and Megumi realises something.

And sure enough, Gojo asks, “What does it do? Other than catch the sun, obviously.” Gojo picks up one of the red wrappers and places it in front of his right eye, looking around the room. Then he takes a blue one and holds it up in front of the other eye.

Watching this, Megumi tells the truth. “Nothing else,” he says simply. 

Gojo returns the blue and red wrapper back into the pile with a raised eyebrow. 

And that’s how Megumi ends up folding a square piece of paper into a triangle, then a smaller triangle, then another, before cutting shapes across the fold with scissors. He opens it up, and Gojo watches with interest as he reaches for the wrappers and covers one side of the paper completely. He glues them down to keep them in place. 

Then Megumi looks up, at the rays of sunlight filtering through the nearby window and spilling onto the table in front of him. He holds the paper up in front of Gojo, angling it towards the light and…

Coloured specks of light sway across Gojo’s face. Gojo blinks, and he can’t see how he’s masked in all the colours of the wrappers from the sweets he’s eaten because Megumi didn’t like them, a prism of the sun caught across his skin, but he sees it reflected on the dining table all the same. 

“A sun catcher,” Gojo says, with an inflection of something far greater than what it is. “They teach you this at school?”

“When you’re a kid,” Megumi corrects. He had forgotten about it until Gojo had brought the box of the sweets over and Megumi had seen the translucent coloured wrappers.

Gojo hums. Then— “What else do they teach you?” 

Megumi thinks. There were lots of things he’d learnt, but if it was other things he’d learnt to make… 

“Teru teru bōzu” Megumi suddenly remembers. 

Gojo clicks his fingers and grins, “I’ve seen those before. They’re the dolls that look like ghosts with the creepy smiles.” 

…He wasn’t wrong. Megumi nods. “They’re meant to keep the rain away.”

Gojo smiles at Megumi’s careful tone. 

“So they don’t actually work,” Gojo surmises.

Megumi knows better than to agree. They were charms for a reason, and now there was Jujutsu’s existence to factor in. So he responds, “Maybe.”

Gojo had no qualms about doubting it though. “Well, no way to know until we’ve tried it ourselves, right?” 

So Megumi teaches Gojo how to make a teru teru bōzu too. 

In the end, they have a suncatcher and two teru teru bōzu hanging near the windowsill. Gojo’s drawn sunglasses on his own doll and a too wide smile that makes Megumi begin to suspect it’s those that keep the rain away. 

If they keep the rain away.

Something for the sunny days, something to chase away the rainy ones. It’s nothing interesting, but Megumi thinks it’s a different kind of charm from Jujutsu. Selfish in its desire for the sun, although Megumi has never really minded the summer rain.

9 YEARS OLD 

He decides to use Datto to exorcise Gama. It’s a plan he came up with when he read the notebook and realised he’d need the rabbits’ speed and combined form to hide behind in order to counteract Gama’s long ranged attacks. From there he could find an opening, the sheer numbers of Datto rendering the space unusable for Gama to manoeuvre around even if it jumped. 

It’d only jump down into a rabbit hole after all, and there would be Megumi, ready to strike.

It works. 

It’s the hottest May on record, Megumi is nine, and he now has four of the shikigami at his beck and call.

Gojo hasn’t returned yet.

Megumi’s pencil taps against the desk in a fast rhythm. His homework sits abandoned. The clock on the wall is exactly two minutes behind and the wooden chair creaks with every small movement. Sitting in the last row, the view of Tokyo Jujutsu Tech out of the classroom windows isn’t too bad to watch the time pass by. There’s a sycamore tree, ancient by the look of it, that he thinks Tsumiki would like.

There’s nothing to do but wait though. Wait, except he gets bored of even that and summons Gama to keep him company as he decides to walk the hallways instead.

“You’re heavy,” Megumi protests to Gama. 

It croaks against his back, his hoodie pulled so far back that he feels the tug of it against his neck. ‘Get used to it’, it seems to say. But a second later it adjusts itself from his back closer to his right shoulder, its webbed feet gripping onto the fabric there. Megumi shifts his head to the left to make more space, even though his balance changes from the unsymmetrical distribution.

He heads up to the fourth floor. The hallways are empty, the classrooms even more so. The building isn’t abandoned, signs of life evident in the lack of dust, the writing on the chalkboards that have changed every time he’s come and the occasional carvings on the desk. It isn’t abandoned, but even Megumi could tell it would make a good haunting ground for a curse, because there was a sort of melancholy preserved in its walls. He knows that won’t happen though. There’s an equal weight, a history of care and something else evident in the spaces he sees. Gama doesn’t react to anything either, seemingly asleep. 

Megumi’s fingertips trail across the walls as he adds to the map inside his head. He passes by classrooms with more traditional interiors than what he's used to, and enters one when he spots writing on the blackboard. 

He steps right up to it. It looks like a mess. He reads the incomprehensible diagram consisting half of noise effects, bam, whoosh, hum scattered around. His eyes shift to the other words instead, something about changing the flow of cursed energy, maintaining a certain output, redirecting— and here’s where the chalk gets thicker and underlined multiple times with several arrows in a circle— reverse. In the middle of it all is a stick-man lying on the floor, what must be blood splurting out of his head, followed by an arrow and the same stick man standing up. Healed. 

Complicated, Megumi summarises. How anyone is meant to learn such a technique from that is beyond him. As he exits the classroom, he’s suddenly glad that Gojo taught through demonstration rather than on paper.

Megumi maps the rest of the entire fourth floor before he’s satisfied and makes it back down to where he started, a classroom with no label. 

He returns to the same seat, the back row. Gama hops down onto his lap. Its weight becomes easier to hold.

It’s only then that Megumi realises he’s left his bag on the other side of the room— it was still on the chair at the original desk he’d chosen, before he decided to swap around seats to find the one he liked the most. He needs to get Gama off to go get it, but it isn’t budging. He considers dismissing it temporarily.

But then Gama’s purple tongue shoots out across the distance and wraps around the shoulder strap of his backpack. It brings the bag to him in an effortless pull. It happens so fast that he’s left blinking.

“Thanks,” he says, and pats Gama’s head. It gives a happy sounding ribbit. Anytime, it seems to say.

Megumi doesn’t really mind the weight. He just wasn’t used to it yet. 

Forty minutes later, Gojo returns. 

“You said it’d only take ten minutes,” Megumi grumbles, face pressed against the desk, Gama sitting on the curve of his back. It croaks at Gojo, accusatory. 

“It only took five minutes, actually. But then Yaga-sensei wanted me to check on something," Gojo explains. 

Megumi has heard that name before. The principal, although he’s yet to meet him.

Gojo leisurely strolls to the front of the classroom. He stares at the blackboard and then reaches for the chalk on the side. With this back turned away, he looks more serious like he’s actually about to start teaching a class. The chalk scratches against the board. Megumi sits up, interest flaring and Gama hopping onto the desk. A moment later Gojo steps back, giving Megumi an unobstructed view. 

In neat cursive, the writing reads ‘Megumi was here’.

“…”

He should have known better. He gets up.

“Wait, Megumi,” Gojo starts looking around for the rubber. It’s nowhere in sight. “We have to go together.”

“No,” he says.

Megumi puts his already packed backpack on, waits for Gama to climb on top, and leaves the classroom. He walks down the corridors without waiting for the other, making his way out of the school via the quickest route. 

It doesn’t matter. Gojo still catches up easily with those long legs of his. There’s a patch of white chalk on his right sleeve. As they exit the building, Gama jumps off and leaps ahead, exploring the area.

“Hey,” Gojo tests.

Megumi ignores him. They’d finished with training already and now he just wants to go home.

In his peripheral vision, a hand reaches for Megumi and instinctively, he knows what’s coming. 

His first thought is to dodge. 

His second is that he can’t dodge in—

Something warm wraps around his stomach and pulls.

By the time Megumi blinks, he’s already far away from Gojo. He’s cushioned against a smooth, round surface. He blinks again and slowly registers what’s just happened. 

Gama unwraps its tongue around him and hops to the side, letting Megumi stand on his own. It's turned much, much bigger in size now, twice the size of Megumi.

Across the distance, Gojo’s hand floats in the air, reaching out for nothing. 

“Oh,” Gojo says, pleasant surprise in his voice as he turns to look at where Megumi now stands. “You’ve done it now, Megumi-kun.”

Megumi breaks out into a light sweat. He knows that tone.

It’s one used when Gojo trains him on a particularly unforgiving day.

Gojo raises his arms up and stretches. “Hope you’re ready.” 

Beside him, Gama croaks in apology. 

“It’s fine,” Megumi tells it as it hops rapidly away. They’d already trained seriously earlier. They just need to keep away from—

Gojo breaks into a run.

Megumi's heart skips a beat.

Gama stretches its tongue from where it’s reached the opposite end of the open courtyard. It grabs Megumi’s forearm, pulling. Within a second, Megumi’s taken off his feet. He flies past Gojo in a wide arc. The other’s head tracks his movement with frightening precision. 

As Gama cushions him, Gojo’s already changed directions. He’s about half the length of the courtyard away when Megumi hastily shouts “Datto!”

From his own shadow bunnies emerge, multiplying, creating a wall between him and the force charging towards him. Gojo disappears behind bodies of white fur but Megumi doesn’t wait. Gama re-emerges from the shade of the sycamore tree on the far right side. It’s already pulling him towards it, taking him further away from the rapidly forming cocoon in the centre space. 

But Megumi’s now effectively blind. He forms a different hand sign and Gyokuken emerges. By the time he’s on firm ground again, they’ve flanked either side of him defensively. 

“Where is he,” he asks.

The dogs sniff and confirm what Megumi’s already suspected with a point of their snouts— Gojo isn’t within the cage of rabbits. Megumi follows the direction, up, up and— 

Gojo’s floating in the air, because of course Megumi had forgotten he could do that. At some point Gojo had taken off his sunglasses, and now their eyes meet across the distance with a sharp electric current and if Megumi wasn’t already sweating before he would be now.

No point in keeping Datto then. He was already using four shikigami, and he could feel it even if it hadn't been that long for each. Megumi dismisses the rabbits, watching them disintegrate into nothing, and prepares to call Orechi. Its long range would be his best bet here to keep the other away. He takes a deep inhale, settling his cursed energy into calmer waves.

Megumi blinks. 

That’s his mistake.

In that millisecond, the world tilts and gravity disappears as his feet are knocked from under him.

Gojo stands leaning over him. One of his hands wraps firmly around Megumi’s forearm. Megumi’s head is a hair's breadth away from the ground, Gojo being the only thing keeping him from falling fully.

“Caught you,” Gojo says, not even out of breath. And he says it smugly, like he’s won even though it was never a fair fight. 

“How did you—” Megumi gasps, chest heaving.

“You were too slow. You shouldn't have waited to call Orechi.”

Megumi may have Gama to pull him away at a faster than a blink speed, but when it comes to Gojo catching him, even that isn’t enough.

Gojo pulls him up and Megumi stumbles slightly, back on his own two feet.  

“Gama’s good for defence,” Gojo considers. “Your control with Datto has gotten better too. If I didn't have Six Eyes, I would have missed the original rabbit.”

“You didn’t attack it though,” Megumi notes with a desperate inhale. In fact, Gojo hadn’t attacked at all.

“You didn’t attack either.”

…Megumi had forgotten to. He was too busy running with the feeling that his life was on the line. It had felt different to their other training sessions, focused entirely on not letting the other get close. Defensive. He couldn’t say that to Gojo though. 

“You were going too easy.”

“I’m always going easy on you,” Gojo dismisses. “You’re still too inexperienced. Don’t get used to it though. You’re getting better.”

He can’t even take the genuine evaluation. Not right now. 

Megumi groans. “Get it over with then.” He lets go of his shadows one by one, accepting his loss.

But Gojo just shakes his head with a grin. “Nah. I’ve had my fun for the day.” 

And Megumi wishes he’d just let that head pat come earlier. He would have avoided this, a loss that feels less like a loss than he expects, except there’s Gojo’s ever infuriating expression of winning something far bigger than a game of tag. 

He must have a sour expression because Gojo grins. “Next time, Megumi.”

Megumi sighs. Gojo still thinks winning is possible, but Megumi knows better.

10 YEARS OLD

The library is quiet.

Megumi skims the bookshelves.

Next to him, Tsumiki does the same, except with much more interest than him. She reaches for a book on the second shelf. Astronomy. He can tell not only from the embellished title in silver, but also the excessive amount of stars on the black spine. 

Opening it, she whispers, “I want to go star seeing one day. You’ll come, won’t you?”

“No.”

She hums, like he’d said yes. Before he can argue, she’d already turned back to the shelf.

He senses it before he sees it. 

A faint fluctuation of cursed energy nearby. 

Behind Tsumiki on the opposite bookshelf, a curse emerges. It’s small, able to weave through the gaps between the books with far too many legs for comfort. Then it opens its mouth, spitting out short commands like a broken record.

Silence. No talking in the library. Why come here if you’re going to talk? Silence. Don’t disturb others. Return your books on time. Silence. Pay your fine.

Tsumiki’s still focused on reading the titles of other books, index finger gliding across spines. 

Megumi shifts out of her line of sight and quickly summons Datto, then Gyokuken.

Gyokuken emerges from Tsumiki’s shadow, cast in the golden light from the window nearby. They both stay beside her, vigilant. 

Datto jumps out of Megumi’s shadow and climbs onto the shelf. It catches the curse with ease before it can skitter away. It squirms in its hold, squeaking an awful cry.

Silence. Silence. Siiiiiileeeenceeee

“Oh look, Megumi. It says the Southern Cross can only be seen in Okinawa, and it’s best seen in the Yaeyama Islands. We should go one day.”

Megumi drags his gaze back to her to see she’s already looking at him. He almost startles, then quickly agrees, “Okay.”

She smiles widely, and returns to the page of the book. Megumi looks back to the other shelf.

Shiro trots forward and Datto throws the curse towards it. Shiro catches it easily in its jaw and keeps it there until Megumi confirms to exorcise it. Shiro jogs away, paws soundless against the floor, the cries of the curse fading away. It leaves Megumi’s sight. A moment later, the cries stop completely.

“Don’t you want to look around?” Tsumiki asks, closing the book. It seems she’s decided to borrow it.

“No,” Megumi responds and he’s already walking away, hand brushing against Kuro’s fur with each step. Shiro joins his other side shortly after, and they slip back into his shadow together alongside Datto.

There’s no book here that’ll give him what he needs. Besides, he already owns the one book with the most information he would ever possibly obtain.

The world’s only copy of an invaluable record. And it’s Megumi’s to keep.

“What if the two can be combined,” Megumi randomly brings up while he drinks from a milk carton.

“You want to dip this in your strawberry milk?” Gojo recoils at the very idea, and pulls the skewer of hanami dango he’s eating closer to his chest.

“The shikigami, not the food,” Megumi replies incredulously.

That seems to draw Gojo’s immediate interest. He puts the last green dango still on the skewer back in its takeaway box and leans towards Megumi. His sunglasses rest on the top of his head, so Megumi can see the unchecked shine in the other’s eyes.

“Like my Hollow Purple?” he asks curiously.

Megumi considers it. “I guess.”

“How.” 

Megumi puts down the milk carton on the parapet between them. On second thought… he shifts it to a safe distance on his other side. Then he answers, “Summoning two shikigami at the same time. One hand sign right after the other.” 

Gojo’s head bobs left and right as he thinks. “Possible,” he concludes. “Which ones?”

Megumi’s already thought about this particular detail extensively. His hands raise and he demonstrates his answers with shadow puppets against the floor. Gama and…

Gojo’s eyebrow raises. “But you don’t have Nue.”

Megumi almost says, I will eventually. He has to stop himself, because he’s not sure when he got so confident he would. His gaze drifts to the busy street down below. From where he’s standing on the roof of this random building Gojo’s dragged him to, he can see the cherry blossoms on full display nearby.

“I’m talking theoretically,” he clarifies slowly.

“Why those two?”

“Nue’s wings and Gama’s close-ranged combat.”

He doesn’t need to say more for Gojo to get it. “Possible,” Gojo says again. He drums his fingers against his folded arms. “Got a name for it?”

He hesitates. “It’s just an idea right now.”

But Gojo knows Megumi. “Name,” he demands like he’s being starved of this knowledge. When the reply isn’t immediate again, he leans even more forward into Megumi’s space and Megumi has to lean back. It’s good he moved the milk carton when he did.

“…Seiteishirazu.”

“The Well’s Unknown Abyss,” he translates with a murmur, easing back into his own space. “You’ve really thought this through,” Gojo says, impressed.

Megumi breathes. A lazy breeze passes by against his skin. He’s not sure why he suddenly feels like being honest but he says, “It was because of that training we did. The one you… won.”

“Doesn’t really narrow much down, Megumi-kun.” 

It really doesn’t. Instead of explaining though, Megumi replies, “Never mind.” 

Gojo lets it slide, and Megumi knows it’s only because they’re discussing Jujutsu. 

He sighs, not disappointed but like he’s impatient. “I guess you’ll have to wait to test it then.”

“If I get Nue,” Megumi reminds him.

Gojo scrunches his nose and he squints like he doesn't understand. “When you get Nue.”

Megumi shakes his head. A low roar reaches his ears. Above them, a plane is passing by. Megumi’s eyes follow the white contrails against the saturated blue. 

It’s the same old argument, really. “You’re too confident,” Megumi murmurs. Gojo could learn some caution, some restraint in expectation, but Megumi’s been trying for so long that he knows that this too will pass by ignored.

“Am I? But, Megumi,” Gojo tilts his head and Megumi mindlessly turns at his tone, “you’re the one who created an extension technique when you haven’t even obtained one of the shikigami involved in it yet.”

Megumi’s thoughts slow. Gojo’s watching him in that intense-not-so-intense way, the type of look that gives enough space for Megumi to break away first but leave a lingering impression of it in his mind. He wants to say that Gojo is wrong, and that wasn’t why he’d been thinking so hard in circles about what else he could do with his technique for the entire last week. Except, there’s nothing he can say to it when he knows. He could feign idleness or blame boredom, and maybe it would have worked on Tsumiki, but not here. Because if Megumi was one to bookmark pages when reading, Nue’s entry in the notebook would be the only one currently folded over in the corner.

As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, Gojo asks, “Gonna add it to the notebook?”

“No,” he murmurs. Megumi sighs hopelessly. “I’ll need to test it first.”

Megumi’s not sure if he will ever write it down but... 

Gojo smiles like he knows what Megumi’s thinking, and reaches across to lightly flick his forehead. 

“You’ve got time then.”

He did. 

Far too much, to the point he now has a possible extension technique approved by Gojo and mapped out by himself, as undeniable evidence that he cared a bit too much about things he should have let pass by.

Megumi picks up his milk carton and takes a long sip.

It’s not the worst thing Megumi has done.

Gama can be useful for long-ranged defence. It can stretch its tongue faster than the human brain can think to dodge. It’s intelligent because it reads its master's intentions with ease. Its offensive capabilities however, rely more on the user following with their own attacks, supposedly with another shikigami at hand. 

Or at least, that’s what the notebook says. 

What it doesn't say is that Gama likes the shade more than the sun, enjoys staying above ground more than under water, and is lazy when it doesn't have anything to do.

It’s the first time Megumi tries to add to the notebook. 

He fails. 

This information is nothing like the attack patterns listed inside by previous users. It’s not another bullet point he can add under skills or combat patterns. A part of him wants to keep this information to himself, because for the first time in centuries, he’s a ten shadow technique user with an innate ability who knows that Datto likes chasing Megumi’s shadow when it thinks he’s not looking, that Orechi likes the warmth of the sun that borders his shadow on summer days, that Kuro likes scritches behind the right ear and Shiro likes head pats.

So he does.

A secret.

Megumi has always been selfish, but now he’s greedy too. 

There’s a familiar pair of shoes by the front door when Megumi comes back from school. 

Sidestepping past them and closing the door slowly, Megumi goes searching. It doesn’t take long to find the culprit, not that there were many places one could hide in the house. 

He first sees the white hair peeking out from in front of the couch. That’s all he can see though, because the head is turned away from him. He moves further into the living room. He’s close enough that the other should have sensed him by now, except there’s no reaction. Megumi pauses. 

Something feels wrong. 

He realises too late that the figure lying on the floor is motionless. 

Megumi’s heart almost stops. He drops his backpack. With suddenly no oxygen in his lungs to even call out the other’s name, he rushes to Gojo’s side. 

Gojo is curled up in a fetal position, white t-shirt and black joggers, glasses on the coffee table nearby. Megumi reaches out, ready to shake Gojo’s shoulder in alarm. He needs to call Ieiri. He has her number somewhere, she would know—

He freezes.

Gojo’s hair. It’s visibly damp.

Which tells Megumi one familiar thing— Gojo’s come back from a mission. Not immediately though. It’s likely he showered at the dorms before coming here. 

He breathes in, a stuttering thing that doesn’t do him much good. With frayed nerves, he sits cross-legged at arms reach away.

He won’t be able to feel anything through Infinity, so checking for a pulse was out of the question. Megumi lowers his head instead and stares until he’s able to make out the slowly rising chest. His ears strain until he makes out the barest of inhales and exhales. Slow, even breaths. Alive. 

Megumi has to calm down the loud pounding in his ears with all the obvious signs that Gojo is sleeping, not collapsed.

Megumi’s heart is still doing something strange though because his rib cage feels like it’s tightened around his lungs, even though he knows bones can’t contract. He knows the cause. He’s staring at it, even as his thoughts string together an image of a different Gojo, one who’s not asleep but won’t come back to them in more ways than one. Megumi doesn’t have to be ten to know that this fear is newly formed but already deeply rooted, thorns on the surface and starved soil underneath. His soul aches.

Megumi's eyes glance between the couch nearby and Gojo. It’s only a step away. In comparison, the cold hard floor’s only benefit is its increased space but even that isn’t being utilised; Gojo’s back is to the nearby wall, legs bent and arms tucked towards his chest. Economical.

He’s not sure how long he stays like that, observing. It’s enough for the sun to start setting though, because his shadow begins to shorten and a soft orange basks the room. It’s warm but not humid, more autumn than the summer heatwave that had just passed. Too warm for a blanket. No point in getting the other a pillow either, because that would definitely wake him up. It wasn’t ideal, but Gojo was for the moment being best left alone.

Megumi summons Gyokuken. The two dogs emerge in silence. Shiro offers his head and Megumi’s arms wrap around its neck. It’s grown a bit. Megumi can tell because his arms wrap around less easily. He uses Shiro’s head as a resting place, leaning on top of it like a pillow. Nearby, Kuro lays down next to Gojo, ears pinned to the other’s chest. 

He doesn’t mean to, but Megumi falls asleep. 

He’s woken up by the shuffle of feet an indefinite time later. He raises his head, rubbing his eyes, and forcibly opens them against the warm-blooded drowsiness. Another pair of eyes from across the couch greet him. The light from the corridor spills into the room through a narrow crack in the door, the rest of the room encompassed in shadows.

“Sorry,” Tsumiki mouths, school bag still in hand. 

The reason for her careful silence…

His gaze drifts to a particular spot nearby.

Gojo is still sleeping.

Tsumiki whispers ever so softly across the space, voicing his immediate thoughts, “Gojo-san must be really tired.”

His sleep was already sporadic, but rarely was it this long. His naps usually lasted a half hour at most. But Tsumiki was back, which meant it had been an hour already.

“Dinner, later?” Tsumiki asks him briefly. 

He nods. He doesn’t mind. 

She raises three fingers in question, and glances at Gojo. 

This, Megumi is less certain about. But he nods, and Tsumiki can’t help the smile that grows on her lips. 

She points upstairs and he watches her leave, heading to her room to change out of her uniform. On her way out she closes the door, and now it really is dark. The only source of light is the moon outside, casting a silver tone over the room.

Megumi stretches his arms and notes that although he had slept mostly upright, his neck doesn’t ache. Shiro, head laying on Kuro’s back, turns to him. It seems Shiro must have stayed with Megumi as physical support, and only just moved away before Tsumiki came in. Kuro, however, is still in the same position. 

So was Gojo. It seems like he didn’t move much in his sleep, even when on bare floorboards. His back would hurt after and Megumi would have to endure those endless complaints.  

But for a little while longer, maybe this was okay.

Kuro taps its paw softly on the ground. Megumi turns to it. Its ears are still upright, and it’s focused on Gojo’s face. Even Shiro has become more alert— not like there was danger but like something wasn’t quite right. 

Megumi follows its fixed stare. 

Gojo hasn’t moved a millimetre. His expression is the same as before, apart from the sight fluttering of his eyelids ever so often. 

His eyebrows furrow. Was it maybe… A bad dream? 

Megumi hesitates.

Gojo awakens silently. It’s an unremarkable thing— one second Megumi’s watching a sleeping figure and the next his eyes are open, pupils staring into empty space.

It takes a moment longer however for Gojo to become present. Megumi can tell, because there’s something in his eyes that only becomes apparent with a slight twitch of his fingers and a deeper breath in. Then his head turns to Megumi and Megumi’s already reaching for the sunglasses on the table nearby. 

“Oh, Megumi,” Gojo says, voice hoarse from sleep. 

“Mmm,” he replies, because disrupting the silence feels deafening.

As Gojo raises himself upright, Shiro slips underneath his arm. Gojo pats its back and accepts the help. Megumi passes the sunglasses over a second later and watches those eyes disappear from view. Gojo’s hair is a mess.

“Ow, my back.”

Except he touches his abdomen and presses it in a way that makes it obvious that he’s not aware he is.

“Megumi, my back hurts,” he repeats louder.

“Who told you to sleep on the floor?” Megumi frowns.

“Yeah, I guess that’s my own fault.” 

Something about the way Gojo says it doesn’t sound right. Megumi had expected more complaints, something along the lines of the societal devolvement of tamati mats to wooden flooring.

“Next time use the couch,” Megumi tries to say against this strange pressure.

Gojo reaches out, and for once Megumi doesn’t move away from the oncoming hair ruffle. 

But Gojo just combs his hand through Megumi’s strands gently, methodically. The heat of his palm radiates into Megumi’s scalp. He’s too old for this, he tells himself.

“I’m not the only one who fell asleep, huh.”

Megumi blinks slowly. There was no point in denying it so he says, “I was tired.” Then he adds, “It’s important to rest when you’re tired.”

“Mmm,” Gojo hums. “You should.” His hand drops back to his lap after adjusting a wayward strand near Megumi’s forehead.

A pause.

“We’re eating dinner a bit late today,” he blurts out.

“Okay,” Gojo says, and it’s the heaviest thing Megumi’s heard him say, a lingering weight that’s followed from whatever dream has decided to haunt him. And suddenly it’s frustrating, for reasons Megumi can’t explain, because he can’t ask what’s not his to touch but the aftermath of this still hurts.

“You’re staying,” Megumi spells out. 

Gojo asks, amused, “Did Tsumiki-chan say that?” 

“No,” Megumi looks right into Gojo’s eyes. He says simply, “I’m telling you.”

“Okay,” Gojo says, voice still tinged with sleep. He nods absentmindedly. 

Another pause. This time a heartbeat longer.

And then Gojo laughs breathlessly, a short escape of disbelief and something like awe, and both dogs lean into the sound trying to catch it, and the shadows ease, and the moonlight catches in the reflection of two black lens as Megumi lets go of a history he can’t touch but a gradually mapping future that’s his if he wants.

It’s been a while since Megumi has reviewed the notebook, so he does so for the first time that month. 

He skips the shikigami he already knows about better than the pages themselves, and reads the rest that’s its own type of familiar but unknown.

Koso. Bansho. Nue. Madoka. Kangyu.

He names them on his fingers. Once. Twice. Three times.

His shadow still had space. There was time to learn. He wasn't in a rush. 

But. 

But.

“Megumi, did something happen between you and Gojo-san?”

The words make him pause. He doesn’t look up from the flower he’s cutting the dead leaves off of with the scissors from his pencil case, because they’ve misplaced the garden shears Tsumiki owns. 

Behind him, Tsumiki sighs. “That’s no good Megumi. You shouldn’t argue when you can solve things with words.”

“We’re not fighting,” he tells her. He twists the stem of the white lily, checking as it turns for any dying leaves, before placing it back with the rest of the bunch in the vase.

“Then why have you been acting strange recently?”

He doesn’t understand. “I haven’t.”

Tsumiki goes silent, and Megumi picks up the next flower. There’s nothing more to say. Because he’s been normal, he’s fine, and there’s nothing going on between—

“You haven’t been fighting again in school, have you?” Tsumiki says, dismay bleeding into her tone.

“No,” he denies fiercely. He almost snips a healthy leaf off with the unconscious tightening of his hold on the scissors. “That was only once because of—”

“I know,” Tsumiki says, voice closer, and suddenly she’s standing beside him. Her hands wrap around his, and he relinquishes his hold on the flower first, the scissors second. He watches her, gentle gaze and gentler fingers. The scissors snip and dead leaves collect in a pile on the table. In her hold, the lilies seem more alive, even though he knows that’s impossible. 

And Megumi realises way too late that she’s caught him out, said something he would react to so that he couldn’t hide behind the same feigned denial for the other.

“Megumi,” she calls. 

No, he thinks. 

“Megumi,” she repeats, a second call, the same tone, one he finds he really can’t build a solid enough defence against.

His mouth twitches. 

“We’re not fighting,” Megumi relents. “It’s only me.” Somehow, he expects her to understand that. 

“Megumi,” and oh, she does understand, far too viciously well for how little he’s given her. “He won’t know if you don’t say anything. Holding it in means nothing will change.”

He knows that. He does.

Tsumiki places the last lily back into the water and takes the vase from the table. She adjusts the arrangement a bit, and then walks away to place it at the end of the windowsill alongside the suncatcher and teru teru bōzu, angling it to the position where the sun stayed longest throughout the day.

“Ask,” she says softly without looking back. “I’m sure he’ll answer. It’s you, after all.”

There’s something that Megumi has been thinking about for some time now. 

At first, he wasn’t going to do anything to act on it. But as time went on, it didn’t take long for it to feel like he was keeping a secret. A little bit longer and it became a heavy weight, a silent accusation of sorts. Tsumiki had figured it out already.

He takes out the black notebook from his desk drawer. Its cover is still in pristine condition, despite it being a habit to reread it from time to time. Expensive, for a reason. He takes it to the living room, where a certain individual is sitting. 

Sixteen pages, but there’s something missing. 

Gojo has given him information on nine shadows, and intentional ignorance has gotten him this far, but the deliberateness of the action is enough for Megumi to need to know. 

There’s one shikigami missing. He can sense it more now that the others are there.

He sits down on the couch next to Gojo. The other is all limbs today, sprawled without a care, but he moves over so Megumi can settle comfortably. 

He’s only come to check up on them. Passing by, he said. Tsumiki’s still at the library, exams fast approaching, but there’s enough leftovers from yesterday's dinner that Megumi’s already told her that she can come back late. 

So now Gojo’s eating some dorayaki bought from a dessert shop he really likes in Shibuyu. There’s a full box for Megumi and Tsumiki with various flavours, one less sweet than the other. The TV is off, because Gojo’s wearing his blindfold and Megumi can tell it’s one of those days where his eyes are giving him more trouble than he lets on. It makes him feel a little bit worse about what he’s doing.

But then Megumi senses the moment when Gojo notices the notebook on his lap. 

He doesn't know where to start, but Megumi does know how to do one thing. It was straightforward really. Four days ago he had displayed his intent to the shikigami, and Datto showed him a simple hand sign in return, its little paws able to convey it easily.

The ache of a certain winter solstice hasn’t returned for years now. So this… This is all Megumi’s doing, and perhaps it would be his unravelling too. 

Megumi moves slowly, arms raising, fingers curling into fists. The two fists align with a gap in the middle, symmetrical and solid. It feels more like a defensive stance. One that can’t be broken easily. The name is on the tip of his tongue. 

A hand shoots out and circles gently around his right wrist. It pulls his arm away and Megumi finally inhales, a stuttering breath that doesn’t quite reach fully into his lungs, and he’s not sure when he’d started holding his breath in the first place. He stares at Gojo’s hands like a lifeline, long fingers wrapped nearly twice around. He’s sure the other can hear his heartbeat from his pulse, even if he can’t.

“Megumi,” Gojo says, coldly calm, and his hand is so, so warm. “Not that one.”

Not that one.

Mehumi knows, instinctively, in the marrow of his bones from the ghosts of predecessors that don’t exist, that he will not survive if he summons this. Taming is out of the question. Megumi’s inherited the Ten Shadows technique but it also feels like he’s inherited this hollowness, a warning, marked in the seams of the shadow by his feet to tell him where not to step.

So Megumi’s hands move once again, and Gojo’s hand falls back to his side, and he calls for a much more familiar sign. He digs his hands into Gyokuken’s fur once they crawl out of his shadow, fingers trailing down their backs as they curl onto his lap with low protective growls, and he presses his thumb between their eyes with enough pressure to tell them he is fine. These dogs have served users across time. They must have seen it too. 

“Tell me,” Megumi says softly, and it isn’t a demand.

Gojo doesn’t question. He guides, and as much as Megumi questions his methods, he isn’t loath to admit that Gojo would make a good teacher. Good in all the right ways, terrible in everything else.

Gojo’s face is half-covered by the blindfold but it doesn’t matter. His smile is gone and—

“The name,” Gojo starts, and Megumi’s already forming it on his lips, a silent farewell to a shadow he hopes he’ll never have to meet so that he won’t have to see the current expression on Gojo’s face again, “is Mahoraga.”

Shiro and Kuro press closer to Megumi.

“There’s no one who’s lived to tell all that it does. You know what that means, right.”

Megumi does. His technique is Ten Shadows, but for now he draws the line at nine. Megumi tells himself that while he’s greedy, he’s not one to chase after death recklessly. 

He has things to protect. 

So he puts the notebook to the side, and steals a dorayaki from Gojo’s box still on his lap.

Gojo lets him. It’s too sweet. Megumi still finishes it.

11 YEARS OLD

It’s inevitable, that when Tsumiki’s birthday is still far away but Megumi has a memory on his mind leading up to it, that he has to ask Gojo to make it work two months in advance.

“Okinawa?” Gojo cranes his head ninety degrees as he watches Megumi. 

“The only way there is by train and ferry, or plane.” 

“There’s another untraditional option, but I don’t think that’s what you’re asking,” Gojo waves his hands in the air like he’s dismissing the idea already. “Why Okinawa?”

He’s not sure why, but instead of answering directly Megumi asks, “Do you like stars?” 

“Don’t really think about them. They’re too far away to touch anyway. Why?” And Megumi almost gets sidetracked as to why someone would want to touch a star, and then how if anyone would be crazy enough to try it would probably be Gojo. 

But he snaps back when he senses the other’s unfiltered curiosity and complete attention. If Megumi tries to walk away now, he doesn’t think he’d be able to without Gojo chasing him down for an answer. The image is terrifying.

“Tsumiki does,” Megumi hastily clarifies.

Gojo nods like he’s made a mental note of the fact. “And Okinawa?”

“The Southern Cross is only visible there.”

“Oh,” Gojo says like it’s an epiphany, and straightens his head. “When?”

“This weekend. It’s going to be cloudless and we can travel the same day to see it at night.”

Gojo takes out his phone and starts typing something. A minute later he puts it down. “By plane… It’ll have to be Naha airport.”

“There’s train and ferry too,” Megumi reminds him.

“But you don’t like long journeys. This will make it much quicker.” 

Megumi blinks. He’s never mentioned it to Gojo before, has he? 

He mutters, “Ijichi can drop you off at the airport. You have the shikigami too. If you need me, I can probably teleport there.”

Megumi’s confused. He asks, “Don’t you need to come with us?”

“No can do. The three families are meeting on Saturday and the Gojo clan is hosting.” He shivers. “It’s mind numbing diplomatic relations, but not showing my face would throw off the balance. There’s been tension recently because the Zen’in clan had a clash with the Kamo clan.”

Megumi wonders idly what the Gojo clan is like, and then the responsibility of being the strongest one in it.

Sometimes, Megumi thinks about how Gojo is a convenient shield. As much as he is now their benefactor, Megumi is not blind to the fact that he is the single point holding back a tidal wave of chains that’d happily drown him in lineage and tradition, in hierarchy and power. The exact same Gojo is faced with now. Tsumiki would be miserable to the end.

“Why, want to say goodbye first?” Gojo cheerily asks. 

Megumi draws himself back to the present. “No.”

“I can leave early,” Gojo piques up, and Megumi can tell he really wants to.

“With what excuse?”

“Family emergency.”

“Your family is already there,” Megumi points out.

“Not all of them,” Gojo says simply.

And how’s Megumi meant to respond to that?

Megumi hadn’t fully expected Gojo to come with them, but maybe he’d hoped for it anyway because he’s still expecting something to happen, as if Gojo will turn around and abandon everything. Megumi knows it’s unrealistic and silly. So he holds his tongue and doesn’t say anything.

Gojo doesn’t push. “Excited?”

“I’m not that interested in stars,” he brushes off. 

“Yeah, I didn’t think you would be. Still, it’s Okinawa. It’s the furthest you’ll have ever been.” Gojo thinks and then adds absentmindedly, “There’s a sandy beach there. It’s nice in the summer, probably no good now though.”

“You’ve been?” Megumi doesn’t know why he’s surprised.

“Once,” he says, but before Megumi can ask he adds, “It’s going to be warmer than here but still chilly, so pack warm.”

He nods. He’d already checked the temperature when he was checking for visibility of the stars. 

“Oh, and Megumi? If you get close enough to touch one, tell me about it, okay?” 

It takes a second for Megumi to realise he’s talking about the stars again. It sounds like a joke, but Gojo says it so seriously Megumi’s left doubting himself.

Okinawa is different from what Megumi expects of February; Not cold enough to be freezing but not warm enough to be considered early spring. At night and with the humidity from the nearby waters, the temperature is somehow even lower. The result is a strong wind that slithers into Megumi’s light jacket and brushes against his skin to draw away any remnant of body heat he has.

Milder than Tokyo, but at least winter there was firmer in its hold and didn’t have Megumi questioning his perception of the temperature it's supposedly meant to be right now.

It doesn’t seem to bother Tsumiki though. 

“Can you see it? There’s five stars, but it’s a bit difficult to see Crucis. They’re in a cross shape, above that tall tower with the blinking red light.”

Tsumiki points diligently but her eyes are fixed in their own gravitational field because she hasn’t noticed that Megumi isn’t looking up at the sky just yet.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathes in awe.

Megumi's fingertips are numb despite being in his pockets. Gusts of winds have picked up in the last half-hour. The light scarf he wears is wrapped around tightly so that the air can’t sneak in, except it does so anyway. The stars look the same to him, but it’s not like he’s trying hard to trace their supposed paths.

Under the light of a crescent moon, Tsumiki’s joy practically shines. 

And even though it’s impossible to touch stars, Tsumiki somehow makes it seem like she’s closer to doing it than him. 

Megumi raises his phone and quickly takes two pictures. The first is of the stars for Tsumiki, although the camera struggles to capture it all properly. The second, is a close up he intends to keep to himself.

“It’s getting late. We should head back,” Tsumiki murmurs to herself. Except her footsteps are reluctant as she turns around, her eyes even more so. She keeps glancing back as if testing to see if it‘s real and that she’s actually here. 

“Tsumiki,” Megumi calls out. 

She looks at him, cheeks flushed. Megumi breathes, and buries the lower half of his face into his scarf. His next words are muffled, but still carry over with clarity.

“We can come again.”

It’s not like the stars will disappear. Maybe even next time, it would be three of them there. 

“I’d like that,” she smiles, uncontained, and Megumi knows that he won’t be able to cross off ‘Seeing the stars’ from a certain mental checklist just yet. Or maybe at this point, he should consider taking it off the list completely. This wasn’t a one-time tick box exercise anymore.

Tsumiki had always dreamt unapologetically, but recently he’s noticed that she’s been sharing them more openly with him. 

Back in the hotel lodging they’re staying in for the night, Tsumiki falls asleep quickly. 

She had tried to stay awake until Megumi fell asleep first, a habit she can’t seem to shake off, but the excitement and travel must have gotten to her. He hears her even breaths. In the nothingness that follows, he tries to match it, only to be a millisecond too slow, until the rhythm is thrown off gradually to the point they’re breathing in turns rather than in tandem.

It’s strange. Megumi feels like he’s floating, like he’s just had a full meal and he’s sitting by a heater wrapped in a blanket watching the time pass by. If he doesn’t think too much and lets himself submerge in these warm waters, he’ll fall asleep soon too.

He’s content. 

He should be content.

But it’s the first time Megumi's been so far away from anything familiar, and even though he has nothing to complain about, he finds himself feeling a little homesick. 

He’s not sure how he knows the pit in his stomach and weight on his chest is him missing home. The feeling is like standing in the sun and turning around to see that his shadow is missing on the floor. It’s odd because he can feel the warmth on his skin but the absence of something so fundamental makes him feel not quite here.

He knows it’s unreasonable. It hasn’t even been a day and they’re back tomorrow and he’s with Tsumiki and nothing has really changed.

But.

There’s no helping the dissonance he feels, and he doesn’t think this is something to do with his shikigami or the new place and he feels frustration well up because there’s nothing wrong so why?

Megumi carefully gets out of the futon and walks to the balcony, bare feet against the cold floor. He unlocks the sliding door carefully and opens it as quietly as he can, even though he knows Tsumiki won’t hear it in her deep sleep. 

The wind has died down a bit but Megumi still shivers when he steps out. The space is small but cosy enough for even Gyokuken to curl up in. His eyes rove over the sky and he tries to find what Tsumiki had been so reverently looking at. Maybe if he finds it, it would also dispel this quietude he’s feeling.

Except he can’t find the Southern Cross. The stars all look the same to him. He can remember each of their names but not where they are.

So Megumi’s fingers curl around a random cluster of stars in the sky that he can no longer tell the difference between without Tsumiki guiding him where to look. 

And it’s then he realises. 

It’s because of the stars.

The world is so much larger than them, and it makes him feel that much smaller, but not in a bad way. Tsumiki would say otherwise, but Megumi has never had issues with the insignificance of his existence in the grand scheme of things. He may have the Ten Shadows technique but tonight, even that falls apart under the stars’ disinterest.

Even so, the permeance of his being to the world is unnerving. He feels out of depth and longs for familiarity.

He takes out his phone and checks the time. 01:34. He unlocks it. Before he even knows it, he’s on his contact list, a short unnecessary thing because the two numbers there have already been memorised.

Megumi has never called Gojo. His call history consists of exclusively one way calls because texting him when he needed to was always the preferable option.

So he doesn’t know why. The stars. The moon. The wind.

His finger gravitates towards the number and before he knows it, the phone is calling the other side. 

He breathes, the chill invading his lungs and spreading into his bloodstream. 

In the silence of each of the rings, Megumi counts all the reasons it's not being picked up.

It’s late, so Gojo might be asleep. Or maybe he’s still at his family house, staying over or dealing with diplomatic affairs. Or maybe he was called out on a mission. Is he planning on going back to Jujutsu College? Back to his dorm to sleep before he has to wake up early again?

Or perhaps he'll be staying over at theirs tonight, looking after an empty home until they return. Megumi’s chest tightens at the thought for some reason. He crouches on the floor and wraps an arm around his legs.

“—gumi?”

His mind blanks. Someone’s calling his name.

Megumi checks the phone screen, and sure enough the call timer reads nineteen seconds. He puts it close to his ear again and blinks slowly, exhaling softly. That seems to loosen the knot that at some point had built from the tightness in his chest.

A pause.

“Megumi. Something wrong?” Gojo’s voice isn’t urgent but there is a calm alertness to his tone. 

“No,” he replies in a low whisper, because Tsumiki is still sleeping.

The other reciprocates, lowering his voice, “Tsumiki-chan awake?”

“No,” he repeats. 

“Can’t sleep?”

Megumi doesn’t reply but gives a small nod, only to remember Gojo can’t see him. He doesn’t know why but it feels like he's gotten used to speaking to Gojo like this, half-words and half-actions.

There’s movement on the other end. Megumi finds himself straining his ears unconsciously, as if trying to find a piece of something from there. 

“Are you… home?” Megumi asks tentatively. 

It would have been easier for Gojo to stay at his clan’s residences after the meeting finished. He probably had a room there. He was raised in that house after all. He knew its halls and rooms blindfolded, likely better than anywhere else.

“Yeah. It’s a bit cold here, but I’ve got two blankets and the heater’s on so it should be fine.”

It was colder in Tokyo than here. A duvet would have been better, especially as Gojo normally ran cold. He should ask for one, but Gojo was stubborn so Megumi doesn't think he will now if he hasn’t done so already.

Gojo hums a short tune softly under his breath, before letting it fall off mid-note. Megumi doesn’t recognise it.

There’s the sound of shuffling, the click of a light switch, and then something like a cabinet creaking open. 

“Hey Megumi, you don't mind if I eat the popcorn right.”

Megumi’s thoughts are slower than usual, so he doesn’t understand what Gojo’s asking. 

“Actually, nevermind. I’m hungry, and the movie’s about to start and you can’t stop me from there anyway.”

Then there's a few beeps and an electronic hum. 

Wait.

.

.

.

Pop.

Pop. Pop.

Wait, Megumi thinks again.

Pop. Pop, pop, pop.

Shuffling.

Megumi holds his breath. 

“Why’s there no soda,” comes a dissatisfied mutter. 

And if there was any doubt before, there isn’t now.

Gojo is at theirs. 

Home.

“You finished it. Last week,” Megumi replies slowly.

“Oh. I did, didn’t I.” He sighs. “Remind me to get more next time.”

“You have too many of those,” Megumi murmurs, and he didn’t mean to say it out loud but it slips out. 

“They’re good. Keeps me awake.”

“It’s late.”

“Ever watched Titanic?” Gojo ignores him. “Don’t, it’ll make you cry.”

Megumi can’t imagine Gojo crying over a movie.

“Hey, I’m not heartless.”

That’s not what I meant, Megumi thinks. He must be getting sleepier. He’s not filtering his thoughts. But the next thing, he intends for the other to hear.

“She was really happy today,” Megumi says, laying his head against his raised knees.

“Yeah? That’s good,” Gojo says, and there’s nothing but genuineness in his voice. 

Something about that makes him relax and he closes his eyes.

There’s a beep and the electronic hum stops. Megumi listens to Gojo open the microwave and take out the popcorn bag. He hisses. He probably held it in the middle instead of at the end, knowing him. More shuffling around.

Once Gojo seems to settle down somewhere, Megumi asks, “How was the gathering?” 

“Boring. I left early.”

“Won’t you get in trouble?”

“Worried about me?”

“No,” and it’s true. There wasn’t anything to be worried about. If he left, he left without any trouble to himself. The repercussions of it though…

“It’s fine. I stayed for a bit. If the three clans were so easily influenced by trivial matters, they would have fallen out a long time ago. They need each other to keep everyone else in check. It’s cowardly, but it works.”

Megumi listens to this with mild interest. Not because it’s to do with the Jujutsu world, but because it’s to do with Gojo’s.

He mulls it over for a bit before saying, “If you’re done, can’t you teleport?”

The stars were still out. Maybe Gojo could find them better than him.

“Not now. There’s certain conditions for that.”

“Like what?”

“Hmm. It’s equivalent to touching a star. It requires alignment of certain factors. I’m working on it.”

I thought you said you can’t touch them, Megumi thinks.

“Theoretically.”

He doesn’t ask further. 

Not like he can, because a sudden wave of sleepiness hits him. It’s cold outside, but Megumi feels warm, huddled like this and sheltered from the wind on the balcony. 

He must have dozed off shortly because he wakes when he hears a soft clack. He opens his eyes blearily and he’s still somehow holding the phone to his ear.

“Gojo-sensei,” he tests.

The response is immediate. Quiet. “Yeah?” 

Megumi murmurs through his sleep-addled brain. “If you can’t be bothered to set up the futon, take the duvet from my room. You’ll get cold. And don’t stay up for too long. It’s late.” In the back of his mind he knows he sounds like Tsumiki but doesn’t care.

Gojo doesn’t say anything. Then—

“Megumi?”

He doesn’t have the energy to respond, but he’s listening, breathing evenly and staring at the wall ahead with increasingly slow blinks against his best efforts.

“Go to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Today, Megumi corrects in his head. 

Megumi can’t remember how but the next moment he blinks and he’s crawling back into the futon next to Tsumiki, eyes slipping closed in a way he knows he won’t open them again and phone slipping from his limp hand onto the pillow.

“Goodnight,” he whispers. 

He doesn’t know if there’s a reply, because as soon as his head hits the pillow, Megumi falls asleep.

The day after they return from Okinawa, Megumi’s down with a cold. 

Generally speaking, Megumi likes to think that his immune system is rather good. He only gets sick two, maybe three times a year, and that in winter too. Unfortunately, Okinawa really did seem to have a different air to it because it presents as a fully blown feverish cold, shivers that make his bones ache whenever his body spasms. 

He’s not weak. Not to this anyway. He’s just unlucky, he tells himself.

On Monday morning before school, Tsumiki tells him she wants to stay home. Megumi shuts the door in her face when she comes to check up on him. He can look after himself, he says, and she has practice tests coming up next week anyway. There’s silence from the other side because she knows he’s right. She leaves a half-hour later, but not before knocking on his door and telling him that she’ll get medicine coming back, because when she had checked the cupboards for some they had been empty and Megumi had insisted it was just a slight cold anyway.

Megumi sleeps. 

He wakes up an indefinite time later. 

Mind hazy, he’s slower to process things and even slower to remember that he’s alone. It’s the type of waking up where he’s sweating through the thin fabric of his t-shirt and there’s indented lines on his arms from pressing against something unknown and he’s not quite sure of how long he’s slept but he’s disorientated in his room like it’s an entirely foreign place. He’s staring at the white ceiling above when he remembers. 

A sound. He’d heard a sound, and that’s what had woken him up. 

Which meant Tsumiki must be back already. He could just slip back into sleep and she’d probably let him, but he doesn’t remember hearing a greeting like usual when she arrived. Unless he missed it. He could send Gyokuken to check, but he doubts he can even call Datto right now when he’s already feeling so drained despite the rest he’s had. No choice. He crawls out of bed and heads downstairs to check himself.

It’s a slow process, dragged footsteps, walls that hold him up, and by the time he’s clutching onto the door handle of the kitchen for support, he’s out of breath. Good that he is, because what he sees probably would have had the same effect. 

There’s a white-haired, long-legged creature going through the kitchen cabinets. It turns its head towards him at an awkward angle without actually turning its body around, and Megumi frowns.

Gojo’s frowning too. “Sick people shouldn’t be up.”

He can’t be here. Tsumiki should have informed Gojo to stay away so he wouldn’t catch it. He knows because he heard her call someone before she left. 

Plus, Gojo had left yesterday night to head back to Jujutsu College, after collecting them from the airport, cooking them chicken katsu noodles and staying long enough to hear Tsumiki tell him all about the Southern Cross.

“You’ll get sick,” Megumi says, shuffling back a bit. There’s half the length of the kitchen between them, but it doesn’t feel like enough because Gojo could easily cover in seconds with his wide strides.

But Gojo stays where he is and closes the cabinet, turning around. Matter-of-fact sounding, he says, “Not through Infinity.” 

“That’s not how Infinity works,” Megumi argues. 

“It does,” he says seriously. “I haven’t been sick in years.”

“You’re lying,” Megumi glares, no doubt in his head. Except now that he’s thinking about it, he’s never seen Gojo ill. But no one’s that invincible… that protected. It’d be cheating otherwise— and doesn’t that make Megumi all the weaker from getting sick so easily? 

“You’re lying,” Megumi says again, louder. 

Gojo clicks his tongue. He raises his hands in defeat. “You got me. But hey, where’s the Megumi-kun that was speaking so nicely to me over the phone?”

That’s the last straw. 

Megumi turns to leave so fast that his head spins in a strange axis, and the room blurs and blackens around the edges, ringing in his ears and heartbeat thudding in his chest and—

Two hands wrap under his arms to catch him as his knees buckle. “Woah there, I got you.”

He registers the faint voice through the ringing. The hold he’s in is secure so he lets his body go completely limp. He doesn’t fall.

Through his erratic breathing, Megumi gasps, “This is your fault.” He squeezes his eyes shut so the room stops spinning and tries to take in as much oxygen before he could faint. That would be worse. Gojo wouldn’t let him live it down.

“Yeah, it is. I’m sorry,” Gojo says easily, coaxing.

Why are you apologising, Megumi thinks dully. That’s not what I…

But then Gojo’s hand touches his forehead and Megumi shivers violently. Suddenly, every sense is heightened and overloaded and what he’s forgotten temporarily is now brought to immediate attention. He’s freezing, but knows his skin is feverishly hot. His body is trembling from it, all mixed signals from his brain. Gojo’s supporting him fully now and Megumi may as well have been dead weight. 

He’s painfully aware the other’s Infinity isn’t active.

“It wasn’t this bad when Tsumiki-chan left, was it?”

“No,” Megumi tells him, opening his eyes again. “She wouldn’t have left if it was.” 

Gojo should really get away now, but Megumi knows the other won’t listen even if he tries pushing him away. Tsumiki and Gojo both possessed the same painful stubbornness like that. He sighs, resigning himself to it.

“I’m guessing you didn’t even let her check how you were before she left.” It doesn’t come across as stern or an accusation but from Gojo, it somehow feels worse.

Megumi, guilty, doesn’t deny it. “She has exams coming up,” he mutters.

“Right. That’s pretty important,” and for some reason that makes Megumi breathe a bit easier.

Gojo lowers him to the floor slowly, waiting for any sign from Megumi to say he’s fine. Megumi can feel the steady gaze on him, observant but not heavy.

He feels that gaze but is still surprised at his next words. “Your cursed energy is extremely low. Is that why you haven’t summoned any shikigami to keep you company?”

Gojo really doesn’t miss anything.

“Even if I could, there wouldn’t be a point. They’d probably be the same.”

He senses Gojo’s interest flare at that. Megumi understands why. He’s been curious too, if his shikigami would be in the same state as their owner. But he wouldn’t want to see what that would be like anyway. Doesn’t want to put them through… this.

“Makes sense,” he hums. Then he says, “Well, first thing first then. You need to eat something. I brought soup.”

Megumi's not in the mood to eat though. “Just let me sleep. I’m tired.” He tries to stand up, but his legs still feel shaky. Gojo’s hold on his forearms don’t loosen, but he lets Megumi shift so that he can grip onto one of Gojo’s arms as support on his own.

“Sleep after. Food and medicine first,” Gojo says next to his ear because he’s still half-crouched to Megumi’s height.

He mutters, “We don’t have medicine.” Tsumiki had checked this morning and hadn’t found any. She was going to go out to get some before he kicked her out the room completely saying he wasn’t that badly sick and so she was meant to get it on the way back but… 

Gojo being here suddenly made sense. The phone call he didn’t hear the words to. Of course. There was no way she would have left otherwise. 

They had planned this. 

“Got some,” Gojo confirms Megumi’s suspicions. “Do you know they have so many different flavours for kids? I got you the strawberry flavour syrup, if you don’t like the tablet.”

Megumi takes a step towards the kitchen door. Nine more steps and he’s free. A light sheen of sweat coats his back and he feels his t-shirt sticking to his skin. It’s uncomfortable but speed here is important, so he ignores it and takes another step. Gojo takes an easy step forward next to him, covering the same distance that Megumi just did with two steps. It irks him. Irrational, he knows, but who decided to give the holder of Six Eyes and Infinity the blessing of long legs too? He should call Gyukoken to carry him and finish this quicker since Gojo clearly wasn’t helping speed things up.

Another four steps, and Megumi’s drained. 

His body trembles.

His legs are about to give out again when Gojo suddenly moves.

Gojo bundles up Megumi in a princess carry. Megumi doesn’t have the energy to protest. He straightens to his full height and— was this how high-up Gojo saw the world? It’s weird. But finally, Megumi thinks tiredly. He could go to bed and sleep this awfulness off in bliss. 

But Gojo doesn’t start walking out of the room.

“Hey,” Megumi protests as he realises what’s going on. He pushes against Gojo’s chest but even he can tell how weak it is. Gojo doesn’t budge and continues walking away from the door.

Megumi’s carried to the couch and laid down slowly. It’s slow enough that Megumi doesn’t even feel the declination, and the room thankfully doesn’t sway or break apart into nothingness. Still, even though Gojo’s being careful, it’s not his bedroom he’s being taken to. Megumi finds himself reaching up and at the last moment before his back touches the seat he swipes Gojo’s glasses off his face. 

Blue blinking eyes narrow, pupils constricting from the sudden influx of light. They’re close enough that Megumi sees the exact moment when they widen. Megumi watches that surprise morph into amusement with a glint.

“Revenge?” Gojo muses. “Megumi’s quite cute like this.”

“Don’t,” Megumi snaps, burying his head into the side of the sofa before Gojo can think of reaching for his phone. His body is definitely hot— he can feel it now more than before with his back against the fabric. 

Without turning back around, Megumi holds out the sunglasses in the direction of where Gojo’s standing. He waits, but nothing changes. 

“You should try them on. They’re good for this sort of stuff.”

Now that has Megumi turning his head around. A bit too fast because his headache pulses up again and the room shakes. Megumi takes a deep inhale and doesn’t think too much. He puts the sunglasses on with clumsy fingers. 

The frame is far too big for him but… it’s good. More than good, because it completely blocks out the periphery of his vision. With him lying down, the sunglasses somehow manage to stay on without slipping off. Megumi doesn’t need to close his eyes, and it somehow feels better to stare at this artificial blackout than the blanket of darkness made by his closed eyes. Better, even, because there’s none of the light seeping through his eyelids.

“Wait here,” Gojo instructs.

Not like Megumi can go anywhere else. 

He doesn’t see Gojo move away but he hears him go to the kitchen. Drawers open. There’s the clattering of cutlery, the clink of glasses. Plastic bags rustling. A pause. Some shuffling. Another pause.

He hears the shutter of a phone camera go off. 

Megumi snaps his head to the only possible culprit, only to see nothing. He quickly lifts the sunglasses but by the time he sees Gojo, there’s no camera in his hand and his back is facing Megumi. All he has to show for it is a throbbing pulse in his head again.

“I hate you,” Megumi says. 

“Huh? Why? That’s a bit mean, Megumi-kun,” he says, except Gojo doesn’t turn around and his shoulders are trembling. Megumi can imagine the horrible grin he’s got. 

I’m going to kill him later, Megumi promises to himself.

He doesn’t put the sunglasses back on. Instead he folds them, holding them carefully on his lap while he watches Gojo open a container. 

Gojo brings that, a bowl, a spoon and a glass over. Megumi glimpses black marker writing on the side of the box. 

Extra ginger, no spice.

“Need me to feed you?”

Instinctively, it’s a no. He isn’t a kid and he’s already given enough to Gojo for him to tease Megumi with for years. But Gojo’s voice is purely clinical, examining him.

Megumi’s hands are trembling from the cold. His teeth chatter in his skull. His muscles hurt all over from being tense and from the uncontrollable shivers that have been wracking his body.

But.

Pride is something he can’t change, even when sick. “I can do it,” Megumi says.

Gojo pours some of the soup from the container into the bowl. It’s still hot, but not enough to be steaming. He hands the bowl over to Megumi and settles crouched on the floor. There’s a glass in his other hand which he holds, even though there’s a coffee table nearby he can put it on next to the rest of the soup.

He has to eat slower than usual, but the soup is good. The extra ginger is a life saver because with no spice, it’s the strongest flavour there. It’s probably the only flavour he can taste right now. His taste buds don't feel right, more texture than anything else. Megumi finishes half before he’s full and Gojo’s there to take it away. He hands the glass over and it feels warm when Megumi takes it. He only manages a few sips before he hands it back.

Gojo goes back to the kitchen carrying everything back and returns with the medicine. Between the tablet and the syrup, Megumi picks the syrup. It’s two big spoons of the most sugary concoction known to man that not even the strawberry flavour can save. Megumi grimaces.

As Gojo takes that back to the kitchen too, Megumi slumps into the sofa. 

“I’m tired,” Megumi murmurs, and this time he really, really is. 

“Go to sleep.”

“Do you need to leave?” he asks, words blurring into each other. His fingers unconsciously curl tighter. 

“I’m staying.”

Megumi's eyes flutter closed, too heavy to keep open any longer. His breaths slow and deepen. His consciousness floats long enough to tell that a light blanket is tucked around him and something’s pulled out of his grasp, before he sinks into sleep.

It’s the first time in a while Megumi's been this sick, and it’s also the first time he’s had Gojo around during it. 

In his dream, he’s home. 

Megumi picks up something glowing softly on the floor of his bedroom. By the time he realises it’s a star it's already melted on his skin, buried into the creases of his palms, the warmth radiating into his veins. He tries to remember the sensation but knows it’s hopeless, in the same way that he knows this is a dream, that he’ll forget it all when he wakes up anyway, that he won’t be able to tell someone how a star feels like when it’s held.

Megumi prepares for Nue’s exorcism by spending more time with Orochi. 

Nature tells him it’s a bad matchup. In a fight between a snake and a bird, the bird had the upper hand, able to strike the reptile with its talons using precise strikes from the air. They aim for the head, rendering toxins useless. The avian is also far quicker, picking off the snake before it even realises it’s in its hold and neck and neck with death.

But Megumi has gotten familiar with Orechi. Enough to make a certain gamble.

Orechi is larger than Nue. It can also hide in the shadows. Between the two, striking from the dark when Nue inevitably came close to the ground to attack Megumi made a viable plan. 

Orechi could wrap around Nue, clipping its wings. It may not be faster, but Nue had two targets to deal with and coordination built from countless training sessions. They’d carry out the exorcism ritual during the day too, when visibility wouldn’t be an issue and the sun allowed plenty of shadows to be cast. 

Megumi just had to watch out for the lightning. 

Not that there were many storm clouds in July.

It turns out that Nue doesn’t need any sort of storm or conditions to charge its lightning. 

Megumi feels the air around him buzz, feels his hair rising, and knows he’s been caught. Relying on logic with Jujutsu was his mistake.

Run, is his first instinct.

He won’t make it for shelter in time though. 

Datto as a shield, is his second. 

A sharp spike of something he can’t name hits straight through his core at the idea. He stiffens against his rational self.

He needs to move—

Megumi feels a tug at the back of his t-shirt and then he’s weightless. He blinks, and suddenly he’s watching from the roof of a nearby building as lightning strikes, purple electricity and a bang and blackened ground where he stood mere moments ago. Nue screeches, circling in the air.

“That was close,” Gojo says cheerily from beside him. 

The hair on Megumi’s arms and head have risen from the static.

“You can’t help,” Megumi says instinctively. 

“I can’t help you exorcise the shikigami. Nothing about keeping you alive though. And anyway, I didn’t join the ritual from the start.”

Right. That’s how it worked. 

Gojo lets go once Megumi’s standing on his own two feet again. He assesses the situation. The reason he’d failed was… 

I was too distracted with getting Orochi to appear at the right moment. 

Because from the very start, Nue refused to come close to the ground. It’s like it knows what Megumi has planned, even though he hasn’t brought out Orechi yet.

The other shikigami won’t be useful here either. Not when close combat was impossible. Megumi watches Nue circle around in the air. It spotted Gojo and Megumi a while ago, but it hasn’t come close yet. Was it assessing the new threat? Gojo would make any sorcerer pause and he wonders if the shikigami can sense it too.

His eyebrows furrow. 

Nue’s attacks so far have been sporadic. It seems more content with staying in the air than dealing with Megumi. It was because of this pattern that Megumi hasn’t been able to do much, and the one time he’d tried making the hand sign for Orechi, Nue had sent down lightning in retaliation. 

If Nue wasn’t coming close enough to the ground then…

Megumi had no choice. 

Gojo sighs beside him. 

“Reckless,” Gojo states, scrunching his nose.

“It’s not,” Megumi denies, because it’ll work. He’s sure.

“The timing has to be perfect,” he warns.

“I know,” Megumi replies. 

“Does that make me the backup?”

Megumi doesn’t respond. 

Gojo grins. And then he turns around, heading to the lower floors. 

Megumi steps forward and makes his way to the edge of the building. As he does, he stares at his shadow on the roof’s floor, notes the length and angle of it, before looking across. He counts. The opposite building is fifteen stories high and the building he stands on is two floors higher. It’s enough. 

Megumi takes a step back. Then another. A few more and he’s got enough space. He can feel Nue’s gaze on him. Maybe it’s the residual feeling from before, but he swears he can still feel the sharp pins and needles of electricity on his skin the moment before he was about to get electrocuted. He takes a deep breath in.

He runs. 

His feet thud against the concrete. At the edge of the building, a calculated judgement that makes his heart pound, he jumps. 

The world slows. 

He falls.

And then Nue dives. 

The wind tears through his t-shirt as he plummets. He watches Nue come for him with wide eyes. It’s fast, faster than he expects, until Nue’s nearly reached him. He struggles to breathe properly.

Megumi’s hands move into place with slight difficulty against the wind and he shouts “Orechi!” 

They’re not close enough to the ground for Orechi to emerge from a shadow there and reach Megumi. Nue would reach him before then.

But that isn’t the only shadow around. 

Opposite Megumi is the second building, and with the sun behind him, there’s now a stretched out shadow dropping in line with his fall. Small, but the opening is enough.

Orechi emerges from there, close enough to strike Nue.

Nue sees Orechi and sharply turns away. 

It’s too late though.

Orechi has already reached Nue, and Megumi continues to fall as he watches Orechi wind around Nue’s body. Its wings are pinned.

There’s a short moment of struggle, but the outcome is inevitable. 

Nue and Orechi begin to fall together. Orechi won’t give in, its body tightly coiled and unforgiving. Nue’s claws are useless against the white scales. Orechi winds tighter, its jaw opening to reveal fangs that reach for Nue’s body.

Megumi’s close to the sixth floor when Nue screeches again. This time he understands it. It’s a screech of defeat, one for Megumi only. And with it, a shift in the ritual that has Megumi widening his eyes.

He makes a split-second decision. 

Megumi dismisses Orechi.

And Nue, already falling, adjusts its wings in less than a second of being freed and dives again.

Towards Megumi. 

Closer and closer. Megumi dimly notes that he was right. Nue was unnervingly fast for its size. 

Fast enough to reach Megumi and grab onto his outstretched arms. It U-turns with a spin once it has a firm hold, increasing the distance from the ground until they’re safely away. Then it glides toward the open area where they’d first started the ritual. 

Megumi’s chest heaves with the sudden change in direction and speed and near-death adrenaline. He’d fallen to the third floor before being caught.

He’s never fallen from so high before. 

Nue slows down, coasting gently. Its descent is smooth, the air against Megumi’s skin cooling. Megumi’s glad he doesn't have to hold on directly, because his arms feel like jelly.

They reach the ground and Nue flaps its wings in place, steadying enough for Megumi to drop down the half-metre. Still, Nue doesn't completely let go of Megumi until his two feet are firmly on the ground. It circles once more before landing nearby, wings settling neatly against its body with a last flap. 

Megumi lays down before his body can give up on him. The heat of the ground scorches his back, but he’s too tired to care. He closes his eyes, breathing still not back to normal. 

The light behind his eyes dim. The sudden lack of heat on his skin is a reprieve. He cracks his eyes open again and sees Nue, left wing spread above, covering Megumi’s body in shade.

And even though he’s tired, Megumi raises his hand. Nue reads his intention and brings its face lower. He traces the edges of the mask on Nue’s face. He’d been curious since he’d first seen the drawing of Nue in the notebook, and even more when he saw it directly. It looked like bone, smooth and fused to the face. The pads of his fingers however feel it, the ups and down, the small fissures and cracks, the imperfections to this armour-like mask. His thumb sits over Nue’s forehead, ringed yellow irises within black sclera staring at Megumi with a certain curiosity. To another, it may have been unnerving. Nue clicks its tongue and he can sense its amusement. 

Oh. So Nue is like this. 

“Nue,” he practices calling out, this time without the command of a summon. The syllable rolls off his tongue, short and succinct.

The shikigami shuffles closer, another click from his mouth and head tilting. It was acting so mild now, it’d be impossible to guess what’d just happened.

“Didn’t you just try and kill me?” 

Nue blinks owlishly. Unremorseful. Megumi finds he doesn’t mind. More than that— he finds Nue’s pride tenacious, unyielding and approves of it.

“But I guess you saved me too. From the fall.”

Nue blinks again. It nips the centre of Megumi’s palm, as if saying, We’re equal now, yes?

Cunning, too. It already knows Megumi’s marked it down as being due to the ritual.

“You can go. It's been a while.”

Nue nudges Megumi’s hand, questioning. 

So he explains, “You can fly.”

Megumi imagines being out in the open after decades would leave certain things to be desired. He saw it, in the way Nue stayed airborne the entire time, the way it only attacked when it needed to defend, in the way it spun and glided with Megumi in its hold, fast and then slow and with natural grace that one couldn’t help but watch in awe.

Nue’s head cranes to the sky and there’s something in the curve of its neck. An instinct, a need, animalistic. Its teeth clack once. Impulsive.

But it doesn’t move away. 

Megumi’s hand drops to his side having finally spent even that remaining energy. He gives it a tap on its leg instead. Go.

He doesn’t know how long he can keep Nue here before his cursed energy runs out too. 

But Nue simply raises its right claw and wraps it around Megumi’s forearm. It presses into Megumi’s skin, but not enough to hurt. Its wings ruffle with contained restlessness but there’s an undeniable patience there.

Megumi wants to laugh. 

“You want to take me up there again?”

It whistles slowly. It’s a low keen, one that makes Megumi surprised. It’s different to the screech Nue let out earlier. Needy.

“I’ll fall,” and Megumi’s words have begun to slur into each other.

Trust was never so easily built, but Nue’s eyes seem to already be telling Megumi I won’t let you. 

“Next time,” Megumi mumbles, his lips twitching upwards faintly. Nue lets go of his arm, accepting the promise, and Megumi finally dispels the shikigami back into the shadows. 

He doesn’t realise that Gojo is behind him until his silhouette appears without Nue to overcast it. 

Luckily, the shadow of Gojo’s head blocks out the sun so that Megumi isn’t blinded by it, but the brightness of the blue sky makes him squint regardless. 

“That was different,” the voice notes.

So Gojo had noticed too.

Megumi doesn’t have the energy to explain though. He doesn’t need to anyway, not with Gojo. 

The exorcism ritual had long since been completed, the moment Nue submitted without Orechi having to deliver the final attack. He’d felt it, a change in cursed energy from Nue as it washed over his own like a river joining into an ocean. It was something Megumi had considered as a possibility, but up till then, all his shikigami had been exorcised and re-summoned after being tamed. Now, willing defeat offered a different doorway. Considering it wasn’t something mentioned in the notebook, Megumi suspects the previous users didn’t ever give the time to try anything other than defeating the shikigami.

“Looks like you made another friend, Megumi-kun,” and Gojo’s got that awful wide smile on his face that makes Megumi cringe. 

“Just take me home,” he barely manages to say.

“So I am still the backup,” Gojo raises an eyebrow.

Megumi doesn't dignify that with a response. 

“I wanted to get some ice-cream,” Gojo sighs, disappointed.

In his exhausted delirium-like state, Megumi mumbles, “Next time.” Then he closes his eyes, just to rest for a bit.

Another promise to keep.

12 YEARS OLD

Megumi’s fingers glide across the topmost string. The guitar is too big for him and his arm sits awkwardly on top. The back is digging against his chest just to keep it in place on his lap. It’s probably not tuned but… 

Curiosity makes him give in, and Megumi strums through the six strings one by one. The notes deepen and overlap each other, before quietly fading into the space. 

It’s tuned. Megumi’s surprised.

He taps against the wood lightly. The sound echoes in the hollow structure. He studies the frets, the small red stickers placed on them to mark the finger placement of the chords. Megumi tries to recall them… Right. There was the G chord. C and D were marked too. His fingertips reach with difficulty until they overlap with the stickers for the C chord.

“What you playing?”

Megumi almost jumps out of his skin. His fingers slip across the strings and a sharp jumbled note emerges. His head snaps to the doorway as he presses a hand against the neck of the guitar tightly, forcefully cutting the sound short.

Gojo’s leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed.

“When did you come back?” Megumi says, placing the guitar down flat next to him on the bed. He starts shuffling off when Gojo waves for him to stay put. 

“Just now.” Gojo walks into the room and picks up the guitar to sit beside Megumi. 

He’s suddenly glad he wasn’t trying to play anything. Not that he could.

Recalling the question, Megumi clarifies, “I don’t know how to play much.” He’d learnt the basics in school, but not more than memorising the chords and some songs. 

Gojo places the guitar across his lap. His hands rest on the strings as he looks at the neck, finger pads resting loosely across the chords. In his hold, it looks more natural.

The neck of the guitar hovers in front of Megumi. The single bed isn’t that big and he’s close enough to see everything with an unobstructed view if he wants to. 

“You know how to play?” Megumi asks. 

It’s a strange question. They were in Gojo’s dorm room after all, and the guitar had been sitting in the far corner next to the desk. But still, the smell of fresh wood clung too closely to the shiny frame. The Jujutsu College living halls were the relatively newer of the buildings, but even they had a worn earthy scent from use and time.

Gojo’s head drops as he looks down at the strings. “A little.”

Megumi leans forward. Gojo warms up, strumming a string, then another. It sounds random, and part of Megumi is still skeptical that he can play at all. 

And then he strums a chord. A different one follows closely behind. His left hand shifts across the frets, fingers covering red stickers.

And slowly, a familiar tune emerges. 

Gojo doesn’t sing, but he hums under his breath. Megumi watches with unblinking eyes the focus in his furrowed brows and relaxed shoulders. The notes emerge softly, carrying only far enough for Megumi’s ears before being absorbed by the bedroom walls. The song is slower than usual and drawn out, like he’s figuring it out as he goes along, or remembering. But there’s an undeniable flow to it, a rhythm that doesn’t break. Megumi finds himself following along to Gojo’s low hum in his head.

Until a certain point. Gojo’s right hand draws away from the strings.

The last note fades away. 

The silence eats it so easily, and Megumi’s left wondering who the name in the uncompleted song could have once been. 

More than that though, Gojo played it so perfectly that Megumi wants to check if there’s calluses on the pads of his fingers because he’s so sure he hasn’t ever felt them before. 

He accuses, “You said you only played a little.” His tone comes out sharper than intended, but maybe it has something to do with the gentleness of what he’s just heard.

“That is a little.” Gojo sets the guitar down by the end of the bed. “I don’t know any other songs.”

Megumi pauses. He didn’t? “Then you should learn more.”

“Why? Does Megumi-kun think I’m good at it?” Gojo teases, and he leans back against the palms of his hands to watch Megumi easier.

“It's not that,” he says, although Megumi can’t admit it is partly that. He’s never been good at the guitar, but Gojo is. “There’s no point if you keep it in your room and don’t use it.” Plus, there weren’t many things in Gojo’s room to begin with that this, upon entering, naturally stood out. 

“You can take it if you want.” 

“No.” He didn’t want it and that wasn’t the point. 

Wait, what was Megumi's point? He wasn’t sure. 

Gojo says, “Maybe you can teach me then.”

Megumi shakes his head. “I can’t play.”

“You should learn.”

“…”

Was Gojo using his words against him now?

“Relax,” Gojo laughs, seeing his mood darken. “I just lost interest in playing. And I don’t have time to learn more anyway.”

It’s a waste, he thinks. 

“Then…” Megumi considers carefully. “Next time.”

Gojo raises a single eyebrow at the demand.

“The song,” he clarifies. It was October, which meant… “You can play it on your birthday.”

Gojo winces. “That’s a bit sad, even for me.” There’s a pause, and then he adds slyly, “But I can play it on yours—”

“Don’t,” Megumi warns. 

“But—”

Megumi quickly stands up and starts heading to the door. “Forget it. Tsumiki is waiting for us. We should go back.”

“If Megumi says so,” Gojo’s voice lilts amusingly. 

Megumi shoots a glare behind his shoulder but Gojo doesn’t catch it. He’s too busy returning the guitar to its original place by the side of the desk, like a careful keepsake. His finger tugs at a string one last time, and then he’s walking away. By the time the door closes behind them, the note has already died down. 

“I wonder if Nue can hold my weight.”

Sitting on the floor of the familiar training grounds, Megumi glances at Gojo. The other doesn’t look back though, watching Nue in front of him. 

He replies, “Nue doesn’t want to.”

Ignoring Megumi, Gojo raises Nue’s right wing and begins inspecting the plumage. Nue quips at him, questioning. When Gojo doesn’t respond however— too focused on running his fingertips over the primary feathers there with furrowed brows— Nue shifts its head. It grips the top of Gojo’s hair between its teeth. Gojo’s fingers halt immediately as his hair is tugged, and his head follows Nue as he’s pulled like a cat by the scruff of its neck.

“Ow. Nue, no,” Gojo reprimands.

Megumi watches Nue refuse to let go with a huff and another short tug. Gojo’s neck cranes further, almost bent 90 degrees now. Well, it was Gojo’s fault for underestimating Nue in the first place.

Gojo hisses from pain, but he can tell it’s fake. “Megumi, tell your pet bird to let go.”

Megumi frowns. “Don’t call Nue that.”

Gojo scoffs. “Me and Nue are friends. It doesn’t mind.” 

Nue lets go of Gojo’s hair. It clacks its teeth once and Gojo grins. When Nue brings its head closer to Gojo, he’s already reaching out, and Nue leans into his touch as Gojo strokes the sweet spot at the crown of his head. 

Nue coos. Megumi watches this with a dim sense of betrayal. 

“Nue,” he calls suddenly. 

“Nue’s not listening to you anymore,” Gojo says. And then he moves closer to the avian’s ear, all conspiratorial-like. His free hand moves to cover Nue’s yellow-ringed eyes and Megumi loses direct sight.

Megumi ignores the obvious bait and says again, “Nue.”

There’s a low pitched rumble like rolling thunder, and then Nue finally moves. Gojo’s arms drop down and he follows Nue’s movement with an annoying smile as it heads towards Megumi.

Megumi’s still sitting down, arms resting loosely on his lap. He has to look up when Nue finally reaches him, narrowed halo ring eyes staring back. Nue nudges the right side of his torso with its wing. When that yields no response, it clacks its teeth, tilting its head.

Megumi sighs quietly. First Gyokuken and Datto, now Nue. At least Gama and Orechi remained somewhat indifferent to Gojo.

He pushes himself up onto his feet, his muscles twinging in protest. Nue huddles in closer. 

“Needy,” Megumi murmurs.

Nue knocks its wing gently against his shoulder. 

Megumi scratches at the same spot Gojo had been stroking earlier. Nue’s eyes close. For a second, there’s nothing. Then there’s a low rumble, and there— a sense of satisfaction pools in his stomach, because Nue was telling him secretly that Megumi did this best. The corners of Megumi’s lips raise.

“Have you stopped sulking?” Gojo’s voice comes from nearby. Too close. 

“I wasn’t sulking.” Megumi glances at Gojo standing right behind him, expression returning to neutral.

“Sure,” Gojo says with an eyebrow starting to raise at Nue. But Nue still has its eyes closed, so Gojo turns back to Megumi. “You’re the one who taught me how to pet Nue the way it likes, you know.”

Megumi shrugs. “Nue can make friends if it wants.”

Nue’s eyes open slowly. It’s resting some of its weight against Megumi’s chest, so he feels more than hears the moment the low reverberations stop. It shifts its head to look directly at Megumi. Its pupils narrow. Megumi understands. 

“You’re gossiping about me again,” Gojo says suspiciously.

Megumi doesn’t look at Gojo when he replies, “No we’re not.”

“Then what’s Nue saying?”

Megumi points out the obvious. “Nue can’t speak.”

“…”

“Smart mouth,” Gojo mutters and Megumi feels a light flick at the nape of his neck. It’s not hard enough to hurt but he still rubs the spot with a frown.

Megumi has half a mind to continue like this for that alone but eventually he stops petting Nue. It splays its wings out, the feathers over its carpometacarpal brushing against Megumi’s forearm. It flaps them a few times and a light breeze brushes against his skin. Megumi cranes his neck to the sky above and squints. It’s cloudy, but with enough gaps between the white for the sun to filter through periodically.

Gojo copies his movement. They watch the sky for a moment.

“Nue’s strong enough,” Megumi states.

“Huh?” Gojo says mindlessly. 

Megumi returns to observing Nue. Its wings have started shifting restlessly, but it stops when it notices Megumi watching. It’s fine, Megumi tells it. Its claws curl against the ground.

He explains to Gojo, “Nue’s strong. It can hold your weight.” 

Gojo catches on.

Eyes glinting, he asks, “You sure? I don’t want to fall off midair.”

And it’s not a matter of falling but rather failing after having trained extensively earlier, so Megumi replies, “Do what you want.” He knows himself, and he knows Nue. Although…

“You can fly yourself if you’re so scared,” Megumi adds.

Because it’s not a matter of fear but… something else.

Gojo can fly. He’d seen it before. So he didn’t get what was so special about flying with Nue. 

“This is different,” Gojo insists, gesturing non-specifically in the air with his hand. 

Megumi thinks back to the first time he’d been carried by Nue. There was the stomach drop, the adrenaline, the breathlessness, yes, but also the wind and the weightlessness and the awe of an avian’s primal instinct awakened. As if sensing the same memory, Nue’s wings ruffle restlessly again. 

Megumi thinks he understands. He nods slowly and says simply, “It’s Nue.” 

Gojo smiles. 

Nue steps towards Gojo. Gojo extends his arms out for Nue to hold on to. It’s strange, but Nue looks smaller next to Gojo.

But still fierce.

And Megumi can recognise that mischievous spark in its eyes any day.

He doesn’t need to, but Megumi tells Nue in his head, high.  

“You’re talking again,” Gojo accuses as Nue begins to extend its wings. 

“Yes,” Megumi admits. 

Gojo’s head shifts between Nue and Megumi. Suspicious again, he says, “You told Nue to drop me, didn’t you.”

Megumi blinks blankly. “Hold tight,” he instructs.

Gojo opens his mouth to speak, “Well, scaring me like that isn’t going to work, Megumi. You should know I like—”

Nue launches off the ground suddenly with a screech, claws wrapping around Gojo’s forearms and wings flapping with a sharp gust of wind that drowns out his final words.

Gojo’s far away from the ground before he can even process it.

I thought you would, Megumi thinks. 

Megumi cranes his head further to follow the steep upwards incline that Nue’s decided to take. Up, up, up, faster and further. A perfect arc in the making. Orange and blue and a blur of purple.

And that’s when he senses it.

Slowly, slowly, he feels gentle waves lap onto the shore of his consciousness. It’s something that can only be described as… an overwhelming elation. He knows it’s not his own adrenaline in the mix either. So he loosens his shoulders and immerses in it, letting the warmth spread to his fingertips and toes, this divide of the shadow of his feet that has never really been a divide because if he just closes his eyes he knows he’d be able to feel it all too.

Megumi watches, and when they’re high enough that it's impossible to distinguish form and figure, he lets himself smile.

The sky is a blinding saturated blue, the sand is burning his feet, the wind seems out to get him in particular, and the expansive horizon of water sparkles so much it’s impossible not to squint against it. Megumi is miserable.

The other two are not. 

“Found another one!” Tsumiki calls.

“Yeah? Well I just found a better one!” Gojo shouts back, but even Megumi can see the concentration in the furrow of his brows. Judging by the rapid turns of his head, he’s still searching. Desperately.

Tsumiki knows it too. She starts walking towards him, curious. “Let’s see.” 

It’s unusual, but she calls the bluff so easily that Megumi’s eyes narrow even more than they already are. She’s competitive today.

Gojo turns away and hunches over defensively, hiding his hands from Tsumiki’s view. “No, no, that’d be cheating Tsumiki-chan.”

Other than stealing each other’s seashells, it’s impossible to cheat here, Megumi thinks dryly.

“Okay, I won’t,” she promises, and she backs off with a smile in her voice. “I’m done now anyway.”

Gojo studies his selection out of view from the two of them. He mutters something that’s lost to a gust of wind, and then drops a few shells onto the sand. After a few more moments, he proclaims, “I’m ready.”

Gojo makes his way back to Megumi with Tsumiki close behind. Megumi’s sitting underneath a large parasol and he watches them crouch as they join him under the shade. They arrange their prized treasures in a line on the sand, stealing glances at each other’s.

Megumi glances between the two displays of seashells. Five of the best each of them could find. He can feel the tension in the air while they wait for him to judge their selections.

It doesn’t take long before he decides.

“Tsumiki,” Megumi picks. 

Tsumiki beams. 

Gojo groans, rocking back onto the heels of his feet.

Tsumiki doesn’t relish her win, but she does give a consolatory pat on Gojo’s shoulder. It only works because she’s so earnest about it. “I liked your ones better,” she tells Gojo, and even that is so honest that Gojo’s frown eases. 

“You win,” he sighs. “Take them.”

“Are you sure? You worked hard to find them.” 

“They’re seashells,” Gojo shrugs. Megumi can tell he’s already lost interest in them.

So Tsumiki does. She picks up Gojo’s seashells and adds them to her own pile— except she does it slowly, examining each one like they weren’t just seashells found on any beach. 

Gojo leans towards Megumi, close enough that he can feel heat radiating off his skin. He whispers, “You were always going to let her win.”

“She had a blue seashell,” Megumi points out. He wasn’t biased. Not today.

“I had a conch shell,” Gojo hisses back.

He doesn’t bother to respond. Gojo had always been a sore loser, but saying that would probably get Megumi in more trouble than he’s willing to deal with right now.

Megumi watches Tsumiki as she picks up the conch shell. She holds it up to her right ear and covers the other, and leans her head into it. Her eyes close, and Megumi would believe her if she said she’s listening to the sound of the sea from it, even if it wasn’t a short walk away from them. He wonders if he’d be able to hear it too. He should try, back at home, with enough distance to see for himself if the sea really follows him back.

For now, he has bigger worries. 

Megumi feels hot. The shade and wind isn’t enough to get rid of the sickening clinginginess of heat on his skin. He can only sit, minimising movements. But even that doesn’t help when the very air was humid so close to the water. He eyes the sea with hooded eyelids.

The waves are gentle entering the shore. 

“The water.” Gojo says suddenly. 

“No,” Megumi cuts down the thought. He hadn’t meant to be caught. 

But then again, he is looking at the waves. It’s… satisfying, the way the tide flows and ebbs. He can’t draw his gaze away. 

Gojo nudges his shoulder. “What’s the point of going to the beach if you won’t go in the water? Come on Megumi.”

“Go yourself.” Megumi draws in a slow breath. He swears he can taste salt in the air.

“What if I drown?” 

“Then drown.”

“Cold, Megumi-kun,” Gojo shakes his head— and how does he still have so much energy after moving around so much? “Speaking of cold, the water’s bound to be cooler than sitting here.”

Maybe, but Megumi doesn’t want the feeling of a wet t-shirt sticking to his back as it slowly dries in the heat for the next hour. He’d forgotten to pack a spare top. Purposely.

“The sea?” Tsumiki’s eyes crack open and she looks over her shoulder to the waves lapping the shore. Megumi already knows what she’s going to say next.

“I’ll keep an eye on our stuff. The two of you should go cool off.” She starts collecting the rest of the seashells in her sunhat, a makeshift bucket to carry home. 

“You should go—” Megumi starts.

“The sea,” Tsumiki says gently, and it’s the same way she talks about the stars and looks at the seashells and Megumi is always destined to lose to this, isn’t he?

Megumi exhales quietly. 

Then he gets up. He takes off his flip-flops and places them neatly on the side. With a short moment of mental preparation, he exits the shade of the parasol.

He’s already half-way to the water when Gojo catches up to him. Even so, it’s Gojo who wades into the water first with no hesitation. 

It’s not that Megumi’s wary, but he walks in more slowly.

He stops when the water reaches his ankles. It’s cool. The sensation of the wet sand against the soles of his feet is strange. Course and a little bit slippery. Unsteady too. The water is gentle coming in, but he’s surprised by the pull of it as it leaves. He ends up taking a few steps forward to keep his balance and by the time the next wave comes in, it’s reached his calves. He looks up instinctively for the next tide.

And sees Gojo swimming further in. He’s shoulder-deep when he stops.

This much is enough for Megumi though. He looks behind him, squinting against the sun to see…

From the shore, Tsumiki waves. Even at this distance, it’s impossible to miss her smile… and the camera she’s holding up. 

“Megumi!”

He instinctively turns towards the voice. 

Gojo gestures to come closer to where he is. Megumi doesn’t. 

He watches instead as a wave approaching crashes over Gojo and he disappears underneath it. 

When it reaches him, Megumi curls his feet into the sand and manages to stay in place. A short distance away, a white mop of hair breaks through the water and Gojo laughs. Megumi can’t see what’s funny about nearly being drowned. 

“Megumi!” Gojo calls again, except he’s walking to him now, back towards the shore. It doesn’t take long to reach him when the waves are helping. Megumi’s met with blue eyes, reflecting the sky and the sea and blending so effortlessly it’s hard to tell where one stops and the other begins. 

“Scared?” Gojo asks once he’s standing close enough to be heard over the sea.

“No,” he responds.

“You know how to swim.”

“That’s not it.”

“Then…” 

“I’m fine here.”

Gojo hums. As the wave leaves, the sea pulls him in a bit.

Megumi leans down. He brushes his hand through the water and tries to look through it, but there’s nothing except sand. He holds his fingers there and watches them distort, depth an illusion that breaks when he brings—

A splash of water hits his back. 

Megumi gasps and snaps his head up. Gojo is still standing in the same spot with an innocent expression. His hands move, scooping up water in his palm slowly enough that it’s a warning this time.

Megumi says fiercely, “Don’t.” 

He steps back in an attempt to get away, but with the water sloshing against his ankles and the current working against him he moves far slower than he wants to.

Gojo doesn’t hesitate. 

He throws the water towards him. Megumi tries to cover his head with his arms. 

It’s no use. This time, the water hits his head and soaks into his shirt. Water trickles down his face.

Megumi stops thinking.

He slaps the water back towards his target. Gojo raises his arms but is too slow— the water hits his face directly. He shakes his head like a wet dog with a short laugh, and his hair is down in his eyes and sticking to his skin. 

You could have dodged that.

“Megumi-kun…” 

Megumi’s eyes widen. Not good.

He tries to turn around but he’s not quick enough—

A tug on the back of his t-shirt and he’s lifted off his feet. “No—” he squirms.

He’s never quick enough.

“Let me go!”

But Gojo quickly sits Megumi on his shoulders. Megumi instinctively wraps his arms tightly around Gojo’s neck to stop himself from falling. Before he can even try to fight back, the other is already moving.

“Hey—”

Gojo wades deeper into the sea. “Hold tight.”

He does.

The water laps against Megumi’s calves and now there’s an expanse of sea all around him rather than just in front of him and Megumi’s holding his breath, arms locked around Gojo’s neck. 

“Not so bad, right?”

“Let me down,” Megumi manages to say through the tightness in his chest. He’s staring a hole into the back of Gojo’s neck, a focal point. 

“What, here?”

“No,” he hisses. “Let’s go back, before...”

And then Megumi cranes his neck to look ahead. 

It’s a mistake.

There's a wave coming. Taller than Gojo, taller than Megumi sitting on Gojo’s shoulders. Close, too close—

Gojo sees it too. “Oh,” he says, except it sounds only a bit like he’s underestimated things and mostly like he’s appreciating the size of the death wave rapidly approaching them.

Megumi begins to struggle again, kicking Gojo’s chest accidentally. He shouts, “Wait—”

It’s too late.

The wave crashes over them and Megumi’s already squeezing his eyes closed and holding his breath—

He feels a tap against the back of his hand. The force of the water is going to push them away from each other. He quickly grabs Gojo’s hand before it can slip away too far to find. 

But the crushing pressure he’s expecting doesn’t come.

There’s a roar of something above him, a heavy blanket. It’s cold, but not the cold of water against his skin, more the absence of it. He feels a gentle squeeze from the hand he’s holding. 

He opens his eyes in confusion and—

The sea. The sea covers his vision in all directions.

But the water doesn’t touch him. He’s in a cocoon of air, like a second layer of skin. The distance is so infinitesimal that he’s still holding his breath tightly, holding the hand unconsciously even tighter. Completely submerged.

Everything is a muted rush of crashing water. Megumi gasps and oxygen rushes into his lungs and his chest still hurts, just in a different way. He doesn’t dare move.

It’s so blue. Foam breaks into smaller bubbles into shifting rays of light filtering through distorted waters. It didn’t look anything like this when he tried to gaze through it earlier.

It only lasts a moment but it commits to Megumi’s memory so faithfully that time doesn’t matter. 

The wave passes over them and they break through the surface.

Somehow, he’s still sitting on Gojo’s shoulders.

Gojo’s drenched. Megumi isn’t, thanks to Infinity. 

Megumi can’t help it. 

He laughs in disbelief, a small escape of sound that’s lost somewhere in between the wind and the sun and the sea. Gojo turns his head trying to chase it, knowing that he’ll lose it to nature but not to his memory. An instinct, as familiar as it is new.

Gojo doesn’t try his luck twice, though for a heartbeat Megumi thinks it’d be in his favour to do so. He swims back to the shore and lets Megumi down once they’re back on the sand. 

Megumi’s t-shirt sticks to him in patches but his hair… is definitely the wetter problem.

When they return to Tsumiki, she’s already got the towels out. 

Her eyes dart between the two. “You both look the same with your hair down like that,” Tsumiki notes. 

Gojo grins. There’s something in it that makes Megumi's rebuttal die in his throat.  

Tsumiki makes Megumi sit down and towels his hair despite his protests. She swats away his hand when he tries to take over, so he gives up and sits still. 

After she’s done, she gets the other towel from the bag. Megumi gets up. He takes it from her hands before she can stop him. On his way to Gojo, he also picks up the sunglasses safely placed inside their case and tucked inside the bag with spare clothes. 

He’s sitting on the edge of the picnic blanket wringing water out of his shirt when Megumi drops the towel on his head. 

Gojo stops and raises his head. The towel slips off. Megumi catches it before it falls and is met with the same unyielding blue stare. He hands the sunglasses back first and waits for Gojo to put them on before placing the towel on his hair again. This time, Gojo doesn’t move his head. He goes back to wringing out his shirt.

Megumi sighs. 

And then he starts towelling Gojo’s hair. 

Gojo stills. Good. It’s easier if he doesn’t move around too much. At least Megumi’s tall enough now that he doesn’t have to reach up when Gojo’s sitting down. It probably won’t last though, he thinks absentmindedly— Gojo was still, somehow, growing. 

His eyebrows furrow as he tries to dry the other’s hair systematically. The crown of his head, near his ears, across his scalp…  

“Hey, Megumi?” Gojo starts. Megumi moves the towel to the hair near his nape. “Ow, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, okay? I won’t try something like that again so don’t be so harsh…” Gojo winces.

Megumi immediately slows down and frowns out of view of Gojo. He thought he was being gentle. Trying again, he eases his hold on the towel and thinks of how Tsumiki does it. Now that he thinks about it, the way she did it felt more like a massage… he moves the towel in small circular motions like he remembers her doing. In the end, Gojo’s head lulls around as Megumi works. 

He moves away when he’s done and checks, brushing his fingertips through the strands. Better. It wasn’t soaking wet like before. In fact, the strands looked finer like this… softer too. It reminds him of Shiro’s fur. Megumi absentmindedly combs his fingers through the drooping white again.

He only realises what he’s doing after Gojo cranes his neck to look up at Megumi curiously. He’s met with his own curious expression reflecting back at him from the sunglasses.

Megumi hears the sound of a shutter. 

His hand drops. When Megumi snaps his head to Tsumiki, the camera is pointed at the sea. Another shutter sound. Her face is carefully blank as she squints into the lens. 

They’re as bad as each other, Megumi thinks. 

Tsumiki’s still acting focused on the camera.

Megumi stares at her, unfiltered. It must work because as she ‘waits’ for the picture to come through on the camera screen, she says way too brightly, “Oh, I just remembered. We should eat the ice cream before it melts.”

She safely places the camera into her bag. Then she goes to the cooler box to take out the ice cream they’d bought earlier. Megumi lets his stare drop off and settles on the spot next to Gojo. 

Tsumiki joins them and hands the ice cream out. Tsumiki takes her chocolate cone, Gojo settles with his simple vanilla stick and Megumi takes the strawberry milk lolly.

The temperature has already begun to cool. He spots wispy orange-pink of the clouds in the far distance. The sea has begun to ebb back, receding so that their spot on the beach was further away but still close enough that if one closed their eyes— as Megumi briefly does— the sea feels as close enough to touch as when he was underwater. 

Or maybe he’s still feeling the after effects of it all. 

They watch the sunset eating ice cream, with the gentle lapping of water and hair swaying in the dying wind. 

Megumi finds he doesn’t mind the sea as much.

13 YEARS OLD 

It’s strange. 

Megumi has never had any particular affection towards animals, but hands combing through Nue’s wings, straightening the feathers here and there, he thinks he does hold space for these ten shadows of his. Megumi's idea of love has always been contained, not boundless like Tsumiki’s. But he thinks this must be close to it, the careful boundary he draws, this steadfast weight in his heart. 

Under his fingertips, something catches. Nue skitters away when Megumi pulls the matted feather out. He reassures it with a light touch on his head in apology, and Nue settles back into his touch again. 

Megumi dislikes Jujutsu. But he doesn’t hate this. He can’t bring himself to— he knows because he’s tried already.

It's stranger still, having something to now be responsible for. The shikigami’s lives are not bound to only him but their deaths are. If Megumi is careless, they’ll truly slip into the shadows and never return to him. 

It’s terrifying.

He felt it, back when he had to consider using Datto as a shield against Nue’s lightning strike. It’s taken him a while to figure out that what he’d felt was fear.

He wonders if they would prefer it, eternal sleep rather than a creeping death. Returning to where they came from. Waiting for the next holder of the technique.

Nue senses his train of thought and cranes its neck to gently nip at Megumi’s fingers. He blinks, and smooths down the feathers on Nue’s head. The pads of his fingers glide along the path of its skull. It turns back at the ministration and Megumi’s fingers return to where they were before, systematically combing through the layers of orange for places he may have missed.

He forgets how easily they can read his emotions as much as his intentions without any words. 

So he thinks a bit quieter and keeps his hands steady.

He wonders if the shikigami feel constrained by him. He knows he’s not using them to their full potential, but Megumi isn’t keen on using them as weapons. Megumi has tamed five out of the ten shikigami, and they’re the tamest they’ve ever been. Is it kindness to let them live like this or cruelty? He wonders if the previous users would be disgusted at his actions, if they were looking down on him now, if they were disappointed that it fell into his hands. There’s probably decades of undoing in the short time he’s had them but Megumi doesn’t care.

A blessing, a curse and something in between. 

Megumi has Tsumiki, he has Gojo and since some quiet point in time, he has his shikigami too. 

14 YEARS OLD

When Tsumiki is cursed, Gojo takes care of the cost of the hospital and the paperwork.

The house becomes quieter. Too quiet. Gojo starts visiting more often, and if he notices the shikigami’s near constant presence when he does, he doesn’t point it out.

“Teach me,” Megumi says to Gojo one evening, watching the teru teru bōzu watch the rain outside. 

Gojo’s silent for a moment. Then he says, “Next year.”

A suggestion. 

His final year at Saitama Urami East Junior High has already started. He just needed to finish it.

“Okay,” he says.

Peace is something fought for, not had. Megumi has been craving it all along without being aware and now that he’s had a taste, he’s willing to let go if it means the one person deserving of it the most could have it unconditionally. If one had to deal with the shadows, Megumi would gladly take this particular burden a hundred times over.

He doesn’t want to rely on Jujutsu like this but he knows it’s his only chance in trying to save her. It’s not justice he’s after. Tsumiki deserves far more than that from him.

15 YEARS OLD

When Shiro is torn apart by a curse, Megumi’s reminded of what it means to lose something by his own hands.

“Shiro.”

He waits. And waits. He studies his hand sign, the position, the angle, the curvature of each individual finger. He finds no fault. It’s— through Megumi’s own diligent practice and ingrained instinct over the years— flawless.

Shiro doesn’t appear. But he can feel its counterpart, waiting. 

“Kuro,” he calls, even as he doesn’t really need to.

Kuro climbs out of his shadow slower than usual. Megumi assesses it, the more werewolf-like build, its larger claws and most notably, the mixed black and white fur. It’s the first time seeing it like… this.

“You’ve changed,” Megumi murmurs. His voice sounds strange.

A low bark. One step forward and it’s already reached where Megumi’s sat on the floor. It pushes his head towards him as if trying to prove something, but its new size is entirely unfamiliar to Megumi. 

There’s a sense of dissonance that he can’t shake off.

The new symbol on Kuro’s head is the final driving point. Megumi traces the two separated paths against the wooden floorboards by his feet— three circles in a T-shape and inverted across an invisible mirror line. 

Unfamiliar.

Shiro is gone, its cursed energy absorbed into its partner. Megumi can feel it, the increase in strength in the one left behind. What remained now needed to be learnt anew. 

Once upon a time, Gyokuken had been strangers too. Megumi could do it again. 

He considers it, one step at a time.

First. With the two shikigami combined, it’s only fitting that Kuro would now be…

“Kon,” Megumi tries. 

It’s better, strangely. Different. 

A low growl rumbles in the room, something that seems to pass through his very bones like a roll of thunder. Megumi’s brows furrow. Did it not like the name?

“Kuro,” Megumi reverts.

Another low growl. But Megumi senses no anger or hostility towards either name. He tries to read its expression to no avail.

The dog huffs and takes a minute step towards Megumi, closing whatever little gap there is with ease. It curls its body in a tight circle like it’s trying to minimise the space it’s taking up.

Then the dog lays its head on his lap heavily. It’s noticeably bigger like this, almost too big for Megumi to support it comfortably. Still, his arms try to wrap around the neck like he’s used to doing, a natural resting point, except he barely manages to. Megumi watches the border between black and white fur absentmindedly on the neck. It nudges its head gently against Megumi’s chest and—

Oh.

Megumi’s hand moves instinctively and he scratches the back of the dog’s ear, soft fur brushing against his fingertips. A deep rumble, content, vibrates through his chest. 

The misunderstanding falls apart. 

Different, but the same. A change in appearance and strength, yes, but not in anything else.

“Kon,” he says finally, and there’s no growl this time. 

He exhales. They stay like that.

After a while, inevitably, tirelessly, Megumi’s thoughts wander to the if.

If he’d been faster, if he’d told Shiro to retreat into his shadow in time, if he’d known his losing battles better. He’s owned Shiro for nearly nine years, his first half of a shikigami pair, the longest to stay and quickest to lose. 

He needs to train harder, because what Megumi hated more than a mistake, was a mistake repeated. It was far too close to taking things for granted, irresponsibility and ignorance all rolled into something unforgivable. A sin.

Kuro whines lowly, and Megumi rubs concentric circles into its forehead symbol, soothing.

There’s a space missing in his shadow. He can’t explain what it feels like to anyone else but it’s there, a void. It’s different to grieving because somewhere along the way, against his logical judgment, their presence had become an unyielding truth and he’d become so sure that they were his to keep and his to stay. 

Megumi presses his fingers into his left hand's joints until they turn white. He thinks the ache of his seventh birthday would be better than this hollowness carving into his bones. 

He’s told it’ll get easier with time, but he doesn’t think it should. 

When Orechi is killed, he finds out for himself that it doesn’t get any easier. 

When he makes it back to the dorm after finishing his report on the mission, Megumi crawls into bed.

He doesn’t bother trying to summon Orechi. He knows nothing will happen, but when the silence of the room finally descends around him, it’s worse than he expects. 

The truth is, Megumi knows.

He can tell even without the hollowness. It’s a different loss than Shiro had been. The shikigami is unaccounted for. There’s no merging this time. The one caveat to saving them doesn’t exist here.

Orechi is gone.

Even the notebook doesn’t tell him why. He read the page on Orechi only once before closing it, having known beforehand that the answer he was hoping for wouldn’t be in it.  

Outside, the summer sun has yet to set. He tries not to think of the shikigami that would have liked to coil up and have a short nap under it.

Megumi isn’t six anymore. 

He is tired though. 

He sleeps. 

(The other death on his mind that day buries deeper)

“Ready?”

Megumi nods, and Gojo steps back.

The notebook shows that Bansho is unpredictable. Loyal to its previous owner, excessively so.

Despite that, Gojo didn’t really need to be here anymore. He still insisted on it though when he realised what Megumi had planned, just before the Kyoto Goodwill Event in a few weeks time.

Megumi’s hands do not shake. He concentrates on his cursed energy output, settling the flow to a still lake, and lets the name echo across it with the call.

“Bansho.”

Megumi feels like he’s being pulled in, but he resists. From the shadow of the nearby willow tree, it emerges slowly.

Gojo watches the elephant. Large, already twice the height of Megumi, its tusks extending out like spears.

The effect of the summon is evident immediately. Megumi’s brows are furrowed, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. His breathing is quicker too, a fatigue from burning through too much cursed energy at once. Gojo wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d passed out, but watching the tiny fluctuations in the cursed energy that remains…

He knows Megumi is far more special than the three families could ever dare to imagine. Talent, untainted and unconstrained by unnecessary principles. He won't let anyone near that youthfulness. 

Bansho shows weariness to its new master. Its feet shake the ground when it stomps once. Megumi’s meant to summon Kon, but he knows he’s close to reaching his reserves. It won’t work. He would have to do it without the others. 

Megumi simply walks forward, cautious but unafraid. 

The shikigami walks backwards, its trunk raising to attack—

A forceful gush of water sprays towards Megumi. But Megumi’s already moving, having anticipated it, rolling over to the side. He manages to avoid most of it, but his shoes and back of his shirt are wet. Maybe it’s because he’s so focused, but the water doesn't bother him. Megumi gets up and starts running. Bansho gets ready to attack again, head turning towards him.

But Megumi’s already reached close enough. 

Megumi touches the elephant’s side, hand so much smaller against it, and gazes right into Bansho’s eyes.

Bansho submits easily. 

Its ears flatten, and it kneels on its front knees, making it easier for Megumi to skim over the symbol on its head with a light touch. Bansho’s ears twitch before it brings its trunk to Megumi’s side. Megumi leans against it, letting Bansho take part of his weight as his eyes flutter briefly from exhaustion.

Bansho was loyal to its previous owner, but not because of any special reason. It just took a particular liking to its master.

Watching from a distance, Gojo loosens the dig of his fingers against his folded arms. 

That makes six out of the nine shikigami tamed.

The first and last time Megumi summons Mahoraga, he’s already accepted his death. 

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his regrets. 

His first regret is leaving Itadori behind in Shibuya, and with it, their promise. 

Sorry, Itadori. 

His second is that he’s broken the promise he made to Gojo. His only reprieve is that Gojo isn't here to witness this. 

His only comfort is that at least there’s people left behind that he trusts to look after Tsumiki.

Behind him, something emerges from a cocoon. He hadn’t realised the full weight of this particular shikigami slumbering in his shadow until now.

His arms drop to his side, and he’s grinning with a lucid madness, abdomen throbbing from the stab wound and his fingertips tingling from a cold warmth and

Not that one, Megumi.

His third regret is that he won’t be able to say this particular apology directly. 

The force of a truck hits Megumi and he loses everything in a mere second—

—time Mahoraga is summoned, it’s not Megumi doing it. 

The water pressing on all sides is a different weight, an icy cold that seeps into his skin. It warps his perception, slow and unforgiving. If his shadows were dense, the water he’s drowning in is truly depthless. It’s everything he once feared it would be, but even the fear has numbed with time.

Above him, a wheel spins, non-existent currents and a muted thud as it finishes rotating that reverberates in his bones.

He doesn’t have the energy to watch the fight happening on the surface of this endless sea. Most of the time, his eyes remain closed, ignorance and all the sins he once tried so hard not to repeat. 

But Megumi’s always been weak to his shikigami, and so when his body calls for them, his soul is momentarily drawn closer to the surface too.

He watches his shikigami, more ruthless and efficient under a different reign, some new and some old, and knows he's lost them all too.

Megumi doesn't need to hold his breath here, but he does anyway. It’s instinctual, though he's not sure why. 

He wonders if his shikigami remember his touch.

He struggles to remember theirs. 

But through a minute break in the haziness, a warmth from a hug too far away to feel and impossible to return, the ghost sensation of fingers slipping into his hair, he finds himself counting on his numb fingers. A final farewell.

Gama. Bansho. Orechi. Datto. Nue. 

Kuro. 

Shiro.

Then he continues to drown.

Megumi chooses his losing battles, but this time he doesn’t even have a choice.

He has no desire to.

The wheel turns again.

The warped sound reaches over the dull roar of a still ocean.

On the surface, Mahoraga has long since submitted. 

Megumi has too.

16 YEARS OLD

He’s one year older when he's brought back. 

Megumi stares at a white ceiling. There’s a light blanket on top of him. It’s silent. For several moments after, he wonders why he’s confused it for something else entirely.

He’s alone. It’s a different type of loneliness than what he’s become used to though. Less heavy. That’s how he knows.

He’s alive.

He dwells on it only for a minute. Or maybe two. He’s not sure. Time feels difficult to judge.

And so he gets up to search for the others.

When he does, they fill him in on what’s happened. Megumi listens carefully. Some of it he already knows. They’re pieces of information that had filtered through stagnant waters, the ripples of ‘his’ actions. There’s a heaviness that lingers from it.

For a few weeks after, he’s stuck in a feeling of stasis. Sometimes he finds himself spacing out, echoes of things across the short period he’d been… sealed. Ieiri says it’s normal. Or as normal as is expected from his situation. 

But today.

A winter solstice from a lifetime gone by returns. An ache, persisting. It spreads its roots into his wrists. He knows this feeling well.

And what is Megumi if not blessed with enough time to now sink into those shorter hours once again. 

The weight of his shadow is heavier than he ever remembers. He lets it passively pull him down, these ten shadows, and then some.

Megumi was six when he met Gojo. 

He’s sixteen when he killed him. 

He’s lost Tsumiki and Gojo, and far more too.

A decade to lose. Infinity wouldn’t be enough to bear the weight of his sins, but he drags himself out of that pit anyway. 

There’s one thing that still remains. Something he hasn’t yet tried, even though it’s been long enough to. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t know why. 

In front of him, a wall. At his feet, his shadow. He raises his hands, slotting them into each other with the surety of far too much experience, and observes the resulting shadow puppet.

“Kon.” It’s barely a whisper in the space.

His hands are already moving, fingers curling in expectation of soft fur. 

There’s a tightness in his chest, and then his eyes meet with a pair in his stretched silhouette. 

It’s familiar. He exhales.

Kon trods over and immediately drops down. It curls up against his stomach. Megumi leans into the solid weight, using it to rest. He doesn’t know why he feels it acutely, the slow sap of his energy from something that was once instinctual. His body grows heavier. 

Sometimes, the imprint of the weight of water on his soul ebbs like a tide itself. It draws him in, except the shore has never been so well-defined. And so Megumi curls his toes into sand and waits for the waves to pass. He’s learnt how to do that. Kon takes his full weight like it's second nature. A low whine rumbles against his ribcage. 

Outside, the laundry he put out earlier dries in the sun, and he watches it sway in the breeze. The sun catcher casts the corner of the kitchen in shards of colour, the teru teru bōzu sway and turn slowly. Later, the chicken soup that’s slow cooking on the stove will be shared on the dinner table with four seats.

Home, he tries. 

And so he begins again, relearning and remembering, and Megumi will live.