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Yuuji takes a deep breath and makes his way through the old graveyard, filled with cracked, weathering stones and a silence that has permanently settled in the air. It’s a plain sort of place.
Nothing really stands out about it. It’s not like the Gojo clan’s graveyard, with its private offerings, towering columns, and continuous caretaking staff.
No, this is rather simple.
Common, even.
Megumi never wanted Tsumiki’s grave to be on Zen’in soil, and despite Yuuta’s insistence that she could be buried on the Gojos’, that never felt right to him either. The only other option was a nice burial space in a graveyard near where Megumi and Tsumiki first met and lived together.
And where Tsumiki is, Megumi’s there, too.
There’s a strange feeling that creeps its way up Yuuji’s throat as he gets closer and closer to the Fushiguro grave. It’s a mix of guilt, regret, and longing. It’s heavy on his tongue, even as he tries to swallow it down, and the flowers in his hands almost bend from how hard he’s clenching the stems.
He never felt like he had the right thing to say—not at the funeral, not to Maki or to Nobara, and, fuck it, he never knew what to say to Megumi either.
Yuuji walks through the cemetery thinking about all of the memories that were buried with each person’s ashes, and he finds his own starting to resurface the closer he gets. A flash of embarrassment hits him square in the chest when he briefly catches his reflection on the side of a well-polished grave, and he’s suddenly confronted with the fact that he really hasn’t changed.
Mentally, physically, emotionally—he might as well start checking off boxes.
The sadness that washes over him when he finally reads Fushiguro carved onto a gravestone is something he still hasn’t been able to get used to. The ghost of something once special has been haunting him ever since Nobara called him and told him of the news. It lingers around him, following him like a dark cloud, and sits heavy on his chest when he lies down at night.
Nothing he does makes it better. No photo he looks at eases his pain.
It only takes a few more strides before he’s face to face with the stark reminder that no amount of pretending eases a broken heart.
“Megumi,” Yuuji manages, stopping in his tracks.
And there he is. There it is.
Right next to Tsumiki’s grave is the grave of Yuuji’s best friend.
And the person he loves most.
Yuuji gently places the flowers down on the smooth black stone and sighs. Next, he lights a stick of incense and watches as the smoke curls and dissipates into the air. It vaguely reminds him of the Ten Shadows technique—just for a split second. The way the smoke snakes around him is reminiscent of the way Megumi’s shadows would slowly grow and distort.
He smiles to himself in a bout of musing.
The sky is overcast and dark, despite it being midafternoon. Yuuji sits alone at the grave and talks absentmindedly about things that have happened since the funeral—personnel changes with the higher ups, new laws proposed for sorcerers, and the state of Japan with everything going on back in Tokyo.
Yuuji continues to ramble, both to soothe himself and to fill the silence.
As long as he keeps talking, then it doesn’t have to be real. He can pretend that he’s having a normal conversation with Megumi—who never really had much to reply with anyway and always listened to whatever random train of thought happened to pass through Yuuji’s mind—and maybe this visit doesn’t have to hurt so bad.
Then he catches a glimpse of the date on the stone, and the words stop in his throat.
One year.
Has it been a year already?
Suddenly, the spell is broken. Tears start to well, despite Yuuji’s stubborn insistence that he wouldn’t cry, and everything hits him all at once. With every shaky attempt to slow his breathing, more and more memories begin to flood his mind.
Suddenly, Yuuji is fifteen again, and he’s meeting Megumi for the first time; then he’s sixteen, feeling his heart swell the way that it did when he realized that he was in love with his best friend; twenty hits him hard in the chest, along with the memories of every late night spent in Tokyo, trying desperately to control the horde of curses that ravaged the city; and then he’s twenty five, and all he’s ever been since then is twenty five.
That day was a nightmare.
There was an inexplicable, perpetual feeling of something being off. No matter what he did, no matter who he spoke to, nothing made sense, and that discomfort only continued to grow.
It was just wrong.
Yuuji was wrong, and despite trying his best to ignore it, he had finally had enough and went to Ieiri.
It took a while to figure out what exactly was happening. It’s not every day that someone discovers their body simply doesn’t age. Yuuji didn’t want to believe it at first. He thought that if he could have just stayed ignorant to it, then it wouldn’t have happened.
Such a childish, stupid way of thinking.
And all of those late nights spent in a shared dorm, all of those whispered promises spoken under a star-filled sky, and every stolen, longing glance that could have ever meant something suddenly…
Stopped.
Yuuji sighs and stares at the gravestone, hating the way his chest pulls, like he wants nothing more than to join the person it represents.
“I’ve considered it before, you know,” he admits, his voice barely a murmur, too ashamed to say it any louder. “The more people keep dying, the more I think about it. I don’t want to watch everyone I’ve ever loved leave.”
But he knows he can’t go through with something like that. He can’t do it. Not to Nobara. Not when he’s needed. Not when everything is still so complicated.
So, instead, he just wishes that it could have been different. He wishes he didn’t have to be who he was, just so his life could have been somewhat normal. Yuuji doesn’t regret the path he chose, and he doesn’t regret what he had to do in order to save Megumi—to save the world—but he does regret the sadness on Megumi’s and Nobara’s faces when he and Ieiri figured out what was happening to him.
And he regrets that he never had anything more than what he had.
Someone like Yuuji doesn’t have the luxury of being selfish, but that doesn’t mean he can’t let himself want. There were too many near misses. Too many almost there’s.
If Yuuji was just a little bit greedier, then he could have had so much more. It would have been painful. It would have been overdesirous. Hell, it would have even been cruel.
But, maybe, at the very least, he and Megumi would have had each other.
“I’m sorry,” he says to the stone.
Nothing but wind meets him in the quiet.
“I love you,” he confesses.
Saying it hurts worse than thinking it.
He never would have guessed that the first time would be like this.
After all this time, all these years, all those decades, of course, it’s now when Yuuji has the guts to spill his heart out. When his lover is nothing more than a memory that’s been cremated, packaged, and buried—represented by a cold, polished stone.
He takes a shaky breath and closes his eyes.
The sadness that consumes him singes its way across his skin line fire, and if he lets himself pretend, then he can almost imagine that this is own funeral, his own cremation, his own death, and it will only be a matter of time before he’s able to join Megumi again.
Then he opens his eyes, and the illusion is gone.
All that he’s left with is this dense, overpowering feeling of want deep in his heart. All he knows are the selfish, consuming thoughts that plague his mind. Every unsent text, every kiss that never was, every moment of longing and love and the feeling of teetering on the edge of a very fine line builds until Yuuji can’t breathe anymore.
The tears have started to spill, reality sinks in, and all he knows is that he wants him here. He misses Megumi. He wants Megumi. He’s only ever wanted Megumi, but neither of them could ever be so cruel as to admit that.
Admitting it makes it real. It makes their situation real. It makes them face the reality that—no matter how much they want it—they could never have it. Not with the curses and the diplomacy and the mess of the clans. Not with Yuuji’s body and the prospect of growing old without each other and the sadness that has to follow Megumi’s eventual death.
But this is almost worse.
That question of “what if” will linger in the back of Yuuji’s mind for the rest of his very long life, and he’ll never get that answer. He’ll never know that satisfaction. The touch of Megumi’s skin beneath his fingers, the press of his lips, the sound of his soft, content sighs.
Yuuji has never known it, and he never will.
“I’ve loved you for so long,” he admits. Saying it again doesn’t make it sting any less. “I wish that you were still here. I wish that I wasn’t… like this. I wish—”
His voice catches in his throat, and a broken sob chokes its way out of his mouth.
“I should have done something.”
At this point, he’s just babbling. An endless string of empty promises that can never be fulfilled.
“I should have said something. I shouldn’t have let you get away. You shouldn’t have gone your entire life thinking I didn’t love you.”
There’s a buzz in the air that Yuuji chalks up to high emotions. There’s a droning in his head that won’t stop, and neither does the feeling of loneliness that’s taken ahold of his heart.
“I was too scared to mess up what we had,” he says. “I was content with just being your friend. Just knowing you was enough…”
Yuuji swallows.
“It was…”
His pulse thunders in his ears, tears sting his eyes, and the silence continues to grow until it becomes overwhelming, and it’s so loud.
“I just want you here with me. I miss you.”
Clenching his fists, he sobs again.
Teeth gritted, brows furrowed, body tense, he whispers, “I’ll do anything… Please...”
Dark hair, green eyes, slender hands, a smooth voice—everything Megumi floods his mind. It fills his heart, pouring out of him, reaching and stretching and wanting. Yuuji’s selfishness makes itself tangible through the pain in his chest.
“I love you, Megumi.”
The shadows beneath Yuuji start to stretch as his vision darkens. Guilt mixes with regret that mixes with greed that surges within him and blackens his sadness. There’s a burst of energy, a cool, icy feeling on the back of his neck, and the sound of thrumming that grows from within the ground.
“I love you, too, Yuuji.”
The voice is warped, broken, and yet so… so familiar.
Rich and dark, it melts in Yuuji’s ears like chocolate over a soft flame. Despite the hollowness of its tone, it’s still somehow comforting to hear—that old, unmistakable timbre. There’s a connection in the chaos that brings him peace.
Stubborn bastard.
A pair of cold hands settle on his shoulders.