Chapter Text
The higher-ups made it sound like an honor.
“It is my pleasure to formally announce that we are in possession of every piece of our God, Sukuna. Our immediate next step is to find a vessel to bring our God back, so we may worship him once again as a physical presence in our great village. The vessel will consume Sukuna’s fingers over a safe period of time in a controlled and monitored environment, until Sukuna has taken over their body. At that point, we will be able serve his greatness again. . . .”
The higher-ups would never choose a woman, a child, or an elder to handle such a task. The vessel had to be a fit, young man — someone who was able to ensure Sukuna a strong, sustainable body to live in.
Megumi had no interest in the conversation. Sukuna had been the village’s number one priority from the moment Megumi stepped up to the plate as the interim leader. The elders should be concerning themselves with the apparent disease that was striking only the village leaders. But all roads led right back to their God.
“It is divine punishment. We are dragging our feet on finding Sukuna’s vessel, and he is angry with us. We have to hurry and bring our God back to us, or we will continue to undergo these terrible tragedies.”
As if, Megumi thought. Someone’s targeting us.
Megumi could subscribe to the idea that a higher power was after his lineage, specifically. He was only technically a Zenin. He actually belonged to the Fushiguro family, one of few in the village who didn’t share a last name with everyone else. Now, instead of being one of eight, he was one of five. In less than a year, his sister, his mother, and his father had died or disappeared. To Megumi, that couldn’t have been a coincidence. That was divine punishment — as was his sudden appointment as interim leader.
It was foolish, on the elders’ part, to make a Fushiguro the Zenin clan head. The people were upset about the idea. They rallied behind each other and protested outside of the Zenin headquarters, where the elders had their meetings. People spat at Megumi when he walked by them on the street. They mailed angry letters and the bloodied remains of their most recent farm slaughter to his estate. He’d been physically attacked more than once, but those crimes died the moment word spread about what the elders were doing to those who attacked their interim leader.
Even if the attacks did continue, Megumi wouldn’t have reported them. He told the elders about the first, and he resigned himself to never speak a word of one again. He could understand the people’s anger more than he could understand, or withstand, the elders’ punishments. Surely, death wasn’t a necessity — and, surer still, the method of their death didn’t have to be a beating.
They were teenagers, those boys. Megumi would never forgive himself for turning them in.
The elders continued to drone on about Sukuna and describe the perfect profile for his vessel — for just about the 100th time. Megumi tuned most of the conversation out, even though he shouldn’t. In exactly a year, he was going to be the official head of the clan. These boring tidbits of goings-on were exactly what he needed to be clinging to. Hell, he should be the driver of these strategies. Maybe, if he already was, they would actually get somewhere.
Just one more year, and then the rest of Megumi’s life. Oh, joy.
When Megumi left the Zenin headquarters, he did so without incident. A birthday miracle. He trudged through the snow slowly, and he enjoyed the peace that came with the thin cloud covering. Just enough sun to feel a little more alive.
The snow thinned out the further Megumi traveled. If he was going back to his estate, he was certain the snow would be thicker; the street cleaners no longer went near his estate. But the cemetery was well cared for, especially around the end of the year, when people worked less and spent more time with family.
Megumi did the same. With no regard for his clothing, he settled on his knees in front of his sister’s grave, and he planned to stay there until sunset.
Tsumiki’s death was a mercy, to a small degree. She’d fallen so pitifully ill out of nowhere. Megumi suspected whatever happened to her was what began to happen to the village elders, months later.
But something was different. The elders were dropping like flies. Tsumiki’s death was gradual, a process that lasted just over eight months. She suffered immensely. She coughed up blood on a daily basis, and she threw up almost every single meal she ate. She couldn’t walk on her own, nor could she move without hurting herself. She had constant fevers, and yet she trembled like her body contained no degree of warmth. It was terrible to watch. Megumi would have done anything to trade places with her.
For a time after her death, he considered joining her. He took long walks around the village — which is how he came to find out it was possible to walk the Zenin territory’s perimeter in about 16 hours — and thought, again and again, about disappearing. He could slip into the lake and enjoy a water burial. He could walk into another clan’s territory and let them punish him accordingly. What else did he have to live for?
He always ended up back at his estate. After Tsumiki’s death, he still had his mother. He had his father. He had . . .
They were all gone, now. Megumi was left with nothing but his village, a mutually hateful relationship.
The sun lowered itself into the sky, making way for the moon to complete her eight-hour shift. Megumi pressed his palm against Tsumiki’s headstone, right over her name. Maybe it was time to join her, after all.
At his estate, Megumi sat on his couch and bandaged his knees. He’d stayed with Tsumiki long enough for them to crackle and bleed under the pressure of the cold and his own body weight. Almost immediately, he bled through the bandages, but he didn’t care. As long as he wasn’t dripping blood on his kitchen floor, he didn’t care about anything, really.
Megumi pushed open the window at the farthest corner of his estate, next to the counter he always sat on to smoke. It was a terrible habit. He gave it up for a while, at the beck and call of another. But he’d lost everything, so he would give himself a cigarette. It was his birthday, a gift to himself — a kind gesture with a cruel outcome. The way of life.
Megumi flicked the ashes onto his own leg, and he enjoyed the burn for a half-second at a time. When it was too much, he leaned over, turned on his sink, and let his hand fill with just enough water to dump on his leg. It soaked through his bandages, his underwear, and dripped off the counter. The mess would inspire him to clean . . . at some point. He would need to do laundry, too. He’d have to change, at least, before he went to bed. Better yet if he could bring himself to shower. He’d have to brush the taste of smoke out of his mouth. But he kind of liked the taste. Food did nothing for him, and he’d gone weeks without the gentle joy and tenderness of another tongue in his mouth. Cigarettes at least gave his taste buds some stimulation.
Megumi flung his half-lit cigarette into the garbage disposal and flicked on the sink water again. He grabbed a kitchen towel, wiped down the counter, then dropped it on the floor, where he used the ball of his foot to clean up the water on the floor. Sink off, kitchen towel and underwear in the laundry, bandages in the garbage.
The mirror had a terribly ugly picture in it. Megumi looked melancholy — nothing new. His eyes were very tired, though. He’d had another sleepless night, another boring day. Even his bathroom light couldn’t be bothered with his birthday, dimmed from age and flickering with exhaustion. Megumi turned it off to let it rest. He showered in the dark. He brushed his teeth in the dark. He laid down, and he stared at the ceiling in the dark.
Whatever Megumi had done to deserve this, he was sorry for it. He would repent, if only things would look a little brighter in his future. He would subscribe to the concept of divine punishment, if that meant there was a solution to this feeling, to this life.
“Things will get better, Fushiguro. I’ll bet my life on it! Whenever I’m feeling down, I just remember that there are bright days ahead. There’s always a light at the end of the tunnel, you just have to be patient and persevere!”
For a moment, Megumi smiled.
“Besides, we’ll always have each other! If you’re feeling upset, come to me. I’ll make some jokes, or cook you dinner, or tell you another mythology story, or just hold you until everything feels a little less lonely. Whatever you need, I’m your guy!”
Megumi turned onto his stomach, buried his face in his pillow, and, when his regret became as exhausted as he did, he slept.
. . . . .
“Daily meetings are overkill, don’t you think?” Megumi asked — in his head. One of these days, he was just going to say something. What did he have to lose? The leadership title? He didn’t want it in the first place.
But he kept his mouth shut for the time being, for the sake of making everyone’s day a little smoother. The elders were going through enough, after all. A month prior, there were fourteen of them. Only eight of the elders remained in a semi-circle around the table. Three empty chairs stretched on either side of Megumi, a few feet that felt like a mile. He welcomed the distance.
“As we discussed, we are in dire need of a vessel for our God, Sukuna.”
Sukuna this, Sukuna that. Would they ever talk about anything else?
“I am thrilled to announce that we now have a volunteer to be our God’s vessel. His name is Itadori Yuuji.”
When Megumi imagined the next bout of excitement he would experience, he pictured Itadori Yuuji: the pink-haired, bright-eyed man that Megumi had watched grow up. He was like Megumi, in that he was, technically, a village outcast. But the similarities didn’t stop there. They were the only remaining members of their respective families. They hated the Zenin clan, but they had no safe way to escape the village. The Zenins didn’t like to lose their own, after all, shared last name or not.
They didn’t believe in the same principles that the village elders did. They wanted a better future, one where their day-to-day lives and personal affairs weren’t criminalized. They wanted to feel safe — because if anyone knew what they were up to, they would be punished like no other. They wouldn’t just be beaten, they would be beaten in public. They would be stoned to death, perhaps, or tied up and thrown into the center of the village so the villagers could do whatever they wanted to them, so long as it eventually led to their death. They were intertwined by their childhoods, their family names, their morals, their beliefs, their friendship —
— their love.
Megumi shot to his feet, sudden and unsteady. If not for his palm pressed against the table, he would have toppled over. He might burst the cuts on his knees or irritate the burns on his thighs. He might pass out, at this point.
All of the elders looked at Megumi with wide eyes and disapproving glares.
“Fushiguro. Sit back down.”
How could he? He was victim to a dozen buckets of ice water, pouring from a distance so high his skin was at risk of breaking under the weight and sharpness of the jagged cubes. He was in the middle of a blizzard, behind the wheel of a car with broken windows, and he was hydroplaning out of control. He had just opened an industrial freezer, and the shock of that rush of cold air was squeezing his lungs, not letting a drop of oxygen infiltrate them. He was drowning in something far below zero — water with dry ice, clinging to his skin, melting him into nothing and freezing him in time.
The warmth he sought was trapped behind a locked door that Megumi beat his hands against desperately. Please, let me in. Please, forgive me for just a moment. I just need a minute.
Yuuji was the same beautiful man he’d been when Megumi last saw him on December 12th. His eyes were wide with worry, frantically darting around at everything but Megumi. He even leaned out of his estate, turning his head both ways down the street.
Time stopped when Yuuji looked at Megumi. Fifteen years exist in a split second.
They’re 7 years old, and Megumi is shyly peeking around his mothers’ legs while Yuuji stands there holding his fathers’ hand, smiling and waving at him. Megumi likes the way he looks. He seems impossibly happy, and Megumi is drawn to his bright pink hair, even though he prefers dark colors. The boy is captivating enough to draw Megumi out of hiding.
“Hi,” he says quietly. “I’m Megumi, and I really like your hair.”
“Hi Megumi! I’m Yuuji, and I really like your eyes!”
They’re 8 years old, kicking rocks down the pavement as they follow their mothers, who had become fast friends, to the supermarket. Yuuji picks up every single rock he thinks is pretty, and he hands them off to Megumi once he deems them worthy of collecting.
“I heard, when you really like someone, you give them a rock that they can wear on their finger!” Yuuji points to his ring finger. “I don’t know how you could put one of those rocks on your finger, though. Maybe I need to carve them? I’ll ask dad how he gave mom a rock so I can give you one, too!”
They’re 9 years old, dipping their toes in the river on the outskirts of their territory, where they shouldn’t be, but where they like to break rules together. Yuuji’s father is dead, a months-old, still-open wound, and it’s Megumi’s personal mission to make Yuuji smile through the pain somehow.
“I got a rock for you,” Megumi says. He pulls the little thing out of his pocket. Yuuji never did get to ask his father how he carved a rock for his mother, but Megumi got to ask his dad.
Toji was very confused by Megumi’s question, but, after a little bit of back-and-forth, he flipped his knife out of his pocket and showed Megumi how to whittle away at the rock until it was the shape and size he wanted. They spent hours doing it, and Megumi measured his rock on his own finger. It’s hefty and awkward, but he extends his palm, with the rock in the middle, and he hopes Yuuji likes it anyway.
They’re 10 years old, and Yuuji has just outgrown the rock Megumi carved for him. He’s upset about it, until he and Megumi go back to the river and find brand new rocks to give each other. Megumi stole his dad’s pocket knife. The little boys spend hours on their bellies in the dirt, carefully carving their rocks — gifts to one another. Megumi cuts his fingers twice, and Yuuji ends up with a gash across his palm, but none of the injuries deter them. They wash their bloodied hands in the river, and they keep going until they have matching rock rings.
They’re 11 years old, and they’re both hiding under the covers in their respective rooms, whispering to each other through walkie talkies that they begged their mothers to buy. It’s far past their bedtimes, probably closing in on midnight, but they can’t possibly sleep through the excitement of their “I Spy” game.
“How can we play ‘I Spy’ if we’re not in the same room?” Megumi asks, giggling. Yuuji’s voice crackles through his device, “We just have to guess! It’ll be like reading each other’s souls. I bet we can do it! Just trust me!”
It’s a silly way to learn what trust is, but Megumi truly begins to understand the concept of it in the minutes they spend playing that silly game. Yuuji guesses that Megumi is spying, with his little eye, a snow globe on his desk, his sister’s purple blanket at the end of his bed, and the pocket knife he’d stolen from his father and never returned. Megumi guesses that Yuuji is spying, with his little eye, the full moon outside of his window, the crayons he’d spilled on his floor and didn’t feel like picking up, and the very first rock ring Megumi had carved for him, hanging on a sturdy string above his bed.
They’re 12 years old, and, for the first time, Megumi is holding Yuuji. He’s officially an orphan, soon to move in with and take care of his sickly grandfather. His cries last for hours, starting as weeping sobs and fading into little whimpers, until he’s too tired to keep himself awake. Somewhere in the midst of it all, he begs Megumi to never leave him.
“You’re my favorite person,” little Yuuji says, with his chin digging into the middle of Megumi’s chest. “Please don’t leave me alone.”
Megumi whispers the promise into Yuuji’s hair. He swears his life, and his families’ lives on it. “You’ll never be lonely again.”
They’re 13 years old, and they’re laying together in Megumi’s bed. Megumi is doing nothing but staring at the ceiling and listening to Yuuji and he talks and talks and talks. Megumi likes it. Yuuji’s really into Greek mythology now that he’s an avid reader. It’s all he can really do as he’s watching after his grandfather.
He’s stuck on Prometheus, a trickster who was punished by the Gods for stealing fire. His fate was to have his liver eaten every single day by an eagle. It would grow back overnight, just to be eaten again — eternal damnation, divine punishment.
“Sounds terrible,” Megumi says. “Just because he was trying to do right by his people?”
Yuuji shrugs. “He tricked the Gods. But it is harsh. I wonder why he was punished by an eagle of all things.”
Megumi shrugs, and he brushes his fingers through Yuuji’s hair as Yuuji begins to theorize why Zeus chose an eagle. Maybe it was the only thing that could reliably fly up to the rock Prometheus was nailed to. Or, maybe it was meant to hurt him more — because the beak and talons of an eagle had to be more brutal and painful than, say, the claws and teeth of a lion. Either way, Yuuji feels bad for him, and Megumi does, too. Daily torture for eternity. What a cruel, cruel fate.
They’re 14 years old, and they’re back at the lake, carving up new rock rings that they’ll certainly grow out of again. They finally know what “rock” the adults in their lives are referring to, and it’s not the ones they’re carving. It’s marriage — a pretty gem attached to a wedding band that’s supposed to mean forever. It’s what people who are in love do; they tie themselves to each other with rings and an expensive wedding.
Yuuji and Megumi are too young and have no money for that, but they have their rocks. And, as they trade their rings again, they loop their pinkies around each other. Their rocks clink together, a seal on their promise — one day, when they have enough money, they’ll get married.
They don’t realize the weight of that promise, but they will. And they won’t want to change their minds.
They’re 15 years old, and they’re finally starting to understand what their relationship is. They’re not just friends who have been in each other’s lives for nearly a decade. Apparently, friends don’t crave each other’s time and attention as much as Yuuji and Megumi do. They also don’t fall asleep in each other’s arms or trade rock rings or promise to marry each other.
Megumi learns all of this as he stands in the shadows of the hallway, listening to his mother and father talk. Toji is gruff and concerned, “We need to put a stop to this, babe, they’re gonna get in serious shit messing around like that.”
His mother is far more optimistic. “We’ll protect them. Just for a little while longer, right? Then we can find our way out and take them to some place where they can get married. Yeah?”
Toji sighs. He doesn’t have the same positive attitude, but he nods, “Yeah.”
They’re 16 years old, and they kiss for the first time.
It comes shortly after the world’s quickest confession. Yuuji and Megumi are laying in bed again. Yuuji is telling Megumi all about Orpheus and his beloved, Eurydice. Orpheus was so desperate to get her back, he traveled all the way to the Underworld to retrieve her. He was tasked with just one thing: he could not look at her until they escaped the Underworld. But he did. As soon as he saw the sun, he looked back at her.
“Because he loved her,” Yuuji says. He’s teary-eyed recounting the tale, moved by Orpheus’ love and their tragic ending. He blinks, and a tear falls onto Megumi’s chest. Megumi wipes Yuuji’s cheek with the heel of his hand, covered by his sleeve.
“I would look at you,” Yuuji says. Megumi freezes, his palm still pressed to Yuuji’s cheek. Yuuji stares, another tear falling into the fabric of Megumi’s hoodie.
“Because you love me?” Megumi asks in disbelief. Yuuji nods. He sits up just enough to crawl over Megumi’s body, and they’re looking at each other closer than they ever have before. Yuuji doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t ask for permission. He doesn’t need to. Megumi is sure his reciprocation is written all over his face, and he leans up the moment Yuuji leans down. They kiss clumsily in Megumi’s bed, a first for both of them. They laugh about it. They spend all night talking about how they’ll have to hide in the shadows, but they can do it. As long as they can have each other, they can do it.
They’re 17 years old, and Yuuji tells Megumi about Icarus. It’s a solemn story, not only because of Icarus’ tragic death, but also because of the setting in which Yuuji retells it — sitting in front of his grandfather’s grave. Yuuji is catatonic about it. He doesn’t scream and cry the way he did when his mother and father died. He’s older, more mature, but he’s also, unfortunately, used to it. He loses everything, it seems, and he’s accepted that as his fate.
But Megumi clings to him. The whole time they sit there, he doesn’t let go of Yuuji’s hand. It’s dangerous; they’re out in public, and they can’t be doing this. But there’s a blanket over their laps, and they don’t move a muscle in their connected arms. No one would see their fingers intertwined. And if, by chance, someone did, Megumi would think of an excuse. He would always come up with something, if it meant keeping Yuuji safe.
They’re 18 years old, and they’re celebrating their adulthood. It’s Yuuji’s birthday. They do a lot that day: they visit each of Yuuji’s late family members, buy a cake together, cook a few meals in Yuuji’s kitchen. They visit Megumi’s family for dinner, then go back to Yuuji’s place to eat the cake they bought. They press their sticky, icing-covered lips together in the dining room, where there are no windows, and they go to the back of the house to star-gaze.
They see a shooting star, and Yuuji whispers his wish out loud, “I’ll marry you one day, Megumi.”
In lieu of a risky kiss, Megumi holds Yuuji’s hand beneath the window sill. “I should be making that promise to you.”
“Then make that promise to me.”
Megumi slides the curtains shut so he can kiss Yuuji. His promise spills across Yuuji’s vanilla-and-chocolate tongue, “I’m going to marry you.”
They’re 19 years old, and Megumi lights his first cigarette. Yuuji wrinkles his nose, but he doesn’t say a word in terms of complaints.
Tsumiki is in the hospital. She’s on month three of throwing up blood, and she’s too sick to safely be at home. The doctors aren’t optimistic about her recovery, and Megumi is overwhelmed by the thought of his sister not being by his side anymore.
“I know it’s hard,” Yuuji says. He can’t touch Megumi; he can’t even get too close to him. But he tries, “I’ll be right here. I’ll do whatever I can—”
“Not now,” Megumi begs. He feels terrible, but he can’t do this. There’s no room for positivity or optimism—his sister is dying.
“Okay,” Yuuji says, crestfallen. “I’m sorry.”
Megumi can’t accept it, nor can he apologize in return. He stands there, and he smokes his cigarette. It’s a terrible smell, and he has an even worse attitude, but Yuuji doesn’t leave his side.
And then Yuuji was twenty, about four months short of turning twenty-one, and Megumi was just one day into his twenty-first year. They stood, face-to-face, at the threshold of Yuuji’s estate, nine days torn from their years-long relationship, with the pressure of Sukuna looming over them.
“Are you okay?”
“Why are you doing this?” Megumi sounded like a dying animal, wheezing and struggling because all the air in his lungs was gone. He braced his hands against the doorframe of Yuuji’s small estate, his body pressing closer to Yuuji’s concerned touch.
“Doing what?”
“Sukuna.”
Yuuji’s eyes widened. He took a backwards step into his estate, and Megumi followed before he was invited. If he was going to be invited. Yuuji didn’t push him out. He closed the door behind Megumi, shutting out the rest of the world instead.
“I didn’t think they’d say anything so soon. It’s supposed to be a secret until it happens,” Yuuji said. He moved through his space just like he would any other day, passing by the years of rock rings he had hanging off of his coat rack. He stopped by his couch, and he leaned against it, crossing one ankle over the other.
Didn’t he know he was about to die?
“A secret,” Megumi parroted. “I’m going to be the head of this clan, why wouldn’t I know about this?”
“I don’t know. I thought the elders were taking care of this, since it’s so sensitive.”
“Of course they are, but I was always going to know about it!” Megumi finally sucked in a breath that he could feel—and it was his lungs expanding into glass, shattering into a million little sharp objects that pierced his heart from every angle. He stood there, bleeding, and his heart wept for Yuuji. “You have to back out.”
“Why? It has to be someone,” Yuuji said, so sincerely that it shattered any remnants of hope that he was doing this just to get Megumi’s attention. Megumi would have preferred that. He desperately wanted this to be some ploy to get Megumi to crawl home and beg on his knees for a chance at rekindling what they’d had since they were kids — what he’d ruined when they left their teenage years.
But he knew Yuuji on a cosmic or spiritual level, an understanding that exceeded the limits of their bodies. Yuuji would never be so cruel. Besides, it was just like him to volunteer for something like this. If there was an opportunity to save just one life, Yuuji would be the first to respond.
Megumi should have never whispered to him about Sukuna. He wasn’t supposed to in the first place, and he was paying the price for his betrayal to the elders.
“It can’t be you,” Megumi said, begged.
Yuuji’s frown deepened, as if Megumi was the ridiculous and irrational one in this situation. “Why? I fit the bill. The elders said they need a man who’s young and fit. Am I not—?”
“You’re too important.”
“No,” Yuuji dragged the syllable out, confused. “I don’t have anything. My family is gone, and I don’t have any kids or a partner.”
“Me,” Megumi said, his voice dropping to a whisper because he knew this wasn’t fair. But life wasn’t fair, and he needed to — “You have me.”
Yuuji’s face fell, as did his arms, hanging by his sides with nothing to hold him. Except for Megumi, who was right there, feet away, but close enough —
“You broke up with me a week ago.”
“I know,” and Megumi regretted it, even though he tried not to, but it was worse — so much worse. If he knew it would lead Yuuji to this. . . . “You can’t.”
“I can.” Yuuji’s eyes narrowed. “And I’m going to.”
Right then and there, Megumi knew it was over. He knew nothing he said was going to change Yuuji’s mind. Megumi’s family used to tease him about being stubborn, but they’d never use that word to describe him if they knew just how stubborn Yuuji could be.
He tried, “Yuuji.”
He failed, “I think you should go.”
Yuuji pushed himself off of the couch, and he brushed past Megumi to get to his front door. He opened it an inch, but Megumi moved like lightning. His hand slammed against the wood, preventing the winter from seeping into Yuuji’s living room. He spun Yuuji around, pinned him against the door — just like he would have six months ago, followed shortly by a desperate kiss, something that said I missed you and I love you.
“Listen to me.” Megumi’s nails scraped against the wood, splintering his fingers. “I want four kids. Two boys, two girls. I want one of the boys and one of the girls to be twins. I want them all to have your hair, your eyes, your laugh, everything. Maybe one of them can look like me, but they’ll all act just like you. Well-behaved, sweet kids we have to look out for because they do stupid things just to help other people.”
Yuuji’s mouth wobbled, and his wet eyes spilled moisture across the lips that Megumi used to kiss every single day, for four years straight. But he didn’t interrupt, and Megumi pressed on, “I want them all to grow up in this big house that I’ll build with my own two hands. I want you to tell them all about those mythologies you read about. I want them to be as stubborn and as sweet as you. I want all six of us to kick a ball around the backyard before dinner and eat together every night and love each other unconditionally.”
Megumi had begun to cry, too. “And if the world was kind enough, I’d bear all of your children. I’d eat well, do all those pregnancy exercises, make sure your kids were healthy and strong. I’d give you a legacy. I will give you a legacy if you just don’t do this. Please, don’t do this.”
Yuuji’s eyes fluttered. His eyelashes caught two of his tears and flicked them toward Megumi’s cheek. He managed to smile through the pain, as he always did.
“You’d bear my children and build me a house?” Yuuji asked, like he couldn’t believe it — like Megumi hadn’t dragged himself out of the depths of darkness to be in front of him, like Megumi wouldn’t get on his knees and beg for days if it meant Yuuji would spare his own life, like Megumi hadn’t cut his fingers carving rock rings through all these years, just to tie himself to Yuuji.
“I’d do anything for you,” Megumi said; he swore his life on it. “Please back out of this. Let me figure something else out.”
Yuuji closed his eyes, and two tears fell in rapid succession down his cheek. The back of his head thumped against the door. “Megumi, I can’t.”
“Please.”
“I have to,” Yuuji said with conviction. He lifted his head, and he looked at Megumi sharply. “I can’t let this fall on someone else. I’m the only eligible person in this village with nothing to lose.”
“Nothing.” A knife carved through the layers of Megumi’s flesh, breaking through his ribcage to get to his heart. “What about me? Our future—?”
“You know we can’t have that future together.”
“I’m going to figure it out. I’ll be the head of this clan in less than a year, I’ll figure everything out,” Megumi promised, pleaded, begged.
But Yuuji pushed Megumi away. “I’m sorry. Just don’t forget you love me, okay? Because I’ll live as long as my memory does.”
“No.” Megumi latched onto Yuuji’s wrist. “You’re going to live as long as I do.”
“I will,” Yuuji agreed for one painfully hopeful moment. “I trust that you’ll remember me.”
“Yuuji,” Megumi tried again — and again and again, the very definition of insanity, but Yuuji was already set in motion. He leveraged Megumi’s grip to pull him, half-shoving him outside in one swift movement. The ice cold air that flooded into Yuuji’s estate was nothing compared to the feeling that ran through Megumi’s veins, as if the upcoming blizzard had burrowed itself in Megumi’s bones. As if he was the very source of the divine punishment that had overtaken the village.
“I’m sorry,” Yuuji said — and, right before his door clicked shut, a whisper, “I love you.”