Work Text:
In the grand scheme of things, two weeks and two months were practically the same. But when it came to the timeline of Itadori Yuuji — meeting him to mourning him — the true amount of time confined within six weeks had never been so palpable.
It was in the past . . . relatively. Gojo fucking Satoru decided to “surprise” Megumi and Nobara with Yuuji right before their trial with the Kyoto students. The three of them didn’t even have time to catch up on everything that had happened before they were thrown into battle, where the Kyoto students tried to kill Yuuji again.
That was in the past, too, tucked away where it should be easy to move on from. Sure, Megumi was still in the hospital from the aftermath of the battle and the special grade curse that tried to wipe them out, but he was in a peaceful state. He had pizza on his lap, Yuuji on his left, and Nobara on his right. He was home again. The only way to go was forward. The only thing to do was get stronger and protect what he’d been lucky enough to have returned to him.
And yet, it all lingered. Through all the sunlight and the air breezing through the window, the chatter of his comrades, it lingered.
“Did he ask you what your type is, too?” Nobara asked, on the topic of Todo — who Megumi couldn’t stand.
“He did,” Yuuji said through a mouthful of pizza. Nobara raised an eyebrow, “And what did you say?”
“Um . . .” Yuuji swallowed the rest of what was in his mouth, and he shrank in on himself as he admitted to the truth. “. . . A tall woman with a nice, big ass?”
Megumi hid his smile with the half-eaten slice of pizza in his palm as Nobara’s eyes grew impossibly wide. She sprang to her feet, nearly knocking her chair right over.
“You asshole!” Nobara reeled back to hit Yuuji, but Megumi plucked her wrist out of the air with twice the speed.
“Don’t do that.”
The room stilled. Yuuji and Nobara both looked at Megumi, puzzled. Megumi had nothing to say for himself. He dropped Nobara’s hand, slowly, and he dropped his eyes to his pizza.
“We’re all injured,” Megumi said. “Let’s not agitate any of our wounds.”
Nobara sat back down, slowly. She pointed two fingers at her eyes, then turned them quickly onto Yuuji. “When you’re healed, you’re in for it.”
“I’m sorry! I had to say something, he was stomping all over my face!”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Nobara said, though her tone had shifted into something light-hearted again. “How do you get along with a gorilla like Todo, anyway. . . ?”
. . .
Shortly after his release from the hospital, Fushiguro Megumi went missing.
No one asked her to, but Nobara set out on a mission to find him. She suspected he was in one of three places: holed up in his room (the first place she checked — no dice), sitting in his favorite coffee shop in Tokyo (which would be her last resort), or reminiscing at the site of Itadori Yuuji’s death.
Bingo.
“You don’t have to spend all your time here, you know,” Nobara called. Megumi tensed, but he didn’t turn. Typical. He was probably crying, or zoned out, and he didn’t want Nobara to know anything was wrong. He didn’t want anyone to think that he was affected by anything at all.
“He’s not dead,” Nobara reminded him. She approached slowly, giving Megumi some time to gather himself. It was what he would want.
“You remember, right?” Nobara repeated, “He’s not dead.”
She couldn’t blame Megumi for lingering, for not being able to process the fact that Yuuji was back. Her head was still reeling, too. Yuuji was dead, and then he wasn’t. They mourned that idiot.
And she didn’t have the relationship with Yuuji that Megumi had. They were friends, sure, in the way that Yuuji annoyed Nobara, and she might trade him for a bag of potato chips, but she would give her life to save him in the blink of an eye. Megumi never said it out loud, but he felt that way for Yuuji, too — tenfold. Megumi wouldn’t trade Yuuji for a low-priced snack, even if he acted like he would. He, too, would give his life to save Yuuji. He’d tried to do so before, and he would do it again.
Yuuji’s death hit him hard, and Nobara suspected early on it had a lot more to do with Yuuji than the fact that the death happened right in front of him. Megumi had witnessed plenty of gnarly shit before, much of which he was comfortable talking about over a casual meal. But even the nature of Yuuji’s death was the talk of the town, a frequent topic of discussion even amongst the older students.
We should probably train more so that doesn’t happen to us. Do we need to find a new vessel for Sukuna? Itadori was going to die anyway, right? Did his heart really get ripped out?
Megumi stopped hanging around the other students.
“I know that,” Megumi said.
“Then why are you here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
Nobara didn’t take the snappy remark to heart, and she — very generously — chose not to return the attitude. Instead, she sat next to Megumi’s legs, and she dirtied her skirt, and he damn well better be grateful for her presence.
“I was looking for you,” Nobara admitted. She glanced up at Megumi to see what, exactly, he was gazing at. It was an inconspicuous spot in the middle of the grass — stained with a few drops of blood.
For a moment, Nobara tried to imagine it. Stupid, clueless Itadori Yuuji with his hand buried in his chest. She wondered if his heart was still beating when Sukuna ripped it out. She wondered if it stopped moving as soon as it hit the grass, or if it laid there and pulsed for a moment.
She wondered until Megumi snapped her out of it.
“Why?”
Nobara’s voice wavered, “Just because.”
For a while, only the wind filled the silence, whipping Nobara’s and Megumi’s hair and clothes around. It was nice. It reminded Nobara that she was alive, that Megumi was alive, and that, despite everything, Yuuji was alive, too. It made her scared for what the future could hold — because this was all so fleeting, wasn’t it? In a second, Sukuna could take over. In the next second, he could kill Megumi. This time, if Nobara was around, she could get caught in the fire, too.
It might be nice to die with her comrades. Nobara would prefer it that way.
“I hope you live a long life,” Megumi said, which served to freak Nobara out for a moment. Was he reading her fucking mind?
“That’s what he said,” Megumi mumbled. “His last words to me were ‘I hope you live a long life.’”
Nobara snorted. “What a Yuuji thing to say.”
She dipped her head back to stretch her neck and look at the sky, finally tearing her eyes away from the blood stain. “Are you going to?”
“What?”
“Live a long life?”
“Probably not,” Megumi said. “We’re sorcerers. None of us will.”
“Who says?”
Megumi didn’t respond. Again, Nobara couldn’t blame him. He was right. They were sorcerers, and they’d all die young.
But maybe it didn’t have to be this young.
“We should go see him instead of sitting here moping,” Nobara said. She got to her feet, and she brushed as much of the dirt off of her skirt as possible.
“I’m not moping.”
“Right. And I’m not the most beautiful sorcerer to ever live.”
“You’re right, you’re not.”
Nobara punched Megumi’s shoulder. “Fuck you.”
Nobara’s ego would never be damaged by the likes of Fushiguro Megumi, and Megumi chuckled in the wake of Nobara’s fake anger. A win-win.
. . .
It was just like Gojo to rig the competition and force the students of Tokyo and Kyoto to play baseball instead of engaging in one-on-one battles.
“This will be fun!” Yuuji said, always the one to have something positive to say about Megumi’s complaints. “The Kyoto students look really cool!”
Megumi scowled. “Don’t get too interested in them. They’re weak, except for the big guy. And they tried to kill you, remember?”
“Yeah, but they’ve chilled out, and we’re in for a friendly competition!” Yuuji grinned. “And I guess I have a brother now? Todo really wants to be my friend.”
Everyone in the world knew it, too. The image of Todo chasing Yuuji out of Megumi’s hospital window was still extremely fresh. It was so bizarre, it was comical — even though Megumi and Nobara heavily considered calling Gojo to save Yuuji. There was something seriously wrong with Todo’s brain.
“For some reason, he’s convinced that we went to school together, as if we’ve known each other for years. He even thinks we won middle school nationals together! I’ve only played baseball twice!”
“If he bothers you, just call me,” Megumi said. “I’ve already fought him once.”
“Yeah, and you failed,” Nobara chimed in — because of course she did. Megumi didn’t even think she was listening, but would she ever pass up an opportunity to tear Megumi (and Yuuji) down? “Inumaki and Panda had to save your ass, remember?”
Megumi grumbled under his breath, “Can you be on my side for once, please?”
“Our seniors are so cool!” Yuuji drowned out Megumi’s complaints again. “I think we’ll win. Ready, team!”
Yuuji put his hand in the center, and, for a moment, only Nobara and Toge caught on to what he wanted—for everyone to put their hands in the center of their crowded-together bodies so he could cheer. Panda followed Toge’s lead. Megumi and Maki glanced at each other before also following suit, letting Yuuji cheer them up and on for a good game.
He was the reason they won, of course. He was naturally good at everything, it seemed — except for getting Todo off of his back.
Megumi blocked Todo from getting near Yuuji twice while they all got changed back into their day clothes, ready to settle in for the night and call it quits with the Kyoto students. Megumi couldn’t wait for them to leave.
“Itadori.” Megumi hovered over Yuuji, fully dressed, while Yuuji put his shoes on. Yuuji looked up at him, wide-eyed and curious. Megumi jerked his head to the side, “Let’s go to the gym.”
“Okay!” Yuuji agreed, eager as ever—and then he hissed. “Oh, but, I think Todo wants to show me a re-run of—”
“Gojo showed me some things that can help us improve our stamina and strength.” Not a lie, except for the fact that Gojo taught him these things years ago. “I think getting stronger is a little more important than watching re-runs, isn’t it?”
Yuuji huffed, but he agreed. The two of them had to practically sneak out of the locked room to avoid Todo spotting Yuuji again, but they made it to the gym without incident. And, like he promised, Megumi showed Yuuji a variety of exercises that would work his entire body, help him build up more muscle, and make him more flexible and agile.
“Wow, Fushiguro!” Yuuji said, in awe, as he stretched his leg behind his back. He was holding onto Megumi’s arms for balance, even though the wall was right there. Megumi didn’t actually mind. He might have, before, but he could feel Yuuji’s pulse in that position.
“Gojo taught you well!” Yuuji praised. “I’ve never stretched my hamstrings like this!”
“You should do this often, then,” Megumi said. “You’re agile, but your muscles shouldn’t be so tight. You don’t want to tear something while you’re fighting a curse.”
“Right.” Yuuji put his leg down and stretched the other one behind him, still holding onto Megumi’s arms to keep himself from toppling over. His heart beat a little faster in response to the exertion. “Except for my chest muscles, maybe. It won’t be so easy for Sukuna to rip my heart out next time.”
“There won’t be a next time.” There couldn’t be a next time. Megumi saw Yuuji’s heart hit the ground every time he closed his eyes. There wouldn’t be a next time.
“Well.” Yuuji put his leg down, balanced on his own two feet. He tried to draw his arms back, but Megumi’s grip was too tight—for a second. As soon as he felt resistance, he let go.
“I definitely won’t let Sukuna out again if I can help it,” Yuuji said. He braced his hands against the wall and bent his body to stretch his back. “It was really strange to feel my heart leave my chest like that.”
A chill overtook Megumi’s bloodstream. “You could feel it?”
“Oh, yeah. It hurt, but, weirdly, not as bad as my hand getting cut off.” Yuuji stood up straight again, and he turned the wrist that Megumi had watched fly off of his body. “Maybe because Sukuna had taken over? Not sure.”
Yuuji dropped his arms to his sides, and he smiled at Megumi innocently. “Let’s get strong enough that we don’t lose any more limbs or organs, okay?”
You’re the one who’s been hurt. You should be worried about yourself.
“Okay,” Megumi agreed. He glanced at the clock on the wall, and he knew they should go to bed. But . . .
“You wanted to watch something before coming here, right? Let’s watch one of the movies Gojo gave you.”
Megumi looked at Yuuji just in time to see him light up. “Okay! I can show you the strange place Gojo took me to! It’s kind of dingy in there, but I liked it! It felt safe. A little lonely, but . . .”
With Yuuji’s prolonged rant and detailed description of the place, Megumi could picture it before he even walked in — even after their 10-minute shower break. Yuuji was right; it was small, dark, and dingy, not a suitable place for someone with as much energy as Yuuji.
“Gojo is so weird,” Megumi mumbled. He sat on the couch, and he started picking up the various movie options. There were quite a few spanning various genres, and some titles Megumi had never even heard of. A couple of them looked like silly, knock-off movies that Gojo probably owned when he was a teenager.
“I haven’t watched this one yet.” Yuuji pointed to the movie in Megumi’s hand: The Tiramisu Trials, labeled as a comedy. He held up another, The Human Earthworm. “I really like this one!”
It looked like the dumbest movie Megumi had ever seen. “Let’s watch that one.”
As Megumi expected, Yuuji talked and talked during the movie, pointing out characters that Megumi would have gathered information about if Yuuji just let him watch the movie. Oh, well. He couldn’t care less about The Human Earthworm anyway. He was much more keen to hear Yuuji talk, to see and hear him move around, to know that he was alive despite the way his heart pulsed and wiggled and died on the ground, right in front of Megumi. Despite the blood, the goodbye.
“I hope you live a long life.” Me too, Yuuji. I hope you live a long life, too.
At some point, Yuuji grew too sleepy to keep talking, and he melted back into the couch. The Human Earthworm was, apparently, a series that Yuuji had watched the entirety of. This time around, he only made it through two and a half movies before he was dozing off, slowly leaning onto Megumi until his head was in Megumi’s lap.
Megumi watched Yuuji’s chest rise and fall. Carefully, he pressed his fingers to the base of Yuuji’s throat and felt his heart beat above the layers of bone and muscle and skin that Sukuna had been so easily able to rip through. When he felt a little better, a little more like he could actually believe that Yuuji was alive, Megumi settled his fingers in Yuuji’s hair instead, slowly, careful not to wake him. Megumi tilted his own head back against the couch, and he closed his eyes. He had hell sleeping these past few months, but it was a little easier when Yuuji was snoring softly on his lap, in a cramped, dingy place that Gojo considered safe.
. . .
Very quickly, too quickly, Megumi had grieved Yuuji for longer than he’d known him.
That was, again, technically in the past, but a week wasn’t nearly long enough for Megumi’s regret to fade away. He wasn’t strong enough to prevent everything that had happened. He froze in front of a special grade curse, and he froze in front of Sukuna. If it weren’t for Yuuji’s own grit, both of them would be dead.
That was just the world of sorcery, and, on the surface, Megumi was content with simply letting that be true. He was going to lose the people he cared most about because he lived in a world of curses. So be it. It would kill him every time, but so be it.
It was different, when it came to Yuuji. Megumi was too selfish, when it came to Yuuji.
He should count his blessings. He tried to. It would be better, smarter, and yet even more selfish, to leave everything that had happened behind. Yuuji was alive. There was no reason to re-visit the place his heart laid, pulsing and dying, or the place he’d finally collapsed. There was no reason to waste precious training time wandering the streets of Tokyo, with Yuuji bouncing alongside him, making light of the whole situation.
“You know, you’re really strong, Fushiguro! You held your own against Sukuna for a long time!” Yuuji said, excitedly — and Megumi wondered how he could do it. Maybe he was raised by good people, or maybe there was something deep down that made him so happy, that made him so . . . magnetic.
“When I was dead, I tried to fight Sukuna in his innate domain, and he just sat on me,” Yuuji complained, lightly, as if Nobara had simply told him off about something that didn’t matter again. “I only landed one punch! And I was really trying my hardest. I was so pissed. He ripped my heart out! And he tried to kill you!”
Yuuji’s hand buried deep in his chest, gripping his heart, ripping it out. Megumi huffed, “You worry about other people too much.”
From the corner of Megumi’s eye, he caught a much nicer picture: Yuuji tilting his head to the side like a puppy. “Hm?”
“You’re the one who almost died,” Megumi said. “You did die. And you’re worried that he almost killed me?”
“He would have, if I didn’t gain control over my body again!” Yuuji said lightly — like he wasn’t a dead man risen, a miracle of perfect circumstances.
Megumi supposed he was, too.
“You killed yourself,” Megumi said. He stopped walking because he just . . . couldn’t. Sometimes, the thoughts stopped him in his tracks, and all he could see was Itadori Yuuji, blood spilling out of his chest, collapsing to the ground in front of Megumi because he chose Megumi’s life over his own.
“Sukuna killed me.”
“You switched with him.”
“I had to. He was going to kill you.”
“You killed yourself.”
Yuuji turned around, and he took a few steps back toward Megumi. “It was the least I could do, Fushiguro. You saved my life, too, and you barely knew me back then.”
Megumi’s fingers twitched in his pocket. “I had my own reasons for that.”
“And I had my own reasons for saving you.”
Megumi wondered how similar their reasons were. His own were selfish and deep-rooted, something that wasn’t safe or smart to tap into. Yuuji’s were probably teeming with a sense of justice and obligation, something a little less . . . personal.
“Fine,” Megumi muttered. He kicked some feeling back into his legs, and he shakily walked past Yuuji — quickly. Yuuji lingered, but he started trailing behind Megumi soon enough, chasing away all of the tension with his excited nature — as always.
“Anyway, when I woke up, Gojo took me to that room so I could practice controlling my cursed energy. And then, when I could watch all sorts of movies without that weird curse punching me, he summoned me to this place with a curse that looked like Mt. Fuji! I saw his domain and everything, there were flowers everywhere, and he wants us to be able to beat that thing! I know I can contain Sukuna, but that was next level. . . .”
By the time Yuuji got to the part of his story where he met and lost Junpei, he and Megumi were halfway through a shared bowl of ramen and three different sushi rolls.
He still spoke lightly, with his cheeks stuffed full of tuna and seaweed and rice. “It was really gruesome, but I think he only suffered for a few minutes. I hope. I don’t think anyone can survive a transformation like that.”
Megumi saw it again in the broth of the ramen as he scooped a mouthful of noodles out of it. Yuuji’s hand buried in his chest, ripping his heart out, spilling his own blood onto the grass in front of Megumi. The very thing that killed him still lived inside of him. It could happen again.
“It happened in front of you?” Megumi asked. Yuuji hummed, mouth too full to speak.
“Are you . . . okay?” Megumi asked. He’d asked at least three times already, yet Yuuji always avoided the question. I’m fine, he’d say. Something happened, but I’m okay.
He echoed himself, “I’m fine! I mean, it must happen a lot, right? You’ve seen a lot, I’m sure.”
“Yeah.” His heart, pulsing on the ground, the blood, the smile, the goodbye. “I’ve seen a lot.”
Yuuji fished through the ramen and produced half of an egg. He shoved it into his mouth even as he was speaking, “I guess I just have to get used to it. You know, Junpei told me the opposite of love is indifference. I guess, sometimes, you just have to pretend to be indifferent so you don’t get distracted. That’s what I did when I was fighting that terrible cursed spirit with Nanami. I pretended Junpei didn’t exist for a minute.”
Megumi wasn’t sure he could pretend Yuuji didn’t exist for a second.
“That spirit was really horrible. I hate him more than Sukuna, I think.” Yuuji stabbed his chopsticks into the middle of a piece of sushi and shoved it into his mouth, finally showing a little bit of the anger he must have been harboring for days, if not weeks or months.
“Did Junpei mean that much to you?” Megumi asked, not meaning to sound so . . . jealous.
“In the long run, I guess not,” Yuuji said earnestly. “But he and I did have a lot in common. We were . . . friends. And it would have been nice to save a life.”
‘Friends’ was generous for the short amount of time Yuuji and Junpei had known each other, but Megumi knew he had no room to be critical of a relationship that moved quickly. He dug his chopsticks into the ramen, searching for the other half of the egg, and struggled to bite his tongue against a much harsher statement, “Wasn’t he working with the cursed spirit that killed him?”
“He was tricked.”
Megumi scoffed, “So he was an idiot.”
Yuuji’s gaze morphed into a glare Megumi only ever saw when he was fighting, or when Sukuna took over.
And yet his words weren’t mean, just firm. “Don’t be so heartless, Fushiguro. Anyone can get tricked if they don’t know anything about cursed spirits.”
You deserve relationships that don’t burden you like that.
“Right,” Megumi said. He found the half of the egg he was looking for, and he dropped it onto Yuuji’s plate. “Sorry.”
. . .
Whatever was going on in the hallway couldn’t have been an emergency. A curse wouldn’t penetrate the walls of Jujutsu High, and it wouldn’t sneak past enough people to land outside of Megumi’s room without causing some sort of ruckus.
Regardless, Megumi couldn’t ignore it. His tired brain couldn’t exactly pinpoint what was going on. Someone was walking, and there were soft thuds against the walls. There was also something else. Something soft, too quiet to identify until Megumi cracked his door and peered outside.
The person was crying, sniffling quietly as they paced in front of Megumi’s room. They were tapping along the wall as if they were nervously ticking. Megumi only knew one person who did that.
“Itadori.”
Yuuji stopped in his tracks. His back was facing Megumi, and he was about 10 paces to the right of Megumi’s door. He didn’t respond for a moment, which was, admittedly, unsettling. Megumi straightened up and he braced himself just in case. Was Sukuna . . . ?
But the way he turned, with a pep in his step, and called for Megumi in surprise was far too Yuuji-like to be Sukuna.
“What are you doing?” Megumi asked.
“Sorry, Fushiguro. I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Yuuji said, which is not what Megumi was getting at. He could have been more careful with his phrasing. Are you okay? might have been a more appropriate question to ask, even if Yuuji never answered it properly.
Too late. Yuuji sniffled, and he ducked his head in an attempt to hide it. His voice wavered and cracked, “I’ll go back to my room.”
He had to walk past Megumi’s room to do that, but Megumi didn’t let him slip by. He latched onto Yuuji’s elbow, and he pushed his door open wider. “Come in.”
“No, it’s okay, I’ll just go back to sleep.”
“Not a question.”
Yuuji was frozen in place for a moment, and Megumi tightened his grip. He wasn’t going to let Yuuji fight him on this — not the Itadori Yuuji who never cried, who hid his anguish beneath his happy-go-lucky attitude and his positive outlook on life.
“Okay.”
As Yuuji walked into his room, Megumi summoned his demon dog and ordered it to sit on the bed, where Yuuji settled. Yuuji chuckled lightly, welcoming the eager pup under his arms. It licked at his tears, lightened his mood — more than Megumi would be able to do, he was certain.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t try.
“What’s going on?” Megumi asked.
“I don’t know,” Yuuji said. He leaned his head against the top of the dog’s head. “Sukuna’s been talking to me a lot lately. Saying . . . stuff.”
“Stuff?”
“Stuff.”
Megumi sat on the bed next to Yuuji. The dog tried to climb down from the bed and stand at attention in front of Megumi, but he ordered it to go back to Yuuji.
“Tell me.”
“I don’t think you want to hear it.”
“You tell me lots of stuff I don’t want to hear. The difference this time is I’m asking.”
That earned Megumi a smile, at least, and a small exhale of air that would have been a laugh, if only Yuuji was in a better mood.
“I think he knows he can’t get to me physically,” Yuuji muttered. His fingers traced the symbol on the front of the demon dog’s head, and the dog happily pressed up into his touch.
“So he’s trying to get to you mentally?” Megumi guessed.
“Yeah,” Yuuji whispered. “And I think it’s working.”
“Well.” Megumi braced himself. “What is he saying?”
“That this is all my fault. Everything.” Yuuji looked at the ceiling, and he held the demon dog a little tighter. “I’m the reason you almost died. I’m the reason Junpei did die. And . . . I’m about to be responsible for a lot more.”
Megumi filed that away for later. That sounded like a threat — one Gojo should know about.
“It’s not your fault,” Megumi assured. “Sukuna did all of that.”
“But I am Sukuna, in a way. We share this body.”
“But not a soul. Or a moral compass.”
Yuuji looked at Megumi. The tears came back, spilling slowly down Yuuji’s cheeks and dropping off onto the demon dog’s head. The dog nosed at the falling tears, but even that didn’t make Yuuji smile that time around.
“If it’s your fault, then it’s mine, too,” Megumi said. “I told Gojo not to let you die. So whatever happens, if you bear the responsibility, then I do, too.”
Yuuji’s lips quivered. He shook his head. “But it’s different. I am Sukuna.”
“If you were Sukuna, I would be dead right now.”
Yuuji had no argument for that, or he was tired. Either way, he didn’t speak. The demon dog nuzzled his chest, and Yuuji pet its head slowly. Another tear slid down his cheek, but the tension bled out of his shoulders.
“When I met Todo, he asked me what my type was, too,” Megumi said. Yuuji gave him an incredulous look, “Huh?”
“And I told him I don’t really have one. As long as someone has an unshakable character, that’s enough.”
“. . . Okay?” Yuuji snorted, a wet and gross sound that had Megumi reaching for a tissue. “I should’ve probably said that to Kugisaki, huh?”
Megumi passed Yuuji the tissues, even though the demon dog was busy nosing at his tears again.
“That’s why I saved you, Itadori,” Megumi confessed. “Gojo asked me if I wanted to save you for personal reasons. It wasn’t just personal. It was selfish. There’s something about you that’s so . . . undefeatable. I told you to stay back, but you just had to save your friends. You died, and then you came back to life. Your heart was ripped out, and you still had enough control to save me. That’s more than I could ever ask for.”
Yuuji smiled, a genuine and gradual one. “You’re pretty unshakable too, you know.”
“Don’t flatter me. I don’t need it.”
Yuuji laughed into the tissue he blew his nose with. “Then I’ll be unshakable for you, Fushiguro. I’ll get stronger both physically and mentally. And you’ll pass me, right? We’ll be unstoppable together.”
It sounded like a future, an achievable one. Megumi trusted Yuuji to stay resilient. It’s just who he was.
“Let’s know each other for a long time, okay?”
Yuuji was caught off guard again. “Hm?”
“I mourned you for longer than I knew you. Let’s try to live for a long time so we don’t have to mourn each other for longer than we know each other. Okay?”
Yuuji nodded firmly. “Let’s also . . . stick together for a long time. Maybe, one day, I’ll overcome Sukuna, and then I’ll deserve to be by your side.”
Megumi raised an eyebrow. If it was up to him, Yuuji would never leave his side again. “Who said you don’t deserve to be by my side?”
“. . . Sukuna.”
“Of course.” Megumi rolled his eyes. He pressed his palms against the bedsheets, and he said what he’d been wanting to say to Yuuji since they met. “If I had the choice to have anyone by my side in the long run, it would be you. I know that might not be possible . . .” one, or both, of us might die “. . . but, for as long as we can, I want it to be us.”
Megumi looked at Yuuji, meeting his steady gaze. “Is that what you want, too?”
Yuuji nodded, barely able to contain his smile behind his tears.
“Good,” Megumi whispered. He pushed his hand a few inches to the right, palm dragging across his sheets. His fingers bumped into Yuuji’s, then crossed over and curled into them gently. “Then let’s do our best to live happily. Okay?”
Yuuji beamed, even through his tears and his tremors. “Yeah, Fushiguro. Okay.”