Archive of Our Own

It starts like this:

Megumi wakes up; Yuuji is beside him, holding his hand, and Megumi, dazed and not quite adjusted to reality, slightly delirious yet knowing in his heart he means it truly and completely, says, “I think I’m in love with you.”

Though, he knows a fact: there is no think. He is inadvertently and irrevocably in love with Itadori Yuuji.

To the point where it has become a problem. So much so that he pushed Yuuji away and took the hit which was originally meant for Yuuji. To the extent where he is currently in the infirmary as the result of the blow he’d taken; vaguely, he remembers Ieri muttering something about bandages and things related to healing—it’s all very fuzzy.

And here’s another fact: he would do it all over again, without a second thought, as many times as he needed to. Because if he demanded Yuuji to start by saving him, the least he could do was save Yuuji as well.

Megumi is awake. Maybe not completely aware of his situation, but enough to know his statement had earned him a reaction from Yuuji. He can tell through the way Yuuji’s grip around his hand suddenly tightens and Megumi feels a bit of pain shoot up his nerves. Megumi can apprehend the exact words he will say: Fushiguro, you’re not in the right state of mind. Megumi, seeing as his limbs are numb and he feels like a dead weight, pushes himself to a slightly upright sitting position with a lot of effort, resting his back against his pillow.

Apparently, Yuuji is the only visitor he has. As a consequence, he is proven wrong, because Yuuji squeezes his hand—tight yet somehow simultaneously gentle—and says softly, “I think I’m in love with you too.” 

What Megumi is instantly filled with upon hearing those words—aside from the dull pain from the injuries he’d suffered—is ecstasy. He’s lightheaded, half as much from his minor concussion as it was from Yuuji’s statement. There’s no string of words that are immaculate to return. 

It’s perfect. It’s horrible. It’s everything he ever wanted. It’s absolute ruin. 

Megumi feels as if he were being burnt alive underneath the summer sun.

There are very few people in this world who are born with the sun inside them—bright and incinerating, with an intensity that can kill a person. It’s their heart, soul—their entire being. An energy that is calm, fiery, and rather blinding. Itadori Yuuji is one of them. 

Megumi can perceive nothing but pure, blazing sunshine in Yuuji’s heart. 

And Megumi, though his jutsushiki is based on shadows, can’t help but wish that when he were to die—hopefully once he’s old and wrinkled—he would like to die while surrounded by scorching sunlight. He feels it now, too, that blazing warmth, through the contact of their skin, where Yuuji’s fingers are wrapped snugly around his hand.

If Yuuji is the sun, then Megumi is the moon, who only shines in the presence of the sun. 

“Fushiguro?” Yuuji’s voice—his concern—forces Megumi from his thoughts.

“Yeah?” Megumi answers, hoarse and light-headed and fully awake and starting to overheat.

Yuuji smiles, that boyish, cheeky, selfless smile that Megumi has grown to become fond of. “I’m in love with you,” Yuuji repeats, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, as if the fact were something so obvious that it was embarrassing.

“I heard you the first time,” Megumi says gruffly, the fog inside his head clearing, and it hits him: there is no think. Rather, it was a concrete fact: Yuuji is in love with him, and he is in love with Yuuji. 

“Sorry,” Yuuji says immediately. Megumi doesn’t recall him being the type to apologize for every little thing. “Just… you didn’t reply for a while so I got kinda worried,” Yuuji continues with that same inhibition.

Megumi hadn’t noticed before—he does now; Yuuji’s shoulders are tense and stiff, and he’s bouncing his leg with nervous energy that hasn’t fizzled out. When Megumi fixes his position to meet Yuuji’s eyes, he sees the traces of fear contained within them. Which is when he realizes exactly what sort of situation he was currently in.

Yuuji sighs deeply, slouching in his seat, still beaming at Megumi, who realizes Yuuji’s smile is half as much made of relief as it was of happiness. “I’m glad,” the pink haired boy starts rubbing circles on the back of Megumi’s hand with the pad of his thumb. “That you’re alive—I mean, I’m also really happy that you’re in love with me too, but—” Yuuji pauses, an awkward chuckle following, and Megumi doubts he had ever heard Yuuji sound out of place to this extent before. “—Mostly, I’m glad that you’re alive.” The younger finishes.

Megumi’s memories are still blurry, but he recalls the curse to be annoying, ugly, and deadly, all at the same time—a terrible combination. “I told you to start by saving me,” his voice remains rough, allowing Yuuji to continue performing tiny ministrations on the back of his hand, skin tingling wherever Yuuji touches. Megumi reminisces about the Culling Games, where he’d begged Yuuji to save his sister. He can’t really fault Yuuji for the outcome because at fifteen years old, in the back of Megumi’s mind, he knew his sister was already dead. They were only fifteen and there’s only so much teenagers could do, even with jutsushiki. “And it’s only fair for me to save you too.”

That was only a part of why Megumi had found himself reacting and moving instinctively during that fight. The honest reason is this: he can’t survive seeing Yuuji dead a third time. Logically, neither of them can gamble with death, but between the two of them, Megumi knew he was the expendable one. As Sukuna’s vessel, Yuuji has to remain alive—Megumi isn’t counting the resurrections.

Yuuji snorts, “sure, look where that got you,” he receives a hard deadpan stare from Megumi, who isn’t the least bit amused. Yuuji hooks a foot around the leg of his stool and moves to sit closer to Megumi, properly lacing their fingers together. “I’d tell you that you were idiotic, but I’m idiotic, and seeing that I’d have done exactly the what you did, I’m in no place to lecture you right now—” he rambles, his eyes glued to their hands, “—oh, and Kugisaki was here earlier, and she yelled at you.” He glances apologetically at Megumi—who sighs—before adding, “a lot.”

Though, really, it was justifiable, and unfortunately, Megumi can vividly piece together a mental image of Nobara calling him a dumbass piece of shit for brashly throwing himself into danger without even stopping to summon his shikigami. He supposed he had been so focused on ensuring Yuuji was out of the way that he hadn’t considered summoning his shikigami as a plausible method of protecting both of them without anyone ending up injured.

It’s crazy what he’d do for Yuuji, now that he thinks about it in retrospect.

So, dryly, he remarks, “I can imagine,” which earns him a laugh from Yuuji. If Megumi could capture the sound inside a bottle and drink it instead of water or literally any other fluid, he would. 

Yuuji sighs again, one of contentment this time, lips curving upwards in a wide smile, which, if anyone caught a glance of, can immediately be classified as belonging to someone who was love-struck. It’s a lovely smile, and one Megumi is familiar with, except he’d only ever been on the receiving end of it inside his dreams.

Megumi really doesn’t want to break the assuaged atmosphere currently in the room—he, too, would like to bask in this small window of kindness the universe has given him—but he has to, because, right now, Yuuji is the only source of information he has. “Tell me about the curse,” Megumi says, his voice raspy.

“Are you thirsty? I can go grab water,” Yuuji offers, releasing his hold around Megumi’s hand—Megumi swallows how much he misses the warm contact, nor does he voice the words, I’d rather become drunk on your voice than water—and stands from his seat, already on his way towards the door without waiting for a response.

He watches Yuuji leave in a hurry, still wearing that smile. Megumi can detect an undertone of unease, and he realizes Yuuji has been avoiding talking about the priority this whole time: the curse which led Megumi to end up in the infirmary—even if Megumi knows it’s actually his own fault. Which leads him to draw two possible conclusions: first—the curse, other than being annoying and ugly, was of high grade and horrendously deadly; or second—Yuuji feels guilty. If it’s the second option, Megumi is no stranger to that particular feeling, and has felt that same emotion flowing through his veins on several occasions.

Slumping his shoulders, he slides down the bed, closing his eyes so tight he feels pinpricks of pain behind his eyelids. His memories of the fight are still blurry. He remembers, vaguely, that it had been Nobara who’d defeated the curse, which also meant she was likely to have been the person to haul his ass back to the school so Ieri could heal him. Trying to pinpoint exactly what had transpired in the fight was beginning to give him a headache. He sighs, wondering whether his phone was in the room and whether reaching for it to call Yuuji would be too much trouble.

Yuuji returns precisely then, as if he somehow telepathically knew Megumi was about to try and call him. “I got water,” the pink haired boy announces, entering the room, closing the door as he does so. “And painkillers. Your head must be pounding really bad.” He unscrews the cap with deft fingers, handing the bottle and the pills to Megumi, who struggles to hold it but manages to find a grip. Though, with the numbness, it’s like holding an alien object. 

“Thanks,” Megumi drinks, drops the painkillers into his mouth and swallows. Almost immediately, the dull hammering inside his head begins to fade. Some droplets of water dribble down his chin. Yuuji reaches out to wipe the wetness, and the feeling of Yuuji’s fingers brushing softly against his jaw is enough to make every thought inside Megumi’s head vanish.

Yuuji, gently grasping the side of Megumi’s mandible, blurts out, “can I kiss you?” 

Megumi promptly chokes on his water, coughing, and stares owlishly at the pink haired boy. “You want to what?” He lets out a strangled, muffled yell, more in surprise than distaste.

“I want to kiss you.” Yuuji repeats, giving Megumi some time to clearly process his words before continuing. 

“Yeah, I got that,” Megumi says, rather giddy. He has to inhale a large amount of oxygen to soothe his nervous system that was bordering on a crashout, panic and pain shooting through his body, feeling lightheaded. Yuuji wants to kiss him. He’s holding himself together, just barely, clinging onto the last threads of control over his body and desires. Yuuji wants to kiss him. The thought alone makes him so incredibly happy, he can’t form proper words to express it.  

“I—I’ve wanted to for so long but I never knew when to confess that I liked you—” Yuuji pauses to intake a sharp breath of air before continuing, chest heaving—it was obvious he was struggling to fill his lungs with oxygen—and speaking quickly with the speed of a Shinkansen, words slurring together so much that Megumi has to pay extra attention to understand what he was saying. “—And I didn’t even know whether you were into guys or not; and with the Culling Games and everything else going on, I guess I just never got a chance to. And, like, you might’ve beaten me to the confession but—” 

Megumi does not want to be reminded of the Culling Games—he’d already remembered enough. Clumsily, he sets aside the open water bottle on the nearest flat surface he can reach. “Yuuji,” he interrupts sharply but not unkindly. It feels weird using the younger boy’s first name, especially in a hospital setting. “Stop talking.” If it weren’t for his arms feeling like fish out of water, he would’ve physically stopped the pink haired boy from uttering one more word.

Yuuji stops talking. 

A few seconds later, he murmurs, “sorry,” and Megumi, inside his head, can’t help but compare Yuuji to a kicked puppy. 

“Can you bend down?” Megumi asks, and Yuuji obeys without hesitation, leaning down until their noses are millimeters away from touching. Strands of Yuuji’s pink hair tickle Megumi’s forehead, and he can see himself being clearly reflected in those light brown eyes he loves so much.

“Like this?” Yuuji’s breath ghosts across Megumi’s face, smelling faintly of wagashi and honey. 

Megumi finds his body disobeying the paralysis it was under, moving on its own accord with blood circulating quicker through his arteries. Yuuji’s lips are warm, so incredibly warm and soft, it’s almost ludicrous, and tastes the same as his breath. 

Suddenly, it’s as if a thousand suns were bursting inside Megumi’s heart; as if Yuuji had pried it out of its place inside his rib-cage and torn it open at the seams. 

Yuuji’s hand slides from Megumi’s jaw to the side of his face, fingers tucking a stray lock of black hair behind his ear, tilting his head at the perfect angle to deepen the kiss. Megumi makes a low hum of satisfaction coming from the back of his throat, relaxing and doing his best to comply with Yuuji’s movements and advances. 

They run out of air and part, breathing heavily, and Megumi can only describe Yuuji’s expression at that moment as radiant—glowing, like Megumi was the source of his light; as if, in Yuuji’s vision, Megumi was the sun. 

It makes Megumi’s heart hurt. It makes him want to kiss Yuuji stupid. It makes him wonder whether Yuuji knows that, in Megumi’s world, he’s the sun. 

“So,” Megumi breathes, breaking the brief silence, a light flush on his cheeks, “will you tell me about the curse now?”

Yuuji freezes, and Megumi thinks, yeah, he’s definitely avoiding the topic. The pink haired boy swallows thickly and Megumi feels a little bad for changing the subject of the conversation. He can see the conflict in Yuuji’s eyes—the fear, the worry, the guilt—all weighing heavily, and truly, Megumi understands that pain.

Megumi is pragmatic, and therefore knows he should take that particular expression as a sign to not pry further. However, he woke up in the infirmary with only Yuuji keeping him company; to a dull, aching pain, his body feeling like lead, without being given any information whatsoever and obscure memories—which makes him all the more stubborn and determined to know the exact details.

Yuuji draws in a breath, a strangled noise leaving his throat. “…It’s stupid,” he mumbles, clasping his hands together, taking a seat on his stool again. 

Megumi’s eyebrows furrow. “It’s not stupid if I ended up here,” he points out, matter-of-factly, and Yuuji flinches—which means he was aware of that interesting piece of information. 

“It is,” Yuuji insists, “if it weren’t for my recklessness and stupidity, you wouldn’t be in here right now,” he adds miserably, looking dejected. Megumi can see the light in Yuuji’s eyes actively dimming, pale brown eyes losing their shine. 

He’d seen Yuuji downcast before—it isn’t entirely new. What is new, though, is that he’s the cause of that despondency. Megumi thinks, huh… even the sun can run out of light (technically speaking, since the sun is a main sequence star, it will eventually evolve into a red supergiant and end as a white dwarf, but that isn’t the point); he ruminates on the fact that the sun—specifically his sun—can carry a sorrow so foreign to him. 

If the moon receives its silver glow from sunlight, what is he supposed to do when the sun itself loses its light and he’s the reason for it? Megumi is at a loss of words, because Yuuji is folding in on himself, like a fox trapped in a cage, like he’s crumbling from the inside out—as if the knowledge of the fight was destroying him. It’s excruciating to watch, if Megumi is being honest.

More dexterously, it hurts Megumi to see Yuuji blame himself for an event that—Megumi hopes—was out of his control. And, out of the several lessons he’s learnt as someone who used jutsushiki on a daily basis, the most important one was that asking was it that bad? will always result in an answer that was a thousand times worse.

“Forget I asked,” Megumi mutters, a quiet huff following, refraining from probing further because he can’t watch Yuuji agonize over it any longer. 

“It’s not that you can’t ask—you can—I just—” Yuuji trips over his words again, the conflict in his eyes unresolved.

“Yuuji,” Megumi interrupts again, “it’s fine, it’s not your fault. I’ll ask Kugisaki or Gojo-sensei after I’m discharged.” Yuuji opens his mouth to refute and closes it when Megumi continues. “I’m here as a result of my actions—it’s not your fault—you did nothing wrong.” Megumi reiterates, tone serious.

“It’s not—” the pink haired boy argues, “it’s stupid—I’m stupid—” Yuuji repeats, his fingers flexing anxiously.

Megumi reaches out, slowly, because the numbness remains partially there in his body, and grasps Yuuji’s hands, feeling the younger boy go still in his hold. It makes Megumi relax too, the tension in his shoulders—which had existed out of his awareness—easing.

“You’re not stupid,” Megumi frowns, giving Yuuji’s hands a slow squeeze. “You’re an idiot, sure, but you’re not stupid.” Clearly, Yuuji doesn’t look the least bit convinced; his expression makes Megumi’s heart ache.

Yuuji shakes his head, cynical. “I should’ve gotten out of the way—or bought you time to summon your shikigami, and I couldn’t do that—” he breaks off, his eyes losing whatever remaining light they contained.

It’s not your fault, you did nothing wrong, Megumi is about to repeat when Yuuji resumes talking. “I just—” Yuuji shakes his head, distressed, as if narrating the memory was unsettling, and Megumi doesn’t blame him for feeling that way at all. “The curse was really bad—”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Megumi mutters under his breath.

“—And I thought it’d attack you ‘cause you were right there and I got scared,” Yuuji continues, as though Megumi had never interrupted. “And I couldn’t move fast enough and—and you ended up here.” Yuuji finishes, slumping his shoulders, trying to make himself appear as miniscule as possible.

He looks so small, so fragile. Megumi has a sudden, inexplicable yearning to hold Yuuji, to offer any sort of comfort he possibly could. “Don’t blame yourself for my actions,” Megumi says, tone disapproving with a furrow in his eyebrows. “It’s not your fault,” He reiterates, with only a single thought running through his head: how does one reilluminate the sun after it has lost its light? Megumi doesn’t have an answer, because the sun will eventually run out of fuel—a human life is similar: a cycle beginning with birth, ending with death, exhausting everything that kept them going—their light. 

Yuuji, in Megumi’s perspective, carries the world, and there is truly nothing more wonderful in the entire universe than having the world-bearing sun be in love with you. And Megumi, he wants a part of that, a piece of the world, to share that burden, because simply demanding to be saved is far too selfish—because watching Yuuji crumble over something that wasn’t his fault hurts Megumi.

Yuuji shrinks even further into himself. Megumi reaches out, as best as he could, to hold Yuuji’s arms and pull the pink haired boy towards him until he has his arms awkwardly wrapped around Yuuji’s torso. Megumi isn’t the best with physical contact, but nevertheless, Yuuji melts in his hold. The pink haired boy bends forwards, gently placing his head on Megumi’s chest.

He stays there for a while, buried in Megumi’s chest. Megumi doesn’t mind; in fact, he likes it—prefers it this way. His arms loosen their grip around Yuuji but he doesn’t remove them. Though it’s an action he usually doesn’t do, or let anyone do to him, he finds it to be anchoring—grounding. 

“Sorry,” Megumi feels Yuuji say against the fabric of his shirt. “I usually have my shit together,” the younger laughs, the sound muffled through the cotton. 

Megumi hums, and what he can comprehend from Yuuji’s words is this: the curse was bad—worse than he had originally thought it to be. 

“Did it have something to do with my memory?” Megumi asks flatly, and Yuuji sits up like an invisible string attached to his cervical spine had been pulled taut. “Because I can’t remember shit except pushing you out of the way; it’s all really fuzzy.” Megumi clarifies upon seeing Yuuji’s expression: eyes wide, fingers clutching onto Megumi’s shirt.

And Yuuji opens his mouth—Megumi is prepared for the answer this time—and says, “it’s stupid,” as if it were still a valid excuse. 

If it weren’t for feeling like dead weight with the faint throbbing of pain throughout his body, Megumi would’ve snapped at Yuuji for skirting around the priorities. He settles on gritting out, “Yuuji,” in a disapproving tone, clearly reprimanding. “Just tell me—”

Megumi is cut off by Yuuji smashing their lips together for the second time that day. It’s not an unwelcome action, but it throws Megumi completely off-guard, his body involuntarily responding to Yuuji’s touch. Yuuji’s fingers find the strands of Megumi’s hair and tugs on it lightly, eliciting sounds that Megumi didn’t know he had the capability to make, and all of the oxygen is being driven out of his chest. Megumi likes it, a lot, and shit, he is about to lose his composure in more ways than one.

He will give credit where it’s due: if this was Yuuji’s attempt to distract him, it was damn well working.

“Yuuji—” Megumi barely manages to hiss before the pink haired boy closes the distance between them. He catches the light brown of Yuuji’s eyes and can decipher the message residing deep in those eyes filled to the brim with affection: please don’t ask anymore; and Megumi swears his heart stills for a very brief nanosecond. 

Megumi has never seen Yuuji this desperate to avoid a conversation. 

There’s a small vibration coming from the pocket of Yuuji’s hoodie and both of them startle, breaking away. A small part of Megumi misses the warmth of the younger’s lips against his. Yuuji, meanwhile, fumbles to pull out his phone from his pocket, switching it on and swiping on the lock screen to check his notifications.

He frowns. “It’s Kugisaki. She’s asking if you’re awake and whether she can come see you…” He squints at the screen, “in five minutes.” He finishes, eyes flicking to Megumi. The slightest bit of annoyance from being interrupted—by a text message, no less—is visible in the cute furrow between his eyebrows.

Megumi doesn’t have a decent answer, and so, he says, “oh, okay.”

Yuuji stands, but not before swooping down to press a light kiss to Megumi’s lips. “I’ll drop by again,” Yuuji says, giving Megumi—who is rapidly turning a dusty shade of pink—a rather apologetic grin. “See you later; don’t let Kugisaki kill you.”

And he leaves, closing the door quietly behind him, taking the warmth of the sunlight Megumi had been clinging onto with him.

Megumi wants to strangle Yuuji and kiss him stupid, in equal measure. He desperately wants to do both at the same time. 

Nobara, as it turned out, had been a far more reliable source of information than Yuuji was—honestly, this didn’t even surprise Megumi. Though she, like Yuuji, did try to avoid the topic of the curse at first, but she gave in surprisingly easily after Megumi had glared at her harshly and threatened to expose her crush on Maki to the senior herself—not that he would; he’s a decent person, but he needed to know what had happened.

With that being said, this is what had taken place, and how his conversation with Nobara goes:

It had been a Grade One curse that had shown up out of the blue, as if surviving the Shibuya Incident and Culling Games hadn’t been enough. Though, from its appearance, according to Nobara, it had looked like a grade two or three. 

“It was really huge, and violent,” Nobara says, disgruntled and restless. “And you hit your head really bad when you pushed Itadori out of the way.”

That explains the fuzziness of Megumi’s memories and inability to clearly recall the event. 

“How long have I been here?” He asks, and her answer takes him by surprise, because he had honestly expected a bigger, scarier, but not an unusual number.

“Eh…” She frowns before saying, “a few hours—the curse happened yesterday night—around, like, maybe ten—and it’s…” She took a glance at her phone screen to check the time. “It’s like, eight in the morning. I was here earlier but you were passed out.” She glares at him, unappreciative that he’d been sleeping a while back. 

He does wonder what the hell he, Yuuji and Nobara were doing out on the streets that late at night. He doesn’t remember, nor does he bother to ask—the answer he’ll be given would be something along the lines of a mission or just three teenagers fooling around; both would lead to even more confusion on his end, anyways.

“Yuuji told me.” Megumi informs her instead. “Apparently you yelled at me a lot?” He really didn’t need the confirmation but still, he wanted to hear her attest to what Yuuji had recounted to him 

“I did—you deserved it,” for a strange reason, that brought him a very brief semblance of comfort. Sighing, she continues, “Itadori was here when I had come by earlier,” and Megumi’s eyes blew wide open, nearly dropping the water bottle he had reached out to grab from the side table he’d placed it on earlier. 

“He’d been here the whole time?” Megumi coughs, thin trails of water escaping from his mouth, and Nobara sighs again, handing him a tissue to wipe his face. Yuuji had been there when he had woken up, but he’d assumed Yuuji had entered the room a little while he had come to consciousness. 

“Yes, idiot,” she gives him a flat stare. “Itadori’s been in here since I hauled your ass all the way back.” So Megumi had been right when he assumed it had been Nobara who’d brought him to the infirmary. 

Then, she asks, “did you both get your shit together?” 

Megumi chokes violently on the water he’d been drinking. “What—” He gasps out, and Nobara whacks his back in an attempt to drive out the air clogging his throat. She’d also given him the whole tissue box so he could clean up the spilt liquid. “What?”

“Exactly what I said: did you two dumbasses get your shit together?” She raises an eyebrow, expectantly awaiting an answer. 

“What do you mean ‘did you two dumbasses get your shit together’?” Megumi exclaims, furious—mostly with embarrassment at the notion that his crush on Yuuji hadn’t been subtle at all. His voice was rough, but quiet enough to stay within the walls of the infirmary. Despite his best efforts to regulate his body, a faint red creeps up his neck and face.

“Precicely what I meant.” She scoffs, a hand on her hip. “What, do I need to get Ieri-san to check your ears too?” She narrows her eyes at him, as if examining his state herself.

“No.” Megumi shakes his head slowly. Some of the headache that had faded returns in dull, throbbing waves. Leaning back, he says, “we kissed.”

Nobara’s expression at that moment is absolutely priceless: her single eye wide in shock and jaw hanging open as if its hinges were broken. She looked flabbergasted, as if he had just revealed something incongruous. Megumi wanted to take a picture, print it out and frame it, send it to Yuuji even, he knew the younger boy would treasure it for life, and possibly use it as good-natured blackmail.

“Twice,” he adds, casually, because he knows that would send her into overdrive. “So I guess you could say we did get our shit together.”

“I—you—” She sputters, head swiveling between him and the door. “You kissed Itadori.” He nods. “Not once,” another nod, “but twice?” Yet another nod. “And you had to get knocked out by a Grade One curse for all of this to happen?” She deadpans.

A pause. The silliness surrounding his confession settles down on Megumi like one of those weighted blankets used during winter. “I suppose,” Megumi muses sardonically, doing his best to shrug, trying not to hide his discomposure. He is certain of one thing though: he doesn’t regret it, expressing his true feelings to the person who was most precious to him, and ending up bashed and mildly concussed and inside the infirmary was worth it for the closure he got.

“You—what is wrong with you—I—” she hisses, dropping onto the stool Yuuji had previously been sitting on; there was no venom to her voice, “you and your idiot boyfriend are going to kill me before any curse does, I swear to god—”

“My condolences,” he says flatly, earning himself a glare that was as sharp as a freshly sharpened blade and as deadly as death.

Pointedly, she ignores his comment. “Itadori’s liked you since you met,” She says, as if that was helpful to know at that moment.

He gawks at her. “What?”

“You heard me. He’s been head over heels for you for so long, it was painful to watch the mutual pining.” She grins, smug. Megumi stares at her, horrified. “I was actually considering stepping in and setting you two up.” She sighs once again and rolls her eyes, less in annoyance, more with fondness for her best friends. “The curse did it for me so I’ll take my wins where I get them.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Megumi scowls, eyebrows settling into a deep furrow.

“Eh,” she shrugs as if that was enough of an answer. “It was funnier to watch you both stumble around each other like the idiots you are.” Nobara snickers, not bothering to hide her amusement.

“I’m not an idiot,” he retorts, but clearly, he isn’t winning this battle because, unfortunately, Nobara is right: he can easily surmise how long he’d spent silently pining after Yuuji, hoping for his hidden feelings to be reciprocated by the other boy—around a year and a few months, maybe, if he’s doing his calculations correctly.

“Sure, whatever you say, mister ‘I-had-to-get-knocked-out-by-a-curse-to-confess,’” she snorts with mirth. It’s easy to tell she’s being entertained by his discomfiture. 

Nobara usually makes sure never to give her friends opportunities to one-up her. Unfortunately, she had slipped up just then, and Megumi would be a fool to not take the opening. So, lips curving upwards, he counters coolly, “you haven’t told Maki-senpai you like her yet.”

Nobara flushes a bright red, and Megumi knows he’s hit right at the mark, allowing himself a couple of brief seconds to bask in his glory of winning. 

“I’ll tell her—eventually,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

Megumi looks at her, unconvinced. “Right.” He says wryly. “Do I have to get a curse to knock you out for you to do that?” It’s a feeble attempt at a joke, but hey, if it worked for him, it might work for her too.

“I can confess my feelings on my own, thank you very much.” She grumbles, and Megumi doesn’t doubt that—she was the more head-strong, stubborn, proactive member of the trio. “And in a nicer, less idiotic way, unlike your sorry ass,”

“That was uncalled for,” he mutters, “can we move on?”

“Nope.” She cackles, giving a near-wicked sort of grin. “This is too funny; it’s going in your top ten most embarrassing moments. I’m gonna hold it over your head for life.” She crows at him. He’s more concerned about the fact that she has a list of his most embarrassing moments.

“Are you happy?” She asks him, after a succinct silence had passed.

Her gentle candidness takes him by surprise. “What?” 

“Are you happy?” She repeats, her tone kind, her voice having lost its teasing nature, drumming her fingers on the edge of Megumi’s bed where dents appear briefly and disappear as soon as they’d materialized. “Because you usually look miserable as shit, but then you look at Itadori like he’s the goddamn sun.” She wrinkles her nose, pulling a face. “It’s disgusting.”

“Yuuji is the sun,” Megumi ripostes, obstinate, and her expression is impassive and unimpressed. He takes a short inhale, reclining his body carefully. “And yeah, I’m happy.” He finds himself answering with an honesty that scares him.

“Okay, good,” she says, satisfied. “Because Itadori’s the reason behind the curse.”

He stares at her, completely baffled, with whatever mental image he had put together of the event breaking apart. “Didn’t you say that the curse showed up out of nowhere?” He gapes at her, his brain a jumbled mess.

“It did—don’t twist my words.” She asserts, eyebrows furrowing, “and your idiot boyfriend—” 

“We’re not boyfriends—” He tries to interject, unable to help silently wondering whether the kiss he and Yuuji had exchanged meant that they were. It had slipped his mind completely to bring it up earlier when it had only been himself and the younger boy inside the infirmary.

She continues, overriding him like he hadn’t spoken, “—thought he could beat it on his own, and then I had to beat that thing’s ass and haul you here. You’re welcome.”

He groans. “You seriously couldn’t have said this earlier, in one go?” He throws her a glowering stare. But he will admit that her expansion on the narrative she’d given him earlier clarified the guilt he’d seen in Yuuji’s eyes.

She shrugs her shoulders easily. “Forgot to tell you then. And free entertainment is free entertainment.” Then, with an air of relief, she remarks, “I am glad, though, that you’re alive and you’ve gotten your shit together.”

“Thank you?” He doesn’t know what else to say.

And then, something in her head apparently clicks, because she’s staring at him, stupefied. “Since when the hell were you on a first-name basis with Itadori?” She gawks at him incredulously.

“Like you said,” he says smoothly, relishing in her surprise. “I got my shit together.”

“I—” She inhales heavily, propping up her elbows on the surface of Megumi’s mattress, clasping her hands together, resting her forehead on it. “You and your idiot boyfriend are seriously gonna be the cause of my death.” She mutters, but the mild zeal in her tone doesn’t escape his ears.

Nobara leaves a while later and Yuuji walks in, happiness written all over his face, wearing that stupid, lopsided grin. Megumi is having trouble deciding whether to kiss the younger or berate him.

Yuuji perches on the stool by the side of Megumi’s bed. “Fushiguro, hey—” 

“Megumi.” Megumi says, pushing himself up to a better seating position. His limbs no longer feel like lead, though some of the heaviness and numbness still remains. 

“Huh?” Yuuji furrows his eyebrows, tilting his head slightly in confusion.

“Megumi,” the darker haired boy repeats, “call me Megumi.”  A strange sort of warmth blooms in his chest after the words leave his mouth.

A faint red rises on Yuuji’s cheeks. “Fushiguro, I can’t just—” He fidgets with his fingers, eyes darting everywhere but Megumi.

“Yuuji, it’s fine.” Megumi says sharply. It’s been years since he’s heard his given name in someone else’s voice—someone who wasn’t Tsumiki. Sometimes, he felt as if his name was a secret to everyone except Tsumiki, and very occasionally, Gojo. 

He wants to hear it in Yuuji’s voice. “I want you to call me by my name.”

Yuuji exhales, chewing on the skin of his lip. “Okay, okay.” He draws in a short breath. Shyly, he says, “Megumi,” and if it were even possible, he turns redder than a tomato. Megumi won’t lie: it’s adorable, and hearing his name fall so softly, like he was being revered, makes him feel something—he can’t pinpoint the exact emotion because there were too many to feel at that moment. 

Though, there’s a certain fragile air of intimacy to the way Yuuji says his name and Megumi is reminded of the fact that what they have now isn’t the same as before, and of Tsumiki. A jolt passes through his body, and he’s thrown back several years into his past, where his sister was cheerfully calling him by his name, where she was alive, where she had been the only person to ever call him ‘Megumi.’

“Megumi,” Yuuji says again, slowly, stretching each syllable, tasting the way it rolled off his tongue. His voice startles the dark haired boy to reality.

Megumi fidgets in his position, doing his best to hide his uneven breathing and the shudders passing through him, the blanket covering his body up to his waist shifting subtly. Then, brightly, Yuuji grins, “‘Gumi,” and the dark haired boy has to do a double take because no one had ever called him ‘Gumi’ before, not even his sister.

He makes this known. “You’re the first to call me that,” he mutters, fiddling with the hem of the fabric that covers his body.

Yuuji simply smiles at him with upturned eyes. “I’m honored. Come on,” the younger boy says, reaching out to hold Megumi’s hand and intertwine their fingers together. “It’s cute.”

“That’s not—” Megumi falters, the nickname playing on a loop inside his head. Sighing, he says, “just Megumi is fine.” He can feel the temperature of Yuuji’s skin seeping into his own—it’s burning with a heat he will always welcome.

Yuuji frowns and Megumi can practically see his metaphorical floppy golden retriever ears drooping. He interrupts before Yuuji can get in a word, cursing himself internally for being so weak towards the pink haired boy. When did he even become susceptible to Yuuji’s charms, anyway? “Fine, fine.” He relents. “Call me whatever you want. It doesn’t matter.” 

Yuuji grins, jovial, and his expression is truly as blinding and dazzling as the sun.

Megumi wants to take a photograph, print it, and frame it forever. Before he could cogitate about Yuuji’s smile further, he recalled what Nobara had told him about the cause of his current situation. “Kugisaki said the curse was your fault,” Megumi says casually, causing Yuuji’s jocularity to fall. 

“I told you it was stupid,” the younger mumbles, and it’s clear from his tone that he’s feeling embarrassed, guilty, and sheepish. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t think it’d be this stupid,” Megumi says, deciding on berating the pink haired boy to an extent. “Seriously. You’re strong but there’s no way you could’ve beaten that curse on your own.” He isn’t invalidating the reality that Yuuji possesses a great amount of strength, and can be a formidable jutsushiki user with Sukuna inside him. 

“We’ve faced worse,” Yuuji points out with a shrug, which, while true, doesn’t mean a Grade One curse could be handled by one person—Yuuta, maybe, but not Yuuji, no matter how strong he was.

“Doesn’t excuse the fact that it was still stupid,” Megumi retorts swiftly, exhaling softly when he sees Yuuji’s light brown eyes flash with a miniscule amount of hurt. Drawing in a breath, he says, “what’s done is done. You’re fine, I’m fine—that’s all that matters right now.”

Yuuji brings up their intertwined hands, slowly because Megumi’s limbs still have a sort of immobility to them, and presses the back of them to his forehead. “I’ll try not to be stupid,” he murmurs.

“Focus on trying not to make stupid decisions—like not thinking you could beat it on your own, for example.” Megumi corrects, not unkindly.

From Yuuji’s mouth, a small bout of laughter spills. It warms Megumi’s heart. “Right, that—I’ll try that.” The younger promises. 

A succinct pause follows.

Yuuji takes the opportunity to drop a verbal bomb he’d been hiding from the older boy: “I thought you were dead. I thought you wouldn’t—wouldn’t live for as long as you were supposed to.” He chokes on his words, and Megumi is having trouble digesting it because there were too many things happening at once. “There was so much blood, and you had a really bad concussion, Ieri-san was able to heal you through her reversed curse technique, ‘Gumi—you have no idea—”

Megumi would like to know two things: one—why did everyone suddenly like giving him vital information at the wrong time, and two—what the fuck?

“Kugisaki didn’t say anything, you didn’t say anything, even though I asked you so many times to tell me.” Megumi tried to keep his anger at bay, really, he tried, but he can’t reign back the harshness to his tone. Anyone would be angry if the people closest to them omitted important facts, that too on purpose. 

“Sorry,” Yuuji gives his hands a squeeze—a silent apology to accompany his verbal one. “Sorry… it just felt—” He breaks off.

Megumi’s head pounds again, the headache that had grown dull returning with full force. Omitting those fragments of information from him, with a desire to protect him, was a kindness in itself; knowing that, he chooses not to push any further; he doesn’t think he can handle it anymore.

Then, before he can find anything to change the topic of their conversation to, Yuuji brings up the question Megumi had been thinking about since Nobara had mentioned it during their conversation—Megumi had denied it then. “So, does this make us boyfriends?” The younger asks coyly.

“You do realize normal people ask out the person they like before kissing them, right?” Megumi states dryly, though his voice has no bite to it.

“Well, yeah, but look at us—there’s nothing normal to see here.” Yuuji replies easily, and more importantly, it’s true. The two of them are, after all, part of the most abnormal human community in the world. “Also, I kinda panicked, so I think you should let me off the hook.”

That gets a chuckle out of the dark haired boy. Megumi didn’t even know he had the ability to laugh like that, all soft and mellow. He then finds himself asking, genuinely, “do you want us to be?”

He doesn’t believe himself to be fully prepared to wear a label quite yet. Though, he is almost certain that they will, eventually, end up dating and in a properly defined relationship. It’s what he wants, really. But then, he’s also sure that a simple kiss doesn’t immediately make them boyfriends.

However, the concept of ‘casual’ and ‘taking it slow’ doesn’t exist between Yuuji and himself. Everything involving them tends to become complicated, so examining their kiss with that verity in mind, it’s far from straightforward.

“Yeah,” Yuuji says, near instantly, nodding his head in earnest. “I mean—yes, I want us to be boyfriends. But if you don’t want to be, that’s also fine—I just really really like you—so much—” He adds in a rush, words flowing out of his mouth with the speed of rapids in a river.

He’s rambling a lot today, Megumi notices. Then, dazedly, he realizes it was because of him—Yuuji stumbles over words because he was a fundamentally honest character, because he cherishes Megumi to that extent.

Megumi exhales, slowly, through his nose. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. He highly doubts—with all of the curses and threats surrounding them—that they’ll be given time to be boyfriends—to be normal teenagers in love. On top of all of that, what does it even mean to be ‘boyfriends’? Neither of them are guaranteed long lives, and Megumi isn’t fond of half-assing anything. If he was going to end up in a relationship, he would choose someone he’s willing to stay by the side of until death—he’s already chosen that person; the name surfaces in his head without him trying—Yuuji—which forms another question inside his mind: what happens after one of them dies? He doesn’t want to know.

But I want to be with you, he finishes inside his head. 

Yuuji doesn’t press further. “Okay—that’s—that’s fine,” he says, but Megumi can see the slightest bit of disappointment glimmering in his light brown eyes, and the smile on his face is too forced—Megumi has all of Yuuji’s smiles memorized at this point; he can tell.

There are so many uncertainties and the same amount of certitude pertaining to their relationship and the world they live in. 

Megumi can be honest with Yuuji. He’s always done his best to be. “I’m scared—” He admits truthfully. “—About what’ll happen to us.”

“It’ll be okay,” Yuuji reassures, almost immediately. “We’ll be okay.” He leans down to press their foreheads together. 

Megumi squeezes his eyes shut. The contact makes every worry within him melt away like it had never existed in the first place. God, he wants to stay like this forever. 

“And sorry, again, for—” Yuuji starts, igniting a spark of irritation within Megumi’s nerves.

“Yuuji,” stop apologizing, Megumi is about to huff, wondering how he’s tolerated the younger boy’s tendency to ramble like an idiot for so long (he knows the answer: it’s because he loves him), but decides against it. He has a far more valuable, sweeter weapon at his disposal he can use to stop the younger from running his mouth.

Pulling on Yuuji’s hand, he makes the pink haired boy to lean most of his body weight onto himself, forcing Yuuji to shut up by smashing their lips together, swallowing whatever words were ready to make their way out of the younger’s mouth, their teeth clashing due to the awkward angle.

From the crack of Megumi’s eyelids, he can see Yuuji’s light brown eyes grow round in surprise, clearly not having anticipated the dark haired boy to act first, but Yuuji melts into it instantly. They slot together like puzzle pieces, like they were made for each other. Yuuji’s lips are still warm, and with the closeness, Megumi truly feels as if he were soaking up the sunlight radiating from him. Whatever heavy weight his body had been feeling disappears; in Yuuji’s touch, Megumi is merely a feather—he has no matter. Yuuji, Megumi thinks with more affection and fondness than he had ever felt in his entire life, is luminary. It’s the only word, aside from comparisons with the sun, that perfectly encapsulates Itadori Yuuji’s entire being and soul.

His lungs burn with the lack of oxygen, heaving for air. “One lifetime with you isn’t enough,” Megumi breathes, hoarse and dry.

Yuuji smiles, lips curving upwards beautifully, gentle and pure. Megumi’s heart throbs. “I know,” the pink haired boy says. “I want to live through so many lifetimes by your side too, ‘Gumi. There’s so many things I want to experience with you.”

Megumi, for a very brief moment, feels as if he were suspended in time, a fleeting feeling of domesticity, that perhaps they could afford being normal in a world that was abnormal, washing over him like gentle tides. Yes, he was aware that he had no intention of living a normal life, which was a given considering that the two of them were jutsushiki users, and the lives  jujutsu sorcerers live is fundamentally abnormal from the start. That didn’t mean he couldn’t live a life that was far from what people considered to be the norm in a normal world. Though, reality stabs him in the back of his mind: they can’t be by each other’s side forever. One of them will eventually die. For a peculiar reason, Megumi thinks he’s going to die first, and Yuuji will have to live without him. 

It hurts to even think about that certainty, that unchangeable end point Megumi does not want to reach if it meant losing or leaving Yuuji. What reason is there for him to live in this world if a part of him—half of his soul—is gone?

A sudden thought occurs to him—a rather nonsensical one at that, to which he already knows the answer. “Yuuji,” he says, unsure if what he’s about to ask is a valid question.

“Yeah?” The pink haired boy replies, looking at Megumi with round, curious eyes, and Megumi swears the sun resides in the depths of that light brown.

Megumi decides to ask it anyways. Yuuji wouldn’t chastise at all. With that in mind, Megumi swallows, takes a breath, and says, “would you remember me after I die?”

Yuuji looks at him as if he’d just said the moon was made of cheese or that dogs had purple fur, eyes narrowed and an eyebrow raised in confusion. “Wha—’Gumi—of course I’d remember you!” He exclaims indignantly, as if the mere idea of forgetting Megumi was ridiculous. Inhaling to calm himself down, with a shake of his head, he adds with a sure tone, “I don’t think I’d ever be able to forget you. I love you too much for that. I’d look for you everywhere, in everything—there’s a lot of things that’ll remind me of you.” There’s a smile on his face that’s somewhere on the border between fond and forlorn.

Megumi’s throat closes up at those words. It’s an obvious answer, one he’d already anticipated, one he knew Yuuji would say. In spite of that, Yuuji’s statement renders him breathless, and unable to speak.

“‘Gumi?” Yuuji looks at him with soft light brown eyes filled to the brim with concern and worry. “You good?”

How lucky must he be to have met someone like Yuuji, who is the physical embodiment of the sun, radiant in all ways possible, who loves him as easily as breathing?

“I’m fine,” Megumi manages. He’s lying through his teeth. He is absolutely not fine. It’s eating at him, the fact—the reality—that Yuuji loves him so much, and Megumi has never felt this loved before in his life. Not even with Tsumiki, though that love was more familial.

Megumi loves Yuuji too. That is the truth. But he knows, even if he gives Yuuji all of his love, he can never love to the same extent as Yuuji, as fiercely as the younger boy, as honest as him, for those were all qualities that intrinsically belonged to the pink haired boy. 

What Megumi can offer is a love that isn’t twisted or toxic, per se, rather it’s imperfect, because in a volatile, abnormal world such as theirs, it’s implausible to be able to love so freely like Yuuji does. Furthermore, what with the Zenin Clan shit he has to deal with—though he’d choose Yuuji over the Zenins in a heartbeat—he can’t offer his whole being so easily to Yuuji, no matter how much he yearns to.

Thus, even if his love is different from Yuuji’s, may not be as pure as Yuuji’s, not be as vehement as Yuuji’s, it still remains to be love too.

It’s unfair, Megumi thinks, to be so pure hearted towards someone like me. He doesn’t deserve this genuine, unadulterated love Yuuji showers him with, but he is the one who fell for Yuuji first—probably—and Megumi is the one selfishly reaching out to grasp this unconditional love within his fingers. 

As if sensing his internal conflict, Yuuji, with all of the tenderness of welcoming a lover home, says, “Megumi, I’d choose you in every lifetime. I’d choose you in every universe.”

Megumi knows. It’s as obvious as green grass, at this point. It doesn’t help dislodge the air stuck in his throat. He doesn’t have to say anything though, because Yuuji kisses him—the soft and gentle press of their lips turning every bone in his body into useless mush—before he can.

“Would you remember me if I died, though?” Yuuji asks once they break apart, face centimeters away from Megumi’s, his head tilted to the side, a knowing shine in his eyes. 

“Yes.” Megumi answers in a split second, without the slightest bit of  hesitation. It’s probably the fastest he’s answered any question he’s been asked. He finds himself drowning in Yuuji’s light brown ocean; he wants to sink deep into those depths, he never wants to surface.  “I couldn’t forget you even if I tried.” 

Not that he would try. Yuuji’s presence had been imprinted on him too strongly for him to forget; he could feel it in his skin, in his bones. He would lie awake in his bed sometimes, unable to sleep, listening to Yuuji’s loud snores passing through the thin walls from next door, and somehow, that would be the sound to lull him to sleep.

“I love you so much, ‘Gumi.” Yuuji’s wagashi and honey-smelling breath ghosts against Megumi’s face. 

I know. I love you too, Megumi wants to say, but it seems that his throat has given up on him for good. He allows Yuuji to scoop as much of him as possible into strong arms and hold him until time becomes a concept. He can’t help but think, I want to stay like this forever—a foolish wish he knows is unattainable, but surely, a boy can be allowed to dream.

It ends like this:

Megumi’s hand in Yuuji’s, snug and warm, and slightly awkward—both of them were, after all, getting used to their new relationship and label as lovers. Megumi had gotten discharged from the infirmary a few days back.

“You’re fine now,” Ieri had said after having given him a check-up, “just watch out for headaches, and rogue curses.” She’d stared hard at Yuuji, who had the decency to look guilty, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

They were inside Megumi’s room now, cuddling on his bed. Everything—hugging, holding hands, kissing, though they’d already kissed plenty of times—felt completely foreign to him. 

It wasn’t as though anything tangible had changed. His bedroom was exactly as bare as it had been before, thick curtains pushed aside to provide a view of the dusk which was obstructed by the trees and the occasional building in the distance. Yet, somehow, everything felt unfamiliar.

Yuuji’s palm was warm against Megumi’s cold skin, the younger’s head resting on his shoulder. Kuro was curled up comfortably on his lap and Shiro stretched out in front of them, tail hanging from the edge of Megumi’s mattress.

They had barely just crossed the threshold of the room when Yuuji had begged him to summon his divine dogs. He’d given in, considering he was pathetically weak to the younger boy, and he couldn’t exactly refuse the puppy-dog eyes Yuuji had been giving him. 

Much to Megumi’s misfortune—not really; he had the grace to admit that he did enjoy watching his shikigami display their less violent nature—the dogs had immediately taken a liking to Yuuji, bounding and sniffing the younger boy excitedly inside the walls of Megumi’s room, wagging their tails. The shikigami were friendly outside of battle and around familiar faces after Megumi had given them free reign. 

“Hey, I think the white one likes me!” Yuuji had exclaimed as Shiro leapt up on its hindlegs, sniffing at his neck with heavy breaths, placing its forelegs and paws on his shoulders, tail thumping loudly against the wooden flooring of Megumi’s bedroom.

“Traitors,” Megumi had huffed under his breath, too low for Yuuji to hear, but couldn’t help the chuckle that’s filled with too much fondness to be legal that spills out from his mouth afterwards. “They’re so useless when you’re around.” He was aware of the fact that this was the first time he’d summoned his shikigami for purposes that weren’t fighting, and dogs were inherently friendly creatures—he couldn’t fault them for being elated and eager to familiarize themselves with Yuuji.

Shiro had been excitedly licking Yuuji all over his face while Kuro was chasing its tail around Yuuji’s legs with a speed that would inevitably cause the boy to fall over—he had one of the most luminous smiles Megumi had ever seen him wear—until the dark haired boy had yanked the younger onto his bed before Yuuji could trip and fall, sitting down on the slightly hard mattress with pillows against the wall so as to not hurt their backs.

“Is this okay?” Yuuji had asked, reaching for Megumi’s hand. His fingers hovered mere millimeters over it, waiting for Megumi’s approval.

Megumi had nodded. “Yeah. This is fine.” He’d said. Yuuji took his hand in his, the touch lighting Megumi’s skin on fire while the warmth trickled deep into his bones. He was absolutely not internally combusting. 

While this close proximity and intimacy was foreign to Megumi, it had become something he’d quickly grown comfortable with, because it was Yuuji. 

Now, stray strands of Yuuji’s pink hair tickle Megumi’s neck. Yuuji hums in content, and Megumi can feel the vibrations from the sound travel up his neck. 

“‘Gumi, do you think,” Yuuji begins, voice a sleepy murmur against Megumi’s neck, “we’ll find each other in our next life, and the one after that?”

Megumi’s eyebrows furrow and he glances at his lover—he was still getting used to calling Yuuji that. “Maybe,” he says, “I don’t know. What brought this on?” 

He feels the younger boy slowly, lazily, wrap his arms around his waist. On Megumi’s lap, Kuro, who had been blissfully sleeping, fidgets at the sudden weight and fingers that don’t belong to his owner scratching the fur between his ears before settling down once more. 

“No reason,” Yuuji mumbles, a yawn following. “Just felt like asking, I guess.” They lapse into a comfortable silence after that.

Sunlight pours in through Megumi’s window, bathing the room in a pale golden light; behind the glass, hues of pastel pinks and oranges could be seen in the gaps between buildings, gradually fading as the sun takes its time to dip below the horizon. Tiny flecks of dust floating in the air are caught in the light, shining as if they were stars. 

“I think I’d be able to find you.” Megumi says eventually, breaking the quiescence. 

“Really?” Yuuji perks up at that, though he doesn’t lift his head from the older boy’s shoulder. Megumi nods. “How?”

Megumi doesn’t have an answer. He just knows, in his heart, that if they were to find each other in a different lifetime, he would, without a doubt, recognize Yuuji. Honestly speaking, Megumi had never been the sort of person to dwell too much on the afterlife and what happens after death—people were born, and eventually they would die. That was just the cyclical nature of human life. Now though, he wonders if reincarnation was possible, if it were real, then perhaps he’d find his sister too, in another life. Ostensibly, in that plausible world line, they wouldn’t be haunted by curses, and imaginably, they’d be able to live in a world that was free from abnormalities. 

Or maybe she’d continue living the life she had always deserved, unaware of his existence in a normal world, and Megumi, in the recesses of his mind, knew he wouldn’t have the heart to interrupt, to crash into his sister’s bubble. Still. In another life, he’d like to meet Tsumiki, and fall, once again, for Yuuji. 

It’s an impossible hope to cling on to.

In the end, he settles on saying, “I just would.” He doesn’t have to look at the younger boy to know Yuuji was more than satisfied with his answer. 

“I don’t know about me,” Yuuji yawns again, his syllables ending up stretched out. He nuzzles further into the older boy’s neck. “But I think I’d be able to find you too.” 

His words are a painful reminder of how fragile their lives were, how unstable their world was. They’d survived so much, but there was no guarantee whether they’d live to grow old and wither away like normal humans. 

“If I didn’t,” Yuuji adds, unknowingly breaking Megumi away from his thoughts, “I think I’d just fall in love with you again.” He says it easily, as if it were as simple as stating a common fact such as the sky is blue. He lifts his head from the dark haired boy’s shoulder this time, and places a soft, feather-light kiss on Megumi’s cheek.

Megumi turns his head so they're facing each other, noses brushing. He unlaces his hand from Yuuji’s—whose eyebrows dip in a very mild disappointment but doesn’t chase it—and brings it to cup the sides of the pink haired boy’s face. 

“I’m hard to love.” He says, but he doesn’t want Yuuji to stop loving him—he knows Yuuji wouldn’t—he wants to continue being selfish and claim the pink haired boy’s love for himself. His thumbs brush gently against Yuuji’s scars, and Megumi doesn’t need to look in a mirror to know that he’s gazing at his lover with reverence, with all of the love he’s capable of, like Yuuji is sunlight and flecks of happiness gathered into one. 

Yuuji, with a lot of care, holds Megumi’s wrist without applying pressure. “What’s hard about it when it’s the easiest thing I’ve done?” He laughs, and it's as if he had reached into the depths of Megumi’s rib-cage, pried his heart from its place and replaced it with the sun. “I’d fall in love with you again and again, and I’d never get tired of it—loving someone as cool as you.” With that being said, he closes the distance between them, and all Megumi can taste inside his mouth is wagashi and honey. 

Perhaps it is easy—to a ridiculous level—for Yuuji to say those sorts of things, because Megumi’s brain stops. He can’t function, can’t process anything else, and a muted pink color spreads abruptly across his face at the unexpected kiss. “I’d like that.” He mutters as they break apart, Yuuji resting his head on his shoulder again. “I’d like that a lot.”