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Megumi lay tucked beneath his thin duvet, body chilled to the bone with soft bumps lining his pale, brawny arms. Sweat trickled from his forehead and down onto the dark blue pillow laid underneath his head.
Fushiguro Megumi does not get sick.
Or at least that's what he tells people.
Sickness is a sign of weakness, a state of the body that leaves you trembling in your own nausea. It's unpredictable, a force that's a direct threat to everything in the world. Being sick will not take him anywhere.
Despite Fushiguro Megumi trying everything not to get stricken with illness, he cannot control what the universe decides for him.
Everything was damp. His forehead was clammy, along with his palms, legs, feet—practically every part of his body. He was sweating, yet freezing.
He crossed his arms and traced his fingers down his goosebumps. With every movement came an ever-blooming ache from his head and stomach. It was as if Kugisaki had taken her steel nails and shoved them right into his brain, then kicked him in the stomach.
Soft groans exited from his flushed lips. His stomach rocked uncontrollably. Instinctively, he pressed his palm into the center of his stomach to ease the pain. His breaths became quickened, and before he knew it, he felt air rising to his throat.
Megumi pushed off his bed and hustled toward the communal bathrooms. Bile slowly started to rise to his mouth with each step.
"Don't puke in this damn hall, don't do it—" He mumbled to himself, then tugged the door open and ran towards the stalls.
His stomach felt like it was on fire. Megumi started to gag as he leaned his face over the toilet. He heaved, ribs aching as he emptied what used to be his dinner. He wheezed and pressed his forehead against his hands.
God, everything hurt.
He sat with his legs laid out upon the floor, eyes tightly shut and eyebrows furrowed. Megumi threw his head back, hitting the stall door with an alarming thud.
Before he could pull himself off the floor, the door creaked open.
"Fushiguro?" A warm voice whispered.
Well shit. Itadori had probably heard him scrambling down the hallway as he rushed to the bathroom.
"Hey, Itadori." He tugged himself up from the ground and pushed the door open.
Soft, brown eyes trailed down his body. "You good? I heard you running down the hall. Just wanted to check." Yuji smiled at him with heavy eyes. Of course he had to wake Itadori up. Right as he was trying to be stealthy about his upset stomach, his idiotic stumbling self had to wake half the planet up.
"Everything's fine. I, uh…I'm good."
"Fushiguro, don't lie to me."
Their eyes met with uncertainty. It wasn't a shock that Itadori had seen through his thinly veiled lie. After all, he seemed to know everything when it came to feelings.
Just like Tsumiki.
Megumi shook his head to rid himself of his thoughts. Not now.
"Just indigestion, that's all. Don't worry about me, go back to bed, Itadori." He whispered, eyes now focused on the soft tile underneath his feet.
Yuji stepped closer to him and raised his hand. He pressed his cold palm onto Megumi's sweaty forehead, and Megumi leaned into the soothing touch. His body was too hot, and Itadori seemed to be just the right temperature. "Jeez, it feels like you're on fire." He paused, then flipped his hand around to press the back of his hand to Megumi's forehead. "You don't have to lie to me, Fushiguro."
Megumi leaned away from his hand, then walked toward the sinks. He quickly washed his hands, letting the freezing water wash away the cover of sweat across his palms.
Itadori stood behind him, looking into Megumi's eyes with a hint of patheticness. He looked like an upset puppy with attachment issues, practically clinging to Megumi as he scrubbed away at the dirt on his hands.
"You don't have to wait for me." He mumbled as he grabbed a paper towel, Itadori still trailing beside him.
"But you're sick. I can't leave a sick person alone. Do you think I'm a monster?" Sukuna's mouth appeared on the side of Yuji's face, but was quickly silenced by the smack of a hand. "Shut up, Sukuna."
Megumi rolled his eyes and started to walk back toward his dorm. Yuji followed quietly, footsteps matching the same pace as Megumi's. His stomach continued to wobble, but with Itadori by his side, it was easier.
The two reached Megumi's dark-stained wooden door. Yuji stood outside the frame, waiting for an invitation in.
Megumi stared at him with confusion. "What, do you need an invitation? I hope you're not a vampire."
Yuji laughed and threw his head back. "I didn't know you watched that movie!"
"What…movie?…"
"Never mind."
Itadori walked into his room, eyes darting around to catch anything new. Ever since Yuji had moved in, he'd always been curious about Megumi's room, and after a few attempts at bribing, Megumi got sick of it and invited him in.
It looked practically the same every time, but Yuji nonetheless always seemed to want to explore his room. Megumi figured that he was nosey, or that he wanted to find blackmail material for Gojo and Kugisaki to use.
This time wasn't different from the others, except for the fact that Fushiguro's bed looked a mess. Blankets were strewn everywhere, and there were droplets of sweat on his pillows and sheets.
Megumi felt slightly embarrassed by his room's state of disarray, but his thoughts were intercepted by an exclamation.
"I'll be right back, Fushiguro!" Yuji slowly closed the rolling door and walked down the hallway. Megumi's room was worse for wear, and Itadori felt bad that his sickness seemed to have gotten that terrible for a total loss of organization.
He grabbed a glass cup from the top shelf and started to fill it with water. Megumi was likely exhausted, and on the same note, dehydrated.
Yuji stared at the sink, brows furrowed in deep thought as his tongue peeked out from the corners of his mouth.
He tossed his head up in an 'Aha!' moment. He headed toward the linens closet and grabbed a navy blue rag. Yuji rinsed it under cold water, then squeezed out the excess. He tucked the rag into one hand and held the glass of water in the other.
Yuji began to make his way back to Megumi's room. The hallway was quiet, considering that it was around twelve.
He pushed open the door and was met with Megumi's bare back. Faint scars lined his shoulders and spine, each holding memories of past fights.
"Hey, I brought you some things to help with your head." He placed the glass down on Megumi's nightstand, then brought the rag over to him. "Move your hair back; I don't wanna get it more wet."
Megumi gawked at him. "I don't need you to place a rag on my head, Itadori." He stepped back and grabbed at the cloth in Yuji's hands. He formed it into a ball, then rested it on his nightstand.
He plopped down onto his bed and immediately regretted it. His stomach started to whirl and clench, and all Megumi could do was sit there and take it.
Itadori's eyes were fixated on his body, and Megumi started to regret not putting on a shirt. His stomach tightened uncomfortably, and bile started to rise in his throat.
"Itadori—" Megumi blurted and cupped a hand over his mouth in an attempt not to barf all over his clean floor.
Yuji jumped up and rushed to get the bin from the corner of Megumi's room. He vomited into the trash can violently and was left panting. A firm hand was pressed against his back, rubbing circles into his shoulder blades as he gagged. His body ached, and Megumi felt like he wanted to dig his own grave and cry in it for eternity.
Yuji had a tissue ready in his hands and started to wipe at Megumi's lips as he raised his head. He was really pathetic, wasn't he?
Megumi slid down under his duvet and rested his hands underneath his head.
"You okay?" Itadori said softly.
Megumi nodded and pressed the side of his head against the plush pillow. Yuji sat beside him on the mattress, still staring at him with a sympathetic look.
"Hey, roll over. You're still boiling." Yuji lifted the rag from the nightstand and pushed back Megumi's bangs. He gently laid it across his forehead, and the cold touch alleviated Megumi's oncoming migraine.
Megumi glanced at him and bit his lip. "Why do you...why do you care so much?" The background noise seemed to pause as soon as those words flew from Megumi's lips. He was worried for a moment that he'd done something wrong and that Yuji was going to run right out of his room crying, swearing never to try and help Megumi again.
Instead, he let out a short hum. "My grandfather used to have sick spells like this all the time. I used to feel bad as a kid that I couldn't help, so I try to make up for it." Yuji paused. "I think this is what he wanted."
The two sat in a solace of silence, their eyes not meeting each other's as they compiled up thoughts. Suddenly, his duvet was raised. Yuji lifted the blanket and crawled under, attaching himself to Megumi's side and interlocking their legs.
It wasn't common for Yuji and Megumi to have sleepovers together. If they did, Kugisaki would tag along, and they'd stay up the whole night talking about their hatred for random things and debating topics that half the time Megumi had no clue what each of their arguments were about.
"Fushiguro?"
Megumi didn't answer. He squeezed his eyes even tighter than before. An arm draped itself over Megumi's front, wrapping around his body and holding him tight. Megumi clutched onto Yuji's hand and traced his fingertips along the boy's knuckles.
"Y'know, I'm glad that I saved you that day. I don't think I could imagine my life without any of you, especially you." Yuji took in a deep, shaky breath.
"I'm glad too, Itadori," Megumi whispered back with a small smile plastered upon his face. He felt a small flush rise to his cheeks, and the pain in his stomach was replaced with butterflies.