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The life-altering showdown at Shinjuku ended seven days ago. What went down between Ryomen Sukuna and Gojo Satoru could only be described as the work of gods, if they weren’t already the ones at play themselves. Shock after shock from Hollow Purple had made the air ripple with a current it had never carried before. And the universe itself was defied when all of Earth’s substance, including life, was sliced in ways beyond one’s wildest comprehension. The two sorcerers fought, they played, and they danced to the rhythm of each other’s calls and attacks, letting the world around them descend into madness.
Yuuji saw it all happen right in front of his eyes. His sensei taking deadly blows and delivering them back just as brutally to the body and soul being controlled by Sukuna. His heart broke for every hit he saw the body take, for every straight, merciless shot to the precious soul. He could see the bones breaking, the muscles going limp, the shell becoming hollower by the second, but he was torn, stuck, left unmoving because the same damage also meant a win for them.
When the battle ended and the two giants fell, the world lost its strongest sorcerer, but Itadori Yuuji lost his world: Fushiguro Megumi. Sukuna had been defeated, which meant he had left behind his vessel, but no matter how hard or how many times Yuuji looked, the body was nowhere to be found. His best friend, his partner, his Megumi was nowhere to be found.
All of this while the mastermind behind it all remained at large. Kenjaku, with an intellect fueled by nothing but pure evil, who had meticulously set his plan in motion, proved once again why he was so feared when every attempt to capture him failed as he cracked the code and escaped. He was injured, weak, and stripped of most of his power, but his survival alone was threat enough to warrant ceaseless attempts to find and kill him. Every day and every night, jujutsu sorcerers crawled the streets, rescuing people, killing remaining curses and searching for any trace of the orchestrator of this chaos.
Yuuji had taken it upon himself to search behind every door, under every piece of rubble, in any possible place Megumi could be. He checked not once, not twice, but three times to make sure. He retraced his steps. He imagined every path Megumi could’ve taken after the fight. He imagined his battered body, out of energy, dripping with blood, making its way through the knocked-down buildings. Each time, he would have to pause and calm his hyperventilating self. Each time, he would have to stop cursing himself over losing his Megumi to carry on another day, looking for him.
He racked his brain for all the places Megumi could be. For any place he would seek solace or shelter. For any place he would pass through for even a second. How could he figure it out? How could he match the smarts of his Megumi? His brain, his quick wit, his splendid genius that he had admired, looked up to, relied on. He settled on Megumi’s old apartment, the one he shared with his sister, Tsumiki. He made it his hideout, his sanctuary. He swung by every chance he got during the day and spent his nights there with one eye fixed on the door.
“Hey, Itadori.”
Yuuji’s neck snapped towards the voice. He saw a tall outline out on the terrace, with the silhouette of a head that spiked every which way. Were his eyes mistaking him? They couldn’t. Not with the form he had trained them to recognize. Not with the form he had memorized every fall and rise of. Not with the form he had spent his every waking minute trying to find. He rushed, forgetting his injured leg, forgetting his bleeding forehead. He rushed.
The door swung and so did Yuuji at the figure before him. His arms found their way around the frame as naturally as they always had. “Fushiguro,” he said in his lowest voice through the heaviest of his falling tears. The salt stung his cuts, but he didn’t care. He had found his medicine at last.
Yuuji’s head came to rest in the crook of Megumi’s neck, where it had a hundred times before. He knew the curve of the skin like it was his own. It was his best cushion. He ran his hand through Megumi’s soft black hair, a softness that couldn’t be replicated, a softness he had so missed. It came to rest at the nape. A nape whose feel only he knew, that only he had ever nuzzled into.
Megumi’s arms came up to envelop Yuuji. He was thinner, leaner, but always held the other completely, wholly, as if engulfing him.
Oh, how Yuuji had longed for this embrace. Every night, he curled himself up into a ball, trying to remember, trying to conjure up Megumi’s arms around him, only to fail and nod off in despair. But he didn’t have to anymore. Megumi was back. His warmth was back.
Megumi traced soft, slow circles with his thumb over Yuuji’s spine.
The motion immediately put Yuuji at peace. He sighed in relief and took in a long, hearty breath for the first time in a week. He had forgotten this feeling of ease. “It’s you,” he said, eyes roaming, taking in every inch of the face he had wished, prayed to see again.
Megumi’s hand cupped Yuuji’s cheek, gentle and tender as it always did.
Yuuji reveled in the touch. He felt Megumi’s breath against him and leaned in. His lips met Megumi’s instinctively, like an action remembered, like a habit. It was a rhythm they had fallen into uncountable times before. The feel, the pressure, the heat of the kiss made every cell in Yuuji’s body come alive. He felt settled, grounded. Megumi’s lips, his strong arms, his presence were the anchors that had finally steadied Yuuji in the middle of this storm. He pressed closer into Megumi. He wanted to merge into him, to become one with his one, to never be apart again, to never lose him again.
“I missed you so much,” he sniffled into Megumi’s collar. “I can’t believe you’re alive.”
“Go ahead, Yuuji. Touch him. Hold him,” came Megumi’s voice. “I know you want to.”
No. Not Megumi’s voice. It wasn’t his voice. Yuuji knew Megumi’s voice. He would know Megumi’s voice from the faintest of whispers, from the farthest of corners. It was steady, a register he could identify anywhere. It could be sharp, cutting at times, but never this. Never cold. Never heartless.
Yuuji froze. It couldn’t be, he thought. It can’t be, he thought again, as the voice, now entirely foreign, resounded in his head. His arms fell. Despite himself, despite his own pleas, he pulled himself away from the respite the gods had offered him.
He looked up into Megumi’s eyes, the same blue bordering on green he had memorized down to its quietest detail. His hand rose, trembling, hesitating, not wanting to. He pushed the hair back from Megumi’s forehead revealing a thick black thread pierced through soft, porcelain skin.
Yuuji’s world shattered.
He couldn’t comprehend the sheer malice of it. The sheer evil of someone doing this. Of causing this kind of hurt. This kind of heartbreak.
Why him? What had he done so wrong to deserve this after everything?
Why his Megumi? Why dishonor him like this? His life. His soul.
Why couldn’t he protect him? Why couldn’t he save even him in the end?
The roof beneath his feet burned like fire while the air around him turned ice-cold. His vision blurred into nothing and every breath he drew felt like a blade driven straight through his heart.
It was clear as day but he couldn’t make sense of it. Megumi was standing right in front of him.
No, he wasn’t.
The truth slowly seeped into him but he couldn’t accept it. Megumi had finally returned to him.
No, he hadn’t.
Yuuji looked at him again. The face he knew. The eyes he loved. The body he had held. It was him.
No, it wasn’t.