It takes longer Megumi longer than he'd like to admit to reach the conclusion that he's a fucking mess.
He figures he should probably start cleaning it up sooner or later. It's simple – in theory. However, he's always had a talent of fucking up relatively simple things all the same. Just ask Gojo, or his real father, or the Zenins. Ask Yuuji.
He sits on it for a while, before deciding what to do about the mess that is his life. He tries to make a list, except that doesn't go very well. He ends up with a mostly blank page, tapping a pen against his lips. Exorcise Round Deer, he scrawls onto the page, blinking down at it with a frown. Well, he can work with this at least. Besides, throwing himself into training is easier than figuring the rest of his shit out.
No one tries to talk to him when he trains. No one looks at him like he's a sulking child, or a heartbroken fool. He doesn't think when he trains. He doesn't feel seven again when he trains.
Not as he sprints around the track, each breath more painful than the last as his feet pound against the rubber.
Not as he runs through the forest, dodging branches and roots, tracing the same path he used to run with Gojo when he was younger. He was never able to keep up, panting and sweating and gritting his teeth. Now, he's alone apart from the birds and the sun and his shadow and his own treacherous heart.
Not as he trains in the gym, sweat curling his hair and slicking his neck. He doesn't feel like a heartbroken fool as he fucks up another training dummy, the thing lying in pieces around him. He can't even find it within himself to feel bad, even though he knows Kusakabe is one more broken piece of equipment away from throttling Megumi himself.
"I never really understood it," Maki says one day as he's finishing up his routine. She's started to intrude on him, hanging around and watching as he trains. At first, it was only when Yuuta coached him, so he wrote it off as Maki's lame crush on Yuuta. But now she's taken to stalking him when he's alone, watching through narrowed eyes with a bitchy face. He refuses to ask what her deal is, or tell her to fuck off, even though he desperately wants to do both. He refuses to give in to whatever mental game she's trying to play, even if he doesn't really understand what the game actually is.
"Understood what?" he rolls his eyes, flexing his hands. He watches from his peripheral as she stands up from the bench she was observing from, slinking over to him. Scraping the blood from his split knuckles off with his nails, he feels Maki's gaze burn a blister into his skin.
"Why they hated you so much." Breathing hitching, he looks up, green crashing against green as he meets her eyes. "They hated you so much. Even though you could've been the one to save them," she hums. She doesn't have to elaborate who she's talking about. They both feel the Zenin's presence like a heavy rock in their chest. Like Sisyphus, they will always be charged with the impossible task of ignoring the blood that flows through their veins. Normally, Maki seems to revel in disparaging their family. She isn't smiling now, face twisting with something uncomfortably close to pain. Something uncomfortably close to understanding. "It was like they couldn't help themselves from recoiling away from you," she murmurs. A strand of hair has fallen from her ponytail, and she tucks it behind her ear with a scowl. "They're idiots. You could've been our - their blessing."
"I can't save anyone," he objects, with a small shake of his head. He turns away, eyes caught on his own hands, and the shadows cast beneath him.
"Please Megumi," Maki scoffs. "You're the Ten Shadows. You could kill Gojo-sensei if you wanted to."
"I don't want to," he frowns, even though he has been heavily considering it these past weeks. Has been daydreaming about it during class – sitting forward in his seat and ignoring Kusakabe droning on about clan rituals or Pythagoras in favour of fantasising about swallowing Gojo up with his shadows, locking him away in his domain for the rest of eternity. At least then, Gojo couldn't ignore him. At least then, Gojo would have to talk to him. At least then, Gojo couldn't run away like always.
"Tengen, I know that," Maki sighs tiredly. "It's just- you piss me off sometimes," she cuts herself off with an irritated sigh. "When I look at you and see everything I've ever wanted. And you won't even take it."
"Take what?" he clicks his tongue with a frown, glancing over his shoulder to shoot her a look of exasperation. "The Zenin clan?"
"Yeah, the clan," she nods, her voice uncharacteristically genuine in its softness. It only works to reinforce the sick feeling in Megumi's stomach, clenching pitifully. Her hands come up to clutch around her shirt, right over her heart. The heart she shares with her sister, even if they no longer share a name. "You could save them." He knows who she's talking about. He can't find it within himself to care, even then.
"None of them are worth saving." His words cut through the thick air. He looks down at his hands once more, working his bottom lip through his teeth. When he went to the Zenin estate, he was unscarred. Untouched.
Of course, he had seen things. He wasn't a fool – or at least, not as foolish as they'd believed him to be. By then, he'd already lost count of how many missions Gojo had dragged him along to. He had seen curses – Grade Four right up to Grade One. But none of them had ever touched Megumi. Gojo never would've allowed that to happen. He was unscarred and untouched, even through all the fights he'd found himself in throughout Junior High and all the curses he'd come across. He was unscarred and untouched and safe. And then the Zenins happened.
He hadn't been a fool. He'd only been twelve. They'd persecuted him for the crime of being twelve.
And now slivers of silver are nicked across his entire body, like his skin was mere bark for a campfire. He will never be able to drain the blood in his veins, or saturate the green in his eyes, or shoulder off the famished, desperate wolves that continue to howl for his return. And he will never get his body back as it once was. He will never get himself back – untouched, unscarred or safe.
Why would he save the people who did this to him? He looks up as he slides his hands into his pockets, head tilted as he watches Maki carefully. She doesn't speak for a moment, eyes cast towards the ground before she nods in agreement. "I guess not."
Megumi forgets about the entire conversation until a couple of days later. He's sat in the dorm, trying his best to pointedly ignore his classmates. As usual, he fails painfully, because Yuuji is wearing one of his shirts, that is frankly too tight across his chest and rides up every time he flops down onto the couch, gesturing animatedly as always. He's starting to think that Yuuji's doing this shit to get to him on purpose. He has to be doing this on purpose.
Throat dry, Megumi prays that it looks like he's concentrating on his open textbook, and not the way Yuuji's throat bobs when he laughs.
Nobara and Kaji are with Yuuji, and Megumi is also trying (flutily) to ignore how irritating he finds the first year. He doesn't speak much, probably because every time he does, Nobara pins an unimpressed look on him, but he makes up for his muteness with the sheer intensity in his eyes every time he stares at Yuuji. Which is too often, Megumi thinks. It's pathetic, the way Kaji's face flutters every time Yuuji so much as smiles at him – as if Yuuji doesn't smile at everyone.
Not that Megumi cares.
No. He's focused on his textbook – whatever the fuck the textbook's even about.
His pen taps against the paper as Nobara sighs out heavily. She's lounging on the floor, sat in between Yuuji's legs as he plaits her hair. "I wanna go as something slutty," she says with an air of finality. "Like this," she adds, shoving her phone towards Kaji's face. From what Megumi's gathered, when he's not been too focused on his textbook (French grammar? The westernisation of Jujutsu? Algebraic expressions? The pale strip of skin that runs down Itadori Yuuji's forearms?) they're blathering incessantly about the Halloween sister-school party. Even though it's the start of September.
"Of course you do," Yuuji snorts while Kaji just nods awkwardly.
"Hey," she hisses. "Don't be misogynistic, asshole."
"Ugh," Yuuji huffs. "But you just said-whatever."
"I was thinking of going as a famous sorcerer," she continues on, untangling herself from Yuuji to pace around the room dramatically. "Mix sexy with educational, you know?" There's a pause, and Megumi flicks his eyes back down to his book, crimson pricking along his cheeks as he feels a dark, amused gaze pin itself onto him. "Hey, maybe I could go as the slutty Ten Shadows!"
She's always doing this now – trying to goad him into joining in on her and Yuuji's conversations. It's not too hard an endeavour to ignore her, especially considering her and Yuuji's conversations generally lack any substance whatsoever that might incite someone to join in. Apart from, seemingly, the little, lovesick first year. Megumi refuses to entertain her shit, throwing up his middle finger as he glares down at the page. Chapter Five – Classical Japanese History. It's a textbook he borrowed from the library, and he's only now noticing that some asshole's scribbled all over the pages, drawing little doodles of crude dick and balls onto all the pictures of the Emperors. Right, that's what he's supposed to be doing. History essay. Not thinking about Yuuji and the sounds he'd made back in his old flat, pressed into his mattress. Not thinking about whether or not it's worth summoning Mahoraga right here, right now, just to see Kaji piss himself.
"You're right Fushiguro," Nobara hums. He doesn't look up, rolling his eyes as he slumps his head into his hand. "You've already got that covered."
"Megumi isn't a-" He does look up at that, Yuuji clamping his mouth firmly shut when he meets Megumi's glare. He thinks he genuinely will have to summon Mahoraga if Yuuji makes any comment, or any insinuation, to either his abundance or lack of sluttiness.
"The Ten Shadows would be a cool costume," Kaji pipes up, and Megumi rolls his jaw. He's not planning on wearing any costume – let alone one mocking his entire Cursed Technique.
"Mai would be so pissy," Nobara snorts with a cruel sparkle in her eyes, sounding like she wants nothing more than to piss Mai off. "Maybe she'd actually shut the fuck up for once if you showed up like that."
"Why?" Kaji asks, and Megumi's mood instantly sours from irritated to borderline homicidal. Especially when Yuuji frowns at Kaji's question, brows knitting together as he looks over towards Megumi thoughtfully.
"Don't," Megumi says quickly, before Nobara can even think about answering. He never got around to telling Yuuji the full extent of his bullshit with the Zenins. He told him what he had to – considering that Naoya had kidnapped him and beaten him half to death after forcing him to eat a thousand-year-old rotted body part. But he'd kept it pretty base level – Zenin bullshit 101. He'd left out the whole 'I'm sort of their heir that half of them want super bad, while the other half want me strung up by my insides' thing. Figured that was a lot to dump on a new relationship.
"Leave it, Kugisaki," he warns before he stands up, clutching the book to his chest and disappearing into his room as quickly as he can.
If only it was as easy as Nobara made it sound. He wishes he could shut the Zenins up – he'd even wear a costume if that's what it would actually take. But he can't do anything alone. Can't solve any of the problems that are going to continue ruining his life alone. He needs something more than himself to beat the Zenins. And even if he did take them down, the Higher Ups would prove to be a whole, separate issue. He'd have to take them all out too. He can't get rid of the Zenin clan without dismantling the entirety of Jujutsu society.
Or can't he? Maybe he can't entirely get rid of the Zenins, and maybe he won't save any of them, but that doesn't mean he can't use them to save the people he does care about. That doesn't mean he can't save Yuuji, as well as his sister, from the fate they've been condemned to. The fate that he condemned them to.
He can't save himself, but maybe he can save Yuuji. He has to at least try.
Leaning against his door, he listens to Nobara and Yuuji continue to argue outside. "We could go as Denji and Power," Yuuji suggests.
"The fuck is that?" Nobara demands, before clicking her tongue and stating, "Your hair isn't even really pink anymore, Ita-chan. You'd have to re-dye it."
"What? No. You'd be the girl, Kugisaki."
"God no, pink isn't my colour. Stop making stupid suggestions!"
"Well, I'm not hearing you come up with any good ideas!"
Pushing himself upright, Megumi stalks over to his desk, finding his to-do list buried under konbini receipts and his laptop. He blinks down at it for a moment before adding to it – head of Zenin clan. Under it he bullet points: use influence and power to save Yuuji from execution (kill higher ups?); Zenins around almost as long as Sukuna – information on breaking curses – save Tsumiki too?
Fuck it.
Yeah, sure it's not the best decision Megumi's ever made. But it's sort of the only decision. Yuuji's being possessed by the King of Curses. Someone forced that to happen, and he has no idea who. Tsumiki is still cursed, and even Gojo hasn't figured out a fruitful lead yet. His life is a complete shitshow right now, and he's fucking sick and tired of being yanked through mess after mess without any say in the matter. It's time to actually do something that might make a difference. Ergo – coup d'état.
As he stares down at his own handwriting, vaguely aware of Yuuji and Nobara laughing wildly in the other room, he's surprised by the calmness that washes over him. The earth should have shifted under his feet, but everything remains exactly as it was before he wrote anything down.
He kind of thought this type of decision would've changed everything, actually. Ever since he learned about the Zenins, ever since he was told that his father had sold him like he was never anything more than a hock of ham, he vowed to himself he would have nothing to do with them. He would not take their name; he would not sit at their table and drink their wine, and he would not sacrifice himself for their blood.
It is surprisingly easy to accept that he would sacrifice himself for Yuuji.
It doesn't shift his reality at all. He continues training with Yuuta, nodding silently each time the older boy says he's getting closer, getting better, getting stronger. He continues running, and studying, and staring blankly at UTokyo's website, and stalking through the dorm when he's sure Yuuji and Nobara are asleep to avoid their watching gazes. He continues ignoring Shoko, and continues to be ignored by Gojo, and continues grinding his teeth in his sleep.
All in all, everything continues as normal. He doesn't tell anyone about his plan – mostly because it's more of a semblance of a plan, rather than an actual plan as of yet – keeping his lips pressed together. He wants to figure it out properly before giving anyone the opportunity to weasel into his business. But because he can't ever catch a break, because the universe might have been exclusively created to kick him down, he's forced to show his hand earlier than expected.
The morning it happens, he goes to visit Tsumiki in the hospital, pausing in the doorway when he finds Nanami sat beside her - large, calloused hands encompassing frail, pale, fingers. "Hello," Nanami nods when Megumi finally shuffles inside, door clicking shut behind him. "Those are nice," he adds, head nodding towards the bouquet of wildflowers clutched in Megumi's hands. They're from campus, picked carefully from the trail leading up to the mountains. He thinks Tsumiki would've loved the mountains.
"I didn't think you still visited," Megumi says, because he is first and foremost, a spitting ball of acrimony, even towards those he loves. Especially towards those he loves. But then Nanami's face falls, and regret turns his mouth sour.
"Of course I do," Nanami nods, turning from Megumi to Tsumiki. There's no defensiveness in his voice, not even a trace of hurt. Not even as Megumi frowns to himself, the sharp edge of his words turning back into himself instead. "I…" Nanami trails off, shaking his head to himself. "Her hair's gotten longer."
Megumi doesn't respond, silently falling into the chair against the wall, watching as Nanami fixes Tsumiki's collar like he used to do when they were younger. "You should wrap your hands when you train," the man comments, even as his attention stays on Tsumiki. Glancing down at his own fingers, Megumi blinks down at the bruises kissed along his knuckles. They match the petals in his hands, falling onto the tiles. Mottling purple, streaked with blue veins.
"I know," he sighs in response, falling further back into his seat.
"Fushiguro-kun," Nanami says with a familiar tone – one that normally indicates that Megumi's in for a lecture. But then his head turns to face him, and Nanami's sharp face is painted with remorse. Megumi's breathing hitches, and he realises he's not the one Nanami's affronted with. "I don't know how-"
"It's alright," he tries to say quickly, words jumbling up over his tongue.
"Don't interrupt me when I'm speaking," Nanami tells him, skin between his brows knitting together. "It's impolite. You always did that when you were a kid." Megumi doesn't know what to say, sat in the hospital room. His eyes flit towards his sister, and his grip on the flowers tighten. He never knows what to say.
"Sorry," Nanami sighs. "That was unnecessary. I just…Tengen, Fushiguro-kun, it is hard for me to look at you and not see the child I met ten years ago. And it…it pains me that I have hurt that child. That I've hurt you." Nanami's voice is steady, despite everything. It has always been steady, despite everything.
"Nanami, you didn't do anything wrong," he tries to say, even as much as it pains for him to admit.
"I know. I stand by my decision to mentor Itadori-kun." It hurts to hear other people say Yuuji's name. Selfishly, he misses when no one in his life knew about Yuuji. Wishes he could've kept it that way forever. Kept Yuuji in his mind, and his heart, and in his body, away from everyone forever. "It was the right decision to make. Nevertheless, it has hurt you. And I…I cannot even begin to tell you how regretful I am for that."
"It was always going to hurt," he shrugs, because he's known that from the start. He always knew, even as hard as he tried to ignore it, that he would not be able to have Yuuji forever. "No matter what happened to him. I was stupid for thinking otherwise."
Silence washes over them, and Megumi exhales slowly, eyes still on Tsumiki. For a moment, he wonders if this rotted ball of grief in his chest is genetic, and Tsumiki might be silently suffering from it too. But then he remembers with a start that him and Tsumiki are not related by blood, and that Gojo – the incarnate of rot and grief – is not their father.
It might just be a sorcerer illness, the terminal wretchedness. He hopes it is, hopes that when Tsumiki wakes up, it won't touch her. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he pauses before saying to Nanami, "I'm sorry about Kaji. It must be hard for you."
"On the contrary," Nanami shakes his head, a small smile pressing on his lips for the first time since Megumi entered the room. "It is…it's refreshing. For a long time, I have only ever thought of Haibara and grieved. But now I look at Kaji-kun and think about how lucky I was to even get two years as Haibara's friend. How lucky I am now to meet his nephew." He pauses, frowning to himself before saying, "I think I freaked him out, acting as I did."
"Yeah," Megumi nods. "I think you probably did."
"I'll have to apologise," Nanami hums, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment.
"Gojo should've told you."
"Yes," Nanami agrees, even if he does purposefully ignore the vitriol injected into Megumi's voice. "He should've. But I'm used to Gojo making the wrong decision," he shrugs, as if that isn't a big deal. As if Gojo isn't the one motherfucker out of all of them who is supposed to make all the right decisions.
"That's an understatement," he scoffs, arms folded into his chest to try and keep all the resentfulness from seeping out of his pores. "Fushiguro-kun," Nanami starts, speaking slowly, as if Megumi is a child. "Gojo doesn't-"
"I don't really wanna talk about it," he shrugs, tongue running over his teeth.
"Alright," Nanami says, and Megumi sags into his seat with relief. In return, he considers opening up to Nanami about his plan – about the whole clan business. But then he remembers how pissed Nanami was…well, every single time Megumi's ever dared to do something remotely dangerous, so he keeps his mouth shut. "Should we instead talk about the letter that was addressed for you that arrived at my apartment?"
"What letter?" Megumi asks, face cast with confusion before it very quickly contorts into horror, and then settles on embarrassment. Red needles itself across his entire face as he watches Nanami pull out an envelope with the UTokyo logo stamped onto the front, right beside Megumi's own traitorous name.
"Oh fuck," he groans, standing up to try and snatch the letter from Nanami's hand, cringing when the older man easily snaps it out of his grasp. When had he even signed up for that shit? It had to have been more than five weeks ago, when he was stuck in a permanent haze of angst after breaking up with Yuuji, moving through life on auto-pilot. But as he thinks back, he does sort of remember flicking through his phone to find Nanami's address, typing that into an online form because he knew he couldn't risk having anything sent to campus, or even worse, Gojo's place.
"University?" Nanami asks, one brow arched, even as he lets Megumi finally pinch the letter from his fingers, tearing into it with a wince. Congratulations on securing a place on our Hongo campus tour on the 3rd of September!
"No," Megumi denies instantly, crumpling when Nanami just continues to stare at him knowingly. "It was just- Tengen, it was a stupid thought I had a while back. I completely forgot I even signed up for that tour, if I'm being honest."
"You should go," Nanami says after a moment, tentative smile breaching his face as he drops a firm hand onto Megumi's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "I'll come with you, if you'd like," he offers, and Megumi's heart slips from its proper place, knocking into his ribs.
"You'd do that?"
"Of course I would," Nanami laughs easily, as if he isn't throwing off Megumi's entire world.
"I don't even know if it's what I want," he shrugs, words coming out weaker than he means them to.
"But you know that Jujutsu isn't what you want?"
"No. Ugh, I don't know," he gets out through gritted teeth. In one hand, the letter flits through the soft breeze coming in through the window, and in the other, the wildflowers dig into his palm. "I didn't want it before. But now, with Yuuji and everything…I don't know…" he trails off with a frustrated sigh.
"You shouldn't base decisions on one boy, Fushiguro-kun," Nanami says sternly, clicking his tongue.
"I'm not," he objects firmly, even though he totally is. "It's just a factor I'm considering."
"Right," Nanami says, disbelief tinting his voice. "Well. There's no need to fear not being on the right path. What you're destined to find, you'll find anywhere you go."
"You think?"
"Yes," Nanami nods, hand falling from Megumi's shoulder to lightly grasp Tsumiki's hand in his own. "As cliché as it might sound, you should follow your heart."
"Did you?" Because he has to ask. He has to know why no other sorcerer has ever truly made it out alive.
"The cost of not following your heart, unfortunately, is spending the rest of your life wishing you had. I do not want that for you, Megumi-kun."
His body swallows his words, but even if Megumi knew what to say to Nanami, his phone ringing incessantly breaks off the conversation. He frowns down at it when he sees Nobara's name, immediately hitting decline. "But what if I don't know how to- you're kidding me," he hisses when his phone rings again, shooting Nanami an apologetic smile before declining again. Nobara knows how much he hates phone calls. Especially from her.
"Someone better be dead, Kugisaki," he snarls when he answers, trying to face away from Nanami as if that might silence the words he's saying. "Or else I'm gonna throttle you. I'm kind of busy."
"Itadori's having some sort of meeting with Gojo-sensei. And Yaga-sensei," she says, cutting through the bullshit. Megumi's back straightens, all the breath knocked out of him.
"What."
"Yeah. Ino-san got here about twenty minutes ago. I don't know for sure, but I'm pretty sure he found one of Sukuna's fingers. I think Itadori's gonna…God, you know. Swallow it."
"Fuck," he whispers, voice trembling. "Fuck." He ignores the way Nanami winces at the swearing, shoes squeaking against the linoleum as he paces beside Tsumiki's bed. "Now? He's-it's happening now?"
"I don't know!" Nobara hisses back in frustration. "I'm trying to listen in, but you should probably get your disgusting, knock-off Chelsea boots down here and-"
Megumi hangs up, the letter in his hand crumpling up as his fingers twitch into fists. "I have to go," he says, words punched out of him.
"What's happening?" Nanami asks, voice firm but gentle, and Megumi flinches but doesn't pull away when he reaches over to softly unfurl his fingers from the letter, smoothing it out before putting it away inside his blazer.
"Yuuji's eating another fucking finger. I have to stop him – I have to-"
"Megumi-kun," Nanami interrupts him, standing from Tsumiki's bed as he watches Megumi dart towards the door. "This is the path Itadori-kun has decided on. You cannot stop him from-"
"I have a better path," he says, because he's over everyone acting like Yuuji and Gojo aren't the two biggest fucking morons on the planet. He doesn't know why anyone would allow them to make any decisions for themselves, because they clearly have the capacity of five-year-olds. "I have a plan, Nanami, alright? A much better plan that Yuuji settling on his own fucking execution, trust me."
He doesn't give the older man time to argue further, sprinting from the hospital as fast as he can. He uses his shadows, throwing himself through space itself until he manages to get outside, tumbling from the shadow under Ichiji's car. "Back to campus. Right now," he demands, ignoring Ihciji's yelp of surprise as he throws himself into the passenger seat.
It takes faster than usual to get back, considering that Ichiji starts speeding when Megumi calmly suggests that it might be prudent for him to go a little bit faster. ("I can't speed, Fushiguro-kun! That's breaking the law!") ("I swear to all that is good in the world, I will snap all the brake cables in this car if you do not go faster, Ichiji!") ("None of us should have ever let Gojo Satoru raise a child," he hissed out, even as the speedometer ticked up from to 80kmp to 130. "You're the exact same as him.") ("And what is that, Ichiji?") ("Brats. You're both brats.")
Embarrassingly enough, it isn't until he bursts into Yaga's office, panting ragged from sprinting across campus and sweat curling the hair around his ears, does he realise he's still holding the flowers for Tsumiki. The flowers end up in Yaga's hand, swapped out for the rotted finger that now lies in Megumi's palm.
"Fushiguro-kun!" the older man frowns in irritation, carelessly tossing the bouquet onto his desk. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Sorry Yaga-sensei," Megumi says, aware that he doesn't sound remotely apologetic at all. Really, he's just relieved he managed to get here before Yuuji swallowed the damn thing. "Look Itadori," he pants out, ignoring Yaga in favour of turning to Yuuji. He's watching Megumi with parted lips, as if he isn't wholly convinced he's in front of him, talking to him. "I have a plan, alright? A plan that can fix everything. We won't have to worry about the Higher Ups executing you. You won't have to eat anymore of these. I can fix everything." Yuuji doesn't respond, brown eyes blown wide as he stares up at Megumi.
To his side, Gojo doesn't look as convinced. Megumi tries to ignore him, even as he asks lazily, "What's the plan?" But he's never been able to ignore Gojo, not since he was six-years-old, and he turns to pin a glare on him.
"Sorry," he shrugs, now revelling in how unapologetic he actually feels now. Gojo's wearing his blindfold, but Megumi doesn't miss how his jaw clenches with impatience. He grins in response. "Classified information. But just…a month. Give me a month at least. A month to try and clean up your shit," he adds, finger pointing from Yuuji to Gojo.
The latter looks like he wants to argue, sitting forward as he scoffs, but the former gets there first. "Okay." Megumi blinks at Gojo, who looks equally surprised, before they both turn to look at Yuuji.
"Really?" he stutters out, because even though this is what he wanted, he'd sort of been expecting to have to put up more of a fight. But Yuuji's just smiling at him, brown eyes crinkling, and he realises with a jolt that he shouldn't have been expecting a fight at all.
"Yeah," Yuuji shrugs like it's easy – like all of this is easy. "I won't eat it. I trust you, Megumi."
"A month," Gojo cuts in, cutting Yaga a stern look when the principal starts to splutter out protests. His attention snaps back to Megumi, and he remembers how itchy it feels to stand under the burning gaze of Gojo Satoru. "You only get a month, Gumi-chan. And if I catch on that this plan is bullshit, or self-sacrificing, or a total fucking disaster, I'll be putting a stop to it." Right. Well. Gojo absolutely cannot catch on to his plan.
"Oh, would you just-" The sound of his phone going off cuts him off. "Oh, shit," he cringes, trying to throw an apologetic smile Yaga's way. "I've got to – uh, I have to go," he excuses himself as he stands up, chair legs scraping the wood beneath. He easily tosses Sukuna's finger back at Yaga, head hung as he practically flees the room. Fuck's sake – it's only noon and he feels exhausted. Like his bones ache. He's pretty sure he shouldn't feel like this at seventeen.
"Wait!" A familiar voice calls out, the door to Yaga's office thrown open as footsteps chase after Megumi. He considers ignoring it, but the past few weeks have shown him just how miserably poor he is at ignoring this. Pausing in his tracks, he glances over his shoulder to see Yuuji behind him, clutching the bouquet to his chest. Megumi hears his heart break as the two of them hold their breaths.
"You uh…you left these behind," Yuuji breathes, voice tentative and hushed. Like Megumi is sleep-walking, and he's afraid to jolt him awake.
"Thank you," he murmurs, also terrified of waking up. "They were for Tsumiki," he says when he can't bear the silence any longer. "I forgot to leave them at the hospital. I kinda rushed over here when I heard about…" he trails off pathetically. Fucking hell. He's got to just shut up for two seconds. Normally he can barely force himself to participate in actual conversations, and here he is – running his mouth off in front of Yuuji.
"Can we talk?" Yuuji asks him. Megumi looks away, eyes trained on the flowers in Yuuji's hands. He's holding them so tightly his knuckles are strangled with white.
"I can't," he says, hating how his voice comes out as a wince. "I'm meant to be training with Yuuta. It's for an exorcism. I can't…" The words die in his mouth again, and Megumi can't help but look up and meet Yuuji's eyes once more. They're the same as they were. The same as they've always been. Painfully kind. Megumi is getting tired of waiting for Yuuji to look at him with disgust.
"Can we talk after?"
"I don't know. I'm kind of-"
"I miss you," Yuuji cuts him off, and while he was always mostly willing to let Megumi spout bullshit when they were together, it seems like even he has his limits.
"Yeah," he shrugs hopelessly, because what is he supposed to say here? What does Yuuji even want him to say here. Can someone please just tell him what to say. "I know," his voice cracks off.
"I know you miss me too, Megumi," Yuuji says, like this is the only thing he's ever been sure about.
Itadori, he thinks to himself. Staring at the flowers in the other boy's hands. Itadori, Itadori, Itadori, Ita- "Yuuji," he says anyway, and it feels like the name's been punched out of him but it sounds soft anyway, because Yuuji's name is the only word that he's ever been able to say with tenderness. The shards of shrapnel in his chest dig in deeper, and Megumi wonders if this is ever going to stop hurting.
"You can't even look at me anymore," Yuuji huffs out sadly, and Megumi's eyes instantly snap up to focus on the other boy's face. It's like looking at the sun. They're impossible to differentiate. Both have kissed the back of his legs, and the underside of his throat, and the soles of his feet. But still – Megumi thinks staring into the sun might hurt less.
"I can't look at you for the same reason you can't stop looking at me," Megumi shrugs, nails digging into his palm save he grip onto Yuuji's hands instead.
"Not true," Yuuji argues with a smile kissing the edge of his mouth. "I can't stop looking at you because you're beautiful."
Megumi doesn't stop the gasp that falls from his lips. Eyes twitching down to Yuuji's own mouth, he also doesn't stop his legs from stepping backwards. "I've got to go," he apologises, bowing his head quickly. "Keep the flowers."
Fuck. He doesn't think it's ever going to stop hurting. Because he doesn't think he's ever going to stop falling in love with Itadori Yuuji.
He thinks he could start fire to the whole world with everything he feels for Itadori Yuuji.
But Megumi's just gonna have settle for burning down Jujutsu society for him first.
He's already apologising before he's stepped inside the training gym, shouldering open the door and saying, "Sorry Okkotsu-senpai. I was just with Yaga-sensei and I-" He cuts himself off when his eyes meet Shoko's.
"What's she doing here?" he demands, eyes widening at the sight in front of him. Yuuta's standing next to Shoko, leaning against the rope bordering off the training area, but he's still in his uniform. Shoko, on the other hand, is kitted out head to toe in expensive gym clothes, looking like a fucking Lululemon ambassador. Well, she would if not for the fucking cigarette perched in her fingers, smoke whistling from her lips.
"What does it look like?" she shrugs, straightening up to stamp out the cigarette with untouched, unstained trainers. So, Gojo's involved in this somehow. He's the only asshole Megumi knows who likes fixing problems by shoving money at them. Except right now, he's not following what the problem Gojo's trying to cover up is.
"You want me to fight her?" Megumi scoffs, ignoring Shoko in favour of gaping at Yuuta.
"What? Think you can't handle it, twerp?" she demands, stepping straight into his eyeline anyway, flicking the cigarette into the dirt and stamping it out like she wishes it was Megumi's face instead.
He spares a glance in her direction before narrowing his eyes at Yuuta, who's attention is ping-ponging from Megumi to Shoko with a dawning look of dread. "Okkotsu-senpai," he starts through gritted teeth. "Seriously, I don't think she's-"
"Not like we're not already fighting, right?" Shoko cuts him off, and Megumi's attention snaps back onto her.
"What are you talking about?" he growls out, unable to fall right into her trap. Shoko's always been infuriatingly good at needling him, ever since he was a kid.
"You're not slick, idiot. I've known you since you were six. Since you still pissed yourself on a daily basis," she laughs. Maybe cackles would be a better description for the fucking witch.
"I never-" he starts to protest, but she's breezing right past him, dark eyes trained on his own, painted lips quirking into a wolfish smirk.
"I won't take it personally, considering you're ignoring everyone else who cares about you as well," she shrugs, and the idea that her and Gojo are talking about him behind his back makes Megumi want to tear something's throat out with his teeth. As if Gojo isn't the one ignoring him.
"I'm getting along with Nanami-san just fine," he shrugs, trying his best to mimic her mask of bored irritation.
"Nanami-san?" she snorts, rolling her eyes. "Please, Megs. Gimme a break."
"Maybe it's just the assholes I'm not talking to," he tells her with a scowl.
"Look in the mirror," she snaps, genuine anger flashing across her face.
"Tengen, you set such a bad example, you know that?" he lashes out. "You and Gojo both. Ever since I was a kid, the two of you-"
"Look," Yuuta interrupts, clearing his throat awkwardly. "I understand that – uhm, well I think it's pretty clear there's some…tension present right now. But this isn't what we're here to do. You're not here to fight. Well, kind of, I guess. But not like this. We're training. Fushiguro-kun, Ieiri-san is gonna help you train for the exorcism by-"
"Don't," Shoko cuts Yuuta off, a dismissive hand slicing through the air. Her fingers are twitching. "He might be acting like a real dumbass right now, but he's a smart kid – he'll figure it out himself."
"I'm not a fucking kid," Megumi snarls.
"Sure," Shoko clicks her tongue, eyes crinkling with the same type of amusement she wears when she slices into her corpses. "Whatever. Let's do this, Gumi-chan."
"Alright," he shrugs. "Don't say I didn't warn you, hag."
He steps into the ring, jaw rolling as Shoko follows, gracefully moving around in circles. She might not be an active fighting sorcerer, but he knows she's not totally hopeless. She used to run circles around him when he was a kid, and they played basketball out back in the courtyard of his old apartment. It was a dingy place, weeds leering out from the cracks in the concrete and an assortment of drug paraphernalia littered the sides. There wasn't even a real basketball hoop, just a sawed-up bucket that someone had nailed into the wall years ago. Megumi had never minded – probably because he couldn't even successfully toss the ball into the damn thing in the first place.
"Come on, Megs!" Shoko would grin, hair scraped back with one of Tsumiki's clips, always out of Megumi's reach, ball dribbling between her legs. "You can do better than that."
"It's not fair," he used to whine. "You're too tall!"
Now, as him and Shoko circle each other, he realises that he's an inch taller than her. "How're we doing this?" he asks Yuuta, even as he keeps his attention on Shoko, only slightly terrified that she might take this as an excuse to throttle him for avoiding her the past couple of weeks.
"Put everything you've got into it," Yuuta's voice calls over, and it's enough to stop Megumi in his tracks. His own face contorts with concern, because while Shoko might not be totally hopeless, she is minorly hopeless. "Think of this as a practice run!" Yuuta says, as excited and supportive as ever – as if he isn't actively encouraging Megumi to try and kill their doctor.
"You sure?" he asks, just to make sure. Yuuta might respond, but Megumi doesn't hear if he does, because Shoko is suddenly leaping at him, bringing him down to the floor. His head cracks off against the wood, and he hisses in annoyance.
He tries to kick her off, but he isn't putting his whole strength into it, so it takes a couple of tries before he wriggles out from her grip, scrambling back onto his feet. It doesn't take him long to figure out why she's here, and what Yuuta wants to see him do. Round Deer uses Reversed Cursed Technique to heal its user. But it also uses it to negate any of its opponents' Cursed Energy – something him and Yuuta have never been able to trial in their training. But here Shoko is, toothy grin widening each time Megumi tries and fails to call on his shadows, faltering under the sheer strength of her Technique flattening his own.
He can't use his Cursed Energy. Which means he's gonna have to beat her through sheer hand-to-hand combat alone. He falters as she continues trying to attack, realising that he's supposed to knock Shoko around. She notices his hesitation, hissing his name as she manages to flip him onto his back once more, foot pinning his arm. "Megumi," she hisses, fingers fisting his collar as she smacks him down against the floor. "Stop fucking around. Fight back."
"I don't want to-" he tries to grind out.
"Yeah, you never do," Shoko cuts him off. "You got that from Gojo. He never wants to either. But you have to. You have to let it out. Or it's gonna kill you. Let it out. Feel it." She's almost pleading, face softer than the sharp angles of her fists against his skin.
From there, it doesn't take long for Shoko to call out, "I tap out. Yield or whatever." A trail of blood trails down her lip, but she wipes it away with the back of her wrist before accepting Megumi's hand, letting him pull her back up onto her feet.
"I'm sorry," he starts, but she's already waving him off, and he can sense her Energy smoothing over her own body. "That was fun," she grins as she shakes out her shoulders, pinning him with a pointed look. "Much more fun than you scuttling around and ignoring me. Megs, I'm not…I don't agree with what Gojo did, alright?"
Yuuta's bounding over before she can say anything else, clapping Megumi on the back. "That was really impressive, Fushiguro-kun!" he laughs, his fingers seeping warmth into Megumi's skin. "You're definitely ready for this. I'll send off my recommendation for the exorcism this afternoon."
That night, Megumi ends up making an extra portion of dinner and carries both plates down to the morgue. Shoko doesn't even try and hide her surprise, gesturing for him to come in. "I didn't mean to ignore you," he says as they eat, sat shoulder to shoulder on the floor, backs against the wall. "I just…I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to talk about it without it hurting."
"It's okay," she nods, hair falling over her face. She stabs a piece of carrot with her fork before sighing out, "Is it really so bad? Having Yuuji here with you?" Megumi doesn't know what to say to that, so they eat in silence, Shoko ruffling his hair and thanking him for the meal before he leaves.
After that, he goes to his room in hopes of passing out. He figures that dealing with two of the parental figures in his life is enough for one day. But then there's a familiar, ginger knock on his door, and Megumi swears under his breath. Gojo doesn't even look remotely guilty when he slips inside, head cocked as blue eyes look Megumi up and down.
"Yuuta said you did good today. Congratulations. Soon you'll have another shikigami in your arsenal. Maybe one day, you'll be even stronger than me." Alright. So they're doing this.
"Where've you been?" Megumi demands, watching as Gojo slumps against the wall with a pouty frown, clearly annoyed Megumi won't even pretend to buy into his game. He tries to keep playing it anyway, shrugging dismissively as he says, "Ah. Y'know. Here and there. The Kamo clan are super pissed still, so I've been tryna figure all that out."
"It must've been a really good excuse, back in the day," Megumi says through gritted teeth.
"Huh?"
"Being you," he elaborates. Gojo straightens up, arms folded tightly across his chest. "Being the strongest. It can get you out of anything if you just say that someone needs you."
"Megumi-"
"But it got old like eight years ago, if I'm being honest," he laughs humourlessly.
"When're you not honest?" Gojo mutters, and Megumi can't help the flash of anger that ricochets through his entire body. He stands up from his bed, digging his nails into his palms instead of Gojo's neck. "And I need you now," he admits, deciding to be the bigger person and look past Gojo's snarky little comments. "You always fuck off when I need you."
"I thought you were pissed at me," Gojo gapes.
"Of course I am!" Megumi cries out. "You ruined my life. But you're supposed to be my…Tengen, you're supposed to be there for me!"
"I can't," And Gojo's louder now too, hand grabbing the front of his own shirt as if he's trying to get to his heart. "I don't know how to do that for you! For anyone!"
"Can't you at least try?" And he doesn't like that it sounds like he's begging, because he had thought he was past begging people to love him, but here he is.
"Tengen, I did try Megumi," Gojo argues. "I tried so hard. With you. With Tsumiki. With Suguru."
"Stop it. Gojo, you have got to get over all of that shit!"
"Get over it?"
"They're gone! They're both gone! But I'm here, alright?" Because he doesn't understand why that just can't be enough. "I'm still fucking here and you keep acting like I'm dead too!"
There's a pause, and Gojo inhales a sharp breath before he breathes out, "Tsumiki isn't dead."
"She might as well be, Gojo," Megumi shrugs, head in his hands as he drops back onto his bed, the fight leaving his body.
"Don't say shit like that, Megs," Gojo chastises him, pacing along Megumi's room. All he can think about is the wildflowers in Yuuji's hand, and how he's going to lose him just like he lost her. "I'm gonna get her back. We're gonna get her back."
"I don't want you to use Yuuji to do that."
"Megumi," Gojo sighs, sounding irritated again, like he can't follow why Megumi is refusing to budge on this. "You don't get to decide what Yuuji does. It doesn't work like that."
"I don't give a fuck how it works. I can decide this one thing. The two of you can give me this much at least. I don't want him touching Tsumiki," he says, proud at the finality he manages to push into his words.
"Alright," Gojo concedes after a moment, and it's enough for now to pretend that the older man actually means it. "Okay. That's fine."
"You're such an asshole, by the way. Is this all you and Geto did with each other? Take turns fucking emotionally manipulating the other?"
"Yeah," Gojo confesses after a moment, scratching the back of his neck. "I guess."
"You're so fucked."
"I know! Fuck, don't you think I know that?"
"Then fix it," he hisses out. "Isn't that all you're good for? Saving people, fixing things? Fix yourself, goddamn it."
"Tengen," Gojo chuckles morbidly after a second. "You're always out for blood, Megumi. You always have been."
"No, I haven't," he protests, even though he can already taste the iron flooding over his tongue. He's always been out for blood. His hackles have always been raised. His jaw has always been snapping. He's always been so pathetically intense, but he doesn't know any other way to be.
"Yeah. You have, kid. You got a taste for it when you were licking your own wounds," he shrugs, head leaning against the door, white strands flattening.
"Screw you, Gojo. At least I'm not a fucking coward. At least I'm trying here."
"I'm a coward for not wanting to listen to my ki- you berate me?"
"I thought you were off busy with the clans fighting?" he mocks, hands flattening against his knees.
"That was obviously a lie," Gojo rolls his eyes, as if he's disappointed with Megumi for even bringing that up. "You know it was a lie."
"So why even try lie to me?"
"Tengen, I don't know! Most things that come out my mouth are lies. Always have been," he tacks on at the end, running a tired hand down his face.
"Get better at it then, loser."
Silence washes over them before Gojo asks, voice thick, "Is this it? Are you just gonna hate me for the rest of our lives now?"
"I dunno," he answers truthfully, screwing his eyes shut as he drops onto his back.
"I don't want that," Gojo says, and for a moment Megumi considers making a cruel comment about Gojo Satoru always getting what Gojo Satoru wants. But instead, his mouth betrays him, and he finds himself admitting softly, "I don't want it either."
"What do you want?"
And if that isn't the million-dollar question. What does he want?
He wants a world where his sister doesn't have to suffer – awake or asleep. He wants to eat meals he cooks for himself. The recipe long forgotten, working on habit as he chops vegetables and sprinkles spices over soups. He wants to watch laundry drying in the sun, creamy light pouring into his home. He wants to see Tsumiki walk outside again, face lit up from the setting sun. Wants Tsumiki to meet Yuuji, the three of them under the Sakura.
He wants all of that so badly it hurts. He wants to tolerate his own heart.
He stays silent, eyes screwed shut, and waits for Gojo to leave again. "Your exorcism will take place on Monday," he says, and Megumi listens to the door handle turn.
"Alright."
For a moment, he's sure that Gojo's left already, but then he asks softly, "You sure you're ready?"
No. Not for any of it. "Yes."