Chapter Text
Zero
On the night of Toji’s birth, he’s been told that the rain was coming down so thick that the doctor barely made it to the Zen’in compound in time. The elders said it was a good sign. Toji can’t say they’ve been wrong. Soaked to the last layer of clothing, the man has delivered him into the veil of the night, wailing his infant lungs out as his clan celebrated. The weather almost made sense then; expelling all that excess water to make space in the world for a sorcerer with the Ten Shadows technique. Zen’in clan’s pride and joy.
For someone who doesn’t personally remember the event, Toji has a strikingly vivid image of it in his mind, with how many times he’s heard the tale being recounted. In his opinion, he could bet at least half of it is bullshit. It’s a story, made for entertainment at family gatherings.
So, he guesses it’s not too strange that he remembers it now, in the maternity ward, wailing babies all around. The baby in his arms is a squirming lump of pink, too soft skin, and a scowly face swaddled into a blue hospital blanket. He’s got his mother’s unruly, spikey hair and a hollowness where his cursed energy should be.
Toji stares at it- at his son , for a long moment, something heavy and cold settling low in his gut. The baby is not making a sound, face all scrunched up and glaring at Toji and everything else his pale green eyes catch on with severity that no newborn should possess. What he should possess but doesn’t, is cursed energy, and it- it makes it hard to look at him. Toji doesn’t do uncomfortable, but he finds himself looking at the pattern on the linoleum floor inside their room, at his wife, sound asleep and sick and unaware- the edges of the blanket in his hands, the light fixtures on the ceiling- just to avoid looking at his son and being slapped in the face with the utter and absolute void inside him. It’s boundless and makes him want to get away, just for a second, just for long enough to get his bearings back.
He doesn’t though. He can’t. He stays there until his wife wakes up, long lashes fluttering, and even then only moves to let her get a better look at their child.
The baby narrows his eyes at the movement, frowning hard, but his wife lets out an awed breath at the sight of him. “Oh, look at you,” she coos, reaching exhaustion laden arms at him. She’s tired, it’s stamped into every line of her body, and Toji finally finds it in himself to get up, take half a step it’s needed to get to her bedside, and gently plop the baby into her waiting arms, just to spare her the extortion. Her body is betraying her, but Toji won’t.
She cups a hand over his silky, black hair that’s already sticking up at odd angles, and miraculously, the baby’s frowny expression smooths out in contentment. It makes her laugh, a playful sound like windchimes in a summer breeze, and the smile that overcomes her face is so bright that it makes Toji blind to the deep purple shadows around her eyes and the gauntness of her pale cheeks. For a moment, it allows him to pretend that everything is okay.
“Have you already named him?” She asks him, taking her eyes off of their son for a moment, still smiling.
She hasn’t smiled like that in a long time, and Toji doesn’t think when he says, “Megumi.” A blessing , to allow Toji to see her like this once more.
Her smile stretches wider, aimed at him, and then looks back at the baby cuddled up in her arms, tucked close to her chest and heart. “Megumi,” she says reverently, like a prayer, “you’re so perfect.”
Outside, the sky is splintering into thousand fractured strokes of scorching light, and it’s raining so heavily that the raindrops hitting the windows sound like gunshots- and Toji’s son doesn’t have a single drop of cursed energy in him.
✻✻✻✻✻
Two
Megumi feels his body swaying with the movements of the train car, the lights above fluorescent and exposing and the air fresh and crisp, straight from the quietly humming air-con units. It’s a blessing, with how goddamn packed the train is. He knows it’s the peak season for vacations and travel, but Megumi hoped there’d be less traffic this late at night. No such luck, of course, and he’s stuck standing huddled in the corner near the door and the seats.
In one hand his wallet, in the other a worryingly dwindling stack of paper bills. Maybe impulsively buying a one-way ticket from Tokyo to Sendai wasn’t the most financially wise decision, but it’s too late to go back now. Not that Megumi would want to, anyway.
He shoves the money back inside his wallet and zips it into the inner pocket of his backpack. At his feet, his duffle lays like a mocking reminder that this is all that’s left of his life.
It’s fine. Really. It’s not like he’ll miss that stupid property and the creaking complex of rooms and hallways. There was always a draft coming from somewhere and everything smelled like dust and old, cranky people who thought Megumi was nothing but dirt under their fingernails and a stain to his father’s name. And he won’t miss any of it.
He hugs the backpack closer to his chest, against the ache beneath his breastbone, and tries not to fall asleep.
✻✻✻✻✻
One
There is a purpling linear bruise on Megumi’s back. It cuts a line from the right side of his nape to the bottom of his left shoulder blade and he can’t be sure if it’s from roughhousing with Maki or from Naobito’s cane when Megumi found himself in his way last night. He’d prefer it to be Maki’s; because he likes her better and, when it comes down to it, her hits always land harder than Naobito’s anyway. It’s dark and darkening still, but it only twinges when Megumi prods at it with his fingers or lifts his left arm up high.
He scrubs a towel over his head once more and pulls on his shirt before leaving the bathroom with his things. The outside corridor is devoid of everything but a chilly breeze against his still-damp skin and hair and he hurries down the path leading to his room. He’s wearing socks and slippers but the temperature of the morning turns his toes cold in a matter of seconds, the floorboards underneath his feet freezing and misted over.
His dreams of warmth and getting bundled up into blankets once he slips inside the heated hallway inside the East wing of the Zen’in complex come to a sudden halt at the sight of his bedroom’s open door. His pace of what Maki would call “speedwalking” tapers off into hesitant tiptoeing and then ceases completely as Megumi comes to a stop at his doorway, rocking on the balls of his feet, and takes in the scene before him.
Toji, in sweatpants and a sweater, holding Megumi’s copy of the Encyclopedia of Ancient Greek History in the middle of his room. His dad looks at him, from toe to head, then flicks his eyes the way Megumi came from before asking, “Did you come from the outside?”
Megumi pulls at his sleeve, says, “Yeah,” and steps inside.
His dad puts the book back on the shelf. It’s the wrong spot, but Megumi is too stumped to be annoyed about it. He didn’t know his dad was back. And even so, the image of his dad inside his room is not a familiar one, even on the most strange of days.
“Don’t go out with your hair wet, you’re gonna get sick,” Toji mutters, eyes on the other books Megumi has.
He scratches the back of his head. “I was taking a shower,” he says.
Only then does his dad turn to face him fully, watching him put away his toiletries, and fold the towels to carry to the laundry room later. Unsure, he says, “You were showering in the summer bathroom. Why?”
Megumi shrugs, “I like it better.” This is not necessarily a lie- the twins and he are the only ones using it (even though they call it the summer bathroom, no one else uses it even in the summer) and they always pick up after themselves and leave it clean- but it’s also what he’s been told to say if ever asked because the elders won’t let them use the ones inside the house.
His dad observes him for a moment longer, almost like he’s going to prod about it more, but thankfully lets it go with a casual, “Whatever.” In the next second, he claps his hands, the sound startlingly loud, and says, “Alright! Start packing, kid.”
Megumi blinks, hands falling to his sides and his heart contracting painfully inside his chest. “What?” He asks, confused.
Toji sticks his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants like he’s got no care in the world. As the only current user of the Ten Shadows technique and the heir of the clan, it’s easy to believe that, although Megumi, being one of the points of conflict between Toji and the clan, is not completely sold on the act.
His dad takes a few elegant, striding steps that carry him across the room and says, “We’re going on a roadtrip.”
Again, Megumi asks, “What?”
Bracing himself against the doorway, Toji says, “When you get ready, wait for me at the front entrance. We’re leaving at 3.” With that, he disappears out the door.
Megumi sputters, his mind catching and reeling, and hurries after him. “Wait! What do you mean-”
In the hallway, there’s not a trace of his dad.
He sighs, deflating, and mutters, “Figures,” under his breath before trudging back inside his room. It’s 9 am, and they leave after lunch-
He drops down on his bed, staring at his bookshelf. They leave after lunch. His dad and him. Because they’re going on a roadtrip.
In the numbing silence of his room, Megumi says, “What the fuck.”
By the time he’s come to terms with it, his hair has completely dried and he combs through it while looking for some sort of a travel bag he could pack in. It’s not- he’s not close with Toji. Megumi, like Maki, can’t even see cursed spirits, and his dad is one of the strongest jujutsu sorcerers in the world. One of the four special grade sorcerers at the present. That alone puts a chasm between the two of them. Half the time, it almost feels strange to call him “dad”. He doesn’t know if there’s anything they have in common and he only has vague memories of the time before he became a full-time sorcerer and stopped being Megumi’s only caretaker.
But, vague as they are, those memories are still there and the longer Megumi dwells on them, the more he warms up to this…roadtrip.
He finds an old duffle bag at the bottom of his dresser and upon inspection deems it good enough to use. He quickly dusts it out outside and hurries back to his room to pack. There he realizes that he has no idea how long this roadtrip will be- because, naturally, his dad wouldn’t be helpful like that- so he packs a bit of everything. He takes his backpack too; puts in his wallet, some things from his first aid kit (but leaves enough for Maki and Mai in case they run out of something on their own), a hoodie he wears the most, and his water bottle.
He packs and…he finds himself excited for this. Hesitantly, because he doesn’t know his dad. He doesn’t know if he’s about to subject himself to unknown hours of awkward silences and even more awkward conversation attempts. Whether his dad will even want to talk. It’s uncharted territory, something that Megumi hates. But still. He hadn’t left the Zen’in estate since his dad moved them back in when Megumi was around five or six, and he misses the way things were back then.
When he breaks the news at lunch, Mai clicks her tongue and says, “So you’re leaving.”
“Mai,” Maki reprimands her, gently knocking their elbows together where they sit side-to-side. They don’t eat with the rest of the family- instead, they sit in a circle on the floor in Maki’s room like a group of moody, antisocial teenagers.
Megumi frowns. “Well, for a bit. It’s a roadtrip.”
“And a roadtrip to where?” Maki asks.
“Uh, I don’t really know.”
“How long are you gonna be gone? You owe me a fight.”
Megumi pushes the spoon through his miso soup. “Um, not really sure.”
A beat of silence, then, “Maybe he’s going to off you and bury you in a ditch somewhere.”
“ Mai! ”
Megumi looks at her flatly. “Yes,” he says, “because he couldn’t have drowned me in a motel bathtub when I was a toddler.”
Mai shrugs. ”I’m just saying.”
“What is wrong with you?” Maki asks her sister.
Mai rolls her eyes. “I’m joking, jeez.” Grumpily, she adds, “Besides, your dad is like the only half-decent adult here, obviously you’ll be fine.”
But will you be? Megumi wants to ask.
But Maki is holding a fork and Megumi doesn’t want to give her a reason to use it against him. So he says, “And you too.”
✻✻✻✻✻
His dad is already waiting outside the main entrance when Megumi makes his way over from the other side of the complex, where his room is. He’s wearing jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt, which is almost as jarring as seeing him in his casualwear this morning.
Megumi can’t see any of his bags and awkwardly walks to him, his own luggage like weights in his arms.
“Um,” he says when his dad arches an eyebrow at the duffle hanging by his side, “I don’t know how long we’ll be gone, so I may have overpacked.”
When his dad smiles, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. But most of his smiles since Megumi grew up don’t, so he doesn’t think about it much.
“Nah,” Toji says, “it’s just. That used to be my bag. I didn’t know you had it.”
“Oh,” Megumi responds. He didn’t know that either. He clutches at the strap a bit harder, feels the edges of it pinching at the skin of his palm.
His dad glances over Megumi’s shoulder. The smile on his face- however slight and weak- slides off and he swallows.
Megumi turns his head, sees Naobito and Jinichi standing at the doorway and watching them like vultures, two dark shapes in the shadows of the house. They’re just a quick blur before Toji takes him by the shoulder and leads him to the car; a sleek, black thing, reminding Megumi of the car his dad used to have before they came here. Just…not as beat up.
“Well, let’s go,” his dad says, plucking the bags out of his hands to toss in the backseat. “We’re wasting daylight.”
They get in the car, safely out of sight, but Megumi still feels eyes on him. Plucking at his skin, picking him apart layer by layer. Toji turns the engine on, gets the car moving, and Megumi watches their current clan head and his uncle become grainy dots in the side mirror.
✻✻✻✻✻
Two
After one and half hours squished between a throng of people, sleep-deprived and hungry, Megumi steps out of the Sendai Station ready to strangle a man with his bare hands. That’s a crime, though, so he settles for a vegetarian sandwich and a bottle of water.
People pass him by like he’s a ghost, dragging his luggage like lingering emotions as he makes his way to the street. Cars and cabs are milling about, engines humming and horns blaring. Across the sidewalk, a mother and two children are standing under a streetlight. They’re all blonde and pale-skinned, the girl’s hair twisted into braids and the boy’s curling against his forehead. They’re holding their mother’s hands on each side, swinging them back and forth like a swing of tangled digits, long and thin and short and chubby, clasped tight.
He hears it too late; the squeal of tires and the gasps, catches the mother’s wide eyes and braces for impact. It’s a nudge more than anything, nothing like dramatic crashing and rolling off the hood in a mess of broken bones like they show it in the movies. The car’s front bumper clubs him in the knee, sends a jolt of pain up and down the whole length of his leg, and he moves with the force of the impact, stumbling to the side. He loses his balance and finds himself horizontal with the asphalt.
He blinks, says, “Ow, fuck,” and decides that things just can’t get any worse from now on.
Naturally, he gets proven wrong.
✻✻✻✻✻
He meets Yuji Itadori in the hospital.
The driver that hit him nearly dissolves into tears, which is the only reason why Megumi agrees to be taken to the hospital and then spends about 20 minutes with his jeans around his ankles while doctors and nurses prod and take scans of his slowly swelling knee. He’s fine, he’s had worse, he wants water.
“You’re lucky, kid, nothing’s broken, but you still have to take it easy for a few days,” the doctor tells him and promptly ships him from ER to the trauma department where he’ll stay until his parents come to pick him up. The phone numbers he gave them don’t work, so if they’ll wait for that, Megumi will stay here forever.
The lights in ER were too bright and even though they’re dimmer here to allow the patients to sleep, everything still stinks of bleach and rubbing alcohol and Megumi takes the first opportunity to slip out of his hospital room and away from his elderly roommate with a fake hip. He ventures through the hallways and down the stairs, looking for the exit. He doesn’t know whether to stick to the shadows or to stand under the glow of dim, yellowing overhead lights. He’s debating it still when a body- solid, warm, fast, too bright for the hospital with its pink hair and sunflower yellow hoodie- brushes against him on the stairs between the 2nd and 3rd floor.
There’s a mumbled apology and then something clatters to the ground with a dull thunk . Megumi looks down, mouth open to call out, and takes in the small wooden box and a track of scribbled-on paper on the stair next to him. His gut sinks- it’s sealing tape.
“Hey! Wait up!” he yells, scooping up the items. He can’t feel the cursed energy, but holding them feels like holding a dirty wet rag. The remnants of cursed energy from whatever was sealed there.
The boy pauses, hands in his hoodie’s pockets, and turns to look up at him. “Uh, yeah?” He asks, rubbing the corner of one of his reddened eyes with his index finger.
Megumi hurries down the steps to catch up to him and thrusts the box and the tape under his nose. “What was in this box?”
“Uh,” the boy says, looking at him owlishly. “This is gonna sound bad- a finger.”
“A finger?” Megumi repeats.
“Yeah,” the boy responds. “It was in my school’s thermometer shed.”
For real? Megumi wonders. Out loud, he asks, “Where is it now?”
The boy is looking at him like he’s got two heads, which is fair, as this is not a conversation either of them probably thought they’d have right now.
“With my friends,” he tells Megumi hesitantly. “Why?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Megumi says curtly and reaches for his phone. “Where do your friends live?”
“Whoa, no offense, but I’m not giving you their addresses.”
Megumi pauses, finger poised above the touch screen. What is he doing? His phone has been turned off since before he boarded the train. And anyway, who is he going to call? Someone from the clan? Yeah, sure .
He looks at the boy. “This is serious. You need to tell me where they are, they are in danger.”
“What are you talking about?” Cinnamon brown eyes narrow at him. “Is that a threat?”
Megumi grits his teeth and bites the bullet. “That finger is cursed and your friends could die tonight.”
Megumi has always lived suspended between two worlds; he doesn't have any cursed energy so he can't be a jujutsu sorcerer, but he knows too much, he's too connected to be normal. He's split down the middle of his being with nowhere to go. That's what-
Nevermind that.
He's never had to tell anyone about curses and he wonders if the embarrassment this boy's dumbstruck expression causes within him is something anyone who had to felt as well.
"Huh?" He asks Megumi.
Megumi's face goes hot, cheeks burning, and he pulls his mouth in a sneer. "Are you slow? You heard me."
The boy scratches the back of his head. "Um. I think we got off on the wrong foot here. I'm Yuji. Yuji Itadori. And, uh, I don't really understand what you're saying."
Megumi exhales, harshly, through his nose. "Fushiguro," he says. "And it's not nuclear science. I said that finger is cursed and your friends are in danger, so you have to tell me where they are."
If Itadori is bothered by his terse introduction, he doesn't let it show. His eyes are big and almond-shaped and they're watching Megumi with a disturbing level of contemplation. In the end, he says, "You're serious."
"Of course, I'm serious," Megumi bites out.
Surprisingly, Itadori doesn't tell him he's a basket case. He says, "I still can't tell you where they live. But-" he cuts off, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth before he swallows and meets Megumi's eyes. "But right now, they're at school. They said they'll open it tonight."
Megumi looks down. He wasn't paying enough attention earlier, but it's only a part of tape, torn at one end. The rest is still hopefully sealing that cursed finger.
“Where’s the school?” He asks his hand. He only looks up when Itadori says, “I’ll show you.”
“No.”
Megumi doesn’t have a plan. He doesn’t need Itadori asking him questions that he can’t answer and that will just unsettle him more. Because even if Itadori and his friends were dumb and playing with things they should’ve left alone, Megumi is not cruel enough to wish for them to suffer. Should they pay for it? Yes, but not with their lives.
Itadori makes a noise of disagreement, mouth open. “Dude,” he says, “they’re my friends.” And then he drags a hand over his face, “And, honestly, you kinda spooked me, there’s no way I’d be able to sleep tonight if I didn’t check it for myself.”
Itadori is a civilian. He’d just get in the way. And Megumi is- Megumi is not better. He doesn’t have cursed energy, he has no cursed weapons. They’d both be in danger.
“And besides,” Itadori continues in the face of Megumi’s silence, “even if I just told you, you wouldn’t know how to get there in time, right?”
Does he really look that much out of place? He’s got his backpack and the duffle, which is what probably tips him off. But Itadori is right. Megumi has no idea how to get around Sendai.
He shoves the box and the tape into the side pocket of his backpack and says, pressed, “Fine. But we have to hurry.”
Itadori beams.
✻✻✻✻✻
Megumi’s knee aches. Itadori sets a demanding pace, outshining Maki and her morning runs, and Megumi follows him as they sprint through the streets. At one point, Itadori snatches the duffle out of his hand and slings it over his shoulders like a backpack, but the additional weight of Megumi’s whole livelihood doesn’t slow him down in the slightest. He’s not even winded, the prick, while Megumi pants, chest falling and rising when they finally stop at the school gate.
It’s locked, of course.
“Wait here,” Megumi says and grabs a hold of corroded metal rods that make up the fence. Beyond the gate, the school building looms in the night, still and dark.
“What? No way!” Itadori protests. There’s a sound of rustling when he hastily puts Megumi’s duffle on the ground next to his backpack. “I’ve come this far!”
“And it’s as far as you’ll go,” Megumi says, an edge of finality to his words and hoists himself up.
He doesn’t look back or listen to anything else Itadori might say. His knee throbs with his heartbeat as he walks, jog tapering off into careful tiptoeing as he enters the building. Everything is silent but there is this sense of foreboding settling heavy in the pit of his stomach. He wonders if it’s just his mind messing with him, or if he can, despite everything, feel the cursed energy of the finger.
In the back of his head, his thoughts wander. Megumi doesn’t remember much of anything before the Zen’in complex, but there is familiarity in these hallways. Everything is old, but simple in a way the main house never was. Megumi is homeschooled, in a sense, but he imagines himself here. It’s a brief flicker of a thought before he squashes it with annoyance. He doesn’t need that.
When he rounds the corner, his skin breaks in goosebumps. Like he walked into some hallucinatory state with his eyes closed, the reality around him shifts on its axis. He’s uneven-footed, the air hot and clogged with something sticky. He can hear his pulse pounding in his ears, urging him to go away. He can’t- because in front of him, there are two students, seemingly floating mid-air and Megumi’s mind fills the gaps, imagines them in clutches of some curse whose limbs grope at them, its body shifting, budding mass of rot and decay. His feet won’t move, the helplessness pulls at him without mercy and dread sends pins of ice up his spine.
He can’t do anything. The realization hits him like a slap in the face. He is utterly useless and it almost brings tears to his eyes.
They mist over and there is a growing hole in his chest, sinking into him-
And then a window on his right shatters. A blurry shape of yellow sends shards of glass flying and glittering through the hallway and then it’s Itadori, crouching on the ground in the hallway adjacent to the one Megumi and the curse are in, a boy slung over his shoulder and a girl in his arms.
He looks at his unconscious friends, then at the curse.
“I’m not trying to be offending,” he says, casually, “but that thing is fucking ugly .”
Megumi looks like an idiot. He knows, because that’s how he feels. His heart is in his throat.
Itadori looks at him then, a sheepish smile on his face. Why is he so cool about this? Why isn’t he terrified?
Megumi snaps out of his stupor, something bitter on his tongue at the face of this, and jump-starts into motion, walking sharply towards Itadori. “We have to go-”
It’s as far as he gets, Itadori’s expression cracking into startled surprise and then it’s his head cracking against the wall. His senses flood with cursed energy, like cotton wads dipped in battery acid and stuffed down his throat, his vision darkening and pain a living, breathing thing singing every nerve of his body from the top to bottom.
“Fushiguro!”
Something warm and wet slides down his face. Blood. His head is bleeding. It’s the last coherent thought before invisible hands seize him and he’s weightless, falling while cold air slices at his skin.
When he falls, it only registers as the sound of a body hitting the concrete and the feeling of all air leaving his lungs. The pain isn’t even a separate sensation at this point, it’s the only thing he feels.
Above, the outer wall of the building bursts into pieces, and through his muddled eyes, Megumi can almost see the curse’s silhouette, something vaguely darker than the night around them, huge and almost quadrupedal rushing towards him. Why him, though? He’s got no cursed energy, he doesn’t pose any kind of a threat.
But maybe that’s exactly why , a voice in the back of his head whispers, maybe it can sense it, how wrong Megumi is. Maybe his existence frightens it, disturbs it like it disturbed everyone else in his life.
Maybe it’s why-
When it’s about a dozen meters away, Itadori jumps on it, kicks it somewhere that sends a shiver down Megumi’s back in response to whatever its reaction was. When he lands on the walkway between them, dodging attacks invisible to Megumi’s naked eye, Megumi finds the strength to clamber onto his knees, coughing coppery and hoarse, as he says, “We have to call- We have to go, Itadori. You can’t beat it without cursed energy.”
“And where- uh- where do I get cursed energy?” Itadori responds, not looking back. He’s moving almost too fast for Megumi’s eyes to follow, his movements elegant and decisive. “You said- you said something about ingesting it?”
“ Absorbing ,” Megumi corrects. “But that’s-”
“So I’d just have to eat something cursed, right?” Itadori cuts him off and brandishes their cursed object in his hand. “Like, uh, a finger?”
Megumi suddenly sees, crystal clear and terrible, where this is going. Itadori asked, while they were running, all sorts of questions, and Megumi answered. He regrets it now.
“Don’t eat the fucking finger-”
Itadori eats the finger. Just as his mouth closes, the atmosphere shifts and Megumi sees the blurry shadow of the curse charging at them. Itadori shudders, bends over at waist- and then he straightens and his arm sweeps through the air upwards like he’s holding a knife. Frankly, Megumi can’t tell what happened with the curse but as he stares at Itadori’s back, he finds himself trembling to the core of his being.
He tastes copper in the back of his throat and can’t tell if it’s his blood or this other curse’s cursed energy. It’s so cold, like cooling, coagulating blood.
Itadori laughs, a deep, mocking cackle that doesn’t suit him. “I knew it!” A voice that is lower than Itadori’s was exclaims. “Light is best appreciated in the flesh!”
It’s definitely not Itadori anymore. The curse walks to the edge of the walkway and jumps onto the edge, Itadori’s arms thrown wide. “And what a wonderful age it has become! Women and children spawning like maggots!”
It turns then- and stops. Its eyes are red and Megumi feels them boring into him as its expression turns from outright gleeful to fascinated. “Oh, and what do we have here.”
Before Megumi can blink, it’s crouching in front of him. He flinches back but there’s nowhere to go but down on his ass.
“Aren’t you interesting,” the curse says, double sets of eyes greedily drinking up the sight of him, and reaches out towards Megumi- and then in the last moment grabs its own face.
It looks as surprised as Megumi for all of a second before Itadori’s voice asks, “What the hell do you think you’re doing with my body?”
Megumi blinks.
“Itadori?” He asks hesitantly.
“How are you doing this?” The deeper voice again. “How are you controlling the body?”
“Well, it’s my body, duh.”
Megumi is…incredibly confused.
Itadori catches his eyes and grins, giving him a thumbs up. “All’s fine, Fushiguro!”
Megumi blinks again, but it’s because there’s blood dripping into his left eye.
Itadori’s eyebrows furrow in concern, “Um, I think you need to go to the hospital. Your head is bleeding.”
“My head is bleeding? From my head wound? A shocker,” Megumi deadpans and swipes the inner side of his wrist and forearm over his face. His skin comes away stained red and, oh. Wow . That- that is a lot of blood.
He looks at Itadori again. “I have a first aid kit in my backpack.” He’s done with hospitals for today and head wounds just bleed a lot in general. It’s going to be fine.
He makes a move to get up and Itadori scrambles to stand beside him. He fits one hand over Megumi’s upper arm and the other around his middle and gently and slowly, like they’re old friends, eases Megumi to his feet.
The world tilts and sways but thankfully Megumi doesn’t throw up. He looks at Itadori’s profile and ends up staring long enough that their eyes meet. “You’re really Itadori?”
Curses lie, Megumi knows, but when Itadori nods and doesn’t move away when they start to walk, Megumi is inclined to believe him.
After all, he can be fooled only so many times in a day.
✻✻✻✻✻
One
The gravel crunches beneath the car tires and the static fills the quiet while Toji fiddles with the dials and buttons on the radio. Megumi sits huddled in the passenger seat, watching him. His cheeks are puffed up like he’s the kid between the two of them, his mouth set in a straight, focused line as his eyes flicker to the road.
“Aha!” At last, the sound bursts through the speakers, and Megumi startles as a voice starts singing in English. It’s a rock song, electric guitar and drums, upbeat and familiar even though Megumi doesn’t know the lyrics by heart.
His dad finally puts both hands on the wheel and starts speeding up. Every time he shifts gears the engine rumbles before the gear stick settles into its slot, clumsy and slow. Megumi wonders if his dad used to drive like this when he was younger too, notices the wince on his face whenever the car lurches. When his dad catches him looking, he offers him a grin and, “In my defense, I haven’t driven myself somewhere in years?”
It’s true. Since they moved back, Megumi can’t tell he has ever seen his dad behind the wheel. Whenever he had to go somewhere, there was a car and a driver already waiting for him.
Still, because Megumi is a bit of an asshole and the thought of behaving in front of his dad hasn’t settled in his brain yet, he says, “That’s a sad excuse.”
To his surprise, his dad snorts a laugh. “Heh, guess you’re right.” They pass the gate at the edge of the estate and drive onto the asphalted road leading to the city. Toji’s eyes crinkle in the corners with a smile, but it’s off, somehow tight and too controlled, and he says quietly, “Between the two of us, your mom was a better driver anyway.”
✻✻✻✻✻
Two
At a much more considerate pace for Megumi’s injuries, Itadori leads them to a suburban street lined with old-timey houses. He’s carrying Megumi’s duffle again, slung over one shoulder as he opens the gate that creaks with movement and then rummages through his pockets for a key to the front door.
Inside, the curtains are drawn and the air smells stale with spices and dust.
“Sorry that everything’s messy, I, uh, don’t really have time to clean,” Itadori explains, scratching the back of his head and kicking a pair of slippers out of the way. He toes out of his sneakers so Megumi follows, lining them neatly against the wall next to Itadori’s haphazardly shoved ones.
“That’s fine,” he tells him. “Aren’t your parents going to mind having a stranger over?”
“No, I don’t have parents,” Itadori responds, pulls his hoodie over his head and straightens the T-shirt he has underneath. “I live with my grandpa.”
“Then won’t he mind?”
Itadori rubs a finger over his cheek, under a newly formed curved scar beneath his eye. “Um, no,” he says awkwardly. “He died today.”
Oh. Fuck.
Megumi wrings his hands around the strap of his backpack. “I’m sorry.”
Itadori shrugs. “He was sick for a long time, so…it was only a matter of time.”
Megumi has nothing to say to that. He never lost someone like that. He doesn’t remember his mom. And in his family, the only ones he would cry for are Maki and Mai, and-
“Where do I-”
“Oh! You can take my room.”
Megumi frowns. “Where will you sleep?”
“I can take the couch or my grandpa’s roo-”
“I’ll take the couch,” Megumi decides. He’s not going to make Itadori sleep on the couch in his own house and much less make him take his recently deceased grandfather’s room.
Startled, Itadori asks, “Are you sure? You’re pretty hurt…I’m sure sleeping on the bed would feel nicer!”
Megumi shakes his head. “I’m fine with the couch. Seriously.”
They hover in the hallway for a second before Itadori caves, shoulders slumping. “Okay,” he says, grabbing Megumi’s duffle. “This way, then.”
He shows him to the living room, then to where the kitchen, his room, and the bathroom are. He gives Megumi some towels and lingers at the doorway for an awkward second before Megumi closes the door. The bathroom is small but clean. Megumi strips and marvels at the fact that his clothes are mostly intact, then peels the bandages around his head and takes account of the bruises littering his body. There’s a big one blooming on his shoulder and hip, his knee already purple, and then some smaller ones all around.
He sweeps his hair up and to the side to see the gash Itadori cleaned earlier. It follows the edge of his hairline, red and coloring blue where the skin has split, looking angry and severe even though it’s not. It will leave a mark.
He showers, dresses, and goes down to find a bed already made for him on the couch. He rummages through his backpack to pull out a bandaid and tack it over the cut on his head and then lies down.
He’s starting to doze off when footsteps break the silence in the house and Itadori appears behind the couch, arms loaded with another pillow and a comforter and his hair wet. “Ah,” he says, “in case you get cold or if you need to get comfier.”
It is warm enough underneath the blanket, but Megumi takes the comforter and covers himself up to his waist anyway, then jams the pillow between his back and the backrest with “Thanks.”
It is a nice gesture after all.
“Don’t mention it,” Itadori responds. He hovers awkwardly by the couch, fiddling with the frayed hem of his shirt for a long moment before asking, “You’re not gonna, like, disappear by morning, right?”
Megumi is hit then by the realization that Itadori is a civilian. He’s an ordinary boy who’s been living an ordinary life and now he’s sharing his body with a curse just because he wanted to save Megumi. And still, he’s being kind to him, like it’s not all Megumi’s fault. He deserves answers.
“I won’t,” Megumi tells him quietly.
A bright smile flashes at him in the dark and Itadori says, “Okay. Goodnight, Fushiguro,” before bounding off to his room upstairs.
There’s only a sliver of faint streetlight coming in through the window and the room is colored in blues and grays and blacks. In the stillness of it, Megumi’s eyes fall on the coffee table where his phone lies, the screen dark. A morbid curiosity urges him to turn it on, but Megumi stomps on it. He doesn’t need to know. He doesn’t care.
Or, at least, he won’t let himself care.
On a whim, he pulls the comforter all the way up, hugs the spare pillow to his chest, and closes his eyes.
✻✻✻✻✻
The morning finds them sitting at the table in the kitchen and nursing their respective cups of coffee. Itadori pulled the curtains to the side and the light cuts a sharp line over Itadori’s side of the table, coating him in gold as he pours creamer and sugar in his cup while Megumi stays in the shadows and slowly claws his way to the complete consciousness.
He warms his palms on the ceramic, watching the steam rise. His head and knee throb in sync with his heartbeat and he can’t remember if he brought his phone charger.
“So, uh,” Itadori starts, stirring his spoon, “last night was wild, huh?”
It’s the first words between them today, not counting their morning greetings and questions about breakfast and coffee. He’s acting normal, so far, considering there’s a curse inside him.
Megumi’s throat clicks when he swallows. “Yeah,” he confirms. Then he lifts his hands and scrubs at his face. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have involved you in this mess.”
Itadori scratches at his jaw. “I mean. It’s not like we knew this would happen.”
Megumi slumps in his seat and doesn’t say anything. He takes a sip of his coffee; it’s still somewhat sweet despite being plain black and he wonders if Itadori puts in sugar during the making or if it’s just some weird brew.
“Um, I remember you talking about cursed energy? And Sukuna has mentioned something about curses and sorcerers,” Itadori says in the face of his silence.
Megumi looks up in confusion. “Sukuna?”
Itadori points at his head. “The, uh, the finger.” He pauses, then says, “Well, not- Sukuna is not the finger, but it’s his finger, um. Yeah.”
He taps the rim of his cup while Megumi takes that in.
“You can talk to him?”
“Yeah,” Itadori nods, scrunching up his nose. “He’s kind of a dick, though. And annoying. He’s pretty pissed that I’m in control even though it’s my own damn body ,” he says pointedly, obviously intended for Sukuna.
Megumi massages his temple. This is so out of his depth. In the jujutsu world, this is the Mariana trench. Megumi’s depth is a kiddie pool. They need someone more experienced, someone like-
“I’m going to assume that the term “cursed energy” doesn’t mean anything to you,” he says even though he already knows the answer.
“You would assume correctly.”
Megumi sighs.
“So,” he starts, trying to remember how it was explained to him. “You can imagine cursed energy as a sort of radiation. But imagine it’s a common thing. Every person has it and they are emitting small amounts of it every day. You following?”
Itadori scratches the top of his head and squints. “I think so.”
Megumi figures it’s good enough and continues. “It’s made up of negative emotions. Grief, hate, sorrow…it all turns to cursed energy. When it accumulates in larger amounts, it can manifest physically. That’s a curse.”
Itadori’s mouth curves into a small “o” of understanding.
“Jujutsu sorcerers are people who know how to use their cursed energy. They destroy curses.”
“Oh,” Itadori says and perks up. “Are you a jujutsu sorcerer, Fushiguro?”
Megumi swallows down his surprise and the scoff that rises up in his throat in response. “No,” he says, careful to keep his bitterness out of his tone, “I just come from a family of them.”
Itadori oh’s again and then falls silent. He drinks his coffee. The sun has moved and now the light casts shadows over his face, stretching across the wooden, scruffed-up surface towards Megumi. He lets the warmth of it touch his fingertips.
“What now?” Itadori asks.
Megumi looks at him; curled around his cup and not meeting Megumi’s eyes.
“What do you mean?”
Itadori shrugs. “I mean, I’m technically possessed, right? So, what happens to me now?”
Megumi…doesn’t know. He just knows that it won’t be anything good.
It hits him then, that Itadori doesn’t have anyone anymore. His grandfather died and he’s all alone in this world Megumi plunged him into. Turning and growing, the idea of something bad happening to Itadori, of him paying and suffering as a consequence of what’s ultimately Megumi’s mess, sits heavy like lead in his stomach.
“Nothing,” he finds himself saying before he can think. Itadori finally looks at him, eyes wide and surprised.
“Nothing will happen,” he soldiers on, “because we’ll fix it.”
✻✻✻✻✻
One
Granted, Toji’s driving improves- microscopically- the longer they’re on the road. The radio switches between English rock to Japanese pop and everything in between and they listen to it all. His dad is either indifferent to the song, or tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. On occasion, he looks like he might smile, but never does. Megumi tries not to take it personally.
At the gas station, when the car comes to a jerking halt, his dad looks at him and asks, “Do you drink coffee?”
Megumi straightens in his seat. “Yeah. Black.”
“Plain?”
He nods.
Toji nods back, says, “Alright,” then moves the stick shift and pulls up the emergency brake handle before getting out.
Megumi watches him fueling up the car, looking bored as he leans against the side of it. Megumi tries to imagine him like this ten years ago, with himself strapped in the backseat. There’s no memory of it in his mind, even though he knows it happened. They were always on the road, always traveling and moving. There have to be millions of memories of them cruising through the country floating around somewhere in the confines of Megumi’s head, but he can’t summon any of them to the surface right now. It’s sad, in a way, and he looks away from his dad, who’s thumbing thoughtfully at the scar in the corner of his mouth.
He’s looking at the lines on his palms when Toji gets back. He’s balancing two take-out cups in one hand, and there’s a colorful packet of something clenched between his teeth.
Megumi takes one of the cups, piping hot through the styrofoam and his dad drops the packet in his lap when he gets into his seat, and says, “No, no, that’s mine.”
He takes the cup out of Megumi’s hand and hands him the other one.
“What’d you get if I can’t drink it?” Megumi asks.
“None of your business,” his dad grumps, but there’s no bite in his tone. He tosses the packet at Megumi, asking, “You still like sour candy, right?”
Megumi blinks at the packet of a citrus mix of Hi-Chews Sours. Absently, touched that his dad remembered, he says, “Yeah.”
His coffee is still way too hot, so he puts it in the cup holder next to his dad’s and tears open the bag of candies. He selects a green one and pops it in his mouth as his dad starts driving again.
Slight tanginess spreads over his taste buds as he chews and, put in a good mood, he brings their attention back to his dad’s beverage.
“Seriously, though, did you spike it or something?”
Toji snorts. “You’re always this damn noisy?”
In response, Megumi shoves a mouthful of candy in his mouth.
“And if you have to know,” his dad continues, “mine’s got cream.”
“Oh,” Megumi mumbles out. Somehow, that’s the last thing he expected.
“Don’t drink and drive.”
Megumi gives him a deadpan look. “I don’t have a license.”
“Oh, yeah,” Toji says. “Gimme one of those,” he jerks his thumb at the candy in Megumi’s hand. “Lemon.”
Oasis’s Wonderwall starts playing and Megumi drops the yellow candy in Toji’s open palm.
✻✻✻✻✻
Two
They stay in Sendai for the funeral. When they walk the streets, Itadori is taking everything in with new eyes, wide and lingering on empty spaces. Megumi wonders what he sees, with this layer of reality stripped away.
He’s not jealous. He doesn’t wish to be in Itadori’s place- even without the possession- because he’s learned not to want things he knows he can’t get. His body won’t manifest cursed energy and a technique just because he wants it to. But there is…a curiosity, of sorts. What changed? What does it feel like? Can he tell what Megumi is and, if not, how long will it take him to figure it out?
They stay at Itadori residence, which significantly helps Megumi save his money. But they won’t be able to stay there for much longer.
“Cursed energy leaves residues and lingers,” he tells Itadori in the evening. “We’ll have to get moving or they’ll find us.”
Itadori nods at that without a protest. “Okay.” There’s a slump to his shoulders, like his muscles can’t keep up the weight of his bones, and he twines a thread of the blanket where they sit cross-legged on the couch, facing each other, before he asks, “Hey, Fushiguro?”
“Hm?”
“Ah, I know it’s not like that, but all of this is making me feel like sorcerers are bad guys here,” Itadori tells him sheepishly.
At that, Megumi blinks. “I mean,” he starts, then breaks off. Megumi is yet to meet a jujutsu sorcerer that showed any grain of respect for him. To most of those Megumi has encountered, he’s either despicable, embarrassing, or heartbreaking. Defective goods of the Zen’in bloodline.
“They’re just like all other people,” he ends up saying.
Itadori blinks at him curiously and he shrugs.
“You can’t put them all in the same basket, Itadori.”
“But,” Itadori says in a small voice, “I thought they saved people.”
“That doesn’t make them good,” Megumi says firmly. “Besides, if saving people was all they did, we wouldn’t have to hide.”
“Right,” Itadori mutters. Megumi feels bad for putting him in a funk for all three seconds before his expression brightens again. “So what’s the plan? Are we going to book plane tickets and leave for like, Ecuador?”
Megumi arches an eyebrow at him. “We’re minors,” he reminds him, “fleeing the country is not exactly in our cards. And I don’t think that extradition law has anything to do with this.”
“The what law?”
“Nevermind.”
Itadori slumps into the backrest, resting his chin on his hand. “I just wanna go somewhere warm and seaside-y.”
Megumi leans back into the pillows. They do need a plan. A plausible and executable one. He looks up at the ceiling.
“Getting lost in the crowd is our best option,” he muses out loud. “And using public transportation with most passengers.” That way, there’s a chance of Itadori’s, well, Sukuna’s cursed energy mingling and getting tangled with others, making it harder to track them.
“So…a train to Tokyo?” Itadori suggests.
“No,” Megumi shakes his head. “There’s a jujutsu school in Tokyo.” And Megumi wants to avoid going back that way for a while longer, just in case.
He taps his fingers on his knees. “Let’s go North.”
After a moment of considering silence, Itadori suggests, “Morioka?”
Megumi looks at him. “Yeah. That will work.”
The train ride lasts about 40 minutes, but it costs almost three times as much as the bus ride does. The bus ride is two and half hours long, and ultimately it’s the option they pick. They’re not made of money and Megumi doesn’t want to spend a lot unnecessarily when he still doesn’t have a solid plan for how to get them out of this.
They agree to leave in the morning and when Itadori leaves to pack, Megumi lays out his bed on the couch and starts thinking.
Morioka is far enough for now, but they’ll need to find a way to get Sukuna out of Itadori because they can’t keep running forever. The biggest problem is that Megumi doesn’t know how to do that. He knows about exorcisms but he can’t do that and, anyway, he knows Itadori wouldn’t live through that. If there are any other options, Megumi will need resources and reading material. He’ll need to research. Unfortunately, the only jujutsu books are either in possession of Kyoto and Tokyo schools or in clans’ private collections. None of which they have access to.
Megumi sighs. The sound is loud in the quiet of the room, appropriately showing the depth of his frustration.
He scraps everything.
Morioka first. Then, they’ll deal with the rest.
✻✻✻✻✻
Morioka doesn’t come first.
A few minutes before their bus is due to pass through Osaki, Itadori straightens up in his seat as if someone poked him in the ribs and says, “Uh.”
Megumi spares him a glance from the seat next to him. “What?”
Itadori blinks dumbly at the back of the seat in front of him. “I think we need to get off here.”
Megumi frowns. “Huh? Why?”
“Dunno. Just, uh, we gotta,” Itadori says and then starts shimmying out of his seat.
Megumi gapes at him. “I- What- Hang on,” he snatches his wrist and pushes him back down.
Itadori stares out the window distractedly, but seems otherwise unbothered. He winds his arms over his stomach and says, “I just, um- I feel like something’s, like, calling to me.”
“No shit, brat.”
Megumi stares, absolutely dumbfounded, at the mouth that appears on Itadori’s cheek, the scar above it opening to show a red-irised eye. He moves his gaze to meet Itadori’s equally wide eyes.
“What the fuck?” He says, quietly, but the curse ignores him.
“You ate one of my fingers, and now you’re connected to the rest of them,” Sukuna says. It’s fucking bizarre.
“The rest of them ?” Itadori asks incredulously.
“What, did you idiot think there was only one?” The curse asks mockingly.
Before Itadori can answer, Megumi says, “Shit,” and pulls them both to their feet.
He can’t believe they haven’t thought of that. It’s a goddamn finger, they come in sets of ten. Of course, there’d be more. And if other curses are ingesting them- well, Megumi just doesn’t have a good feeling about that.
“We gotta find it,” he tells Itadori as he snatches their luggage from the overhead carriers and leads them towards the front.
Itadori gawks at him. “Uh. We do?” The mouth on his cheek has disappeared.
“Yeah, come on,” Megumi says, holding onto his bags.
He leans down to be level with the driver as he says, “Stop here, we need to get out.”
The driver barely spares him a glance. “No can do, kid. This route doesn’t make a stop in Osaki.”
Megumi clenches his teeth. “You don’t understand, we need to get out, now.” And then, when the driver decides to ignore him, he grabs Itadori’s wrist and says, “My friend is feeling sick.”
“Huh, I’m-” Itadori starts, only to clamp his mouth shut when Megumi digs his fingers into his wrist and gives him a glare of warning. Itadori’s eyes widen and he starts nodding furiously. “Oh, yeah, I’m feeling so sick. Totally. Uh, actually, I think I’m gonna puke.”
Someone behind them hears him and, naturally, as no one wants to spend over two hours in a vomit-stenched bus, the passengers start getting rowdy until the driver shoots them a look of annoyance and stops at the side of the road.
“The tickets are non-refundable,” he tells them, jabbing his hand on the door button.
They slide open with a faint hiss and Megumi and Itadori tumble out with nothing more than a hasty thanks and farewell.
When they get out, Itadori takes the lead. He’s stomping ahead like a dog catching a scent. Megumi tries to keep up, knee still aching slightly, as they make their way down streets and alleys.
“How do you know which way to go?” Megumi asks after a while.
“Uh, it’s just like…a tug in my stomach?” Itadori says, scratching his temple before taking a sharp turn down the street. He crosses it and steps right through the front door of an abandoned apartment complex.
There’s fine grime and pebbles snapping the glass shards beneath their shoes as they walk. Megumi wrinkles his nose at the stale stench of dust and urine on the stairwell and oversteps a pile of ragged, unwashed laundry. In front of him, Itadori is stomping up the stairs with determination.
His confident stride comes to a halt at the top of the staircase.
“What?” Megumi asks, looking over his shoulder at an empty corridor. Or, well. Ah. “It’s a curse, isn’t it?”
“Uh-huh,” Itadori responds with a jerky nod.
Megumi scans his eyes over the dilapidated space in front of them, a lump forming in his throat when he- unsurprisingly- can’t see anything. This time, though, he can’t feel it either. His hands clench into fists at his sides.
Itadori’s shoulders square, his face obscured from Megumi’s vision save for a smidge of his profile Megumi can see from his position. His expression is set into something serious, smooth like polished marble, and strangely serene. “I can take it,” he tells Megumi.
Megumi snatches the back of his jacket, cinching it in his grip, and voices a firm, “No.”
“Wha-”
“We got lucky at school, Itadori,” Megumi tells him. “We can’t rush into things like that.”
“But,” Itadori says, his voice small and conflicted, “it’s got the finger.”
Megumi’s eyebrows furrow. This is a mess, yet again, and Megumi is out of his depth, yet again.
“We’re not suited for this,” he says- and promptly chokes on his next words when Itadori lets out a startled shout and pushes him back onto the stairwell as the wall in front of them crumbles.
“I don’t think that the curse cares about that!” Itadori yells and pushes him up the next flight of stairs. Megumi takes the steps two at a time, his heart speeding up and their footsteps echoing in his ears.
His skin crawls at the feeling of grime beneath his hands when he grips the banister, goosebumps rising when Itadori’s hand finds its way to the small of his back to push him forward. When they reach the next landing, the stairs behind them shudder and a portion of them cracks, the chunks of concrete crumbling and falling away.
Itadori shoves them into the hallway, hand around Megumi’s forearm. He makes a startling noise when the floor gives way, erupting upwards in a cloud of dust, wood splinters, and cement. Megumi doesn’t know what they’re looking at, just knows he can’t breathe, his heart beating and clogging up his throat, tasting acid when Itadori moves in front of him, free hand clenched into a fist.
This blows. This sucks beyond all the other possible things and situations that could suck and Megumi finds himself trembling with equal parts fear and anger at his helplessness.
Itadori’s body tenses, bracing for something- and then an object, small and metallic, whizzes through the air in front of them and a second later, following a whisper of a word Megumi doesn’t quite catch, a warm pulse of energy echoes through the space between them, so intense that Megumi closes his eyes to it.
When he opens them again, across the chasm in the floor in front of them, there stands a girl.
A tool belt around her hips and a hammer in her right hand, she regards them with unimpressed tangerine-colored eyes.
“Well?” She asks. “I just saved your lives, you should thank me.”
She’s wearing a black uniform, coppery spiraled buttons shining, and before Megumi’s heart can sink to the bottom of his stomach, the ground beneath their feet crumbles.
✻✻✻✻✻
One
When Megumi wakes up, they’re parked at a rest stop off the highway, around them nothing but tall trees with lush green tops, and the hum of nature. His dad is outside, sitting on the hood of the car. His back and shoulders slumped, something defeated and tired in their curve. When Megumi was younger, his dad seemed larger than life. There was nothing he couldn’t do. And then they moved back to the Zen’in estate.
To this day, Megumi doesn’t know what compelled him to do such an act of self-annihilation.
He grimaces, massaging a cramp out of his neck, and climbs out of the car to join him. The air is cool and fresh, nipping at his fingertips, the tips of his ear and nose.
“Is everything alright?” He asks.
His dad doesn’t startle, eyes moving slow and calm to cut across the space between them. He takes in Megumi, the image of him still sleep-stained on the edges, in the rumpled folds of his clothes, the tangle of his hair. Then he looks ahead at the scenery and leans back onto his elbows. “Yup. Just taking a break.”
Megumi sticks his hands in the pockets of his jeans because he doesn’t know what else to do with them. The car is turned off and the radio is not playing, and the silence digs a grave between the two of them.
✻✻✻✻✻
Two
As the ground turns to dust, Megumi finds himself weightless for a brief, heart-stopping second, Itadori’s hand on him his only anchor, and then, as always, after this reprieve of gravity, his body rushes down to meet it once again. His breath leaves him in a harsh exhale and the air he sucks in tastes of sand and dirt.
“Fushiguro! Are you okay?”
He throbs everywhere and responds with a groan and a cough.
Itadori helps him up, legs unsure on the ground that’s all rubble. Through the settling cloud of gray, they see the girl lying on the ground.
Itadori makes a noise of exclamation at the sight, saying, “We have to check if she’s okay!” as he starts leading them through what might as well be a mine field. Each of his steps is sure and well-balanced, his gait elegant in a way that reminds Megumi of Maki. Meanwhile, Megumi stumbles after him, old bruises flaring up and the new ones forming.
They’re five steps away from reaching the unconscious girl when Megumi opens his mouth, eyes on the buttons of her jacket. He’s been debating himself on the matter since he saw her, and now the words leave him in a whisper.
“She’s a jujutsu student.”
The only indication that Itadori is surprised is the faltered half-step, his eyes taking her in before he nods and says, “Okay.”
It’s simple as that.
She’s no older than them, probably a first year. If Megumi had cursed energy, they might end up being classmates. Her hair falls across the half of her face in a spill of warm orange shade, like apricots. There’s a cut on her cheek, thin and superficial, and a bruise blooming around it that will hurt more than the cut itself.
While Megumi takes stock, a wall on their left cracks like a walnut shell, jagged pieces flying. Itadori shoves him forward, at the unconscious jujutsu student, but Megumi still feels it. He doesn’t get out of the reach quite soon enough. There’s a ghost of a touch on his back, high up between his shoulderblades and when he lands on his hands and knees above the girl, it’s with a gasp at the hollowing pain that erupts in his chest. His vision swims, elbows quivering, and a shudder ripples the air around them before Itadori heaves him up to his feet and slings the girl over his shoulder like she weighs nothing.
“We have to go!” He shouts and that’s when the creaking and wobbling is not all in Megumi’s head. The building is collapsing.
They gun it for the fire escape. Megumi goes down first, jumping over the last landing and stumbling only a little while Itadori goes down like some adolescent firefighter with an injured party over his shoulder.
When he lands on the ground, the building still groaning and shuddering behind him, he brandishes the retrieved finger to Megumi with a grin on his face.
“I got it!” He says.
And then a mouth morphs on his palm, gulps it down, and Itadori shrieks.
✻✻✻✻✻
When they start hearing the sirens, Megumi prompts them to get moving. Four blocks away, the two of them sit on the back steps of a building that might be or might have been, in its past, a restaurant. The girl is still out cold, lying between them.
“You really don’t feel any different?” Megumi asks him for the third time.
“Nope,” Itadori responds, poking at his now mouthless palm. His face scrunches up, “If I start sprouting eyes and mouths everywhere, I’m going to ask you to smother me in my sleep.”
“Don’t know how doable that’d be. Considering multiple mouths,” Megumi deadpans in response, tipping his head back. He rubs his fingers over his breastbone, where that twinging, hollow ache is yet to subside.
Itadori hah ’s in amusement and leans towards the girl. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”
“I don’t know.”
When Itadori ate that second finger, Megumi was sure they were doomed. One was pushing it, since he can’t gauge what grade the curse is when it’s literally scattered around in pieces, and since they don’t know what Itadori’s limit is.
“I mean, she’s been unconscious for a long time.”
“Five minutes,” Megumi tells him. “It’s been five minutes.”
“Well, yeah. But-” Itadori starts, scratching the back of his neck. Then he throws himself back with a startled squeak, avoiding a fist that shoots up towards his face.
The girl sits up, cradling her temple in one hand, narrowed eyes taking in her surroundings and company with mistrust.
“What happened?” She asks.
Itadori and Megumi exchange a glance.
“Um,” Itadori lifts his hand. “I’m Itadori Yuji.”
She frowns at him, carefully taking him in. She pays less attention to Megumi and his lack of cursed energy when she turns to him.
“Fushiguro,” he tells her.
Her expression sours, but she still says. “Kugisaki Nobara. Now, what happened?”
Megumi doesn’t know what to say. It’s a loaded question, from the start to finish of this story. For starters, he says, “We just saved your life, you should thank us,” and figures that’s good enough when she smirks at him.