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Ever since Megumi was a kid, he’s had this cat.
He doesn’t know where it came from or how it ended up on his doorstep on a random evening late into September, only that he’d arrived home from school one day to find the fuzzy little thing sprawled out on the doormat of his run down apartment like it owned the place. At first, he’d thought it had just wandered off from somewhere and that it’s owner would come looking for it soon, but as the hours passed and daylight turned to darkness, no one showed up.
Tsumiki begged him to let her keep him, threatening to keep him anyways if Megumi didn’t agree, but even as a child Megumi knew that they were too poor for a pet. Neither of them had jobs, nor were they old enough for one, and the only reason they had not yet starved in their conditions was because of their kind, elderly neighbor who often cooked them dinner or provided them money once in a while. Besides, he was pretty sure pets were banned from that place anyhow.
Getting caught would be detrimental.
But even if the logistics of it all were convincing to Megumi, Tsumiki was not having it. She argued with her brother for over an hour until he caved, citing that it would be cruel to just leave the poor thing outside in the dark where other animals could find it and eat it. It would have been unforgivable to not provide it with shelter and warmth, given that they had the means for it, even if their little space wasn’t much to offer.
Not that the cat would mind, Megumi had thought grudgingly as he finally opened the door for it with a nasty scowl. He watched as the small ball of fluff pranced into the living room with a bounce in it’s step, silently threatening to shave it if it ever misbehaved, and even though he knew that this would end horribly for all parties involved, the look on Tsumiki’s face softened the ice in him just a little bit.
He’d never been immune to her wishes, anyhow.
Not for a second.
Before anyone knew it, one night turned into two and two into three, and three into so many that Megumi lost count because no matter how many times he threatened to get rid of the thing for it’s shenanigans, he wouldn’t be able to bear the look on Tsumiki’s face if he did. So he let the cat stay for good, even though he hated it and it hated him and the only person that was benefitting from any of this was Tsumiki.
She had called him ridiculous when he’d told her something similar, saying that cats can’t hate like humans can and only act on primal instinct, but Megumi did not agree. Because on his ninth birthday, just two years after they’d chose to let the feline hang around, he found that not only had Tsumiki’s beast used one of the kitchen chairs as a scratching post, it had shit in one of his favorite slippers as well. On top of that, the gift that Tsumiki had gotten him had already been opened— the wrapping paper and gift bag torn to shreds by a menacing little devil who had no concept of space or boundaries.
If it had been up to Megumi, that thing would have been sleeping outside that night. But Tsumiki was defensive, arguing that it was just a cat doing cat things and that there was nothing wrong with it making a little trouble. “Besides,” she’d said (not) convincingly, “I potty trained him. He poops in the house one time since we got him and you want to kick him out? Look at him, Megumi. He’s innocent.”
It was only when she’d walked away to take care of the stinky mess under Megumi’s bed that he got the chance to glare at the critter. He swears it stuck its tongue out at him.
From that day on, Megumi decided that he was not a cat person. However, it didn’t change the fact that the furry gremlin hanging around his apartment was his just as much as it was his sister’s, even though he never outright claimed it. (Even though it wasn’t long before “the cat” became “Gojo” for some odd reason and it began to follow him virtually everywhere once it got the name.) To be fair, it wasn’t Megumi’s choice. He had just been walking and Gojo had been following when he’d considered the fact that neither he nor Tsumiki ever named it anything.
Even though he knew the beast could not understand him, he still found himself asking it what it would like to be called. Of course, there was no answer, but when they had arrived at the corner of the bakery his neighbor had given him money to visit, lo and behold were four bold letters printed on the side of a delivery truck across the street: GOJO DELIVERY SERVICE. And in the hands of none other than the delivery man himself was a box printed with those same letters, finding purchase on the stool near the door as the baker inside waved him a thanks through the window.
As soon as he’d returned to his truck, Gojo nosily went after the object, going so far as to jump on top of it and claim it as his throne. Megumi, of course chased after him and reprimanded him for his actions, and it wasn’t long before he realized that Gojo was only seeming to answer his question.
“Gojo,” Megumi had said thoughtfully, glancing down at the fluffy hairball now sitting by his ankle. “Is that what you’d like to be called?”
Again, there was no answer, but something in the way Gojo put his paw on Megumi’s foot at the words was a good indication. So it was enough, he supposed.
Months began to pass by quickly after that, spring turning into summer and summer into fall, fall into winter and so forth until Megumi discovered on a random Saturday morning that he wasn’t a normal kid. Well, he knew that for a long time, but there had to be a reason behind why he woke up that day to two more houseguests sitting beside his bed, much bigger than the usual one. Surely they hadn’t just appeared out of thin air. Surely it was Tsumiki who had brought in more pets and he hadn’t done this on his own accord.
Because if he had, then that meant his father was right when he had said a slew of words Megumi probably wasn’t supposed to remember at such a young age.
Zenin blood. Sorcerer. Powerful.
All of the things Megumi did not want to be. Things that would make him a target should anyone find out his true nature. Things that would put Tsumiki at more risk than it was worth because some shitty people his father knew had to collect on an old, mangy debt involving his son.
Megumi swore that morning that no one would know about it. Not even that stupid, annoying cat.
But like all things, this too could not remain in the dark forever. And of course it had to be Gojo that found out first, because who else would it have been? That cat stuck his little nose in everything, always watching and listening and conspiring against Megumi to ruin his life however it could. So when Megumi found himself once again in the presence of his two shadow-carved dogs, of course Gojo thought it would be a good idea to break into his room and be nosey. This led to a twenty minute chase around the apartment as Gojo fled for his life, and thank God Tsumiki wasn’t home or else she would have flipped at the destruction, which resulted in Megumi forcing himself to figure out how to call the creatures off so Gojo could live.
It wasn’t easy, but somehow he managed without any training.
Managing a cleanup without any training, however, was much harder. It was a miracle that he (no thanks to Gojo) managed to straighten everything back up just in time for Tsumiki to come home later that afternoon.
After the incident, Gojo was let in on a little more of Megumi’s adventures, not because it was wanted, but because Gojo seemed to become even more entitled to young Megumi’s whereabouts. Which, probably wasn’t completely unwarranted. He did almost become dog food, after all. If there was anything he now had a right to, it was the supervision of arguably dangerous activities that could result in the life of Tsumiki’s beloved feline being lost in a tragedy. Even Megumi could agree on that.
But to say the least, Gojo hated Megumi’s dogs. He hissed and clawed at them every time they were around, and if Megumi was close enough nearby, Gojo made it his short life’s mission to make it known that there was not a single ferocious being on the planet that loved Megumi more than he did. Megumi did not believe that cats could be possessive, but Gojo’s behavior made him start to reconsider his assumption.
It did not change the idea, however, that Gojo actually hated him and was putting on a petty act for his arch nemesis’s.
With every passing day, as the snow piled up and the air grew much cooler, Megumi started getting into fights. He’d often come home with cuts and bruises on his face and knuckles, many wounds of which Tsumiki would have to patch up, but eventually she stopped doing that because of her frustration. The first night he patched himself up, Gojo watched from his perch on the toilet lid in silence, staring curiously with perking ears at the sounds coming from torn bandaid wrappers. He didn’t speak, because of course cats can’t speak, but Megumi could feel his judgement.
“Tch, it’s not like you’ve never been in a fight before,” he’d muttered bitterly, gathering his trash and throwing it into the can. “So you don’t get the right to judge me.”
Gojo only followed him as he moved around the small space. Watching. Waiting. Listening.
Until he stopped, curling over on the lid until he was belly up with an exposed line of missing hair on his underside, a terrible scar stretching from his collar down to his midsection. Megumi paused on his short trek to the door, stopping in his tracks. So he was right.
He considered that maybe Gojo wasn’t judging him at all then, which was a ridiculous thought considering, once again, that Gojo was a cat. But something in the way those steely blue eyes often followed his every move told Megumi that there was a lot more to Gojo than he’d originally thought. Maybe he did listen. Maybe he, too, was just as misunderstood as Megumi was.
He traced his thumb along the ridge, eyeing it carefully as Gojo purred in the silence. “Who did this to you?”
Gojo only stared.
But even if there was not a word to be spoken from the mouth of the furry feline, Megumi could almost hear the whisper of an answer: someone who did not love me.
The years began to pass slowly after that day, and the fighting both in and out of school did not stop. Megumi fought, and so he bled. He came home and patched himself up, and so Gojo was there. Slowly, the incredibly soft ball of hair stopped becoming an unwanted presence and instead became a wanted one, which Megumi often found himself seeking out late into the night for a talk that he understood was inevitably one-sided. But even if Gojo could not speak back to him, having him listen was enough. No one else would. Even Tsumiki, because she’d rather not want to hear about the justifications for why Megumi was punching bullies in the face every single day, instead choosing compassion and silence rather than threats and violence.
Megumi despised her for it— the compassion she showed to even those who did not deserve it.
But, he supposed begrudgingly, seated in front of a fuzzy menace who did not have to sit in his presence night after night, that same compassion often extended to him, too. Maybe he didn’t deserve it either, but he was glad she gave it to him so freely. It was the only speck of warmth he had in his frozen heart, battered and cracked and bruised by the actions of his deadbeat father and mother who left him when he was much too young. He hated them, and for that hate perhaps he didn’t deserve any goodness. But Tsumiki gave it to him anyways, no matter the cost.
Maybe even Gojo did the same, even though Megumi loathed him.
He didn’t want to think about that too much. He knew his hatred for Gojo was unfair, but that cat was just so aggravating.
Many times, especially in his latter middle school years, his teachers threatened to have him reported and expelled. Each time, he promised to be better, because expulsion would lead to authorities getting involved and thus ruining his chances of being able to stay at home by himself any longer. Neither he nor Tsumiki had any parents, so he knew very well what it would mean if any of that were to happen. They would be separated and this little semblance of a family that he had would be broken up beyond repair. Megumi would end up in the Zenin’s laps, Tsumiki would be sure to follow, and Gojo… well, Gojo would probably end up back on the streets or in the pound.
Or worse, mauled by a stray dog.
He couldn’t let that happen, but he couldn’t let those freaks keep picking on Tsumiki either. So he got quieter about it. He stopped letting them hit back and made sure to put them down.
Until one day.
The day that marked the very last time he would lose.
The school expelled him. Authorities were called. The student Megumi had picked a fight with looked as bad as he did. But instead of going to jail and having his life ruined like he had certainly thought, it was not an officer which had taken him away that day.
It was Masamichi Yaga, Principal of Jujutsu Technical School.
The offer that was made to him seemed non-negotiable, because what other choice did Megumi have other than to accept it or become food for the Zenin wolves later down the road? It was the only out that he had, a lifeline he arguably did not deserve, nor did he want. But again, what choice did he have? He was just a stupid teenage boy.
Part of him believed that it what he would always be, at heart. A nuisance, an outcast, a pain in someone’s ass just like Gojo, unloved and unwanted and only able to pick up scraps off the table of his new masters when he was hungry because that is what he deserved. There was no point in him being here. There was no point in him being alive. So why was he? Why was it that when Yaga looked at him, it was if the man did not see the hurt that Megumi felt, but rather his potential for strength that he did not have?
Why did no one care?
Right.
Because Megumi had no idea how to let them, and they had no idea how to do it anyway.
He tried not to let his hate consume him. He tried to keep himself grounded in any way he could as he was transitioned from his old, unkempt apartment to the Jujutsu Tech dorms. He tried to see the good in all of it even as he frustratedly argued with Yaga about letting Tsumiki come too, but since she could not stay here due to being a non-sorcerer, it only made Megumi’s hatred grow.
Since classes had not yet started, Megumi often visited the apartment to see Tsumiki and Gojo. But on the third day of his new arrangement, he came home to find the space quiet. There was no Tsumiki, only Gojo who remained seated just beyond the opening of the door, as if waiting for her to return. Megumi feared the worst, and so he went looking for her.
There were only so many places she could have gone, because she was not one to stray very far from home like Megumi (and Gojo) often did. So when he never found her, he went to the only person he knew he could.
It was Yaga who broke the news.
Tsumiki had been found unconscious.
Megumi cried himself to sleep that night, eventually passing out on the floor of his sister’s hospital room, seated against the door. He didn’t know what to do with himself when he woke, nothing other than to return home to the cat that he hated and sit with him because if anyone else understood the magnitude of this loss, it was Gojo. Tsumiki had been part of his life, too. A big part of it, because Gojo adored Tsumiki, much more so than Megumi. He slept in her room, curled up in her lap, did whatever she asked him to without fuss (mostly).
He would wonder what happened to her.
The apartment was dark when Megumi stepped through the door, not a single light flipped on. Gojo was nowhere to be found, the tiny pair of glasses Tsumiki had jokingly made him sitting unfolded on the floor near the sofa, his other toys scattered about, untouched since the last time everyone was there together. When Megumi looked for him, he found him in Tsumiki’s room, curled up on her mattress in the space where she normally slept.
Cats can’t speak their thoughts, but Megumi decided he knew.
Of course he did.
Yaga almost didn’t let Megumi bring Gojo into Jujutsu Tech, grilling him about safety and responsibility until Megumi was forced to promise he would make Gojo behave and stay out of sight. (By promise, he means threaten, because as he said those words to his new principal, he pointedly glared at Gojo with a threat to lock him in a cage if he screwed this up for them.) To his surprise, Yaga agreed with a sigh, but only because: “I know he was your sister’s cat and you feel the need to look after him, but if he causes any trouble, I will be forced to kick him out.”
He swears Gojo stuck his tongue out at them both, but he can’t prove it. He should’ve snatched those stupid glasses right off his ugly face.
For the first week, everything was smooth. Megumi settled into his new dorm, albeit uncomfortably at first, but he warmed up to it because it was much better than his old place, after all. Nicer, too. And warmer.
Gojo took to it better than he thought he would, often attempting to claim the new bed as his own, only to be kicked off of it by Megumi who did not want him digging his claws into the comforter. He forced the little menace into his own bed in the corner instead, not feeling even the smallest bit bad about it even when Gojo tried to give him the cutest expression a kitty could muster. There was no room for negotiation about it. Neither one of them had ever had anything this nice and Megumi didn’t plan on letting it go to waste.
But then he met Yuji and Nobara, and suddenly he hoped it did.
He decides on the very first day that there is not a single other person on the planet who is both as loud and annoying as those two. Yuji is bubbly and curious and so puppy-eyed it makes Megumi sick, and Nobara is… well, Nobara. To put the essence of her character into a few short words would surely be offensive. If anything, just like Yuji, she’s got a single braincell and nowhere to fit it properly and so she has no choice but to let that fact show in every little thing she does, no matter how big or small. It’s quite funny, if he’s being honest, if only he weren’t so annoyed by the two.
He doesn’t tell them about Gojo, who stays locked in his room all hours of the day until Megumi returns to inevitably clean up his mess. He’ll never understand how a cat can get so bored.
He doesn’t tell them about his past, about his sister, not even how he found out he was a sorcerer. Like he has to many people, he lets himself remain a mystery to everyone around him, not because he’s scared of the idea of letting anyone know him, but because there would be no point in it anyway. A few years of this and he’ll be out of here and neither he nor the other two will remember this place, and just like everything else in his life, this too will pass.
He’ll graduate and officially become part of the club he never wanted to be in. He’ll finally become old enough to get out of here and start his own life in a place much warmer than here. He’ll live in a small house in the middle of nowhere with Gojo and Tsumiki (after he finds a way to wake her up) and the years will get to pass by in the way they were meant to: not too slowly or too quickly, but gentle and unhurried.
For the first couple of weeks, he dreams of a life such as that. It becomes a beacon of hope to look forward to, a goal to achieve, and a push to keep moving forward. He hopes he’ll never get to a point where it will seem so out of reach, but now that he’s a sorcerer who can take a look at the people around him and see that no one ever achieves anything like that, he starts to wonder just a little bit. But he won’t let it get him down. He’s better than that. He has to achieve it.
Not just for himself, but for Tsumiki.
And so for a while, it’s like this: wake up, eat breakfast, attend classes or missions, go back to the dorm, clean up after Gojo, sleep.
Then it’s like this: wake up, eat breakfast, go to class, prepare for mission, complete mission, tag along with Yuji and Nobara, go back to the dorm, clean up after Gojo, sleep.
Until one day it’s: wake up, eat breakfast and hang out, return to the dorm to retrieve his forgotten phone, realize that Gojo has escaped, try to find him.
Because of course he did.
And of course this was never going to be straightforward.
“Uh, Fushiguro?” Yuji asks confusedly from behind him, Megumi’s eyes scanning over his room until they land on the slightly opened window on the far wall. His next words are slow, careful, no doubt full of consideration that Megumi has finally lost his mind. “What’s wrong?”
Megumi doesn’t answer, turning on his heel to leave and brushing past the other two with the force of someone who is planning to shave Gojo bald. Of course, he just had to misbehave. All he had to do was stay put for a few hours every day until Megumi returned. Besides, it wasn’t like Gojo was trapped in there 24/7. How many times had he been snuck out into the training yard just so he could get some fresh air?
Plenty, but clearly not enough for Gojo’s liking.
“Fushiguro!” Yuji calls from behind him with Nobara quick in tow. “Where are you going?”
“Yeah, we can’t read minds in case you forgot!”
Pushing through the exit door with a frustrated noise, he scans over the open yard for any signs of where Gojo could have ran to: the big tree, the track field, the pond, the woods, literally anywhere else. There is no telling where that cat could have went, but Megumi is determined to find him before he causes any trouble. Even if Gojo is just lounging around somewhere, not stirring up a storm (unlikely), his mere prison break is enough to get him evicted and homeless. Yaga is not a very lenient man.
“My cat,” he tells the two, “he’s escaped somehow.”
Both Yuji and Nobara gasp simultaneously, which goes ignored as Megumi leads them (unwillingly) on a path around the back of the building to the scene of the crime. “You have a cat?!”
“Technically, he’s not mine, actually.” Megumi finds himself correcting absentmindedly, his gaze lifting to the window on the third floor. It’s kind of bizarre that Gojo would have even considered leaping from such a height, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s not that surprising. “He’s… never mind.”
“I thought you were a dog person. You know, with your cool technique and all.” Yuji teases, bright eyes full of mischief at the new information about his classmate.
Megumi shoots him an unamused glare.
“Just tell us what it looks like so we can help you find it,” Nobara suggests, albeit a bit annoyed now. “As exciting as it is to have my confirmation about you totally being a delinquent teen, we’re supposed to be going to Tokyo right now. Not searching for your pet.”
“He’s not my pet,” Megumi mutters, turning to them. “He’s a nuisance. He gets hair everywhere, knocks everything off of everything, has no concept of personal space whatsoever, and on top of that: he ate my homework once. Because—yeah, explaining that to your teacher is totally believable.”
Yuji snickers.
“I hate him and he hates me. End of story.”
“Then why did you go through the trouble of bringing him here?” Nobara asks, arching a perfect brow.
“Because—“ Megumi pauses at that, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “It doesn’t matter. Look, he’s very white and very fluffy. It’s not very easy to miss him when he stands out from literally everything. So if you want to help me find him, I won’t stop you. Just make sure you keep him out of the sight of Yaga.”
With a mock salute, Yuji immediately disperses. Nobara, however, hangs back for a few seconds, eyeing him carefully before she chooses to speak again. “Just so you know, I think it’s strange that you hate this cat, yet you’d go through all this trouble to make sure he doesn’t end up on the street. Sounds to me like you do care.”
With that, she turns on her heel and leaves. Megumi’s shoulders loosen a little, his feet frozen in their spot on the damp ground as he considers her words. Is it possible that she could be right? Does he care about Gojo more than he’s ever let himself understand? Has he ever cared to understand?
Maybe he does or maybe he doesn’t, but either way that stupid cat meant something to Tsumiki and he’d be damned if he let something happen to it now. It’s been in both his and her life for much too long to just abandon. Megumi couldn’t even count how many years it’s been since Gojo showed up on his doorstep. All he knows is he can’t remember what life was like before him.
If he’s being honest, he doesn’t really care to.
When he finally convinces himself to move, he spends a good part of the day looking for him. He checks all of the possible places Gojo could have gone, even going so far as to try and bribe him from his hiding spot with treats and promises, but Gojo never shows. Neither Nobara nor Yuji have any luck finding him either, each student searching the facility inside out until all three parties involved decide that he has probably gone into the city. And if that’s the case, someone has likely already found him and took him to a shelter or something.
Megumi realizes that he never once considered the idea of taking Gojo to a home where he could actually thrive. Perhaps if he had been smart, he would have convinced Tsumiki to do just that. But to just give Gojo away when it had seemingly been Megumi and Tsumiki that he chose, well… that would have been cruel.
But was it not cruel to keep him, too?
To keep Gojo in a place where he was loved, yes, but not properly cared for? It’s not like they had the money to feed him all the time. He ate when they did, and sometimes the only thing they got was snacks. Of course, when their elderly and gracious neighbor cooked for them, they were always sure to give Gojo a bite, too. But Megumi is certain cats were not supposed to be eating that kind of thing, and even worse: eating the sweet treats Megumi was given money to buy for himself.
Even if it’s true, Megumi could not imagine giving him away now. Nor could he imagine just leaving Gojo outside to fend for himself. Gojo is a smart cat, probably even too smart for his own good, but he is not immune to the attacks of stray dogs and other wild animals.
Part of him just hopes it isn’t too late.
Gojo has only been gone for around four hours, so he couldn’t have gone far. After all, how fast can cats travel? Surely not fast enough to make it all the way to the city in that amount of time. But this is Gojo, after all.
When they return to the campus building for a short break sometime later, they don’t expect to find one of the second years hanging around the kitchen, cooking up a lunchtime meal. They also don’t expect to find that the second year in question is the widely renowned Yuta Okkotsu, who defeated a powerful curse user last year and saved the school. Even more, they certainly don’t expect to find that the teenage chef’s guest in question is none other than the incredibly irresistible, fluffy, white ball of hair who has almost caused Megumi to suffer an early grave. Because lo and behold, right over Yuta’s shoulder and perched perfectly on the countertop, is Gojo.
Because of course he is.
And of course, Yuji and Nobara are going to fawn over him whilst Yuta sheepishly explains himself to Megumi, saying something about how the cat kept following him around and how he was just too cute to ignore. Megumi only half pays attention, glaring at Gojo from across the room until he is certain the feline can feel the impeding doom that’s about to rise upon him.
But then he sees the way Gojo innocently soaks up all of the affection he is being provided, leaning into Yuji and Nobara’s hands like this was everything he was meant to have in the world, and suddenly Megumi feels the ice beginning to thaw in his heart.
Maybe just this once, he can allow Gojo to misbehave.
Maybe just this once, he can stand to let a cat feel love again.
Unfortunately for him, though, that means Gojo tries to misbehave more often. Even more than usual.
Not a day goes by after that where Gojo does not follow him around. When he wakes up for breakfast, Gojo is there. When he goes on a mission with the other two, Gojo accompanies them on their journey. Is it dangerous? Yes. Is it irresponsible to let him tag along to places where he could very much get killed? Absolutely. Can Megumi stop him?
Definitely not.
For every moment of every waking day, there is not a place where Megumi can go that Gojo does not follow. And although it can be incredibly annoying at times, secretly Megumi is also grateful.
Because the life of a sorcerer is not an easy one, especially for young teens who are constantly under the scrutiny of the higher ups and who are being sent to their deaths practically every single day. Days turn into weeks and weeks turn into months and before Megumi knows it, he’s seen enough ugliness in the world that it keeps him up at night. Chronic nightmares lead to insomnia, and insomnia, paired with the horrors of the day, leads to depression, and depression leads Megumi down a path where the world no longer seems to have any color. He sees the same effect in Yuji, too. Nobara as well.
None of them really talk about it much, because it’s hard. But sometimes Yuji finds himself admitting his thoughts and Nobara does too, and all Megumi can continue to do is to keep his mouth shut because if he starts talking about all of his own issues, they’re just going to cause the rest of his secrets to tumble out with them. He can’t afford that.
So instead of talking about it, he keeps his mouth shut. At least, he keeps his mouth shut around them. Gojo, of course, is different.
Megumi hasn’t talked to Gojo like this in a long time, but something about sitting beside his childhood pet in the corner of his dorm room brings an ease he didn’t think he would ever get to feel again. Even if Gojo cannot speak, he can listen. Even if he cannot provide all the answers to Megumi’s problems, he can sit there and just exist alongside him and welcome the silence in a way Megumi has never been able to. Gojo’s entire life has been a waiting game. Surely he’s learned by now that if you sit just long enough in the quiet, something good is going to walk through the door.
Maybe there’s a lesson in that.
Maybe Megumi can learn a thing or two from Gojo, even though he is a cat.
Maybe Megumi can take a minute, in the darkness of his room, to do nothing but sit and listen to the beat of his own heart and realize that even though the world is ugly, it is not all bad. It still gives. It still loves. It still finds a way to dump stray cats on people’s doorsteps without any care as to whether they can even care for it or not. But most of all, it has a really funny way of shaping children into broken adults who just need a friend— who sometimes find that friend in other people, but sometimes even find it in a fuzzy little cat with no other place to go.
Gojo is the friend Megumi never knew he had, or needed. He is the very last piece of childhood that still remains, an ever-present reminder that no matter how bad things are now, maybe they weren’t always. Maybe they won’t always be.
He makes a pass through Gojo’s fluffy white locks with his fingers and decides that it was never Gojo that he hated. It was the reminder of his youth that Gojo carried with him every single day.
But perhaps he doesn’t hate it anymore.
As the months turn into a year and Megumi enters his second year of Jujutsu, the world comes into a bit more focus. Sorcery never gets easier, but Megumi gains in both knowledge and strength, working tirelessly to find a way to break Tsumiki out of her coma. The second summer is hotter than the first, then fall comes and the air turns cooler again. There’s an incident in Shibuya where a powerful curse user wreaks havoc on the city, but thanks to the efforts of all sorcerers involved, there is a small victory. Of course, it is only a delay for now, a pause until there’s a worse strike later, but a victory nonetheless.
But even victories have its costs, mentally and physically.
Megumi cannot say he has ever cared much about the struggles of other people, but to experience first hand the true ugliness of what humans are capable of doing to one another, it’s made him come to realize a lot. Jujutsu sorcery has become less of an art and more of a struggle for power over the years. Maybe that’s what it had always been— different kinds of sorcerers rising from the ashes of a fallen world, slaughtering those both weaker and stronger than them in a quest for unfathomable power. It’s a never ending cycle of violence and bloodshed, born out of personal inadequacy.
An infinite war with no real point.
But when he looks at the people he’s learned to fight and work alongside over the course of the past year, he understands that it doesn’t have to be. Some of these sorcerers live and breathe what they do. Others, like Nanami, are indifferent and are probably tipping more towards the hate side of it all, but there is purpose in their being nonetheless.
Everyone here is fighting for something, even Megumi. To wake up every day and know that he now exists in a place where there are others who share many of the same burdens as him… well, let’s just say it makes him feel a little less cold despite the external weather.
It makes him believe that he, too can put himself into a position where he can offer the same kind of compassion that Tsumiki had once offered him and Gojo: a tool he never quite learned to use.
Not at all.
Not until now.
Not until he found someone who really needed it.
The lock on his dorm room door clicks open just before he steps inside, the heavy waves of his earlier traumatic mission rolling off of him like an unstoppable storm. He wants to punch something. He wants to punch someone. He wants to kill whoever was responsible for the amount of lives lost today and even though he knows exactly who was really at fault here, he needs to get out of his head first before he does anything too crazy.
But when he steps into the darkening room and sees Gojo perched on the bed with a runny nose and a series of unstoppable sneezes, all of that anger and frustration washes away. It had been odd earlier when Gojo had not followed him out the door, rather choosing to stay curled up in his bed, fast asleep. Gojo always followed him, even if Megumi refused to let him tag along in the end. There hadn’t been a moment in quite a while where Gojo was not with him.
But today, he wasn’t.
And Megumi can see why, now.
With a sigh, he drops his bag and treads over to the pitiful critter, crouching before Gojo to take a closer look at his obviously-ill condition. If it were possible for pets to look any sadder, he’s certain it would break his heart by now. Especially when, admittedly, the sad creature in question has become more to Megumi than he ever thought possible.
He reaches for Gojo then, stroking a hand over his soft fur before he carefully scoops him into his arms and cradles him against his chest. Hopefully a warm bath will help. There is no question that Gojo absolutely hates them, but between the helplessness of his posture and the sadness in his teary blue eyes, Megumi supposes it can’t hurt. Sometimes a warm soak is all a person needs to feel like themselves again.
When he preps the water and places Gojo in the tub, there is no fuss. There is no hissing, no growling, no scratching, not even a hateful kitty glare from the sick feline. All Gojo seems to want to do is just sit with his eyes closed and hang his head whilst Megumi administers him with the various products Tsumiki used to use to bathe him.
It’s unusual, how still he is. Gojo has never sat completely still for this long in his life. If there was any way to tell that something was wrong with him, Megumi thinks this would definitely be it.
The only victory he gets is the quiet purrs Gojo gives when he scratches under his ear, which provide just a little ease.
After the bath, Megumi wraps him in a towel and places him on the countertop to be dried, making careful work of blotting up most of the water trapped in the thick mop of hair all over Gojo’s fluffy body. His eyes are open now, watching Megumi just as they always have and seeming to take in every inch of the face of a boy he has known for most of his short life. With every pass of the towel, Gojo doesn’t stop purring. Megumi would almost find it funny with how much Gojo loves this kind of attention, if not for the circumstances of it all.
For a while, Megumi finds it in himself to stare right back.
Then something deep within him cracks, and he finds himself unable to face it.
He abruptly stands from his chair then, crossing the short distance of the room to retrieve a blow dryer before he returns to plug it in, dropping himself back onto his seat with a new kind of fire in his eyes. Gojo probably thinks he’s being ridiculous, but then again, that cat is wise beyond his years so this probably isn’t that unwarranted. Megumi has certainly been more emotional before.
For a brief second, he stops what he’s doing and stares at his damp cat, his grip on the item tightening slightly as he considers how to put his thoughts into words. The action doesn’t come easy, so he settles with the only thing he knows how. “You can’t die, understand?”
His voice is a whisper, but his words thunder on the walls like the vibrations of a tower clock bell. He finds himself willing this to not be as bad as he thinks, to only be a small bug and not something that is going to snatch his first and only friend away from him. The idea of death, especially for Gojo, is not a thought that Megumi ever thought he would have to entertain. To be faced with it now feels like a terrible tragedy.
But just like any animal, cats age too.
He doesn’t know how old Gojo was when he and Tsumiki took him in, but looking back on it, he certainly wasn’t a kitten. Maybe he was young or maybe he was older than Megumi thought, but either way, he was almost convinced that Gojo would live forever. It’s a childish fantasy, of course it is, but when you spend so much time with something that loves you as unconditionally as a pet, perhaps you start to forget that time has an effect on them, too.
Maybe even more so than us.
“You’re too important,” he admits in the space between them, frowning at the realization that not once has he ever said anything good about Gojo until now, even though there is nothing but good in that tiny, furry body.
Gojo stares at him expectantly, as if asking him to say more. But he can’t. There is nothing else to be said. What else could Megumi say that could encompass all that which he feels in this moment, but had never allowed himself to feel before? What else is there to be said about the cat whom Megumi has come to love more than anything? There isn’t, and so he leaves it at that, and clicks on the hair dryer.
Gojo’s eyes slip closed as he purrs at the warmth, abandoning his previous need for more validation to instead soak up the affection Megumi has never given him until now. Perhaps before, Megumi did not feel as if he had enough space in his heart left for Gojo. Now, however, he feels as if Gojo is the only thing allowed to exist there.
Once Megumi is certain Gojo has been properly dried and brushed, he carries him back to his room and places him on the bed, making sure to tuck him in just as Tsumiki always had before he retreats to his own quarters. Unfortunately for him, Gojo is spoiled beyond belief, and so it isn’t long before he feels a disturbing presence in the room when Gojo finally decides to move. There’s a shift in the air when he jumps the short distance onto the comforter, the inevitable pressures of tiny paws causing dips in the mattress before a cloud of cotton hair drops into the spot right under his chin.
Normally, Megumi would never allow this. It was always Tsumiki whose bed Gojo preferred. But just like Megumi, he supposes once again that he wasn’t the only one who lost her. So just for tonight, it won’t kill him to let Gojo stay.
It won’t kill him to curl his arm around the fuzzball and listen to his quiet, purring snores, and allow the purest form of contentment to slowly pull him into dreamless slumber.
But being woken up hours later to an all too familiar voice certainly will.
“Wow, Fushiguro.” Yuji’s voice rouses him from his sleep, much too early for his liking. “You do have a heart.”
Megumi groans, pulling the ball of fluff in his grasp closer to his chest. “Shut up. What do you want?”
“First of all, rude.” Nobara, who Megumi didn’t even know (or care to know) was here, pipes in. “Second of all, it’s almost noon. But you wouldn’t know that, obviously. You’re too busy having a sleepover.”
He sighs deeply then, forcing himself to peel open his eyelids and look at the clock to see that it is, in fact, noon. Since it’s his day off, he normally wouldn’t care, but with the knowledge that he only has a few more hours to get Gojo to the vet in time, he supposes that he does actually need to get up. So with that, he shoves back the blankets with an irritated grunt and pushes himself into a sitting position, paying absolutely no mind to the fact that Yuji has shifted his entire attention to Gojo in a matter of seconds.
“Shit,” he mutters, rubbing his face. “Look, Gojo is sick. I need to take him to the vet.”
“Aw,” Yuji pouts, crouching before the sleepy critter. Gojo barely acknowledges him, his runny nose making a damp spot on the sheet. “What’s wrong with him?”
“I don’t know,” Megumi admits, climbing out of bed. “But I’m… I’m worried about him.”
“We’ll go with you. You don’t even have to ask,” Nobara says before he can say anything else, something determined in her gaze.
Not that he was going to anyways, but it isn’t as if their presence is unwanted.
The trip to the vet takes less time than he thought, with the trains not as crowded and the streets relatively clear this time of day. When they reach the waiting room, various pets of all shapes and sizes occupy the laps of their owners, from dogs to cats to lizards and everything in between. Gojo doesn’t fuss about any of them, not even the large dog that comes to sniff him religiously and make it a point to lick his face. Sure, there’s a little growl thrown the fuzzball’s way, but nothing of harm is done, to Megumi’s surprise.
The vet takes them back shortly after (and by them he means just himself and Gojo), running a few quick examinations before she decides it should just be a common infection. She fills out an antibiotic request and tells Megumi to let Gojo rest for a while until he’s certain he’s better, making sure to assure him that his furry friend will be fine as long as he keeps taking his medication. It does little to soothe Megumi’s worries, but for now it’s all he’s got. He just has to trust that the medicine will work and that Gojo is not just getting too old to get around like he used to.
For the following couple of weeks, Gojo slowly improves. He starts moving around again, little by little, though he still takes frequent breaks to sit or lay on the floor of the dorm when he feels tired again. Megumi often finds himself giving Gojo more privileges than he was allowed in the past, like sleeping in the bed or being carried virtually everywhere. He is even allowed to have a taste of Megumi’s breakfast, lunch, and dinner each day, to which Yuji and Nobara capitalize on and make sure to spoil him even more.
Eventually, Megumi begins to just let Gojo do whatever he wants (not that he could stop him anyways).
As Gojo gets better, things start looking good again.
Until they don’t.
On the day that Megumi takes Gojo to his last checkup to make sure he’s going to be okay, he is hit with a curious question that he has only allowed himself entertain once. The last time that he did, it sent him into a spiral. “Megumi, you don’t know just how old Gojo is, do you?”
For a moment, he is perplexed by the unexpected inquiry. “Huh?”
The veterinarian smiles kindly, her gentle hand stroking the fur along Gojo’s back. “Forgive me, it’s just… you seem to talk about him like he’s still young at times. I understand. Our pets are like our children, except they never get any bigger.”
Megumi’s eyes fall back to Gojo, who is now looking at him, content— not judging like he so often thought he was. “Well, he’s my best friend. For a long time, he’s… he’s all I’ve had.”
The woman before him nods in understanding. “Of course. If I had to estimate, I would say that Gojo is well-reaching into his latter years. He could even be older than most. I guess what I’m saying is that he’s getting old, Megumi. And I know you are worried about him getting sick, as I would be if it were my pets, too. But just know that this might become a common thing. His immune system does not work as well as it may have in the past, just as it is the same situation with people who are older.”
A knot forms tightly in his throat then, and he fights to keep it down.
Gojo’s getting old.
“I don’t say that to worry or scare you. I only mean to make you aware. My office is always open. If he gets sick again, bring him back over. I will do what I can.”
When they return home later that day, those three words still do not leave Megumi’s mind. They eat at him from the inside like an internal disease, consuming every last bit of warmth in his being until nothing but the cold remains. To lose Gojo would be like losing a part of himself he would never be able to get back— those bits of childhood he fought so hard to ignore but now tries to grasp at with every ounce of strength he has left in his aching body. If only he could go back to the way things were, with Tsumiki still awake and Gojo still young and nothing to worry about except the fights he got into at school and trying not to get evicted because of them.
If only he could keep Gojo with him forever.
But even if he can’t, he will spend every last moment Gojo has on this Earth willingly existing alongside him. He will make up for all the time he spent hating a cat who claimed to hate him just as much, but actually loved him more than anything.
Who loved him unconditionally.
He continues to bring Gojo on his missions, even though he forces him to sit and watch from a distance more often than not. He lets him sit and eat at the table. He lets him curl up beside him when he sleeps. He allows Gojo to help himself to everything Megumi owns, no matter how destroyed it will be when he’s through with it.
And when he finds himself staying up all night, fighting through a wave of insomnia he knows he cannot win against, he lets Gojo sit with him and teach him all of the lessons he would not listen to before: how to be patient, how to exist in the quiet, and above all— how to love those who did not love you first.
Whoever owned Gojo before Megumi did may not have loved him, but Megumi is certain Gojo loved them anyway, even if he could not bear to stick around anymore. It’s an incredibly sad thought to think that once upon a time, someone had been cruel to him. But then again, perhaps Megumi had been cruel in a lot of ways, too. It carries such a guilty feeling, to realize that Gojo was only being a spoiled brat and not actually an evil menace, before. He only did those things because Tsumiki never asked him not to, not because he was purposely breaking rules just to get on Megumi’s nerves.
Well, maybe that part was the case, at least some of it, but he’s certain now that had Gojo been reprimanded for his behavior, he would have quit. Or at the very least, cut down on it.
While there is no way to know for sure, one thing is certain now: Gojo never wanted to make anyone’s life hell on purpose. He just wanted to be himself and be loved because of it.
A notion that his previous owner was never privy to allowing him, but one that he found in this new family instead.
“You know,” Megumi finds himself whispering in the silence of his darkened room, his fluffy companion perched atop his torso as they both fight a crushing wave of insomnia. Of course, it’s Megumi that’s the insomniac. Gojo just likes to stay up for fun. “I’m not very good at this."
Gentle fingers pass through the long hair on the back of Gojo’s neck as he stares at him in the silence, the gentle breeze of the late-summer night passing into the room through the barely-open window on the far wall.
“But you have to know,” he continues, fighting away that ever-present feeling in his gut that makes him want to vomit from the grief of what is not yet lost. It’s an inevitable thing, but Megumi wishes so badly that it wasn’t. “And I want you to listen to me when I say this, okay?”
Gojo only stares at him, bright blue eyes almost luminescent in the reflection of the moonlight. Watching. Waiting. Listening. Always patient in moments like this, though they have been few and far in-between.
Megumi heaves a breath, no longer speaking to a pet, but a friend. Gojo was the only one he ever had, back then. No one else could ever compare. “I don’t actually think you’re evil. Or stupid. Or a nuisance. Or… anything bad I’ve said about you in the past.”
He scratches under the feline’s chin and Gojo purrs loudly, leaning into the touch like it might disappear if he doesn’t.
“You’re my friend,” he admits, his voice catching on the incredibly foreign word. “And I don’t know what you were to someone before, if you were anything at all. But I am glad you appeared. Even more that you chose to stay, even though you probably thought I loathed your existence.”
Megumi stops petting him then, cupping his tiny head with his hand and forcing him to hear what is being said. He needs Gojo to hear this. He has to let him know the truth that he has kept buried for far too long.
Gojo just stares lazily.
“I guess what I’m saying is,” he forces out, past the lump in his throat and the tightness in his chest, trying desperately to find the right words. He knows he’s only speaking to a cat, but in some way, there is no room for any doubt that Gojo is listening to him. After all, he’s no ordinary kitty. Not at all. “Even though you are an annoying, spiteful, moody, and spoiled little thing with a death wish that rivals even mine…”
Gojo’s ears perk at that, as if amused.
Megumi sighs deeply, resuming his petting and making a pass over the top of Gojo’s head. “You are the greatest cat, me, or anyone else in all of Japan, could ever ask for. I mean that. Just—“ he scowls then, “don’t let that go to your head.”
For several moments, there is nothing but the two of them in the world. Just a boy and his cat and a string of truth that cannot be cut by any force on this planet, memories upon memories laid open between them.
But then there’s a wave, and a shift, and Gojo moves.
And when Gojo’s forehead comes into contact with Megumi’s face, a contented purr erupting from somewhere deep in his small body, Megumi thinks he finally understands the magnitude of it all. He decides in that very moment, that if at any point in the future, anyone asks him about his childhood pet, he’ll tell them the story of a kitty so daring and kind, there will be no doubt that any cat, whether in or out of Japan, will ever be able to compare to the Great Gojo Catoru.
The one who saved Megumi’s life.