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Yuuji can’t move. That’s the first thing he notices.
This is the second thing he notices: it’s dark all over. And he’s burning up. Or—at least he thinks he is. But he can’t be too sure. None of his limbs are obeying him. As a result, movement is slow, sluggish. Maybe he’s underwater.
“Honestly, I don’t know how adversely that cursed technique’s going to affect him.” A pause. “But I think he’ll be fine.”
The voice is crystal-clear. So, not underwater then. Yuuji didn’t think so, anyway. He tries moving a hand, finds that he’s got some feeling left in him, after all. His fingers clutch at air and eventually find fabric.
“Should we just leave him alone? Because I seriously think he’s going to be passed out until tomorrow, at the very least. He’s like a corpse right now.”
The stiffness soon fully gives way, and then Yuuji finds his movement’s all come back to him. The burning sensation is gone. His lungs are working properly now. His breaths come and go, clean and unhindered.
There’s a sound of a throat clearing. “Seems to me he's looking plenty responsive right now."
With that, Yuuji opens his eyes. A mosaic of colours replaces the darkness. The world has been rendered in elementary shapes; he can’t tell which is which. Who’s who. His vision still needs time to adjust.
“Ah, look, the kid’s finally awake!” Yuuji registers a white-haired figure exclaiming at the corner. “What were you saying, Nobara, hm?”
“Whatever, at least he’s alright,” the girl Nobara says.
Someone approaches from Yuuji’s left. A pale hand settles on Yuuji’s arm. It’s a pretty hand—slender and long-fingered. The weight of it is reassuring against Yuuji’s skin.
“Are you okay, Itadori?” a voice Yuuji heard at the beginning says in a concerned tone.
Yuuji shifts his head. There’s a face looking directly down at him. A blink, and the boy’s features start registering in high-quality. The blurriness completely melts away. The eyes come first—the precise shade of them, to be exact. Blue, or blue-green, like seas, oceans. They’re framed by unfairly long lashes. Next is the slope of his nose, and then the bend of his mouth, until the details are all clear enough on their own to compose the full picture.
And when they do come together—
Yuuji’s breath catches in his throat. If he forgot how to breathe earlier, that’s nothing compared to now. The muscle memory has been decimated by this image. Because the boy is—beautiful. All delicate features and fine angles. There’s no other way to describe it. Framed by the sunlight filtering in, the effect is near-devastating.
This must be a dream. There’s no way this is real. Can someone’s hair even shine that bright? It has the gloss of spilled ink.
“I’m taking that as a no,” Nobara snickers, but she doesn’t sound malicious.
“Megumi, how’s Yuuji looking?” the man asks, stretching lightly. “Is the kid still out of it?”
Megumi. The boy’s name is Megumi. Yuuji smiles. It’s a pretty name. Makes sense; every part of him is pretty, those eyes especially. Somewhere high above, a conclave of robe-wearing angels granted Yuuji his wish. But he still wants to know more. This is hardly enough.
“I don’t know. He’s just smiling, Gojo-sensei,” Megumi says.
Yuuji can only stare dazedly.
“So he’s got brain damage,” the man Gojo laughs. “Well, that sucks.”
Nobara scoffs. “This is concerning. As the teacher, aren’t you supposed to be more worried?”
Fucking hell, kid, a cold voice springs up from somewhere in the backwaters of Yuuji’s head. I’d tell you to snap out of it, but you know what? Shit. This is hilarious.
Yuuji knows that voice. It isn’t his. He would be more shocked that someone else has been sharing the expanse of his mind, but the thing is, it feels natural. Like he’s already been here for a while. What’s more, the voice has a face. It’s someone that looks like him—but rougher, older. A red-eyed man.
Megumi stares for another moment. Or maybe two. And then he’s lifting his hand, so in a fit of desperation Yuuji grabs him by the wrist. He really doesn’t want Megumi to leave.
Well? Are you going to fucking do this or not? the voice says snidely, and Yuuji knows what he has to do.
It’s obvious. Good thing the voice put it in perspective, although he could’ve framed it in a nicer way. The comforting haze in Yuuji’s head rears approvingly. His mind used to be made up of walls. But now there are no more barriers. The haze took care of that. The path ahead stretches clear.
Nothing can go wrong. Anything is possible.
“You’re beautiful,” Yuuji says to Megumi, smiling giddily, and if his voice is slightly hoarse from disuse, it’s fine. As long as the meaning was obvious.
A shocked silence follows. Nobara drops her phone. Gojo halts mid-stretch. Megumi blinks down at Yuuji, frozen to the spot. The man in Yuuji’s head is grinning wickedly.
“And to answer your previous question, yes, I’m okay. Because—because you’re here,” Yuuji continues, exultant.
Nobara chokes. “Um. What the fuck is happening?”
Gojo bursts out into a fit of laughter so hard, he doubles over. He tries to lean on Nobara for support but she shoves his arm away.
High colour floods Megumi’s cheeks. His face looks … stunned. Somehow, it makes him even more striking. Yuuji sighs wistfully. Some people were just born without bad angles. He’d look good in any direction, any way.
“I … can’t take my eyes off of you,” Yuuji admits dreamily. “You’re just so—”
“Please stop talking,” Megumi interrupts him, placing a hand over Yuuji’s forehead. He’s still blushing something fierce. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” He shoots an entreating look at Nobara and Gojo. “I think—I think what happened earlier on must’ve done something to his brain. This isn’t his normal behaviour. He’s confused, and it’s leading him to say things he doesn’t mean. That has to be the case. Right?”
Nobara rolls her eyes. She shudders. “It’s so sappy, it’s disgusting.”
“Of course it did something,” Gojo says airily. He must be recording the scene; his phone is lifted. “That sorcerer’s technique deals with matters of coercion and psychological warfare. It lifts inhibitions, amplifies emotions. Whatever Yuuji’s spouting is the real deal. Aww, young love. How cute!” Three successive flashes follow.
Megumi returns his gaze towards Yuuji, and Yuuji’s face instantly warms. He really is a marvel to look at, all fine lines.
“Don’t go,” Yuuji finds himself insisting all of a sudden. His bottom lip trembles, and his fingers tighten where they’re encircled around Megumi’s wrist. “Stay by my side. Pleaaase?”
Hesitance crosses Megumi’s face. His brows knit in contemplation.
Nobara grimaces. “Oh no, don’t you fucking dare leave, what if he starts bursting into tears?”
“Megumi! You’re going to break his heart if you do! And then it’s not going to make for a good video!” Gojo whines.
“Alright, fine,” Megumi mumbles, resigned to the seat at Yuuji’s bedside, but he sounds—off. Maybe his heart wasn’t in the decision. Yuuji releases his grip.
“You could go, if you want to,” he says quietly, and it’s true. Yuuji won’t keep him. Of course, the thought hurts, but still. He’s better than that. The heartbreak will be painful, but it’ll heal eventually. All wounds do.
“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind being here,” Megumi says.
At this Yuuji brightens.
He’s so glad, that a bubble of happiness has started to expand within him. He could paint skies golden with it. Turn night into day. The man in Yuuji’s head—Sukuna, he remembers the name now—makes a tittering sound.
I levelled armies, crushed wars, destroyed coalitions, held a nation in the cusp of my palms, only to find myself playing at being advisor to a besotted teenage brat a thousand years later. Out of all the people I could’ve possessed, Sukuna drawls, and although his words are harsh, his tone is far from it. He sounds amused.
The haze in Yuuji’s mind clears slightly. Memory starts to leak back in, slowly but surely. Sukuna is part of him because he ate a finger. Megumi is his friend, and Nobara is his friend, and Gojo is their teacher. Some ill-timed jutsushiki landed him here—but he doesn’t mind.
Not when it led him to this.
Yuuji looks at Megumi, at his friend who is not a stranger, and sees stolen glances, words cut off mid-sentence, lingering gazes, and brushed fingertips. Yuuji didn’t do it right before. But he can now. The easy part was the longing. It’s the after that’s the hard part, the white-knuckle plunge.
And Yuuji is brave. Of course he is. The fall has never scared him. It’s what lies below that does. But he can’t think about that—not now. It isn’t the time. He has to be brave, like his DNA is made of it, down to the most infinitesimal molecule. And of course he is. There’s no doubt about that.
So Yuuji looks at Megumi, and knows exactly what he has to say.
“I like you. A lot,” Yuuji says seriously.
And it’s true, every single word of it. Of course he likes Megumi; Megumi is his friend. But liking is a feeling that boasts two edges. And this is both.
Nobara rubs at her temples. “Oh my God. Look at his face. His eyes. I can practically see the hearts!” Her sneer is pronounced.
More flashing noises. Gojo is having the time of his life. “How sweet!” he says, as he clicks away.
Megumi holds his gaze. He tilts his head, and it’s just the right angle for a single bolt of sunlight to fall across his face. The sight is ethereal. The sight is divine.
“I—I know,” Megumi says quietly, and the colour on his cheeks darkens.
He doesn’t add anything more to that. But it’s enough. Yuuji said what he had to say, and Megumi knew. Knows. Yuuji smiles, dazed on cloud nine. The thoughts in his head could spin themselves into sonnets. And maybe they do.
“Okay,” Yuuji says, nodding. “Okay.” He really is so happy. It’s like a song in his blood.
Megumi looks away. His fingers curl in his lap, and his ears are red. “Yeah,” he mumbles, as he picks away at the fabric of his pants.
The haze is receding, like waves retreating from a shore. Everything comes clearer now: memories and words. Synapses connect, realign. The bubbling giddiness is starting to ebb, and he’s sad to see it go. He’d have liked for it to stay a little while longer. It felt infinite.
“Yeah,” Yuuji echoes, serene.
The world goes dim at the edges. He’s starting to nod off. The bed is soft, soft as a cloud, and it wouldn’t be so bad to rest now, would it?
“Look, he’s passing out again!” Nobara says. “Fushiguro, what did you say to him?”
“I didn’t say anything!” Megumi argues back, and Gojo just laughs.
Their voices are muffled now. The visuals of the room become shapes, and then darkness. Sounds fully melt into white noise. Fucking hell, Yuuji hears Sukuna say before sleep claims him once more.
“Oh my god. No. No,” Yuuji says in abject misery. That’s it. He’s done for. He’s never going to live this down.
Nobara places a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes go big and sparkly. “You’re beautiful,” she says in a solemn voice, and Yuuji shoots her a look of horror.
“Cut that out,” he pleads. Can’t she see that he’s in mourning? It’s like no one can respect the grieving process nowadays.
Nobara snickers. Her eyes take on a merciless glint. “Fuck no. Everything you said was pure gold. Because I can’t take my eyes off you? Poetic cinema. Damn, I have no words.”
“That’s it, I’m signing up for the witness protection program. It’s been nice knowing everyone,” Yuuji says dully, looking up at the ceiling.
“That’s only if your life is in danger, dumbass. And it didn’t go that bad. Could’ve been a hell of a lot worse,” Nobara says. “You were still embarrassing, though.” She bursts out in another round of laughter.
Yuuji shuts his eyes. No amount of wishing is going to purge those images away. “Don’t remind me.”
This afternoon, he woke up, and thought the remainder of the day was going to be a good one. He had such a nice dream. It was beautiful. Then he found out it wasn’t a dream, and it wasn’t so great anymore. Because there are no two ways about it: Yuuji made a complete clown out of himself.
Yuuji isn’t sure if he can face Megumi again. It’s more likely than not Yuuji has made things Incredibly Awkward between them. The worst part is he can’t even pass off any of it as a joke. Not when it was obvious he meant what he said. So it’s over, K.O.
“I need to use the washroom,” Yuuji says suddenly, leaving before Nobara can respond.
It’s a lie, of course. What he really needs is some more alone time with his thoughts. Because if he thinks about it, really thinks about it, maybe just maybe he can imagine that—
“Watch out,” a voice warns, as Yuuji bumps into somebody.
“I’m sorry,” Yuuji says.
When he looks up, his heart just about drops out of his chest.
Dark hair, blue eyes, pale face. The memory unreels in the form of embarrassing 4-second-long shorts. There’s no stopping it; this is bad. They’re in high definition, too, which makes recollection a thousand times worse; all the details can be easily parsed. There was the smile on his face, for example. The flush on Megumi’s cheeks. The grimace Nobara had.
“O-Oh,” Yuuji stammers out.
Megumi’s arms drop to his sides. Shit. Yuuji didn’t realize Megumi had been holding him by the shoulders. “Um. Hey …” Megumi says, running a hand through his hair.
For a moment, they don’t speak; to speak would be to acknowledge whatever Yuuji confessed when he was dazed out of his mind. And maybe it’s a conversation Megumi isn’t ready to have. Understandable: it went by so fast, after all. Yuuji had given him no room to prepare.
Surprisingly, it is Megumi who breaks the silence first.
“So … about earlier,” he begins.
This is it. Time to face the music. “I’m, um, really sorry about that. If I made you uncomfortable,” Yuuji says, and his hands twist where they’re clasped in front of him. “It’s alright! We don’t have to talk about it. If you don’t want to. I don’t—I’m not expecting anything. Really. Like, it’d be totally cool with me, to carry on, as if it never happened, and I, uh, wouldn’t be bothered by it. I mean, well, I think I still would, but just a little, and I’d try, try not to be, because I don’t want this to be, y’know, weird. Awkward.”
Megumi gives him a look. He shakes his head. “That’s not it,” he says.
Yuuji’s pulse capsizes. “So you do want to talk about it? Okay, then that’s fine with me as well, and I know what I said … maybe some of it was weird, or, sure, maybe all of it was—”
Megumi gently places a hand on Yuuji’s cheek. It immediately silences him. He says, “Itadori, you’re rambling,” and then his hand drops away.
Yuuji blinks wordlessly, blushing. He always just knows what to do. What Yuuji wouldn’t give for intuition that sharp.
“I just wanted to say that I don’t mind what you said. At all,” Megumi continues. “So please don’t worry about it.”
They start walking together side-by-side. The destination is unclear; Megumi leads, Yuuji follows. Or maybe they’re just going around in circles.
“So … you’re okay with …you know,” Yuuji speaks up once he finds the words to do so.
They stop. There’s a window in front of them. Outside, the sky burns red-orange-purple-gold, and the sun is setting. The sight is lovely, but Yuuji has already come up with a better one in mind.
Megumi’s gaze turns to him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I … uh—"
“I don’t mind,” Megumi says, reddening, “because I like you a lot, too.”
Megumi looks away shyly, and Yuuji can only stare, stunned. This is what dreams must be made of. Yuuji may or may not be the slightest bit in love.
“I have a question,” Yuuji says.
Megumi’s eyes return to his face. “What is it?”
Yuuji takes in a deep breath, braces his nerves. The question is simple, though the answer might not be, but he has to take the leap anyway, because this it—now is the time to be brave. And he is brave. Of course. There’s no doubt about it.
“Can I kiss you?” Yuuji whispers.
Megumi’s lips part. And then he leans forward, without hesitation, letting the warm press of his mouth answer the question instead of his words.