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It's truly unfortunate that the curse Megumi and Yuuji had been sent to exorcise was a disease curse.
What disease, the Window couldn't say, but the higher-ups were certain it was one. Grade two disease curse, likely chicken pox or whooping cough, he had said before passing them the file. Located on the third floor in the infectious disease ward of the Kawasaki Municipal Hospital.
Needless to say, the information was wrong.
The curse is a lot stronger than they imagined, somewhere between grade one and special grade. He and Yuuji are used to this now, though, and through their fluid teamwork manage to kill the curse with only minor injuries.
The only issue is that instead of flaking into ash like usual, the curse bursts apart into purple mist. Megumi's directly in the line of fire and gets splattered head to toe with it before it burns to ash.
Yuuji comes running over to him, concerned, but he waves him off. He can't sense any more cursed energy, so their job is done. Yuuji admits he can't sense any either, so they report back to the Window that their mission was successful.
It isn't long before he starts to feel ill. He can tell Yuuji knows something's wrong; the ride back to Jujutsu High is punctuated by Yuuji sneaking glances at him, double- and triple-checking to make sure he doesn't have any lingering effects.
Megumi snaps at him for hovering and it seems to reassure him, only for him to ramp right back up when Megumi coughs into his elbow for the second time.
By the time they arrive back on campus, he can feel his heart racing, breaths lightly labored. He hadn't had trouble with the stairs since he was eleven and barely starting his Gojo-sanctioned training. Yuuji urges him him to see Shoko, and only leaving him alone when he promises he will.
He doesn't go see Shoko. Instead, he grabs the worn t-shirt and sweatpants he prefers and heads to the showers, making sure to avoid the other students. He's sure he looks sick and one look in the mirror confirms it: he's noticeably pale except for two flushed spots high on his cheekbones, and his eyes look oddly glassy. He's unmistakably feverish.
He showers quickly, eager to wash the sweat and grime from the fight off. He's a little out of breath when he's finished and frowns. Not a good sign.
He shakes his head to clear it. He'll be fine. It's just the remnants of some curse, he'll sleep it off and be back to normal in the morning.
He brushes his teeth and shadow hops back to his room, hoping to avoid Yuuji lurking around to ambush him and bring him to Shoko. He sees no one and he collapses on his bed, groaning lightly. He's so tired.
His fourth mission in four days, and he's already tired of it. Wake up, go to class, eat lunch, return to class, exorcise curse, eat dinner, sleep. He wonders how Gojo does it; how he manages to flit from one thing to the other in a heartbeat like a hummingbird, never stopping, never tiring, making his strength look easy as breathing. He can't imagine ever being able to do as much as Gojo, the undisputed strongest sorcerer in history, and yet his dearest wish is for Megumi to surpass him?
Megumi chafes under the weight.
Megumi sighs tiredly, willing his mind to settle. He shifts on his bed, curling tighter and patting around for the edge of his blanket. He flings it over himself lazily, uncaring as it gets caught on something and leaves his right foot exposed to the cool air.
Right now, he's tired. He'll worry about it when he feels better in the morning.
○○○○
He does not feel better in the morning. Megumi wakes an indeterminable amount of time later, eyes burning and breaths shaky as his heart hammers in his chest. He tries to lift his head but the muscles in his neck scream in protest, aching fiercely even when he forcibly relaxes them. He's disoriented; where is he? Is he at home? His lips part around a call for Tsumiki, but he forcefully swallows it down when the thought drifts through his mind that she's still in the hospital. She isn't here.
Alarm bells go off in his mind. Tsumiki's been in a coma for years, why did he forget that? How? What the hell is happening? He's confused and scared and alone, and the thought strikes him like lightning that he needs Gojo. Gojo will know what to do. Gojo will know how to fix it.
Call Gojo, call Gojo plays on a loop in his mind, though he loses focus as he scrabbles around blindly for his phone. He grabs it and immediately loses his train of thought- why had he wanted it, again?
To call someone, right. He thumbs over to his contact list but the words swim in front of his eyes and he can't remember who he's supposed to call.
He squints at the photos for each contact until he sees a white-haired figure that in his fever-addled mind registers as safety, and he hits the call button.
The phone rings, and rings, and rings, and rings, and it shouldn't take this long for a call to connect, right? It shouldn't? It's taking too long, stretching on to infinity- hah, Infinity-
The ringing stops. Hey there! If you're callin' my personal number, it's gotta be important! Soooo, if you leave me a message and it's not important, I'm blocking you. Anyways, leave a message!
Megumi doesn't speak as the line clicks over, uncomprehending. Gojo always picks up his calls. Never in Megumi's life has Gojo not picked up a call from him on his personal phone. Never.
A lump rises in Megumi's throat. His vision blurs and something wet splatters onto his hand. He whimpers before abruptly remembering he's leaving a voicemail and hangs up with clumsy fingers. Another whine rises in his throat and he swallows it down, grasping his pillow with shaking hands and hugging it to his chest like a child seeking comfort.
It hurts and he's tired and all he wants is to be comforted, for someone to come and take his pain away. More than anything he wants someone to stay, to remind him that he's not alone, that he has someone who still cares about him.
Something vicious in his mind whispers no one is coming back for you and more hot tears splatter on his skin.
He cries as silently as he's able, sobs and whimpers muffled into the pillow he clutches to his chest like a lifeline. He doesn't- doesn't want someone to see him like this. Doesn't want a concerned knock at his door because if it comes he'll get attached and it will only hurt more when they inevitably leave.
Megumi's so, so tired of being hurt.
Eventually, he cries himself to sleep. He wakes once to the buzzing of his phone, screen lighting up with the image of a man with white hair. He watches it buzz, thoughts slow and muddled as though his head is full of cotton. It goes dark for a minute before before lighting up again with the same screen.
Megumi closes his burning eyes, too tired to keep them open. In the back of his mind he knows that he should pick up, that he needs to, but he can't bring himself to move his leaden, aching limbs.
○○○○
He's woken to the feeling of a freezing cold weight on his forehead. It's so cold against his skin that it feels like needles and he whines, a high, childish sound of pain that he foolishly hopes will make the hurt go away.
It doesn't, and miserable tears leak out of his closed eyes onto the pillow he's resting on.
Something taps his cheek. He cracks an eye open and sees a shock of white hair through his blurry vision. He blinks a few times and the man comes into focus, white hair and dark blindfold both in disarray.
"-gumi, talk to me. Hey, that's it. I need you to tell me. Are you okay? Can you move?"
Okay? The festering hurt of abandonment is soothed by the man's presence, but everything else hurts so bad he can't do anything but cry.
More tears drip down his cheeks. The man takes that as an answer in itself.
A particularly sharp spike of pain steals his focus. It subsides slowly and he manages to catch the tail end of whatever the man's saying.
"-aking you to Shoko. Okay?"
Shoko. Shoko. He doesn't remember who that is but he instinctively knows this man is safe, that he won't let any harm come to him. Megumi gives a weak sound of affirmation and then he's being lifted, cradled to a strong chest and the world turns inside out.
Bright white lights bore into his eyes and he shrieks, blinding pain exploding through his head. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a wretched sob, world spinning, white-hot needles lancing through his eyes and directly into his brain.
There's urgent voices around him and he feels a thick cloth wrapping around his face. The pressure lessens the ache and the dark cloth blocks out all light. He sniffles wetly, tears still trailing down his cheeks and staining the blindfold.
The man sets him down on a table and he sways precariously before he's gently guided to lay down on his side.
The hand on his cheek is back and he rolls his head to the side, chasing it. It's pleasantly cool, not like earlier. It gives him space to think.
"Megumi? I need you to tell me what's wrong, if you can." It's a woman's voice that speaks, not the man's. That's okay, though; he can feel his presence nearby, watching. Waiting.
What's wrong? Everything's wrong. He hurts in places he didn't know it was possible to hurt. But why?
He thinks hard, dredging up the memories as though sifting through quicksand. That's right, the curse. He'd fought a disease curse with Yuuji. His throat works, swallowing before he speaks. "Cu-curse."
"Fuck." That was definitely the man's voice this time. "Shoko-"
"Go get it, Satoru. I'll start work on him."
Before Megumi can muster up the energy to protest, the pressure in the air drops and he can't feel the man's presence anymore. Before he can get upset, the hand on his cheek taps once, gently.
"I'm going to start, Megumi. Let me know when you start feeling better." With that, cool relief blooms from her touch.
It flows through his body like a balm, chasing away his fever and the aches and pains he'd been dealing with for who knows how long. The fever-haze begins to lift and he slowly reaches to push up the blindfold, squinting in the bright morgue lights. "Shoko?"
"Hey, Megumi. You gave us quite a fright."
"S- sorry." Now that the pain is lessening, he can think clearly, and guilt creeps in. "How long-?"
"Two hours since your voicemail, thirty minutes since he called you, twenty-five since he went looking," Shoko states. It's uncanny how she does that, like she can read his mind. "His personal phone got destroyed fighting a curse. He forgot to zip his jacket pocket and it flew out when he, well, flew. He had to get a new one."
Megumi makes an acknowledging noise, pushing the blindfold up so it keeps the sweaty hair out of his eyes. Shoko raises an eyebrow.
"Your eyes okay? You scared the life out of Gojo when you screamed, you know."
Great, now he feels worse. "Sorry. It just... hurt. Like someone stabbed through my eyes directly into my brain."
Shoko hums. "No wonder he was so quick to give you his blindfold. Sounds exactly like how he described the Six-Eyes when I first asked him why he wore those blackout glasses."
Megumi vaguely remembers the glasses she's talking about, perfect pitch-black circles over his face. He'd stopped wearing them shortly after he'd adopted him and his sister. When Megumi asked him why, he'd responded with a smile and a wink over the rectangular lenses. Just wanted to shake things up a little, he'd said.
The smile hadn't reached his eyes. Megumi hadn't asked again.
Before he can say anything, Gojo reappears with a rush of displaced air. His eyes are on full display, sparkling and shifting with power.
Megumi pulls off the blindfold, offering it back to Gojo. He takes it back with a grin, winding it around his head and securing it with an ease borne from years of practice. "Real nasty disease curse, huh?"
Megumi nods. "Yuuji and I managed to take it down, but it was definitely at least a grade one. Maybe even semi-special grade."
"And why, pray tell, were two grade two sorcerers fighting against a semi-special grade all by themselves?" Gojo's grin is sharklike. Despite his words, Megumi knows it isn't aimed at him or Yuuji.
"We were told it was a grade two."
"Of course you were," Gojo's grin widens, all teeth. "I should really pay the higher-ups a visit, make sure they understand the importance of classifying curses correctly."
"You do that," Shoko snorts. She pats Megumi's shoulder. "You should be good to go. Let me know if your symptoms come back."
"Right. Thanks." He moves to hop off the table, but as soon as she stops her RCT, the pain comes roaring back. He can't quite bite down his noise of pain, and the others catch it instantly.
"What's wrong?" Both Shoko and Gojo ask. Gojo's hovering in front of him, ready to catch him if he falls.
"Pain's back," Megumi says through gritted teeth. He can feel sweat trailing from his hairline. It's becoming hard to think again.
Shoko puts her hand back on his shoulder, activating her RCT again. The symptoms recede immediately as if they were never present.
Shoko's brow furrows. "You said it was a semi-special grade?"
"At most," Megumi states. "You can ask Yuuji, he agreed with me."
"Got it." Gojo disappears immediately, presumably to go check.
The morgue is quiet while they wait for Gojo to come back. It's a little awkward, but Shoko doesn't say anything, apparently too focused on RCT to make small talk. He's more than a little relieved.
It's not that Megumi doesn't like Shoko, it's just that she and Gojo have some sort of complicated history that Megumi isn't privy to. He can see it whenever they interact, like there's some sort of gaping hole in between them, a chasm that they both want to cross but always miss each other on the other side. It's in the way that Shoko doesn't light her cigarette when Gojo's around; it's in the way Gojo's jokes are more morbid when Shoko's around.
Megumi doesn't know what to do about it, so he simply does nothing and tries to keep his fingers from twitching when Shoko adjusts her grip on his wrist. He wonders if she knows the story behind the glasses.
Gojo pops back into the morgue with another woosh of displaced air, thankfully without Yuuji in tow. Megumi doesn't want to think about how awful he probably looks right now. "He agrees. Semi-special grade at the highest."
Shoko frowns. "I'm going to examine your cursed energy in detail, but it's going to have to be without RCT. That alright?"
"Go ahead."
Shoko lets her technique go, and the fever consumes him like a raging wildfire. Everything goes hazy, and thinking becomes nearly impossible with how heavy his head feels.
His joints ache terribly. He slumps towards the wall before he hears a tsk and gets pulled back, instead guided to lean heavily into the man's side. It's oddly comfortable, and he lets his eyes close as the woman keeps a gentle hold on his wrist.
A few minutes later, the fever recedes again. Megumi looks at Shoko's face and sees how tired she looks, feeling more than a little guilty. It's his fault she's reaching her limit of cursed energy.
"It's a grade one, hanging around inside your body. From what I can sense, it's eating through your cursed energy and causing you to experience the sorcerer version of dengue fever."
Gojo frowns. "With effects like that, how is it a grade one? At any rate, can't I just exorcise it?" He makes a popping sound and flicks his hand out at the same time, mimicking his technique.
"I'm confused too. It went down too easily to be special grade." Megumi agrees, a little bitterly. Why can't his life ever be easy?
Shoko turns to him. "From what I can tell, the curse you two fought was special grade, but you only exorcised a part of it. The leftovers latched on to you."
Megumi winces. That would explain it.
Shoko turns to Gojo. "You could technically exorcise it, but Megumi's cursed energy is still fighting it. They're so wrapped up in each other I can't tell where one ends and the other begins, which isn't good. You can take a look with the Six-Eyes, but I'm sure you'll just see what I sensed."
Gojo hums and lowers his blindfold, glowing eyes staring deep into Megumi's cursed energy, following patterns no one else can see. Megumi swallows, oddly nervous. The Six-Eyes are like a physical weight, pinning him in place as he's flayed open and judged.
Gojo shuts his eyes with a hum, pulling the blindfold back up. "Yep! It's a mess in there, both eating each other alive. If I exorcised it now, I'd be blowing out Megumi's cursed energy reserves too. It would be better to wait."
"Told you."
"What, I can't double-check the work of our dear doctor?" Gojo pouts. He looks ridiculous.
"Anyways," Shoko says, rolling her eyes before turning back to Megumi. Her expression is sympathetic. "You're going to have to ride this out. When your cursed energy is gone, it'll die."
"But after that, I'll be fine?" Megumi tries to keep a lid on his anxiety. What if the curse is too strong? Can he really fight a grade one all on his own, without his shikigami to help?
"Megumi," Shoko's addressing him, but he sees her eyes flicker to Gojo. "It won't kill you. It's gonna suck until your cursed energy is gone, and until you recover your cursed energy, but it won't kill you. Neither Gojo nor I will allow it. Ready?"
He nods and she stops her RCT. It won't kill him. No matter what, it won't kill him. He clings to that thought as the fever once again consumes him.
Through his haze of sickness, he hears snippets of conversation happening above him.
"-too high, bring him-"
"Won't quit-"
"-out of cursed energy-"
"-hopsitals can't - curses-"
"-supervised recovery-"
"My place, obviously-"
"-sure? It's difficult-"
"-he's mine, Shoko, I'll do it."
He barely registers being picked up again, fever-sweat dripping from his hairline as chills wrack his frame. He burrows deeper into the hold, seeking warmth as he buries his face into the warm, strong shoulder.
The world warps again and suddenly it's blissfully dark and quiet, air smelling of detergent and cologne and something else he can't quite place but registers as home. He's laid down onto something so heavenly soft he sighs, aching muscles relaxing. The coolness of the fabric hurts for a few seconds before it warms to his skin.
The man sits on the bed next to him, running his hands through his snow-white hair. It leaves him looking more disheveled than before.
The pain across his body flares higher and he whines, curling in on himself as much as he's able. He aches terribly and he might be crying again, he can't tell- the wet trails streaking down his face could be sweat or tears.
Gently, he's lifted into a sitting position, balanced between the arm around his back and pressed against a warm side.
His mouth is coaxed open, two pills placed on his tongue. A glass is brought to his lips and he drinks, cool water flooding over his tongue and he suddenly realizes just how thirsty he is. He swallows noisily before frantically gulping down more water, only slowed when the glass gets pulled back.
He makes a weak noise, wordlessly begging for it to come back. It does, but at a shallower angle. "Careful, 'Gumi. You'll make yourself sick if you keep gulping it like that. Slowly."
With careful guidance, he sips slower. Once the cup is empty, he's lowered onto his back into the nest of pillows by the headboard. He closes his fevered eyes. He's so tired, and it still hurts but not as bad, but surely he can sleep now? He feels so safe and cared for, for the first time he can remember. Surely, surely, the man would stay?
He feels the bed creak, comforting weight disappearing from his side, and suddenly he's seized by a terror so visceral it forces a tortured sob past his lips, lurching forward in a blind panic.
The small, hurt child somewhere deep inside him howls don't leave me, don't leave me through hiccupping sobs, wailing and crying as if it could stop anyone from leaving at all.
He loses time, doesn't know if it's seconds or minutes before he registers the gentle hand stroking his hair and the hushed words being spoken to him through his fevered haze.
"-okay, 'Gumi, it's going to be alright, please don't cry, I'm here, I'm not leaving-"
No, no, everyone leaves, they all do, every single one, no matter how much he wants them to stay, no matter how much he begs. What's so wrong with him that no one ever stays?
His head spins and he lets out a miserable whine, fevered tears scorching trails down his cheeks as he sobs harder. He's immediately bundled into a warm embrace, large palms soothing across his back as he hiccups and sobs into a shoulder.
"Shh, shh, I'm here, 'Gumi, I'm here," He feels the words rumbling through his chest rather than hears them. "I won't leave, I swear it."
Megumi hiccups loudly, shaking his head. He's been promised that before, and it's never mattered. His whole life has been nothing but broken promises.
He swears he feels something drip onto his hair as he's cradled even closer. "I won't. I will never leave you, 'Gumi, never. I'd make it a binding vow in a heartbeat."
Megumi feels ...something brush against his back, draping over him like a blanket in addition to the warm embrace. He can't think, can't remember what it is, but all of a sudden he feels like there's no place safer than here, in the arms of the person he trusts most.
"Dad," he sobs into the crook of his neck, damp with his own tears. Someone gasps before a face buries itself in his hair, arms and barrier cradling Megumi closer to his chest. "H-help."
For a moment, the body above him is frozen. "...Of course, 'Gumi. Anything."
The pressure in the room drops so fast his ears pop. It eases some of the pain in his head and he feels a little better. When he peeks out from the shoulder he's resting his head on, he sees a blue sphere hovering over the tip of a finger.
"I'll be as gentle as possible. Tell me if it hurts and I'll fix it, okay?"
He brings the blue sphere closer to Megumi's skin, and he immediately hisses in pain. "H-hurts."
The sphere doesn't move away but it does get smaller, oppressive force in the room lessening. When it touches Megumi's skin it still hurts, but it's the pain of a healing bruise instead of molecular erasure.
With Megumi's lack of reaction he begins in earnest, tracing the blue sphere up his arms, across his back, and down his legs. His tears begin to slow, soothed by the steady motions and the relief that follows. Eventually, the sphere moves up his neck to his head. The slow but firm pressure on his neck feels like heaven and he melts, going boneless in the man's hold.
The combination of warmth and exhaustion coaxes his eyes shut. Just before he falls asleep, he feels more wetness drip into his hair. He doesn't know what it's from, but he goes peacefully, knowing he's in the safest place in the whole world and he's not leaving.
○○○○
He isn't sure how long it's been when his fever breaks. All he knows is that the next time he wakes up he can think, although his pounding headache makes it a little difficult. He relaxes the death grip he has on the blanket and attempts to sit up, only to be struck by a wave of dizziness halfway.
He shuts his eyes tightly and breathes in and out until the room stops spinning. He cracks open one eye to see where he is and pauses. He isn't in his bed at Jujutsu High- it has those stupid dog sheets Yuuji bought him as a joke and Megumi uses out of spite. These are pure black, with a black blanket to match.
Megumi looks around from his curled-up position and it suddenly hits him. He's in Gojo's enormous king-sized bed, oceans of bedding in every direction. The room is dark- the combination of both blackout shades and blackout curtains not allowing even a sliver of light through.
It's great for the Six-Eyes but bad for him, as he has no idea what time it is. That's probably not a problem for the Six-Eyes either, now that he thinks about it. He's never seen Gojo be late unless he wanted to be.
Almost as if he'd summoned him, Gojo opens the door. He brightens noticeably when he sees that Megumi's awake, hurrying over and setting a glass of water on the nightstand.
"Megumi? You with me?" Gojo asks, hand landing in his hair. The bed dips where he sits down.
Megumi closes his eyes. The fingers in his hair are nice, and the pressure is working wonders for his pounding headache.
"I'll take that as a no, then," Gojo murmurs, fingers slowing to a gentle, soothing motion, but Megumi wants it like how it was before. He pushes into Gojo's hand, seeking more pressure and it freezes. Megumi makes an annoyed grumble deep in his throat and the hand resumes, though more cautious than before. "M'awake."
"You sure? You don't sound too awake," Gojo's tone is almost teasing, but it's... off. Megumi frowns and tries to sit up again, fighting through the dizziness, but Gojo gently pushes him back down. "None of that. You've been through the wringer, 'Gumi. You're on sick leave for at least the next few days."
"Whuhapp'n'd?" His words slur together as his brain comes slowly back online, trying to make himself comfortable again. He reaches out for Gojo's hand and forcibly brings it back to his hair. After a moment, fingers start combing through it again, and Megumi closes his eyes and melts into the pillows with a sigh.
"You remember what Shoko said about the disease curse?"
Megumi hums in affirmation.
"Well, it turns out that your cursed energy was puttin' up a hell of a fight. I had to step in at the end to help you exorcise the curse, and then you completely zonked on me." Gojo's tone doesn't change, but Megumi cracks an eye open and looks directly at the blindfold. "Had me worried, but Shoko gave you the all-clear about..." he looks up at the ceiling, considering. "...twelve and a half hours ago. Well, twelve and a half hours plus three minutes, but who's really counting, am I right?"
Gojo's been counting. "...how long've I been sick?"
His mouth tightens before he slaps on a plastic smile. "Actively? A little under two days. Had us on the edge of our seats, 'Gumi."
"Shoko?"
"She's fine. Had to come over a couple of times to give you a little break, but she's back to her usual charming self."
Gojo's tone has been off this whole conversation, but it slips hard on the first part before he recovers. He can't quite parse it with his muddled mind, and Gojo has that look on his face Megumi can read even through the blindfold, so he lets it go. "Thank God f'r Shoko."
Gojo laughs, and there's barely concealed relief in it. "You can say that again." Gojo ruffles his hair before shifting his weight, getting ready to stand. "You must be starving. You have anything you wanna eat? Crepes? Taiyaki? Boba? Ice cream? Whatever you want, I'll do it." He wiggles his fingers for emphasis.
Before Megumi can think better of it, his hand darts out and clasps around a pale wrist. Gojo's head snaps to him, and Megumi shakes his head from where it's buried in the mountain of pillows. "Stay?"
Gojo's face does something complicated, several different emotions flickering across it in a matter of seconds. Some fragile thing gets smothered in Megumi's chest.
He's about to drop his wrist, to pull away and mutter something about being too tired to think straight before Gojo relaxes, turning his wrist so he can grasp Megumi's instead.
"You got it, 'Gumi. I won't leave. Never."
Megumi can feel the thumb pressed into his wrist and wants to snark that he's not subtle, but the floaty feeling in his chest makes him feel like he's on top of the world.
"Crepes're good, but get some savory ones too," he murmurs, halfway asleep already. "You're th' only one who likes th't much sugar in the mornin'."
The smile on Gojo's face is brilliant and relieved. "Whatever you want, 'Gumi. I'll be here when you wake up, and you can pick 'em out."