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When Megumi sees Gojo waiting outside the school for him, he knows that something's wrong.
Gojo never comes to pick him up from school. He's busy, and he's not in the country half the time, and he's also terrible with time, traffic, and driving in general. He's not cut out for the school rush. The only times he ever shows up at the school are when the principal requests another meeting to discuss Megumi's delinquency. Megumi hasn't gotten into any major fights since the last meeting with the principal, so there's no reason for Gojo to be here.
And yet: here he is now, standing outside the gates like a creep, hands shoved in his pockets. He's kicking idly at the rocks on the ground, but he looks up as the first students start swarming out the gates, and he waves when he sees Megumi.
"Megumi-kun!" he yells, embarrassingly loud. Luckily, no one cares about some rando at the gates, so everyone just gives him a wide berth and moves on.
"Gojo-san," Megumi says shortly, nodding in acknowledgment as he reaches Gojo's side. In nine years of knowing the man, he's never dropped the honorific unless Gojo's out of earshot. It's not out of respect, but out of spite: Gojo keeps trying to get him to be more informal, so Megumi retaliates by being as pettily formal as he can. He is not calling him Satoru-nii-chan, no matter how many times the man tries to bribe him. "What's wrong?"
Gojo offers him a brilliant smile. "Why does something have to be wrong?" he says. It is, notably, not a denial. "Can't I just want to come pick up my favourite unofficial student?"
Megumi levels him with a flat look. He can count on one hand the number of times Gojo's picked him up from school, and all of those times happened in the first year they knew each other, back when Gojo was trying embarrassingly hard to get Megumi and Tsumiki to like him. Gojo sighs.
"Alright, alright, I won't insult Megumi-kun's intelligence," he says, dropping a hand to Megumi's head. Megumi bats it away. "It's easier to show you. Get in the car."
"You're driving?"
"What? No, why would I do that? Ijichi's here. Say hi, Ijichi!"
"Hi, Megumi-kun," Ijichi says obediently, glancing at him through the rearview mirror as Megumi slides into the backseat. Megumi drops his backpack to the car floor slowly.
Ijichi usually goes to pick up Tsumiki. Her high school's not within walking distance of the apartment like the middle school is, so Ijichi drives her home while Megumi walks. Megumi frowns.
"What about Tsumiki?" he asks. Ijichi taps his nails nervously on the steering wheel. Gojo gets into the passenger seat, which just makes Megumi's metaphorical hackles rise even more.
Gojo doesn't sit in the passenger seat. He's an asshole—he likes feeling pampered. He always sits in the backseat, unless Megumi and Tsumiki are both there. If he's sitting in the passenger seat, then it means he's either feeling unusually friendly towards Ijichi, or...
Or he doesn't want to sit next to Megumi.
"Gojo-san," Megumi says, as Ijichi starts to navigate the school rush. "Tell me what's wrong."
"Don't be so impatient, Megumi," Gojo says, tutting. "I said I'd show you. How do you feel about some music?"
He doesn't wait for Megumi's answer, reaching out and flipping to a random radio station. Some new pop song fills the car, bouncy and bright. Megumi's heard it being played around the school. He grinds his teeth, then stops, because Tsumiki hates it and she'll scold him about it if she sees him doing it.
"Did you send someone else to pick up Tsumiki?" he asks. The strangeness of it all still nags at him—surely it makes more sense for Ijichi to remain Tsumiki's driver, while someone else comes to pick up Megumi. Gojo hums.
"I already picked her up," he says. "She's waiting for us."
That's enough of an answer to mollify Megumi for now. He sits back in his seat, crossing his arms. Gojo must have pulled Tsumiki out of school early for him to be at Megumi's school in time, so whatever's wrong has to be serious. Megumi runs through a few worst-case scenarios in his mind.
"Is it to do with the Zen'in?" he asks bluntly.
"No. Didn't I tell you to be patient?"
"I can still guess," Megumi says back. Gojo snorts. "Is it to do with sorcery?"
"In a sense."
"Is it to do with my father?"
"No." This time, the answer comes so sudden and sharp that Megumi glances up. Gojo is staring out the window, fingers tapping rapidly on his knee. "It's not your father, Megumi. I know that for certain."
His voice is serious. Actually serious. Megumi swallows. That creeping dread, that feeling of wrongness, prickles at the nape of his neck. He settles for watching the scenery pass them by. The radio switches to another pop song.
It soon becomes clear that they're not going back to the apartment. Ijichi heads deeper into the heart of the city. Megumi watches the buildings grow taller and more expensive until Ijichi finally pulls over to the curb.
"Call me when you need to get picked up, Gojo-san," he says. Gojo nods, sliding out of the car.
"Leave your bag, Megumi," he says, so Megumi does. He throws a quick goodbye to Ijichi and gets out, glancing up at the building they've been dropped off in front of.
UNIVERSITY OF TOKYO HOSPITAL, reads the sign. Megumi's spine grows cold.
"Gojo-san," he says again. "Why are we here?"
Gojo doesn't answer. He simply walks forward, gesturing for Megumi to follow. Megumi falls into step behind him.
There are three reasons for Gojo to bring him to a hospital. The first and most common reason is that he wants Megumi to witness him exorcising a curse. Megumi rules that one out immediately, because they only ever do that at night, and Gojo would've told him if that was the case. The second reason is that either Gojo or Megumi needs medical treatment: also impossible, because they're both obviously unharmed.
The third reason is that Gojo is bringing him here to visit someone. And the only person who Megumi would visit in hospital is...
"Where's Tsumiki?" he demands. Gojo keeps walking. "Gojo-san, where's Tsumiki?"
"You'll see her soon," Gojo says, which is not reassuring at all. Megumi's breath is starting to come in harsh, panicked pants. Gojo strides right up to the receptionist and leans over, flashing her a blinding smile and murmuring something. Megumi doesn't hear what he says—a slow ringing is beginning to fill his ears.
The receptionist says something back, handing Gojo a slip of paper. Gojo pockets it, gives her another smile, and steers Megumi over to the lifts. Megumi wants to shake his hand off, but if Gojo doesn't tug him somewhere, then he thinks he might just stand here forever.
They're alone in the lift. It smells like antiseptic. There's gentle, jazzy music playing.
"Megumi," Gojo says softly. "Don't freak out, okay?"
Bit fucking late for that, Megumi thinks and does not say. He looks down at where Gojo's hand rests on his bicep, fingers curled almost entirely around Megumi's arm.
Gojo rarely touches him. He rarely touches anything.
The lift reaches their level with a soft ding. Once again, Gojo has to steer Megumi out. They emerge into a hallway, clean and white. A single nurse is at the other end, pushing a metal trolley. Gojo consults his slip of paper.
"This way," he says, pushing gently at Megumi's back. Megumi follows numbly, watching their shadows shift beneath the fluorescent lights as they walk down the hallway. Gojo is muttering to himself, counting doors.
"—five, six—ah, this one."
Megumi looks up, and the world ends.
Fushiguro Tsumiki. Her name is already on the door. Right now, it's just a piece of paper, the characters hastily scribbled in an unfamiliar hand. Not Gojo's. Gojo's handwriting is much worse.
Who wrote it? Some random doctor? Some stranger who's now responsible for her care?
Megumi shoves the door open. He doesn't know what he's expecting—doesn't know what he can allow himself to expect—but somehow, the reality is still worse.
Tsumiki lies in the hospital bed. Her eyes are closed, her hair undone. Megumi steps into the room and feels something in him crack down the middle.
"Tsumiki?"
Her eyes don't open.
"Tsumiki. Tsumiki."
He doesn't know how he ends up at her bedside. There's a chair there, a stiff uncomfortable-looking thing. Megumi doesn't use it. He sinks to his knees, his school uniform wrinkling awkwardly. His pants are getting too short. Gojo keeps saying he needs to buy new ones.
"Tsumiki," he says again, his voice breaking. "Oi."
"Megumi," Gojo says quietly. Megumi ignores him.
He reaches out and grabs her shoulder. She's wearing a hospital patient gown, not her school uniform. He shakes her. She's always been a bit of a heavy sleeper.
"Get up," he says. "It's not funny."
Tsumiki would never pull a prank like this. Gojo, yes, but never Tsumiki. But it has to be a prank. It has to be. It has to be.
Megumi shakes her harder. "Wake up already," he says, and his voice wobbles. "Tsumiki."
A hand lands on his shoulder, and he flinches. Gojo's grip is firm.
"She won't wake up," he says. "Megumi, let me expl—"
"Shut up," Megumi snaps. Something hot and terrible is crawling up his throat, threatening to tear out of his ribcage. "You—shut up. Shut up. Tsumiki, come on, come on—"
Tsumiki's eyelids don't even flicker. She's breathing evenly, deep and slow, and she's not waking up.
"Nee-san," Megumi says, because it's the last thing he can think to try. He never calls her nee-san. If she's awake, then she'll open her eyes right now and demand to know what the hell has gotten into him.
She doesn't open her eyes.
"Nee-san," Megumi tries again, just in case she didn't hear him the first time. His vision is starting to blur with tears. "Nee-san, come on. Nee-san. Nee-san."
He counts fifteen seconds of silence before he breaks.
The first sob comes out half-clipped. It wrestles its way out of his throat, choked and strangled-sounding. Megumi feels like his lungs are shrinking. He gasps for air, and oh—that's another sob, and another, and suddenly he's full-on crying. He shoves the heels of his hands into his eyes, biting down on his lip to try and stem the sobs.
It works, to an extent. He doesn't get past the embarrassing hitching breath stage. He wipes at his eyes with his sleeve, then turns around.
Gojo is hovering next to him, his hands above Megumi's shoulders like he's unsure where to put them. Knowing Gojo, he is unsure where to put them.
"What happened?" Megumi demands. If Tsumiki is unconscious, then—a head wound? Did she fall down the stairs at school or something? But she has no bandages. She looks perfectly normal.
Just this morning, her alarm clock had woken him up. Just this morning, they'd wrestled over who got to use the bathroom first. Just this morning, she'd yelled at him for not eating breakfast, and he'd yelled at her for nagging him, and she'd shoved a spoonful of rice in his mouth to shut him up.
He'd waved her goodbye as he shoved on his shoes and left. He sent her a photo of the clouds on his walk to school, because they were weird and streaky, and she liked things like that. She'd responded with a nice! and a thumbs-up emoji. That was the last time they'd spoken.
Just this morning, she'd been fine.
Gojo scrubs a hand over his face. "It's not...physical," he says, which makes no fucking sense at all. "Look closer, Megumi. Look at her head."
Her head? So it is a head wound? Megumi steels himself and looks.
He blinks.
There's something on her forehead. It's red, and at first he thinks it's blood, but then—like Gojo said—he looks closer.
A curse mark.
A curse mark, crimson, so complicated that Megumi knows right away it has to be something nasty. Now that he's paying attention, he can sense the foreign cursed energy that clings to her like a second skin. Back when she used to skim her kids' nature magazines for fun facts, Tsumiki once told him about a type of fish that slept in a bubble of its own mucus. That's what the cursed energy looks and feels like to Megumi: a purplish slimy cocoon, enveloping his sister.
And Megumi sees red.
"What the hell is this?" he hisses, whirling around to glare at Gojo. "Why is she cursed?"
Gojo holds up his hands. "Look, I don't know, but—"
"You don't know?"
"The school called. Said she just collapsed in class. They all thought she was having a seizure or something."
"When was that?" Megumi demands. "How long has she been unconscious?"
Gojo taps his chin. "Three hours, give or take. But, Megumi—"
"Three hours? Why haven't you—"
"Will you just let me speak?" Gojo snaps. It's uncharacteristically loud, his voice harsh and biting in the hospital room. Megumi swallows, shrinking back.
Gojo reaches up to press a thumb into the side of his nose bridge, sighing. "She collapsed a little bit after noon," he says, reciting the words like they're on a prompter. "The school called. I came to pick her up. Told them she had low something-or-other and forgot to take her meds. I saw the cursed energy right away, but I still brought her to Shoko just in case." He spreads his hands imploringly. "There's nothing wrong with her, Megumi. Not physically. She just won't wake up."
"Then make her wake up," Megumi says. "Exorcise the curse."
"I can't."
"What do you mean you can't?" Megumi demands. "That's what you do! That's all you do!"
"I mean I can't, Megumi," Gojo says sharply. "There were no residuals. I searched her school top to bottom, believe me, and there was nothing there. And that mark on her forehead wasn't given to her—it was activated."
"So?"
"So she's been cursed for a while," Gojo bites out. "I don't know who, and I don't know how long. It's just been activated, that's all."
Megumi sits with the words for what feels like forever. She's been cursed for a while. Tsumiki's been cursed for—how long? How fucking long? This whole time, this whole fucking time, Megumi has sworn to become a jujutsu sorcerer in order to protect her. And he didn't even notice that she was cursed. Gojo, the greatest sorcerer in the world, didn't even notice that she was cursed.
The question slips out before he can stop it: "Could she die?"
Gojo tilts his head. "It's unlikely."
"But could she?"
Gojo doesn't answer. That, in itself, is enough.
Megumi clenches his hands until his nails dig into his palms. "Okay," he says, his voice cracking. "Okay."
Then he grabs the only thing within reach—his phone—and flings it at Gojo's head.
It bounces off an invisible wall mere seconds before it breaks his nose. Gojo still flinches, like he was half-expecting it to hit. The phone hits the ground with a crack.
"I told you not to freak out!" Gojo yells.
"How can I not freak out?!" Megumi all but screams back. He grabs at his own head, getting two fistfuls of his hair, and tugs frantically. "That's—Tsumiki, she—in hospital—"
The light is flickering. Megumi is aware, distantly, of his shadow bubbling at his feet. He thinks he hears the faint echo of a dog's howl. From somewhere that is both very close by and very far away, Gojo lets out a string of filthy swears.
Megumi needs to calm down, he knows that, but—but Tsumiki—
Something wraps around him, strong and restrictive. Megumi thrashes against it and realises, belatedly, that it's Gojo's arms. He's hugging him—but he hasn't turned Infinity off, and there's a tiny distance between them that feels like it contains the universe.
Megumi doesn't mean that in an emotional sense. No, it's very much physical—the pressure of that tiny bit of space is immense, crushing him tighter and tighter. Megumi chokes, feeling like a steel band is being fitted around his ribs.
"Gojo," he croaks out, clawing desperately at Gojo's arms. "Gojo."
"Listen, kid, you have to calm down," Gojo says from above his head. He's hugging Megumi and it's killing him. It's literally killing him. The pressure feels like it's going to make his eyes pop out of his skull. "I promise, I'll do everything I can to—"
"Gojo!"
"Yeah?"
Megumi's only reply is a strangled gurgle. Gojo looks down, and his face goes bone-white.
"Shit, fuck—"
And the pressure releases. Megumi sags in Gojo's arms, gasping. Gojo pats at his cheek frantically.
"Megumi? Megumi! I'm sorry, kid, I didn't think—"
Megumi shoves his arms off of him. Gojo stumbles back. Megumi stares at him and feels like if he stays in here with him for a second longer, he'll shatter into a million pieces.
Does he love Gojo? The short answer: yes, but not all the time. Sometimes, he wants to wring the man by the neck. Sometimes, Gojo feels like he's prodding in all the wrong places, like he's unknowingly walking over all of Megumi's sensitive bruises. Sometimes, Gojo is just...too much.
Now is one of those times.
Megumi raises a hand and points at the door. His hand trembles.
"Get out," he says.
"Megumi—"
"Get out."
Gojo pauses, his lips pressed into a thin line. For once, Megumi wishes he wasn't wearing his blindfold. He wants to look Gojo in the eye and know that he actually feels something about this.
But the blindfold stays on. Gojo sighs. "Fine," he says. "I'll go. But I'll be right outside, okay? Call if you need me."
"I won't."
Gojo gives no sign of hearing him. He reaches out, as if to put a hand on Megumi's shoulder.
Megumi jerks away from him. "Don't touch me," he snaps.
Gojo freezes for a moment, his hand still held in mid-air. Then he smiles wryly and wriggles his fingers. "Don't worry," he says, and he must extend Infinity, because suddenly Megumi can feel a brief pressure against his shoulder. "I can't."
He ducks out of the room after that. He doesn't go far—Megumi hears him take about three steps before there's the telltale thump of a body hitting the wall.
Megumi shuts his eyes. In the sudden emptiness of the room, the situation feels both easier to shoulder and harder to believe. He bows his head over the bed until his forehead brushes the sheets.
That's when the guilt hits him. Because—fuck, he was mean to Gojo just now, wasn't he? He was mean, and he yelled at him, and things are always awful when the two of them yell at each other. He threw his phone at Gojo's head. Fuck.
"Sorry," he tells Tsumiki, his voice choked. She always gets mad at him when he's bratty to Gojo. "I—sorry. You can yell at me about it when you wake up."
Tsumiki doesn't answer. Megumi wonders, with a cold sinking dread, if she ever will.