Chapter Text
Megumi woke, his chest already tight with a scream that had nowhere to go. It had been like this for two years.
He jerked upright, too fast, like something had yanked him out of sleep. His lungs stuttered. Air came in short, uneven pulls that never felt like enough. Sweat clung to his skin, cold and sticky, soaking the collar of his shirt. His heart was racing so hard it almost hurt.
He tried to remember the dream. He always tried, but it never came back right. Just pieces of a forgotten dream that always resonated with the nightmare he had lived through.
Blood, warm and thick coating his hands. A face that would not stay still long enough to name. Gojo. No, Tsumiki. No, both. Neither. And laughter, sharp and splitting and demonic, echoing through his skull until it felt like it might crack him open from the inside. Sukuna’s horrifying face gleefully looking at his broken, kneeling stance.
Megumi pressed the heel of his hand into his eye like he could force the images out as he stumbled out of bed. His legs moved unsteadily on their own, carrying him to the bathroom. He barely made it to the sink.
His stomach twisted violently, and then he was leaning over, gripping the porcelain hard enough his knuckles ached, retching until his throat burned. Nothing came up at first, just dry heaves that made his vision blur. Then something bitter and thin, greenish, acidic. He coughed, spit, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His body felt hollow, scraped out. It made sense, he thought distantly. He hadn’t eaten much. Or at all.
Megumi shakily looked at at the mirror and froze. The person staring back at him looked like him, same emerald eyes and jet black hair. Same stupid, familiar shape of his face. But something, small and impossible to pin down, was off. Like looking at a copy that had been made just a little wrong. He leaned closer without realizing he was moving. His reflection followed.
What if this person wasn’t Megumi?
What if he never really left?
His gaze fell to his cheekbones, his eye, his cheek, to the faint, ugly scars, the remnants of something that should have been impossible to survive. But now they looked… wrong. His head started to spin. He grabbed the edge of the sink to steady himself, fingers slipping slightly against the porcelain.
If Sukuna was still there, he wouldn’t let himself get hurt.
The thought fractured halfway through, splintering into a dozen smaller ones, all talking over each other.
Sukuna wouldn’t allow damage to his own vessel. So if he got hurt…
His hands were already moving before he finished the thought.
The razor sat where he had left it, glinting silver against the dim bathroom lights. His fingers fumbled against it clumsy and numb, like they didn’t quite belong to him. He took it apart too quickly, pieces clinking softly against the sink as they came loose. The room felt like it was closing in, walls inching closer without actually moving. His thoughts wouldn’t slow down.
If Sukuna was still there, then this wouldn’t work. And if it did…
He lifted the blade. He sucked in a breath that didn’t fill his lungs.
And—
Megumi sat on the bathroom floor, back pressed against the cabinet, staring at what he had done like it belonged to someone else. His stomach twisted, a low, ugly sound dragging out of his throat before he could stop it. He squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn’t help.
He had done it again.
It was always the same. Wake up shaking, choking on something that wasn’t there, head full of noise that wouldn’t stop. Thoughts looping, stacking, getting louder and faster until they drowned everything else out. And then this. Always this.
His breathing started to pick up again just thinking about it, but it was weaker now, worn down, like even his panic was getting tired. At least it worked. The noise in his head had quieted. The edge had been sanded down just enough to survive it.
Megumi let out a shaky breath and dragged a hand down his face, smearing the copper tasting blood across his skin. He forced himself to move.
Standing felt harder than it should have. His legs wobbled, vision dimming at the edges for a second before it steadied. He grabbed onto the counter, jaw tightening in irritation at his own weakness.
Get it together.
He shakily reached for the toilet paper, ripping off more than he needed and pressing it down, firm, against his arm just to stop the bleeding. His fingers worked on autopilot. He counted to 300 seconds until the flow finally slowed down to a stop. He reached for the bandages and tied it tightly against his new scab, ignoring the other very similar scars that lined his arm. Lining up in ways that forced him to wear long sleeves, even when the weather was scorching hot.
Megumi exhaled harshly and reached for more toilet paper, crouching slightly to clean the sink. He scrubbed harder than necessary, jaw clenched. Every spot, every trace, gone. There couldn’t be anything left. Nobody could know of his weakness. It was his weakness that caused all of this in the first place.
By the time he was done, the bathroom looked untouched. Like he had never been there at all. Good. Megumi stood there for a second longer, scanning everything again just to be sure. His eyes lingered on the mirror, but he didn’t let himself look properly this time. He couldn’t deal with that again.
He picked up the razor, placing each piece back into place like it was supposed to. When it was done, he set it back exactly where it had been. He left the bathroom without another glance.
His head felt heavy, thoughts dragging instead of racing now, like they had burned themselves out and left nothing useful behind. He let himself fall onto the bed without bothering to fix the sheets.
Tired.
So tired.
His eyes slipped shut before he really decided to sleep, his mind already drifting somewhere dull and gray, where nothing quite made sense but at least it didn’t hurt as much.
Megumi stood at the sink the next morning, brushing his teeth in robotic motions. His eyes fixed somewhere just to the left of his reflection.
Not the mirror.
Never the mirror.
The razor sat where it always did.
He could feel it without looking. Waiting for him to slip again, or maybe waiting for him to prove something. He tightened his grip on the toothbrush until his fingers ached. Then, knocking came out of nowhere, loud enough to make him flinch. His heart jumped, breath catching halfway in.
“Who is it?” he called, voice tight around the toothbrush in his mouth.
He didn’t even have time to react before fast and frenzied footsteps crossed the room. Then the bathroom door burst open. Megumi jerked back, shoulders tensing hard, toothbrush still in his mouth. Yuuji stood there, eyes wide, scanning the room like he was looking for something specific.
Megumi stared at him, pulse picking up again, irritation rising fast. He yanked the toothbrush out, spit into the sink a little too forcefully, then turned, glaring.
“What the hell are you doing?” His snarled. “What if I was in the shower? Or using the bathroom?”
Yuuji didn’t answer right away, he was still looking wildly around the room as if he was expecting something else. Then slowly, his face loosened to relief. Megumi stared at him quizzically. What was this guy doing?
“What are you doing today?” he asked, too casual, like the last ten seconds hadn’t happened.
Megumi frowned, annoyance rising.
“Training,” he lied, turning back to the sink. “Probably taking a weekend assignment.”
He didn’t look at him. He didn’t want to see that searching, careful look that felt like it was peeling something back he hadn’t agreed to show.
Then Yuuji spoke again, slower this time. “Do you want to grab lunch? Everyone’s going out later. Brunch or something.”
Megumi’s grip tightened again. “Not really hungry,” he muttered.
“Fushiguro,” Yuuji said carefully. Something in his tone made Megumi’s shoulders tense. “You said that yesterday too.”
Megumi didn’t respond.
“And the day before.”
Megumi’s jaw clenched. “I’m not hungry,” he repeated, sharper now, turning slightly but not fully facing him.
He wasn’t lying. He really wasn’t hungry, and if he was being honest, his appetite has all but disappeared after Shinjuku two years ago. And even worse, every time he DID make the decision to eat with his colleagues, he could feel the weight of their gazes and nausea would build and build until he eventually just vomited everything he had ingested.
Every time he sat with them, it was the same. The awkward glances and pauses. Conversations that stuttered just slightly when he spoke. He wasn’t stupid. He knew why. If one of them had killed their beloved teacher, he would probably react the same way. He wouldn’t want to eat with him either.
Megumi exhaled harshly through his nose, trying to push all the thoughts out of his head.
“Is there a reason you’re still here?” he asked, snarled. Yuuji hesitated.
“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” he asked again, softer and much more nervously this time. Megumi glared at him. He was too tired for this.
“Fine,” he said abruptly. “Maybe later. In a few hours.” The words felt wrong even as he said them.
Yuuji’s reaction was immediate. Relief, bright and obvious, cutting through everything else on his face like sunlight through clouds.
“Yeah? Okay,” Yuuji said quickly, nodding. “I’ll text you the address.”
Megumi just nodded once, already turning back to the sink, dismissing him without saying it outright.
He heard Yuuji linger for a second longer before he shuffled out of the bathroom, but not before giving the room once last look over before he left.
Finally.
He looked up before he could stop himself and caught his reflection in the mirror again. For a second, just a second, he thought he saw something off.
Then he reached for the sink, gripping the edge, and looked away.
He had lied, of course. Megumi had no intention of actually going to train or take an assignment. It was easier to say something normal than deal with the questions that came when he didn’t. The second the door shut behind Yuuji, his phone was already in his hand before he really registered picking it up.
There was only one contact he was thinking about. His “friend,” if that was even the right word for it, though Megumi knew exactly what it really was. It was his plug. A non-sorcerer he had found online when things first started getting too loud, too fast, when he realized he needed something to slow it all down and didn’t have the patience, or the stability, to go through the process of getting it the right way. Prescriptions meant questions, evaluations, people looking too closely at him and deciding things he couldn’t control.
Klonopin, most of the time. Strong enough to take the edge off the constant spiral in his head without forcing him to explain himself to anyone. The plug never asked why he needed it, never really cared for him, and never looked at him like there was something wrong. He just handed it over, simple as that, and that was all Megumi wanted.
Megumi hesitated for a fraction of a second, thumb hovering over the screen, a thin thread of doubt flickering through him before it was immediately drowned out by the familiar pressure building in his chest. His thoughts were already starting to speed up and overlap again. That made the choice easy. It was either “medicine” or… the razor.
He typed quickly, keeping it short, then hit send before he could think about it too much. The waiting started immediately, and with it came the restlessness. His leg bounced against the floor as he sat, then he stood, then sat again, unable to stay still for more than a few seconds at a time.
When his phone buzzed about ten minutes later, he grabbed it too fast, breath catching slightly as he opened the message. The reply was simple. He had something. Come to his dorm at noon.
Relief hit him so suddenly it almost made him dizzy. The tightness in his chest loosened just enough to let him breathe properly again, his thoughts slowing from a frantic spiral. However, the hours leading up to it dragged. Megumi paced his room without really thinking about it, music playing in the background that he barely registered, a book open in his hands that he read the same paragraph of three times without absorbing a single word. Everything felt distant, slightly off, like he was watching himself move instead of actually being there.
When it was finally close to noon, he moved quickly, like if he slowed down he might lose whatever fragile resolve he had. He pulled open his drawer and took out a couple of 5000 yen bills without counting them, stuffing the money into his pocket before he could second guess himself. Then he reached for a baseball cap and an oversized long-sleeved sherpa sweater, tugging it on despite the heat, making sure it covered everything it needed to. He rushed out of his room, locking the door, and almost sprinted down the hallway toward the exit.
And to his horror, as soon as he exited the building, he found Yuuji sitting there, the back of his head visible against the bright early spring sun. Megumi slowed for half a second before forcing himself to keep walking, trying to pass by like he hadn’t noticed him at all. It didn’t work.
“Fushiguro,” Yuuji said, jumping up immediately, his attention locking onto him too quickly to be a coincidence. “Where are you going?”
“Out,” Megumi replied flatly, not stopping this time. “To see someone.”
“Who?”
Megumi finally stopped, turning his head to look at him with an incredulous expression. “None of your business.”
Yuuji didn’t back off. “We’re going to get brunch now,” he said instead, like that answered everything. “Come on.”
“I have plans,” Megumi shot back, sharper now, the frustration bubbling up faster than he could suppress it. “I’ll go some other time.”
He turned again, intending to just leave, but Yuuji reached out and grabbed his shoulder.
The contact was brief, but it was enough to make spin around to face him. Yuuji froze immediately, his hand dropping just as fast, his expression shifting into something that looked almost… horrified.
Megumi’s stomach twisted.
Wow. He’s too disgusted with me to even touch me. Why wouldn’t he be?
Megumi could feel his expression harden, something defensive snapping into place as he pulled his shoulder back slightly.
“I’m going,” he started, voice colder now, but before he could move past him, Yuuji stepped directly in front of him.
“Fushiguro-san should eat!” Yuuji snapped, the words coming out louder than anything he had said before, almost like he hadn’t meant to raise his voice that much.
There was a brief, awkward pause before Yuuji shifted slightly, like he was trying to fix what he had just done. “With the rest of us,” he added, quieter this time.
Megumi felt the irritation spike again, his first instinct to argue, to push back, to say something cutting enough to make Yuuji step aside and leave him alone. But the thought of where that would lead stopped him. An argument would draw attention, and attention meant questions, and questions meant more of those looks he had been getting for the last two years.
He didn’t have the energy for that.
Megumi exhaled slowly, forcing the tension down, even if it didn’t really go away. “Fine,” he muttered, the word reluctant and heavy.
Yuuji blinked, clearly not expecting him to give in so easily, but Megumi didn’t give him time to react. He pulled out his phone and quickly sent a message, telling his supplier he would come later tonight instead.
“Let’s just go,” Megumi said flatly.
This time, when Yuuji turned, Megumi followed.
When Megumi blindly stepped into the restaurant behind Yuuji, he wasn’t expecting the smell of pho. Bowls of it passed by in the hands of servers, steam curling up in slow spirals.
In the corner, the rest of them were already there.
Maki. Yuuta. Toge. Nobara. Todo. And, oddly enough, Arata Nitta.
They were all waving at Yuuji, then they noticed Megumi. There was a flicker of shock across their faces, quick enough that he almost missed it, before it smoothed out into something more normal. They waved him over too. Megumi felt something sink in his chest.
He forced himself to move forward anyway, like his body was arriving a fraction of a second after his mind had already decided to go, and he was painfully aware of the way it probably looked from the outside even though he didn’t want to think about that. He already knew what they were thinking without needing it said out loud, and the knowledge sat in him in a way that made everything feel a little more distant.
They didn’t want him here.
He sat down at the very end of the table without speaking, choosing the seat like it was the least significant option available, which it was, because anything else felt like too much proximity to something he didn’t know how to handle. Yuuji immediately took the seat next to him.
The questions started almost immediately after that, not aggressive but not casual either, hovering somewhere in between in a way that made them feel harder to ignore than either extreme would have.
“How’ve you been?”
“You okay?”
“Doing alright?”
Megumi felt his ears grow warm in a way that annoyed him more than anything else, because it was a physical reaction he couldn’t control and couldn’t explain away. He kept his gaze down, staring at the table, but he could feel it anyway. Their eyes.
Judging.
He wanted to snap, to tell them it wasn’t his fault, that he hadn’t had a choice, that if any of them had been in his position they wouldn’t have done any better. But the words stayed stuck somewhere behind his teeth.
“I’m fine,” he muttered instead. The table went quiet.
The silence stretched just long enough to feel intentional before the waiter appeared, asking if they were ready to order. Everyone started speaking at once, placing their orders like nothing had just happened.
Yuuji ordered pho with brisket and oxtail.
Megumi stared down at the menu without really seeing it, the words blurring together. He wasn’t hungry. The smell alone was making his stomach churn, something sour rising in the back of his throat. He just needed something to drink. That was it.
“I’m not really hungry, I’ll just—”
“He’ll have the same,” Yuuji cut in quickly.
Megumi’s head snapped toward him, the movement making his neck ache. He stared at him, a flash of anger cutting through the fog in his head.
What was that? Yuuji didn’t look at him. Megumi’s gaze shifted, almost involuntarily, to the rest of the table. They were all looking at him.
Megumi blinked, then dropped his gaze immediately, focusing hard on the surface of the table, on the small imperfections in the wood, the tiny knots and lines that were easier to look at than anything else.
Nobara was the one who broke the silence, her tone more cautious than usual when she spoke. “What were you doing this morning? Yuuji said you were training, but I didn’t see you out there.”
Megumi felt the heat creep back up his neck.
“I was going to,” he said, the words coming out slower this time. “I just… got tired.”
Another silence.
He swallowed, jaw tightening as the thought dug in deeper. They’re just making sure.
Making sure you don’t wander off again. That you don’t hurt anyone else.
His grip on his chopsticks tightened slightly.
Before anything else could be said, the waiter returned with their food, setting bowls down one by one. The conversation picked up again almost immediately, scattered and uneven, but enough to fill the silence.
Megumi stared down at his own bowl. Steam curled up in front of him, distorting his view of it slightly. Pieces of meat floated at the surface, the broth dark and glossy. It smelled strong. His stomach twisted again.
He nudged the food slightly with his chopsticks, pushing things around without really doing anything with them. After a moment, he picked up a single noodle, hesitated, then forced himself to eat it.
He swallowed hard and went back to pushing the food around. He reached slightly to the side, lifting his gaze and arm just enough to look for the sriracha bottle. That was when he noticed Yuuji looking directly at his arm. Megumi’s stomach dropped.
In reaching for the bottle, his sleeve had shifted just enough so that the bandage on his wrist was visible.
He pulled his sleeve down quickly, too quickly and awkwardly that made it obvious he was hiding something. He dropped his gaze back to his bowl immediately, heart starting to pound again, loud and uneven.
Don’t look.
Don’t react.
Don’t say anything.
A second later, the sriracha bottle appeared in front of him. Megumi blinked, then glanced up briefly. Yuuji had already looked away. Relief washed over him, quick and shallow.
He didn’t notice. Thank God he didn’t notice.
By the time they finished, most of the others had eaten at least half of their food, bowls noticeably emptier than when they had started. Megumi’s looked almost untouched.
When the waiter came by and asked if he wanted a takeout box, Megumi shook his head immediately. “No.”
Maki frowned slightly, glancing at his bowl. “Why not? You’ve barely eaten. You have plenty left.”
“I’m not hungry,” Megumi said, sharper than he meant to. The table went quiet again.
He didn’t understand the disgusted looks they were giving him. Or maybe he did, and he just didn’t want to admit it. He would be disgusted with himself too. Something twisted in his chest, shame flaring up.
“If you’re so hungry, you can take it,” he snapped, setting his chopsticks down harder than necessary.
Maki blinked, clearly thrown off. “I’m not the one who needs to be eating.” Yuuta nudged her lightly, shooting her a look.
Megumi felt his face burn.
Oh. They were making fun of him behind his back.
When the waiter came back with the bill, Megumi reached into his pocket, pulling out the wad of cash he had brought. He started to separate out a 5000 yen bill when he noticed the shift in the air again.
They were looking at him. Again.
Arata spoke up, his tone careful. “Why do you have that much cash on you?”
Before he could answer, Yuuji spoke, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Where were you going this morning?”
Megumi turned sharply toward him, irritation snapping back into place instantly. “None of your business.”
He dropped the 5000 yen bill onto the table a little too hard as he stood up.
“I have to go,” he said, not looking at any of them.
He could feel their eyes on him anyway.
Megumi was sitting outside his plug’s dorm room apartment when he realized he had been too late. First come, first serve. And now there was no Klonopin left for him. Not until next week.
Megumi stood up so fast the chair scraped against the floor, the sound too loud in the quiet hallway, and he didn’t even bother acknowledging the way the other people nearby glanced in his direction. He just turned and walked out, then faster, then almost to a storming pace, like if he stopped moving he might actually have to sit with what he was feeling. He kicked a rock on the way back without meaning to aim for it, watching it bounce down the sidewalk with a dull, unsatisfying clink.
If he hadn’t gone to that stupid pho restaurant, none of this would have happened. Why did they even invite him? Just to look at him like that? His hands curled into fists again as he walked, breath coming a little tighter now.
I didn’t mean to.
The thought cut through everything else for a second, uninvited and raw.
I didn’t mean to kill Gojo. Or Tsumiki.
His jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
Why are they acting like I chose it?
By the time he reached his dorm room again, his irritation had shifted into apathy and numbness, like a pressure sitting behind his eyes that wouldn’t go away. His thoughts were still circling about the same thing when he noticed the door. It was slightly open.
For a second, his brain refused to process it properly. He had locked it. He was sure he had locked it.
Right?
He pushed the door open quickly, already annoyed. Then he saw Yuuji…. In his bathroom?
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Yuuji jumped, then turned quickly with a slightly guilty look on his face.
“Where were you all day?” Yuuji asked instead, like that was the priority here.
Megumi blinked once, then stared at him.
“What were you doing in my bathroom?” he asked again, slower this time, voice edged. “And how did you even get in?”
Yuuji rubbed the back of his neck, looking briefly sheepish. “You didn’t lock the door.”
That didn’t feel right. But he didn’t have the energy to argue about it.
“…Why are you even in here?”
Yuuji hesitated, then gave a small, awkward smile that didn’t quite land properly. “I, uh, blocked my toilet. I needed to use yours.”
Megumi stared at him for a moment longer than necessary and just… shrugged.
“Fine.” It wasn’t worth the effort.
Yuuji visibly relaxed a little at that, then lingered like he wasn’t fully done.
“Are you doing anything later?” he asked. “We could grab dinner or something.”
“No,” Megumi said immediately. His tone made it final.
Yuuji’s jaw tightened slightly, but he kept going anyway, “You didn’t eat lunch.”
“I’m not hungry.”
A pause.
Then Yuuji again, quieter but more strained. “I took your leftovers, just in case.”
“I said no.”
Yuuji scratched the back of his head, looking increasingly unsure of what to do with the conversation. “Or… we could cook something? Together?”
“No.”
Yuuji frowned, but didn’t push further after that. He just nodded slightly and started toward the door, slower than necessary. At the threshold, he paused again.
“If you need anything,” he said, voice quieter now, “I’m right next door.”
Megumi gave a small shrug without looking at him. The door clicked shut softly behind him.
Megumi stood in the middle of it for a moment, then walked into the bathroom and stared down at the floor.
He already knew why Yuuji was acting so strangely.
He was watching him. And there was only one explanation that explained why. He’s making sure he doesn’t hurt someone else again.
Megumi woke in the middle of the night with his heart already sprinting ahead of him, like his body had decided something was wrong before his mind had even caught up. There it was again, that dream he could never fully hold onto once he was awake, only fragments that stuck like broken glass, blood that didn’t stay in one place, screaming that blurred between Gojo and his sister until neither of them felt fully separate anymore.
He sat up too fast, breath catching in his throat, and for a moment just stayed there in the dark trying to convince himself that he was still in his room and not back in Shinjuku, because the line between the two had started to feel thinner lately.
When the thoughts started to spiral again, faster than he could keep up with, he got up almost on instinct and moved toward the bathroom like it was the only place in the room that still made sense.
The mirror caught him immediately.
He didn’t remember deciding to look, but he was already there, staring at his reflection with a kind of detached confusion that didn’t quite settle into recognition the way it was supposed to, like the person looking back at him was slightly out of alignment with what his brain expected. That familiar wrongness rose up again, sharp and sudden, something tightening in his chest
Was the man staring back at him Megumi? Or was it secretly Sukuna?
Before he could even name it properly, his stomach turned as he leaned forward over the sink.
Nothing came up this time. Not even the thin, bitter trace of bile that usually followed. Just air and panic and a body that refused to cooperate. His breathing started to break apart after that, uneven and shallow, thoughts stacking too quickly on top of each other until there was no clear direction to hold onto, only motion and noise and the growing sense that something was slipping. His hand moved almost automatically toward his razor, but when he reached for it there was nothing at all.
He froze.
The space was empty.
It was always there.
It had to be there.
He checked again immediately, more urgently this time, pulling things aside, scanning the exact spot like repetition alone could force reality to correct itself, but the emptiness stayed exactly the same, unchanged and indifferent to his certainty. A flicker of something cold moved through him then, sharper than panic at first, because panic still implied he had options, and this felt more like the sudden realization that something essential had been removed without his permission.
He turned quickly, searching harder now, moving through his room in a more frantic pattern, opening drawers and shifting things without fully processing what his hands were doing, because his thoughts were starting to lose structure entirely and everything was becoming harder to separate into steps. Even the places he normally didn’t think about anymore, the ones that existed more as habit than intention, were suddenly empty.
There was nothing sharp that he could use. The urge to ground himself in anything, anything at all, turned into something desperate and unfocused, and for a second it felt like there was no longer a clear boundary between thought and action. He screamed angrily, raising one of his hands to claw at his skin, desperate.
Megumi looked up sharply, still breathing too hard, still caught between confusion and panic, and Yuuji was suddenly in the doorway looking alarmed in a way that didn’t have time to soften into anything else.
“What are you doing?” Yuuji said immediately, voice tight, already moving toward him.
Megumi flinched back instinctively, and whatever fragile control he still had snapped under the pressure of being seen like this.
“Did you take my stuff?” he screamed, voice breaking more than he intended, the accusation coming out before he could shape it into anything reasonable.
Yuuji froze mid-step, hands half raised like he didn’t know what he was supposed to do with them. “I was just cleaning your room,” he said quickly, clearly lying.
Megumi’s breathing spiked again. Before he could stop himself, he grabbed the nearest thing within reach and threw it, the object hit flying toward Yuuji’s head. Yuuji yelped and ducked, eyes wide in alarm.
“Fushiguro, what—”
“Did you take it?” Megumi snapped, his voice breaking. “Where is it? What did you do with it?”
“I didn’t take anything!” Yuuji shot back immediately, hands half-raised like he didn’t know whether to reach for him or stay back. “Hey, calm down, just—”
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Megumi cut in, the words coming out faster now, tripping over each other. “It was there, I know it was there, so where is it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Yuuji said, more urgently now, taking a careful step forward. “I just came to check on you, I heard—”
“I don’t need you to check on me!” Megumi snarled, “Just stay out of my room!” Then he was already moving, shakily grabbing his shoes turning toward the door.
“Fushiguro, wait—where are you going?” Yuuji followed immediately, voice rising as he tried to keep up. “It’s the middle of the night, you can’t just—”
“Leave me alone!” Megumi shot back without turning.
“Fushiguro, hold on,” Yuuji said again, closer now, more insistent. “Just talk to me for a second, okay? You’re not making sense—”
“I said leave me the fuck alone!” Megumi snapped, louder this time, the words echoing slightly in the hallway as he sped up, vision blurring at the edges.
“Wait!” Yuuji called after him. “At least tell me where you’re going!”
Megumi didn’t stop. He used 10 shadows and dove in, swallowing the outline of him as he slipped out of sight and away from everything pressing in on him at once.
Megumi slipped out of the shadows and stumbled forward half a step before catching himself, the world snapping back into place around him. When he actually looked up, he realized where he was and let out a quiet, irritated groan under his breath. Kabukicho, Shinjuku.
Neon bled into the back alley of some dive bar in uneven streaks, the distant noise of the district carrying even this far. Hadn’t he already had enough of this city?
But since he was already here…
Megumi glanced once over his shoulder, then slipped through the employee entrance of the bar without waiting long enough to reconsider. The inside was dim, the air filled with the smell of alcohol and smoke, and he made his way to the bar before anyone could question it.
It was only when he sat down, when he realized how strange he looked. His arms were bare, the faint scars and fresher scabs too visible under the low lighting, his shirt just something he had slept in, his pants unmistakably pajama bottoms. Even his shoes didn’t match the rest of it, thrown on in a hurry. He looked ridiculous.
Megumi shifted slightly, lowering his arms to rest closer to his lap, angling himself just enough to hide what he could beneath the edge of the bar. If he didn’t draw attention to it, maybe no one would notice.
When he looked up, the bartender was already staring at him, his eyebrows raised.
Megumi froze for half a second, then cleared his throat, forcing himself to speak. “I’ll take a shot of…” His voice trailed off as he glanced behind the bar, eyes landing on the first recognizable bottle. “Vodka.”
It sounded flat, unconvincing even to him.
The bartender shrugged like he didn’t care either way and poured a shot, sliding it across the counter without comment.
Megumi took it immediately.
The burn hit fast and hard, sharp enough to make his throat tighten, his eyes sting slightly, but there was something almost enthralling about it, something immediate and physical that cut through the noise in his head for just a second. This was almost better than his razor.
He set the glass down a little harder than necessary. “Another one… please.”
The bartender gave him a look, one brow lifting slightly, but didn’t argue. Instead, he poured again, then added two more beside it like he had already decided where this was going.
Megumi didn’t question it.
He picked them up one after another, knocking them back quickly, chasing that same burning sensation as it spread through him, dulling the edges of everything just enough to feel like relief.
Megumi wasn’t sure how many shots he had taken, only that the edges of everything had gone soft and unfocused, the mind finally being still and quiet for a change. For a brief moment it had felt good but that feeling didn’t last.
What did last was the sudden, sinking realization that he didn’t have any money.
He blinked down at the counter like it might fix itself if he looked hard enough. He had rushed out of his room. He hadn’t thought about the concept of payment at all.
The bartender’s voice cut through his haze. “You gonna pay?”
Megumi shifted in his seat, nervous and guilty. His mind scrambled for something, anything, a solution that didn’t immediately fall apart the second he tried to hold onto it. So he defaulted to the only thing that made sense in the moment.
Run.
If he could just get back outside, back into the alley, he could slip into the shadows again, get out of here before this turned into something worse. Megumi pushed himself to his feet, only for the room to tilt sharply. He swayed, catching himself on the edge of the bar, his grip clumsy and delayed. The bartender was already watching him now, eyes narrowed as if he knew exactly what was about to happen.
But before Megumi could take another step, a firm hand landed on his shoulder. Megumi froze, his body going tense as he looked up. The man standing beside him smiled down at him, easy and practiced, like this was all perfectly normal. Even through the blur, Megumi registered details in fragments, the glint of gold when he smiled, the faint smell of cigar smoke clinging to him, something about the way he stood just a little too close.
“It’s fine,” the man said lightly, sliding cash across the counter. “I’ve got him.”
The bartender didn’t argue. He just shrugged and took the money like this kind of thing happened all the time.
Megumi stared. “Thanks,” he muttered, swallowing the surge of nausea that climbed to his throat hard.
He tried to stand properly again, to leave before this turned into something he didn’t understand, but the second he shifted his weight, the floor seemed to drop out from under him. He stumbled, and the same hand caught him again, steadier this time, guiding him upright.
“Careful,” the man said, almost amused. Megumi didn’t answer.
He let himself be steered without fully meaning to, his thoughts too scattered to push back properly as he was guided into a booth nearby. The man sat across from him, still smiling like this was just a casual conversation waiting to happen.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
Megumi squinted slightly, trying to focus, trying to pull himself together enough to not look as off as he felt. “Megumi,” he muttered. The man nodded.
“You want anything?” he asked next, voice still light. Megumi frowned faintly, confusion flickering across his face.
The man’s gaze dropped briefly, then lifted again, his smile sharpening just slightly. “Usually people with… those,” he said, nodding toward Megumi’s arms, “are looking for something stronger than vodka.”
Megumi stiffened. He glanced around quickly, then leaned forward just slightly, lowering his voice without fully realizing it. “You have…” he hesitated, then said it anyway, “Klonopin?”
The man huffed out a quiet laugh, like that had been exactly the answer he was expecting. “Yeah,” he said easily. “I’ve got whatever you need.”
Relief soared in Megumi’s chest. This night was turning out to be better than he had hoped!
Megumi straightened slightly, something almost hopeful flickering through the haze. “I can go get money,” he said quickly. “I just need to—”
The man clicked his tongue softly, shaking his head. “Too long,” he said. “I won’t be here by then.”
Megumi’s expression faltered.
“I don’t have anything on me,” Megumi admitted, slower this time. The man’s smile didn’t fade.
“If you’re short on cash,” he said, leaning forward just slightly, voice dropping in a way that made something in Megumi’s chest tighten, “there are other ways to make it.”
Megumi frowned, the words not fully settling right. “What do you mean?”
The man stood up before answering, reaching out and taking Megumi lightly by the arm, his grip just firm enough that it wasn’t easy to pull away, but not rough enough to immediately register as force.
“Come on,” he said, still smiling. “I’ll explain.”
Megumi hesitated for half a second. Something about this felt off.
But the thought slipped, softened by the alcohol, dulled by the constant noise in his head that had already started creeping back in now that the distraction was fading. He let himself be pulled up anyway.
To Megumi’s confusion, he was steered into the bathroom, the shift from the dim bar to the harsher overhead lighting making his head throb almost immediately, and there was already someone else inside waiting like this had been arranged ahead of time. The man with the gold teeth didn’t hesitate, just nodded toward Megumi and asked, almost casually, “This one okay?”
The other man looked him over slowly, his gaze dragging in a way that made something uneasy stir under Megumi’s skin even through the alcohol haze. “Skinnier than I’d like,” he said, like he was evaluating something impersonal, “but… yeah. He’ll work.”
Megumi frowned, the words not fully clicking into place, and before he could ask anything, the man with the gold teeth gave him a small shove forward. The second man caught him by the shoulder, steadying him with one hand while the other passed over a thick wad of cash without even looking.
Megumi blinked, trying to track what was happening, his thoughts lagging behind the moment. “Why doesn’t he just… pay for it?” he mumbled, voice slurring slightly as he gestured vaguely. “For the Klonopin?”
The two men exchanged a glance, before they both let out quiet, stifled laughs that didn’t feel like they were meant for him.
“Yeah,” the gold-toothed man said, tone oddly sympathetic. “Something like that.”
Then he was gone, slipping out of the bathroom and leaving Megumi alone with the other man before the situation could settle into anything that made sense.
The man’s hand moved from Megumi’s shoulder to his jaw, gripping it more firmly now, tilting his head slightly as he forced his mouth open to get a better look. Megumi flinched at the contact, the motion instinctive, but he didn’t pull away.
“Hold still,” the man muttered, examining him like he was checking something over.
Megumi’s brows furrowed, annoyed. When the man finally let go, he pulled back slightly, swallowing hard.
“When do I get it?” he asked, more impatient now. “The pills.”
The man huffed out another quiet laugh,. “Don’t have Klonopin,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “But I’ve got something stronger.”
Megumi didn’t hesitate. “Fine,” he said quickly. “Whatever.”
The man pulled out a small baggie, shaking out a single pill into his palm before holding it out. Megumi snatched it without thinking, staring at it for half a second.
“What is it?” he asked, suspicion flickering too late to matter.
“Stronger than what you asked for,” the man said simply. Works for Megumi.
Megumi dry swallowed it, his focus already shifting to the anticipation of it, the expectation of relief, of quiet, of something that would finally slow everything down again.
“When does it kick in?” he asked, looking up.
The man just smiled.
“Soon.”
Megumi hovered somewhere between awake and not. Whatever he had taken was nothing like Klonopin. It didn’t smooth the edges so much as dissolve them, pulling everything apart until it all blurred together into something distant and unreal.
The man in front of him was still there, watching and waiting, eyes wide with anticipation. Megumi tried to focus on him, but his vision wouldn’t stay still long enough to make sense of what he was seeing. The room tilted again, slower this time, like it was sinking instead of spinning, and when his knees gave out beneath him, he barely registered the movement before he was sliding down the wall.
The man’s hand caught him, just enough to keep him from collapsing completely, pressing him back more firmly against the wall like that was where he was supposed to stay.
After that, everything started slipping.
There were moments, fragments, sensations that didn’t connect properly. The man leaning in too close. Something brushing against his face, in his mouth, his cheek, his neck. Hands reaching under his shirt. It didn’t feel real enough to react to, like it was happening somewhere just out of reach of him.
Megumi couldn’t tell what was actually happening. He couldn’t tell if he cared.
His thoughts had stopped spiraling, but not in a way that felt like relief. They were just… gone. Flattened out into something blank and distant, leaving him with nothing to hold onto except the strange, detached awareness that he should probably be reacting to this.
His body didn’t respond the way it should have. His arms felt too heavy to lift, his voice stuck somewhere that wouldn’t move, and the more he tried to focus, the further away everything seemed to drift. At some point, he was on the floor. He didn’t remember getting there.
The man was still there, close enough that Megumi could feel the presence of him. There was whispering, something low and indistinct, words that didn’t land or make sense, just sound moving past him. Lips were pressed against his ear, mouth, cheek neck. Even in his state he could feel the man shivering above him. Megumi stared straight ahead, unfocused, his eyes fixed on nothing.
And suddenly, there was a noise, distant at first, outside the door. Yelling, confusion, and crackling sounds. Megumi blinked slowly, the sound cutting through the haze just enough to register as something out of place. The man paused, his body going still in a way that felt like something had gone horribly wrong.
For a second, nothing moved. Then everything did at once.
The door burst open hard enough to slam against the wall, the noise cracking through the room, followed immediately by a voice, loud and furious.
“What the fuck are you doing to him?!”
There was a sharp crackling sound again, something colliding, a grunt that was cut off almost instantly. The man disappeared from Megumi’s line of sight so abruptly it felt like a jump cut, one moment there and the next gone.
Hands were on him again, but they felt different this time, less restraining and more urgent, pulling him up instead of forcing him to stay still. Megumi’s head lolled to the side as his vision struggled to catch up, everything smearing together into indistinct shapes and movement before slowly, unevenly, beginning to settle. A face came into focus in pieces rather than all at once, first the outline, then the eyes, wide and brown and shaking in a way that didn’t quite make sense to him.
Someone was saying his name.
Or maybe they weren’t.
Everything dimmed at the edges, and whatever fragile awareness he had left slipped out from under him completely.
Then there was nothing.
Megumi came back to himself slowly, the first thing he registered being movement. He was being carried. The rhythm of footsteps beneath him, the shift of someone else’s breathing, the faint rush of wind against his face, and the tickle of hair beneath his jaw, and the sound of waves lulled him as he was being carried over a very long and high bridge.
When his vision finally steadied enough to make sense of what he was seeing, he realized he was draped over someone’s back, arms loosely looped around their shoulders. The position left the skin of his arms exposed, the scars and scabs too visible in the dim light of the city. He instinctively shifted, trying to pull them in, to hide them without making it obvious.
“I already saw them.” The voice was bitter.
Megumi flinched slightly at the sound of it, his thoughts still sluggish as he forced himself to focus. Pink hair. Tan skin. Broad shoulders he recognized even through the haze. He blinked once, slow.
Yuuji.
A faint, distant thought surfaced then, sluggish and unfocused. How did he even find him?
Megumi considered asking, but the effort of forming the question felt like too much, like it would require more energy than he had to spare, so instead he let his head fall forward again, resting it against Yuuji’s back.
Before he could fully sink back into that half-conscious state, Yuuji spoke again, voice quieter now, but strained.
“Was that… the guy you keep going to see?”
Megumi frowned faintly against him, the question taking a second to process. “No,” he mumbled.
He felt the change immediately. The way Yuuji’s shoulders dropped, just slightly, the tension easing in a way that didn’t go unnoticed even through Megumi’s fog.
There was a pause after that, longer this time, like Yuuji was choosing his next words carefully.
“Are you… okay?” he asked, hesitant. “Did he do anything… more than kiss you?”
Megumi blinked, confusion cutting through the haze for a brief second. “Kiss?” he repeated, voice rough. “What are you talking about?”
His thoughts lagged, trying to piece things together and failing. Nothing about that sounded right.
“He just gave me something,” Megumi muttered. “Medicine.”
Yuuji went still beneath him.
“What medicine?” he asked, sharper now.
Megumi’s irritation flared weakly. “My pills.”
“What pills?”
“Just—” Megumi exhaled harshly, frustration bubbling up now. “Put me down.”
Yuuji hesitated for a second before carefully lowering him to the ground. Megumi’s legs nearly gave out on contact, the world tilting again, but he forced himself upright, swaying slightly.
“This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t thrown out my razor,” he snapped, the accusation coming out harsher than he intended.
Yuuji stared at him, horrified. “Do you hear yourself?”
Megumi faltered, just for a second, then shook his head, defensive. “I’m careful,” he said quickly. “I’m not going to die or anything.”
Yuuji’s face tightened. “That’s not the point,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “You look like—” he stopped himself, swallowing hard before finishing more quietly, “you look like a corpse.”
Megumi flinched, anger snapping back into place. “Oh, so now the scars are ugly?” he shot back. “That’s Sukuna, not me. It’s not my fault.”
Yuuji’s expression shifted into something shocked. “No,” he said quickly. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just—” he gestured vaguely, frustrated. “I’ve been carrying you for half an hour and you weigh nothing. Do you even realize how thin you’ve gotten?”
“I’m not hungry,” Megumi snapped.
Yuuji shifted his weight, clearly struggling to find the right words. “I’m worried about you,” he said finally, voice tight. “I love—” He froze mid-sentence, eyes widening slightly before he backtracked in a rush. “We all love you. Everyone’s worried about you.”
Megumi let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “I know. You’re all pissed at me.”
“What?” Yuuji looked genuinely confused. “I’m not angry at you. None of us are. What are you talking about?”
Megumi shook his head, the movement unsteady. “Don’t lie,” he muttered. “I know you all talk about me and laugh about it when I’m not there.”
Yuuji stared at him, baffled, running a hand through his hair. “No one’s laughing,” he said, softer now. “We’re worried. That’s it.”
Megumi laughed again, louder this time, something brittle in the sound. “You’re scared,” he said. “All of you. You think Sukuna’s still in me. That I’m going to snap and kill someone again.”
Yuuji didn’t answer. After a moment, Yuuji spoke again, more cautiously. “Maybe… you should talk to someone.”
Megumi froze.
“Why?” he asked slowly. “So you can get rid of me?”
Yuuji’s head snapped up, alarm flashing across his face. “No. That’s not— I want to help you. I still want to save you.”
Megumi took a step back.
“Stay away from me,” he said, his voice low, sharp with distrust. “I know you’re lying.”
“I’m not—” Yuuji stepped forward, panic creeping into his tone. “Fushiguro, that’s not true, just—”
Megumi kept backing up, not really paying attention to where he was going until something solid hit the back of his legs. The railing. He stopped. For a second, everything went quiet.
The city noise faded into something distant, the air around him feeling heavier, like it had thickened without warning. His thoughts slowed, not racing now, not spiraling, just… tired.
He was so tired.
Exhausted in a way that went deeper than sleep, deeper than anything that could be fixed with rest or distraction or pills that barely worked anymore. He wanted it to stop. All of it.
His gaze dropped. The water below was black, stretching out into something that didn’t reflect anything back.
For a moment, it felt like an answer.
When he looked back up at Yuuji, his eyes were wide, panic already setting in, his expression breaking in real time as he realized what was happening. Megumi didn’t let himself think any further.
Before anything could catch up to him, before doubt or hesitation could settle in, he jumped back and let himself fall.
Yuuji screamed his name, reaching for him, but it was too late.
Megumi was already gone, the railing slipping past him as the air rushed up around him, the city lights fracturing above as he dropped, faster and faster, into the dark water waiting below.