#panda lamp | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

system-to-the-madness · 1 year ago

Text

Blessed (2/2) - Fushiguro Megumi x fem!Reader

SPOILERs for up to ch. 235 - canon complient until then Pairing: Fushiguro Megumi x fem!Reader Genre: angst (Part 1), fluff (Part 2), hurt/comfort Word Count: 7 946 Warnings: death, injury, stitches, blood, pain Summary: Megumi woke up after having been saved by you, but will you recover, too?

Part One

The air smelled of wood and tatami. Megumi groaned slightly as he tried to stretch, feeling the soft blanket and the warm futon engulf him. His limbs felt stiff, like they had done when he had been bedridden for weeks with the flue when he had been thirteen. He grabbed his hands and intertwined the fingers, stretching them above his head, before eventually blinking his eyes open. The room he was in was lit up only by the orange light of a small lamp at the headend of his futon. Beyond the traditional room separations made of washi and wood the darkness of night lingered quietly. The tatami floor filled him with the comforting sense of familiarity. He was back at Jujutsu High, strangely enough the one place he had always felt safe at. Maybe because you had always been there.

A sudden noise at his feet drew his attention to it, and sitting up a little he was met with a sight that let his heart almost stop in his chest. Curled up at the end of his bed, hair dishevelled and one hand resting on Megumi’s ankle as if to make sure he wouldn’t get up unnoticed, lay Gojō.

His snow-white hair seemed to glimmer in the low light of the room. His eyes were closed, white lashes resting on his cheeks, even breaths moving his torso in a slow and steady rhythm. Megumi wondered when Gojō had lost so much weight. His cheeks seemed fallen in, exhaustion was written into his features, even while asleep.

The last time Megumi had seen his teacher and guardian had been before Halloween, before Gojō had been sealed away. And now it was… what day was it? How much time had passed since…

Megumi stopped, memories suddenly flooding back to him. Sukuna taking over his body and killing Tsumiki, the fight in Shinjuku on Christmas Eve against Gojō. And then? What had happened since then? How much time had passed since Christmas? Why was Gojō here, but you weren’t? Had something happened to you? Where were Yūji, Inumaki, Panda and Maki? Had something happened to them?

Slowly, not sure how strong his body was, he propped himself up on his elbow. Gojō looked peaceful, sleeping like this, and Megumi realised that in all the years he had been under the powerful sorcerer’s protection, he had never seen him sleep. Considering how exhausted he looked, Megumi was reluctant to wake him, but he needed answers. Badly. Especially concerning the question of where you were.

But before Megumi could reach out to shake Gojō awake, he stirred, blinking his eyes open. Over the years Megumi had gotten used to the stunning blue of Gojō’s eyes, but now, after all that had happened, after he had thought he had lost the only father figure he had ever had, he felt like all breath was knocked out of him, looking at Gojō with his dishevelled, white hair and those huge blue eyes.

Gojō seemed to take a moment to realise what he saw, as he slowly lifted his head, disbelieve written into his features.

“Megumi-“

No sound left Gojō’s lips, that formed the name of his protégé, and Megumi felt himself shrink under his teacher’s intense gaze, before the white haired man lurched forward and wrapped his arms around his student.

Megumi gasped in surprise as Gojō squeezed him in a hug, hesitantly returning it. Gojō was not the kind of man to hand out hugs just like that. Over the years, Megumi could probably count the times Gojō had hugged him, really hugged him, on one hand.

“I didn’t think you’d wake up,” Gojō breathed, pulling Megumi tighter against himself. “I thought I had lost you.”

Megumi nodded, trying to swallow down all the questions that were burning on his tongue and instead focus on what Gojō had said.

“You got locked away-,” he recalled. “I thought you’d be imprisoned forever.”

A beat of silence passed and all it took was an inhale by Gojō for Megumi to know the emotional reunion was over.

“Aww, did you miss me,” Gojō asked teasingly, pulling away, and causing Megumi to roll his eyes at him.

But then he stopped, looked at his teacher for a moment before he nodded.

“I did,” he admitted, knocking the wind out of Gojō’s sails, whose eyes widened in surprise at the honesty.

He swallowed thickly and nodded, pulling away far enough to sit up normally again.

“How are you feeling,” he asked instead of continuing his intended teasing, his eyes now scanning Megumi carefully.

“Pretty okay, I think,” Megumi answered, “A little stiff, maybe... wait- what happened to Sukuna?”

Gojō took a deep breath, making Megumi fear the worst for a moment. What was the worst? That Sukuna had possessed Yūji again? No, it would be worse if he were to possess you.

“Sukuna’s dead,” Gojō answered, and Megumi was glad that this time his usually annoying and always teasing teacher hadn’t made a big deal out of revealing the answer. “Yūji killed him through (y/n)’s technique.”

Megumi nodded, even though he was not sure what exactly Gojō had tried to say beyond that Sukuna was a problem of the past.

“So, he’s gone?”

“Dead, gone, never gonna possess or kill anybody again,” Gojō confirmed, a soft and relieved smile on his lips.

Megumi could feel the weight off the world fall off his shoulders, and he dropped back into his pillow, looking up at the wood panelled ceiling. Another question rose to his mind, and just as quickly the weight on his chest had disappeared, it increased again. What had happened to you? He was not sure he’d be able to ever get up from this futon if the answer was anything other than that you were fine.

“(Y/n)-“

The silence that followed his single word question made his heart plummet to unknown depths, and he screwed his eyes shut, but the tears welled up regardless. Why had he gone through all of this, all of it, if he could not even protect those he loved? Not only had this war demanded Nobara’s life, but he would have to spend the rest of his days living with the knowledge that his own hands, guided by an ancient evil, had killed his sister. And now the girl he loved, the girl he had thought was the one, the girl he had scolded himself over because you were basically still kids, how could he know you were the one, the girl he had secretly imagined he would marry one day… now you were gone, too?

Had it been summer, the silence would not have been as loud. Cicadas would have sung, and frogs would have quacked in the ponds outside. But in winter the school ground were quiet.

Gojō’s voice broke interrupted the quiet.

“She’s- well, her hear is beating, but she’s unconscious.”

Megumi’s eyes flew open again.

“What happened. Didn’t you say she helped Yūji kill Sukuna?”

Gojō deflated, shuffled his long legs around to sit more comfortably before he continued.

“We don’t know what exactly happened. One moment she allowed Yūji to reach through her to finish of Sukuna, the next she collapsed. Yūji and I are both certain we felt a… a wave of power at the moment of Sukuna’s death, so our best guess is that something happened on a level of their souls the moment Sukuna perished. He released so much energy that it would have torn all of us apart and she used her soul to protect us, you, me and Yuuij. Her soul couldn’t process all of it at once, but she tried absorbing it anyway…”

Gojō’s voice died down at the expression on Megumi’s face. Megumi looked exactly how Gojō imagined he had to feel. Grief, pain, self-reproach, hatred towards Sukuna, despair- all was written in his eyes, as he exhaled and let his head rest heavily into his pillow. Gojō almost expected him to send him away, to demand privacy, but the request did not come.

“Where is she now,” Megumi asked, closing his eyes in an attempt to shut the world with its cruelty out of his mind.

“She was in the hospital wing, but Shoko suggested she should better be in her own room. There isn’t really much she can do at the moment; anyone can do at the moment. If her soul wasn’t destroyed completely, she might recover in time, but there’s no way of knowing if it will work. A normal sorcerer would have died immediately, the only reason she’s still alive is her cursed technique. If she can manage to patch her soul back up-“

“Please-” Megumi’s voice was strained as he interrupted his teacher. “Please stop talking.”

Gojō immediately shut his mouth, his eyes flickering over the boy’s features.

“Do you want to be alone?”

Megumi hesitated for a moment, before he shook his head, keeping his eyes still closed. “No,” he answered truthfully. “I’m scared of where my mind will go when I’m alone.”

“Do you want me to talk to you?”

This time Megumi nodded. “Just not about her,” he asked, and Gojō complied happily.

He told Megumi about how he had been released from the prison realm, about the fight between him and Sukuna. He tried to make it sound funny, but he felt the pain radiate of Megumi, so he went on about his friends. Gojō told Megumi about Yūji, who had spent the whole first day glued to Megumi’s bedside, until Shoko had sent him to bed. It had only been less than 36 hours since the battle had ended. And Gojō told him about Inumaki and Panda, who had kept wake with Gojō since then. He told him about Maki, who had tried reading to them all, and then he told him about anything and everything that came to his mind, about all the things Gojō was looking forward to doing and eating again, now, that the threat of Sukuna was over. And he kept talking long after Megumi had fallen asleep again.

When Megumi woke for a second time, Gojō had resumed his position at Megumi’s foot end, curled into a tight ball, but this time with his back to Megumi. There was no clock around, but Megumi had the distinct feeling, dawn was closing in. Nightmares had plagued his sleep, and he was overcome with the sudden urge, like every time he had a nightmare, to seek the comfort of your presence.

How many times had he gotten up at night and walked over to your room just to stand in front of your closed door for half an hour, not having the courage to knock? How fast had his heart beaten when you had eventually caught him one time, and made him swear he would knock in the future? How many times since then had he rapped his knuckles against the thin wood of your dorm door, only to be called in by your sleepy voice and how many times had you beckoned him into bed beside you where he had spent the rest of the night sleeping peacefully?

Throwing another glance at Gojō, Megumi carefully peeled back his blanket, and rolled off the futon. He was dressed in a pair of loose grey sweatpants and an oversized, dark blue sweatshirt. With naked feet, he tapped over to the door, taking a last look at his fast asleep mentor and slipped out of the sliding door. The air in the corridor was cool and smelled of snow. Even though it had been months since he had last walked around the school and there was no light source to guide him, he easily found his way towards your room in the dark building. Halting in his steps, he found himself once again in front of your door, hesitating to knock or even enter. How many hours had he stood like this, shifting his weight from the left to the right and back? Bouncing on his heels, walking a few steps back towards his room, only to turn around and stare at your door again? But this time you would not randomly return from a midnight-snack trip to the kitchen and scold him for hesitating in asking for help. No, you were unconscious, laying in your bed on the other side of the door that separated him from you, and there was no one who knew if you would ever wake up again.

Even though he knew there would be no answer, he lifted his hand to the thin, wooden door and knocked. Silence followed, silence he had expected and still hoped would be interrupted by your voice. He pressed down the handle nonetheless, letting himself into your room, and closed the door behind his back.

Your room was warmer than the corridor, but smelled fresh, as if someone had aired it out just a few minutes ago. Through the glass of the window beside your bed, he could see that outside the sky began growing slightly brighter. White dust – no, snow – covered the small garden in front of your window and the yard beyond. It seemed to have snowed a little since the battle in Shinjuku, and Megumi desperately tried not to think about how today a year ago, on the 26th, you had dragged him around Tokyo to go looking at all the Christmas decorations together. Back then, too, snowflakes had fallen from stormy dark clouds, and had caught in your hat and scarf, had splayed over the dark fabric of your coat like stars in the night sky as you had tucked on Megumi’s sleeve to get him to follow you to the next attraction. You had known each other for just two weeks back then, but Megumi’s mind still had played with the idea what it would be like if this trip had been a date, had even toyed with the idea of asking if this was a date. Now, when his eyes flickered over to the sleeping form in your bed, his heart reacted so differently than it had last year to the touch of your gloved hand on his. Instead of excitedly skipping a beat, it felt like it sunk into the ground.

Your hair was spread over the pillow, the blanket neatly pulled up to the middle of your chest, with your hands resting on it at your sides. You were wearing a long-armed sweatshirt, one that Megumi had gifted to you for Christmas last year. On the first glance it looked like a plain sweatshirt, but on the lower hem and on the arms, small, stitched-on flowers ranked around the seams, reaching a few centimetres up into the fabric. Megumi had seen the sweatshirt on a trip to Shibuya the day before Christmas Eve, and it had made him think of you, so he had bought it spontaneously, even though he had not planned on getting anything for you. You had smiled so brightly and admired the details when you had unwrapped it, that Megumi completely forgot how embarrassed he had been about it at first. The embarrassment returned tenfold though, when you ended up wearing the sweatshirt to the movie nights with all the other students, telling them how Megumi had gifted it to you. And now someone had dressed you in it, as you lay in bed lifelessly, the only sign that you were not dead being the shallow movement of your chest with each breath you took.

Carefully Megumi stepped further into the room. Usually when he had come to your room at such late hour, you had sleepily waved him over to join you in bed. You had always attempted to pull your blanket over him as well, but he had refused. It seemed inappropriate to join you under your blanket when he could not even confess his feelings for you, and he was certain, feeling you sleeping this close beside him would drive him mad. The temptation of wrapping you in his arms, tangling his long legs with your shorter ones, burring his nose against your hair, and inhaling your familiar and calming scent would have been too big. So instead he had always preferred the protective barrier of the blanket between your bodies. Now he wished for nothing more than you to attempt to tuck him in next to you, to feel your arms wrap around him securely and hold yourself close to him.

Feeling like it was not appropriate to join you in bed as he had done so many nights before, he instead grabbed the chair from your desk, and pulled it over next to your bed, sitting down in the dark. He didn’t dare turning on the lights, the little bit of morning grey that fell through the window illuminating enough of your features for him to know that the state you were in was worse than he had seen in his dream. Your cheeks were hollowed out from when you had poured all your energy into healing Megumi through Sukuna. There were cuts and not yet healed bruises all over your face and doubtlessly other parts of your body too. Megumi wondered where those had originated, but the thought that they were a result of Sukuna’s death were not too farfetched. Your skin had a grey hue to it, sickly and dead, and your hair was matt and void of any of the vibrancy Megumi knew. It looked like at one point it had been drenched in sweat but had dried since, single strands of hair sticking together.

Megumi’s eyes wandered to your hand laying on the blanket next to you. Small cuts and lacerations littered your beautiful skin, and even though it had only been less than two days, they already seemed to have started healing. He wondered if you’d be in pain if he were to take your hand in his. If so, would the pain be enough to wake you up? Was it even a good idea to wake you up? Wasn’t it better to wait until you woke up by yourself, when your soul was completely restored, assuming Gojō’s theory was correct? Megumi bit down on his own teeth, and quickly pushed his hands underneath his thighs, sitting on them to resist the urge to take your hand in his.

Beyond the window, in the grey light of the slowly approaching morning, sparrows tweeted in the yard, already up and making a fuzz as they always did. Megumi tore his attention away from your unconscious form, and directed it into the fading night beyond the glass instead. In front of your window was a small garden, conifers cut into bizarre shapes, ferns and different kinds of moss covering the rocks that lined a tiny brook that lead past the students’ dorms into a bigger garden behind the house. Beyond the small strip of carefully curated nature, a plastered yard opened up. Many afternoons he had spent training with you or Maki there.

A smile threatened to tuck at his lips at the memory of both of you facing off, afternoon sun beating down on you, sweat running down the side of his face and catching in the collar of his uniform. Even though you were smaller than him, you were almost equally matched. Unlike in his sparing sessions with Yūji, where Megumi almost always won, the chance to come out on top in a match with you were pretty much 50/50.

Well, not entirely. There was a third option, in which both of you were really equally matched, going on for sometimes hours without neither of you resigning or getting defeated. Those were his favourite sparing sessions with you. When in the end you both would all but collapse on the cobble stones, breathing heavily, and staring at each other for a moment before breaking out in tired laughter and laying on your backs on the hard ground, staring up at the sky with its clouds changing colour from white to yellow and orange to deep red and pink, before they turned blue in the sunset.

Oh, how much Megumi would give to get these times back. Sure, it had not always been easy, it had not always been fun. But you had been there with him, safe and uninjured, and Megumi had bathed in the illusion of having at least a little bit control over his life: when to study, when to eat and sleep, when to train. When to seek you out to hear your beautiful laughter.

Megumi turned back to you. Somehow you looked cold, he thought. As if the air in the room was too cool, giving you a chill.

Quickly he got up and fetched the woolly blanket from your wardrobe, which you had bought so Megumi could have a blanket too, when he was staying over in your room more than twice a week most times, since he always had refused to join you under yours. Working as quietly as possible, Megumi unfolded the blanket and threw it over your sleeping form before he settled down on the chair next to you again.

You still looked cold, but at least now your arms were covered as well, and there was an additional layer keeping you warmer. Megumi looked over your body, noticing that there was still the tip of your pinkie finger poking out from underneath the blanket. The same thoughts as before shot through his mind. Would you be in pain if he took your hand? Would you wake up? But this time he did not have the strength to deny himself the feeling of your hand in his, and very slowly, very carefully, he pulled the blanket away from your hand, pushing his own underneath your fingers. They were cold, as they rested in his palm, and quickly he brought his other hand down over it, covering it in hopes of offering a little warmth.

His fingers ghosted over the healing cuts and bruises on the delicate skin of the back of your hand. He wished he could do something to make them heal faster, something to warm your fingers up quicker, something to help you heal and wake up with the memories of what had happened no stronger than the memories of a distant nightmare.

He exhaled shakily. How long could he stay here with you? His heart screamed As long as it takes her to wake up!, but his head was more rational than that. He’d need to eat soon. Or use the bathroom. He needed to wash up and dress into something fresh, something he had not slept in. And if you stayed unconscious for longer, he’d need to get back to training, to studying. Sure, Sukuna was defeated, but there were still curses out there that needed to be dealt with.

Then there was the matter of the Zenin clan, the Zenin clan, which’s head he now was. By the gods, he really didn’t want that position, but he held it now, and even with how Maki had decimated the ranks, and the decision of the other clans to cast the Zenin clan out of the Big Three, there was still a lot of responsibility to bear, a lot of politics to learn. At least he did not have to worry so much about the Gojō clan, with Gojō Satoru, his guardian, being the head of it. But then again, he already dreaded the meetings. There was no way Gojō would behave maturely during those, was there?

What came after? After studying and training and fighting curses and handling clan politics? His fingers tightened around yours, not squeezing, but just enough for him to feel your hand rest heavily in his. After all that, he’d come back here, hold your hand, pray for you to wake up. He didn’t really believe in the gods, but he’d also daily go to a shrine, and make an offering to them, asking them to bring you back to him.

Megumi slumped deeper into the chain. He felt sleep already tuck at his eyelids again, his thoughts growing fuzzy, dizziness taking over his vision, even when he tried to fight it. It made sense, he guessed, that he was still easily exhausted after everything that had happened. And he had a feeling Sukuna had not really cared to take good care of Megumi’s body while he had possessed him, so that he was weakened from months of physical neglect. Still he tried to refuse his body the need for rest, and instead turned to watch your face once more. The sky outside had brightened enough to give him a clearer image of what state you were in, and Megumi’s heart tucked painfully as he was able to make out the cuts across your face more clearly now. A deeper one, that had been stitched up, ran from the corner of your mouth to the side of your nose, another one right underneath your left eye and countless shallow ones were littered all over you face.

Megumi blinked slowly, exhaling shakily. He wished he could help you somehow, could do more than stare at you and hold your cold hand. He wove the fingers of his left hand through your right, continuing to brush over the tiny cuts on the back of your hand with the other one.

Was it just a figment of his imagination, wishful thinking, or had your hand become a bit warmer between his, your skin regained a little bit of its colour? No, he told himself, he was just exhausted, beginning to confuse reality with what he wanted to see. Looking back at your face, he inhaled with a shudder before he closed his eyes. He needed to sleep. He was of little help as it was, but completely exhausted he’d be even less useful. If you stayed asleep for a longer time, he wanted to be in shape and back in the game before you woke up. Maybe even have figured out all the clan business by then. And if you woke sooner, which he hoped for, he at least wouldn’t look quite as battered as he felt at the moment if he napped a little now.

His mind began drifting off eventually, the dizziness of exhaustion pulling him under, back into memories of spring afternoons sparing with you under the fall of Sakura petals. He wished he could summon those memories at will anytime he wanted, the feeling of the soft spring breeze on his skin, the touch of petals brushing over his face, the sound of your breathless laughter, the strain in his muscles and the shock in his bones whenever your staff hit his with unbroken ferocity. He was on the strange border between waking and sleeping, just wondering if he could manipulate the memory enough to stir his time with you away from the sparing exercise and instead convince dream-you to take a break sitting on the stairs, when suddenly there was something moving against his hand.

Half asleep, Megumi tried shooing the sensation away, wanting to stay in the beautiful memory of this afternoon in spring he had spent with you, but the motion in his hand returned and he jolted out of the dream.

The third time around, Megumi was certain that he was not just imagining it: Your fingers were weakly flexing against his, and before he had time to sit up or even direct his attention to your face, your raspy voice broke the silence that otherwise was only interrupted by the chirping of the birds outside in the snow.

“Megumi?”

It felt like Megumi’s whole world began collapsing in on itself, his heart first stopping and then beating with twice the speed at the sound of your familiar voice whispering his name.

“Megumi, is that you?”

Along with your question you tucked at his hand, and he finally looked up at your face.

Your eyes were still heavy, but open and fixed on him, flitting over his features as if you were searching for any indication that the boy in front of you was someone else, someone who just looked like him.

Megumi wanted to answer, but his throat closed up painfully. So he just nodded, grabbed your hand tighter into his, and nodded. At the gesture a smile began tucking at your lips, a sad smile that he desperately wanted to turn into a happy one, and panic began gripping his heart, when he suddenly noticed tears springing into your eyes. Quickly he shifted from the chair to sit beside you on the mattress of your bed, the softness of it familiar under him, your body pressing heavily against him through the blankets.

“It’s really you,” you answered your own question, a tear running down you’re the side of your face and into your hairline. Megumi wanted to brush it away, but he still held your hand with both of his and refused to let go. Instead, he just held your hand tighter, bringing it up to his chest. He was not sure if it was a gesture to comfort you by letting you feel his heartbeat, or a gesture to comfort himself.

Leaning a little closer to you he finally managed to press out a few words, his voice raspy and thick with unshed tears of relief. “’s me.”

You moved, pulling your other hand from underneath the blanket, and reached up towards Megumi’s face. Leaning in further, he met it halfway, letting you brush your fingers over his face. Cold fingertips traced the skin along his chin, over his forehead and over the bridge of his nose. It was only when your featherlight touch ran along the thin skin under his eyes that Megumi understood that you were tracing the parts of his skin where Sukuna’s marks had once been. A shiver went through him at the thought, suddenly uncomfortably aware of how much his body had been violated by the ancient sorcerer.

“He’s gone,” Megumi whispered into the narrow space between you, scared that if he spoke any louder, you might draw your hand away. He wanted to avoid that desperately. After all, your fingers left a sweet, tingling sensation in their wake.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” you replied, drawing back from the subtle touch, and instead cupping the side of Megumi’s face. Instinctively he nuzzled into your palm, not minding that your cold fingers set the little hairs on his neck standing up.

“I was scared you wouldn’t wake up,” Megumi voiced his own confession.

Now that he was so close to you, close enough to smell the faint fragrance of the laundry detergent you used, and the dullness of the scent that only engulfed you when you were sleepy, he could no longer hold the thoughts at bay that had scratched at the surface to his consciousness since his conversation with Gojō. He had leant in close enough to feel your warm breath ghost over his cheek, and all of a sudden he was not sure why he had ever been scared of being anything but honest with you. Honest about his feelings for you, honest about how scared he was at the prospect of you getting hurt, or even worse, dying.

“Gojō said, you took the blow of Sukuna’s soul, when he died,” Megumi pressed out, his voice hoarse and scratching in his throat. “That you shielded our souls with yours. To protect us…”

You nodded at his words, your eyes carefully watching the emotions on Megumi’s face, as he furrowed his brows slightly.

“You could have died,” he accused. “Your soul could have gotten blown to bits and you could have died-“ Megumi was not sure if he was sad, angry or despaired at the thought. “Why did you do that, put yourself on the line like that?”

“What would have been the alternative, hm? Let Sukuna blow all of us up? Sure, my chances certainly would have been better if I hadn’t tried to absorb the blast, but then you’d be dead now. Yūji and Gojō-sensei too.”

Your breathing had gotten heavy over the few sentences you had spoken, as if it took great physical effort to talk. Worriedly Megumi shook his head at you.

“But did you think for one moment about how I’d feel if something had happened to you?”

You laughed, but it was one of the humourless laughs you paid Megumi whenever he had missed the point in something you had told him.

“Did you think for one moment how I felt? Watching you being possessed by Sukuna?” You took a deep breath, trying to counteract the strain the conversation put on you, and had Megumi not been as desperate to hear your voice as he was, he would have asked you to continue the conversation another time. “How I felt watching him use your body to fight against the strongest sorcerer of our time, letting Gojō blow you to bits?”

Your fingers tightened around his left hand, the faint memory of searing pain tucking in his mind somewhere.

“And just for the record, I did think about how you might feel. And I came to the conclusion that I’d be lucky if you’d feel anything close to the despair I felt, watching you go through all that.”

Megumi stared at you, your argument only half registering in his mind, as his eyes stayed fixed on your chapped lips moving around the words you spoke.

“You’re an idiot Fushiguro Megumi,” you continued, slightly out of breath, and pulling your hand away from his face to softly flick his forehead, “if you think I’d risk your life if I might as well safe it.”

The flick against his forehead pulled Megumi back into the moment, your cold fingers smoothing over the spot where your nail had gently snapped against his skin, and then cupping his face again.

“I just don’t want to see you hurt,” Megumi mumbled, his eyes wandering to your lips before he hung his head.

He was tired, physically and emotionally. It felt like his body had been drained of all its energy over the past months, and now even the shortest conversations tired him out immediately. And he was sick of fearing getting rejected by you. He finally wanted to tell you how he felt, wanted you to know that in him you would always have someone who would look out for you, even if you turned him down. But was now really the right moment to spring this on you? Hardly.

“Me neither, Megumi,” you replied, “me neither.”

He felt you gently tuck at his chin, making him look up at you again. You were carefully observing his face, the way your eyes skipped to his lips again and again not escaping his notice, while he watched their flickering in a mixture of hope and anticipation as well as amusement. He wasn’t sure for how long you sat and simply observed each other, but when the first beams of winter sunlight began blinding him, he finally gave into the question that had been on the tip of his tongue since you had reached up to cup his face.

“May I kiss you?”

The question was but a breath in the little space between your faces, and he could feel your breath hitch once you had processed the meaning of his words.

For a terrible second Megumi thought you would deny him, would turn him down with the way your eyes widened and stared at him in surprise. But then they softened, and you nodded.

“Please,” you whispered back, your breath fanning over his skin like a gentle caress.

Megumi watched your face for a moment longer, wanting to see if you really meant your answer or if you had just agreed in order to please him. But the expectant nervousness, the anticipation and slight giddiness written into your features was proof enough for Megumi to slowly lean down to where you were still resting on the pillow. His eyes fluttered closed as his lips were but a hair width away from yours, hesitating to close the last bit of distance. His heart was doing summersaults in his chest, your hand he was still holding clutched to his chest, the only lifeline he had to hold onto to stay in control of the spinning in his head. For a second he waited, let the tension between your lips and his sizzle and burn him, felt the heat your skin radiated, the shaky up and down of your chest as you patiently anticipated him kissing you.

And when it all got too much, when his senses got so overwhelmed with your presence, when his ears were ringing with his own heartbeat, he eventually gave in, closing the last bit of distance and pressed his lips to yours in a sweet kiss.

Neither you nor Megumi had much, if any, experience with kissing, which an outsider would have been painfully aware to, watching the way Megumi was leaning over you, almost like frozen as his brain tried to process the sensation of your soft, sweet lips against his. But when he lifted one of his hands away from yours, and cupped your face instead, pushing his fingertips past your hairline, pulling you closer to him, the tension seemed to fall away, and he melted into the touch. Carefully he moved his lips against yours, his heart stuttering at the way your hand at his chest closed more tightly around his fingers, while the other moved from the side of his face to his neck, beckoning him closer and closer. His senses narrowed in on you, his world consisting of nothing but the sound of your hitching breath, the taste of your lips, the smell of your skin, the warmth of your body.

Megumi had often imagined what it might be like to kiss you, but never in his life had he imagined that your kisses might be so sweet, so soft and warm and gentle. The way our lips moved against his was heaven, and Megumi found himself wishing he could stay in that moment forever. Thin morning sunlight brushed over the two of you, warming his skin beyond the blush that hard started to burn on his cheeks, and his heart felt like it was beating in rhythm with yours as a soft gasp slipped over your lips when he ran his tongue experimentally against it.

That little sound was what made Megumi decide that he had to pull away from the kiss, lest his heart might give out, and with a shaky exhale he turned his head just enough to break away. Only then he noticed how out of breath he was, how shaky his hand on the side of your face had become. He rested his forehead against yours, playfully brushing his nose against yours, eliciting a small giggle, that made his heart swell.

“I’m in love with you,” he confessed, not caring anymore about whether it was a good or a bad time to talk about matters this serious. From where he was standing – or rather sitting – the two of you had barely escaped death, had won a battle against the most powerful jujutsu sorcerer of all time, and now had kissed in a morning-sun flooded room while outside snow crystals glimmered in the light. When would he ever have the courage to tell the truth if not now? “I know it sounds stupid, like a cliché or something, but I think I’ve been in love with you since we first me. It feels like that day in Shinjuku, when Gojō sent me to pick you up… I knew who I was looking for, as if my heart knew something my head didn’t.”

He expected you to say something, but instead you stayed quiet, only breathing heavily from the kiss you had just shared, and Megumi almost wondered if you had fallen asleep again, when you suddenly tucked on his sweatshirt.

It took him a moment to understand that you were wordlessly asking him to lay down with you, so he hastily swung his legs onto the mattress, and when you tried pulling the blankets over him this time, he did not protest, but settled under the soft and warm fabric like he had secretly wanted to do since the first time you had invited him to stay the night. Next to him you shifted, and before Megumi knew what you were doing, you had rested your head on his shoulder, just where his arm connected to his torso. Your ear was pressed to his body, as if you were listening to his heartbeat and you brought your arm over his chest in a comfortable hug.

Ignoring the way his heartrate was spiking, Megumi wrapped the arm you were resting in, around your back, pulling you closer to him, settling you more securely against his chest, and linked his ankle with yours. In response you shifted again, shifted more of your weight unto Megumi until you were both laying comfortably in each other’s arms. It felt like a puzzle made of two pieces with very difficult patterns had clicked into place, and it took everything in Megumi not to start crying at how happy it made him to have you rest by his side like this. Even though you had not answered to his confession.

As if you had read his mind, you suddenly spoke up.

“It wasn’t your heart,” you whispered against his shirt, tilting your head up a little to be able to look at him. “It wasn’t your heart that knew something your head didn’t. It was your soul. That’s how I found you that day. There was this call… not for the new student at Jujutsu High, but the call for me. As if your soul had been looking for me. And when I saw you, it felt like something had fallen into place and I knew that our lives had been meant to be intertwined even long before we first met.”

Megumi blinked into the by now sun flooded room.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I don’t know if something like soulmates exist, but if they do, you’re mine.” Megumi felt your lashes against his jaw as you leant up to press a kiss to his chin, and then the side of his neck, sending a warm shiver down his spine. You settled back against his chest, before you asked: “Is that stupid?”

Megumi shook his head. “No,” he answered, “No, it’s not.”

He remembered how he had just followed an instinct that day, trying to find you, how he had been magnetically pulled towards you. He was certain soulmates were nothing but a fairytale made up by media trying to sell love to young girls, but the idea that there was someone out there destined for him was addicting. Especially if this someone were you. Scrap that. If that someone weren’t you, he wouldn’t want them either way. With you in his arms, he had everything he had ever dreamt of.

Megumi knew, that when he woke up again, there would be work he had to do. He’d have to deal with Yūji’s doubtlessly overly enthusiastic response to see him alive and well, and with Panda and Inumaki too. Yuuta and Maki probably would have the decency to greet him without violating his personal space. And then there’d be Gojō, who, now that his biggest possible enemy was gone, would turn into an unsufferable source of stupid ideas and childish behaviours. Megumi was almost looking forward to seeing the man he considered perhaps not his father but at least an older brother, back to his old, happy self. Then he’d have to deal with the Zenin clan, and the other clans. Maybe Gojō could help with that. But in between, whenever he wasn’t busy, he would come and find you, and maybe you’d allow him to steal a kiss or two.

“Hey, Megumi?”

Your voice was already thick with sleep as you pulled him out of his thoughts again. He hummed in response, too tired to form a coherent answer.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

Seemed like the chances that you’d allow him to steal a kiss or two were pretty good then. He hummed again, this time with a smile on his face, burying his nose in your hair, and you pressed yourself closer to him in response.

It was around noon, when Gojō made his way towards your room. When he had woken up, Megumi was gone, and there was only one place really the raven-haired boy would run off to. Not bothering to knock, Gojō pushed the door to your room open, fully prepared to find his protégé slumped in a chair beside your bed, holding your cold hand or staring at your lifeless features.

Indeed, there was a chair pushed to your bedside, but Gojō had not been prepared to find Megumi laying in bed with you, your arm dragged over his middle, head resting on his chest. It was obvious that both of you were exhausted, but the colour had returned to your skin, nothing like the last time Gojō had seen you, all grey and void of life. Even your hair seemed to have regained some of its old glow. It seemed like you had woken up at some point and dragged Megumi into bed with you. The way the boy had his arm wrapped around your shoulder and his face buried in your hair, not to mention the way Gojō remembered him looking at you for the past year, indicated that Megumi had been only all too happy to join you.

For a while Gojō watched his two students quietly. A part of him already wanted to tease Megumi, and he knew eventually he could, but he would also make it abundantly clear to both of you, how happy he was for you. After all you had been through, you deserved happiness.

Steps in the corridor approaching the room made Gojō pull out of his thoughts, and a moment later Yūji pocked his head in. Just like Gojō he took in the scene, and his mouth formed a little o before a grin split his face.

“About time,” he whispered with a grin, and Gojō couldn’t help but join in with one of his own.

“Finally, huh,” he agreed before he turned towards the door. “Come on, let’s let them sleep a while longer.”

Yūji nodded and bounced back into the corridor, the happiness for his friends unmistakable in the way he skipped away. Gojō turned to look at Megumi and you one last time.

There was a lot of work to be done when you woke up, but for now you deserved to rest. You had almost been killed and Megumi had been possessed by the mightiest sorcerer there had ever been. At least until Gojō had been born, the white-haired man thought smugly to himself. Megumi had lost so much, his father and mother, his sister, and almost the girl he loved. It was time that the wish that resonated in his name finally came true, that Megumi finally could live a blessed life.

Gojō quietly closed the door behind him as he stepped into the hallway. If there was one thing Gojō was certain of, it was that Megumi already considered himself blessed for getting to hold you in his arms, for getting loved by you and being allowed to love you back.

Tags: @natriae

485 notes · View notes