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The knock on his door comes at exactly one-thirty in the morning. Megumi knows this because he’s been staring at the clock for an hour, willing himself to go to sleep. He can’t even close his eyes.
The knocking gets louder. He’s sure it’s Gojo until a female voice says, “Fushiguro, open the damn door.” He kicks off the covers and gets up.
It’s Nobara, a version of her he’s never seen before, blanket wrapped around her shoulders and deep circles under her eyes. He probably has matching ones. “Are you gonna let me in or what?” she asks. He steps back and watches as she crosses the room and sits on his bed.
“I’m fine,” she says, though he didn’t ask. “I just couldn’t sleep.”
He sits down next to her. “Me neither.”
“He always snored so loud, you know? And my bed’s right on the other side of the wall. It annoyed the fuck out of me, but now that he’s gone, I kind of miss it. Stupid, huh?”
“No. Well, maybe a little. But I get it. I miss him too.”
She sniffs wetly. “Pathetic, the both of us.”
“You don’t have to do that,” he says. “Not when it’s just us.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend not to be sad. Act like nothing bothers you.”
“If I don’t—” She takes a shaky breath. “If I don’t, I might totally lose it.”
“Then at least I won’t have to lose it alone.” Megumi hasn’t cried in so long that it sneaks up on him, tears flooding his eyes before he can stop them. “I had to watch him die, Kugisaki. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t close my eyes without seeing it, over and over.”
“How do you think I feel?” she whispers. “I was unconscious. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to him.”
“It was my fault. If it weren’t for Sukuna going after me, he wouldn’t—he wouldn’t have—”
They both sob, Nobara quietly, Megumi uncontrollably. There’s not enough air in the room, and he panics and gasps, trying to get more. It’s only when he feels Nobara’s hand on his back that his lungs open up, not enough to sate him but enough that he can cling to her, find her shoulder and bury his face in it as she wraps her arms around him.
“Don’t say shit like that,” she says. “There wasn’t anything you could have done.”
“I know.” He’s not sure he believes himself. “But I wish there was.”
She lets go of him to wipe her face, but she doesn’t go far. His hands are still on her, around her waist, and her t-shirt is stained with his tears. Her hair’s a mess, and he knows she would hate that if she knew, so he smooths it back, unsticking it from her wet cheeks and tucking it behind her ears.
He doesn’t know who moves first. She’s staring at him, hard and devastatingly sad, and then her lips are on his, his hands finding the nape of her neck and pulling her closer. He opens his mouth and lets her in, her tongue sliding over his tongue, his lips, his teeth. She tastes salty from the tears, but she’s warm, and solid, and so, so alive.
“This is probably—”
“A really bad idea?” she says. “I don’t care if you don’t.”
He answers by pushing her down on the bed. If he regrets this later, well, it won’t be the worst thing to happen to him today.
His hands make forays up her shirt until he’s brave enough to take it off. She’s not wearing anything underneath. His own shirt follows and he kisses her everywhere he can reach, down her neck and chest to her stomach and back, careful not to leave any marks. He’s not sure she’ll want the reminders.
Her face is wet when his mouth finds it, and he feels guilty about how turned on he is while she’s crying, maybe because she’s crying, until she spreads his legs and cups him through his pajamas. He whines, high and reedy, and she takes it as an invitation, slips beneath his waistband and takes him in hand. Her hand is tiny, but she uses it so well, experimenting with her grip—unintentionally teasing him—before she works up a rhythm.
He remembers he’s supposed to reciprocate and skips the teasing entirely, shoving her shorts aside. She’s wet enough to make his mouth water. He thumbs her clit until she’s squirming, then presses a finger inside her, letting her grind down on his hand.
He wonders if she could get off like this. He certainly could, with the magic her hand is making. But this isn’t about getting off, or at least not entirely. “Nobara,” he asks, “do you want to?”
“Yeah—” She gasps as he curls her finger inside her. “Yeah, okay.”
They strip and he leans over her, determined not to make her do any work tonight. He realizes he’s forgotten something. “I don’t have any condoms.”
She shrugs. “I’m on the pill.” It’s not a complete answer, but it’s the best they can do. He settles her legs on either side of his hips and bites his tongue to keep from crying as he enters her.
It’s almost over before it starts. She’s tight, pulsing around him as he bottoms out. She’s ready for more before he is, spurring his ass with her heels to get him moving. He obeys, and he does end up crying, because the slick drag in and out of her is the best thing he’s ever felt. He gives up trying to make it last and fucks her earnestly, reveling in her moans and letting her pull his hair until it hurts.
He pulls out when he comes but not fast enough to keep her clean; he catches some of it, but most ends up on Nobara’s stomach, white ribbons across pale skin. He’s already apologizing before his orgasm is over but she brushes him off, hands him a tissue and takes one to clean herself up.
Their heavy breathing evens out into silence that goes from companionable to awkward quickly. “You didn’t, uh. You didn’t come, right?” he says stupidly.
“No. Don’t feel bad, though. I probably couldn’t right now.”
“But was it okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No, I’m fine.” She stares at the ceiling. “It was good. It felt good, not that I have anything to compare it to.”
“Me neither.”
She shoots him a look. “You could have mentioned that!”
“So could you!”
“Whatever. You just assume I’m a slut!?”
“You’re unbelievable,” he says, but it feels good to argue with her. It’s the most normal he’s felt all day.
He’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch her anymore. They put their clothes back on and sit against the headboard, a buffer of a few inches between them. Neither of them bring him up again, the ghost of the elephant in the room.
“That wasn’t horrible, Fushiguro,” she says. “It was actually pretty nice. So thank you.” He gives her a jerky nod. “Do you feel better now? You’re not crying like a baby anymore.”
“You were crying, too,” he says. “But I do feel better. I actually feel like I could sleep now.”
“Typical man. I should go back to my room then, huh?”
“Or you could stay.” It’s out of his mouth before he thinks about it, but it feels right. “You should stay. Please.”
She rolls her eyes, but he can tell she’s hiding a smile. “Fine. But if you’re gonna force me to do a walk of shame, I expect you to make me breakfast first.”
“I’m not very good at cooking.”
“Then you can order us McDonald’s. Now move over, you’re taking up the whole bed.”
He makes as much room for her as he can in the tiny bed. There’s only one pillow, so he has no choice but to spoon her, his arm around her waist. Her hair gets in his face; he’s definitely going to wake up with it in his mouth.
She squeezes his hand. “Goodnight, Fushiguro.”
“Goodnight.” He kisses the top of her head and cuddles close to her. When he closes his eyes, there’s nothing behind them but darkness.