Chapter Text
07:22
Megumi Fushiguro had been lying in pitch darkness for hours when the sun began slowly to lighten the walls of his bedroom. Grumbling, he resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn’t be getting any sleep. He dragged himself out of bed, pulling on a hoodie and shuffling into the kitchen to start a pot coffee.
The morning before, on Tuesday, March 7, Megumi’s sister was the victim of a curse.
He was the one who’d discovered her, enveloped in cursed energy as she lay unresponsive in her bed, and while it shocked and unsettled him, it didn’t worry him at first. His and Tsumiki’s guardian was the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in the world; surely he, of all people, would be able to exorcise whatever curse had caught her. Surely he, of all people, could wake her from this eerie Sleeping Beauty slumber, and then everything could go back to normal.
It wasn’t until Satoru Gojo failed to revive her — until he explained, with a softness that didn’t suit him at all, that he couldn't exorcise the curse without knowing its range or its source — that fear finally clenched around Megumi’s heart. Because if Gojo, of all people, couldn’t save his sister… could Tsumiki be saved at all?
This fear gave rise to a host of other emotions over the course of Megumi’s sleepless night: a roiling mixture of anxiety, guilt, something like grief, and anger — above all else a dark swirl of anger looking for someone to chew up and spit out.
Megumi was already on his second cup of coffee, sitting on a cushion in the living room, by the time Gojo made his entrance. Gojo looked like he’d slept about as well as Megumi had, and Megumi felt a twinge of pity for his mentor, but it wasn’t enough to tamp down the searching fury in his chest, already locking onto its unfortunate target.
“Morning,” Gojo said quietly, trying to smile.
“Leave me alone, Gojo,” Megumi muttered without looking up.
Gojo sighed. “Megumi,” he said in a placating tone.
“That doesn't sound like you leaving me alone,” Megumi warned.
“I will, okay?” Gojo assured him, palms up. “I promise, I just. Wanted you to know that I’m here —”
“So what? ” Megumi spat, coming just short of slamming his coffee mug down as he turned to face his guardian more squarely. “You’re here for me? Who gives a shit? I’m not the one who needs you. Tsumiki needs you. Why don’t you go be there for her?” He barked a bitter laugh. “Oh, that’s right. The one time — the one time — one of us actually needs your help, and you’re good for fuck all. ‘The strongest’ my ass.” He leveled a glare into Gojo’s opaque glasses, little knowing how much the expression made him look like his father. “I should have just gone with the Zen’ins,” he said, not because he believed it but because he wanted to hurt the untouchable sorcerer the only way he knew how. “At least then Tsumiki wouldn't be involved in any of this stupid curse shit."
He could see that the blow had landed, could see the deep breath Gojo had to take to keep from rising to the bait. “Megumi,” the tall sorcerer tried again.
“Why are you even here?” Megumi demanded, voice rising. “What’s the point of you being here if you can’t help her? Huh? Or at least show me how to? What good is any of this — jujutsu bullshit — if you can’t — if you can’t — ?”
Megumi didn’t know when he started crying, didn’t even realize he was until he choked on those final few words. Everything else in his heart was tumbling out of him in a tangle: the fear and the guilt and the grief. He pressed his mouth shut and tried to swallow it all back down, but it was too late, and it hurt too much. He turned his face away from Gojo and wrapped his arms around his knees as sobs began to shudder through his frame.
There wasn’t a single person, not even Gojo, who had taken care of Megumi for as long as Tsumiki had, and for all that Gojo had tried to prepare him for the certainty of loss, losing her had never crossed Megumi’s mind. Even when he hated her, even when they fought, she was the single human constant in his hurricane life.
If Tsumiki could be taken from him, anything could.
“Megumi… c’mere, kid.” Gojo sat down in front of him and pulled him into his lap, gently pressing his spiky head down onto his shoulder. He hadn’t held him like this since his age was in the single digits, and Megumi sank into the comfort and nostalgia of it, looping his arms tightly around Gojo’s back and clutching at the fabric of his shirt.
“I’m sorry,” Megumi wept into Gojo’s shoulder.
“I know,” Gojo murmured, and Megumi couldn’t be sure, but he thought he could hear the barest quaver of tears in his voice, too. “I know. I’m sorry, too.”