Work Text:
Megumi sleeps soundlessly. If Yuji didn't know any better he'd think Megumi was dead. He's not sure what he'd do if Megumi would die.
“I think you do know,” the killer in his mind drawls, “ I think you would kill yourself and end this miserable existence of yours.” Something tugs at the back of his mind with a force that sends a sharp pain through his head. “ We can't have that, of course.”
Yuji blinks until Sukuna's voice subsides, turning into soundless laughter. When he closes his eyes he can see Sukuna's grimace in front of him, snarling at him, laughing at the pain he causes. He pops his eyes open at the sound of a door opening.
“Everything okay?” Kurusu pokes her head into the room as if sensing Sukuna's presence. Thankfully, she hasn't yet.
Yuji wouldn't admit it but she unnerves him. He gives her a curt nod, still huddled up in the bathrobe he snatched first thing when they got here. He’d never think he’d get to wear something as soft as this.
“How is Megumi?” she asks. Her voice is sweet when she says his name. His given name.
“He's still sleeping,” he says and he doesn't like himself for the hard tone his voice adapts like he's someone else. “He needs his rest.”
He emphasizes rest enough to hopefully bring the hint across that this includes disturbance from the outside especially. She's weirdly obsessed with Megumi–like they belong to each other which is ridiculous.
“Oh,” Kurusu squeaks and bows her head quickly. “Of course, I'm sorry, Itadori.”
Yuji doesn't look at her again, instead focusing on Megumi's still form, while she closes the door. Even when he sleeps there is a slight frown on his face in the form of a scrunch between his eyebrows. If Nobara were here she would make fun of him for that. But she isn't. She isn't here. Gojo isn't here. Nanamin isn't here. His fingers drum in sensations when he digs them into the palms of his hands. He needs them here.
Yuji thumps his head against the wall. It's not without enough force to wake up Megumi from the noise but it's hard enough to cause hurt after a while. It doesn’t really do anything, of course. It didn't do anything on the asphalt in front of a burning Shibuya, it doesn't do anything now. Still, Yuji thinks he deserves that. It's the least he can do.
He closes his eyes as he continues softly hitting his head against the wall over and over again as if that will rattle Sukuna out of his mind.
“You got it from here,” Nanamin told him. Yuji doesn’t have anything, doesn’t got anything. Everything is slipping right out of his hands and there's nothing he can do to stop all of this except die. He can die and all of this might have not been for nothing in the end.
Just when he's about to—his head doesn't hit the wall. A hand fists in the collar of his bathrobe, keeping him from moving.
“What do you think you're doing?” drawls a familiar voice, drowsy with sleep, but nonetheless Megumi's voice. The grip he has on Yuji is weak at best and he could easily draw away to continue but he doesn't. Everything in him relaxes at the sound of Megumi's voice, not having heard it in too long and he relents.
“Just bored,” he jokes. “You have been out for two days. I had to keep myself busy somehow.”
Megumi gives a blank look that tells Yuji he doesn't believe him for one second. In turn Yuji smiles at him weakly. As if to underpin his little joke Yuji attempts to give it another go, however this time he's not met with the wall but with Megumi's hand. A cold hand settles on his face and Yuji freezes when Megumi strokes his thumb over Yuji's cheekbone.
“Don't do that,” he says quietly and he sounds profoundly sad for Yuji. He can't help it when he leans into the touch and Megumi continues running his thumb across Yuji's skin. The butterfly touch lingers and sends a shock through his entire body. They're usually not this touchy but he's so exhausted he can't even dwell on whether this should be awkward or not. It probably should. They never talked about any of this. This is probably crossing some invisible boundary they should have in place. Something friends don't do…or something like that.
“How are you feeling?” Yuji asks.
“Don't distract,” Megumi huffs, hand falling away again as he uses it to lift himself up until he's sitting upright. He looks better after two days of bed rest, his skin no longer deadly pale with blood streaked across as if in a disturbing painting.
“I'm not,” Yuji argues. “You should shower, or take a bath, by the way. I changed your clothes but…” he trails off but Megumi is probably aware of the blood and grime clinging to his skin. A faint blush makes its way across the bridge of Megumi's nose until it reaches both cheeks.
“Right,” he says. “You can tell me what happened afterwards.”
Yuji watches from the chair propped up next to the bed he has spent the last two days on, as Megumi pulls the blanket aside and slips out of the bed. As soon as his feet hit the ground and he straightens up, one of his legs gives in and Yuji catches him by the arm before he can go down. Megumi scowls at the ground, as if that will magically give him his strength back.
“You were out for two days,” Yuji tells him quietly. “I think that's normal–you have to regain your strength.”
“I was out for two days,” Megumi repeats. “You'd think that would've taken care of that.”
“Do you think you need help?”
A beat of silence befalls the room before Megumi shakes his head. Part of Yuji wants to argue, tell him that he shouldn't be doing this alone. “I put some fresh clothes in the bathroom for you,” is what he says instead.
“Thank you.”
Yuji tries to sit still after Megumi leaves but his fingers itch to get up and twist the doorknob of the bathroom until he can slip inside and observe Megumi again. He hasn't done anything else the past two days and now it feels weird to not be staring at the outline of his face. After two days and two nights Yuji has memorized every inch of his face, everything there is to the curve of his lips, he has counted all lashes and burned the slope of his nose into his brain. He would know him everywhere.
He gives up within five minutes, slipping through the hallway until he finds the bathroom. Sure, he’s safe inside, no one will harm Megumi in there but that irrational part of Yuji wants to be there, be the one who gets to observe his safety and store it away in his brain for safe-keeping until his thoughts are calm again. Part of him suspects that Megumi has locked the door, naturally since there are two strangers in this apartment. His heart jumps to his throat when he twists and the door swings open. Actually, he didn't plan that far ahead. And isn't that at the core of all of Yuji's problems, isn't that what damned him to this life in the first place?
Megumi startles when he slips inside, even after the door is closed again, head wiping around in his direction. Heat rushes to his face when realization dawns upon him—Megumi in the bathtub, without clothes on. Dumbass, he thinks, why would he wear clothes to go take a bath. The white marble the bathtub is carved into cuts his body in half, only allowing Yuji to trace the outline of his collarbones with his eyes, to his chest that's rising and falling steadily before it cuts off right above his navel. Yuji blinks.
“What are you doing, Itadori?” Megumi asks. The words come out somewhat strangled, higher-pitched than usual, as if pulled out from the back of his throat against his will.
Yuji blankspaces for a moment as he takes in the droplets of water caught in his black hair that's weighed down by it. He looks different this way. But still like the boy that means so much to him.
“I just didn’t want you to drown,” Yuji mutters. “You looked tired.”
He ignores the fact that Megumi just slept for two days, slipping in and out of consciousness under Yuji's watchful eyes.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” Megumi deadpans but a smile pulls at the corners of his lips nonetheless which Yuji takes as the invitation to come closer.
“‘Course not,” he says. And when Megumi doesn't tell him to get lost, Yuji sits down next to the bathtub and lets the cold of the tile seep through his bathrobe into the skin of his left body half. He yawns. Megumi raises an eyebrow at him that remains hidden behind black hair.
“Have you been sleeping, Itadori?”
“Sure,” Yuji says, face pillowed on his arm he put down on the edge of the tub. It's the end of the second day, he should really go to sleep after this. “Totally.”
He closes his eyes for just a second. Before he knows it, Yuji sinks into a dreamless sleep. He doesn't know how long it lasts.
“–ji.” He blinks. “Itadori. Hey, wake up, you idiot. You’re going to strain your neck that way.”
He blinks against the soft fabric of the bathrobe. His neck indeed strains when Yuji lifts his head at the voice ringing through to him.
“How long was I asleep for?” he asks. Every time Yuji closes his eyes Shibuya flashes in front of them. Burning burning burning.
“Not long,” Megumi says, still sitting in the bathtub with his legs drawn up to his chest now. They're close like that. “I just finished up. You should go to bed.”
The meaning behind his words doesn't need to be spoken out loud. Yuji is supposed to get lost, so Megumi can get dressed. A yawn befalls his body again. The smile Megumi graces him with is soft and Yuji wants to reach out and make sure it's never wiped from his face. A single line of blood is still splattered across his left eyelid over the bridge of his nose to his right cheekbone in faint dots. Easy to miss if not scrubbed hard enough.
“Looks like you missed something.”
“Oh, is it—” Megumi raises his hand to his face in a vague motion as if waiting for Yuji to tell him where to go. Strangely compelled by the contrast of red against his, too pale, skin Yuji reaches for the wash cloth Megumi had put down on the edge and moves it to his face slowly. He wants to give Megumi the room to object, take the cloth out of Yuji's hand with a scowl and wipe the blood away himself. But he doesn't. While Yuji's heart hammers in his chest, behind his ribcage where Sukuna sits and waits in the marrow of his fourth rib cage bone, Megumi simply watches him with attentive eyes, as he brings the cloth to his face. He doesn't object when Yuji hovers close and he doesn't object when he brings one of his blood-stained hands up, because he can wash them over and over again, bleach them free of the red, but it will never go away, to Megumi's cheek to hold his face in place. Yuji swallows when the damp cloth makes contact with Megumi's face.
Sukuna never leaves any blood on him behind. He doesn't bleed when he fights, he leaves no wounds on Yuji's body–nothing for Yuji to quietly accept as repentance for the actions of his body. Instead his hands remain soft and without scars and calluses even though they laid half a city to waste. The blood on Megumi's face has been drying for a long time, it seems because Yuji has to scrub harder to get it off of his skin. Why is it so easy to get it off of Yuji's hands? Off his skin? He should never be able to get it off of his hands. He will never be able to. He blinks hard when he feels the all too familiar pressure building up behind his eyes. Nothing is there to stop the tears which start to well up in his eyes. In one last stand Yuji presses his tongue to the top of his mouth and clenches his jaw hard enough he fears it would shatter like glass if he were someone different.
“–dori! Yuji!”
Yuji snaps out his thoughts at his given name filling the bathroom. He blinks a few times until his vision clears. Megumi's skin is free of the blood but it's red nonetheless. With panic crawling its way up his throat, he realizes that he must have scrubbed too hard, selfishly lost in his thoughts, stewing in his hurt when he should have been focusing–he blinks again and his vision blurs again.
“Yuji,” Megumi repeats. Somehow Yuji always imagined the situation in which a crush would call him by his given name would be a different one. In his childlike naivety, he'd assumed that it would be a nice day, they would've been outside and maybe Yuji would've done something stupid, in need of scolding, and his crush would've said his name chidingly, but laughing nonetheless, only pretending to be done with his antics and Yuji would've grinned back shyly at the use of his name and pulled them along to whatever else awaited them.
Instead, he's in a bathroom of a hotel in a half-destroyed city alongside two strangers and his crush called him by his given name because Yuji scrubbed his skin raw and it was the only way to snap him out of it. That's not really how he wanted this to go. Nothing is like he wanted things to go.
Though, calling Megumi a crush feels wrong anyway. Crush doesn't even remotely measure up to what Yuji feels when he looks at him. Crush is an unbecoming description of someone that instills the most clarity Yuji has ever commanded when looking at someone—the clarity that he would die for Megumi in a heartbeat.
“Yuji,” Megumi says again, by now with a very evident worry laced into his voice. For Yuji there's nothing left to do but to cry as they force themselves out of his body with one strangled gasp before the dam breaks.
The tears won't stop coming now, salt spreading into his mouth when they reach the end of his cheeks and drop onto his shoulders. He heaves with each sob that tears itself out of him, his body trembling as he tries to breathe. Every time he tries to, he chokes again. It’s shame and guilt that have built a home in Yuji's body, in his bones, in every centimeter of his entire being they have burned themselves in, which make his eyes drown in tears until his entire face burns with them. He squeezes his eyes shut at the sting of salt and doesn't object when Megumi guides his head against his shoulder. He digs his fingers into the edge of the bathtub.
“You can blame me for it,” Megumi says then, very quietly and very softly so that Yuji almost doesn't hear him over the sounds of his own choked up breaths. Megumi continues calmy, everything that Yuji isn't, with his hand still resting on the back of Yuji's head. “I summoned Mahoraga. It's because he was there for Sukuna to play with that Shibuya is a wasteland now. You can blame me for it all. All of it, Yuji.”
Sukuna has put the thoughts in Yuji's head before—has asked him why he's “so sickeningly infatuated” with the “Fushiguro boy” , and he speaks of Megumi with an interest, with some horribly scheming glint in his eyes, that makes Yuji want to hurl, when it was him who condemned Yuji to this life in the first place. If he had just let him die this first day, the first hour after Yuji had swallowed Sukuna's fingers he wouldn't be here now. It never occurred to Yuji to blame Megumi for it. Not Megumi—sweet Megumi who still looked at him the same way he did all the way in the beginning when Yuji's hands hadn't yet been stained in blood, corpses dragging behind every step he took, Megumi who liked his food with so much ginger it was barely edible to anyone else, Megumi who doesn't regret saving him, who still thinks he’s deserving of life, so how could Yuji ever condemn him for it?
“You shouldn't have saved me,” Yuji sobs. Megumi's skin is warm against his face, every hot breath Yuji takes thrown right back at him. “You shouldn’t have saved me.”
“Maybe.” He imagines Megumi tilting his head to the side for a bit, like he does when he's thinking, when he's contemplating the worth of words. “But I don’t regret my decision. I won't regret my decision. So blame me a little for my selfishness, until it hurts you a little less.”
Yuji sniffles, bled-out and slowly able to retain his breath again. His head hurts. His heart hurts. Truly, he doesn't want to move but he has to.
Megumi still watches him when Yuji lifts his head. They're close now–closer than ever before. So close that Yuji could count every single of Megumi’s long lashes if he wanted to. Long, slender fingers still rest at the back of Yuji's head.
“Yuji.”
Why did you save me?
The unspoken words, whose reality persists nonetheless, between them hang over their heads like the Sword of Damocles. Yuji didn't consider himself well versed in those things and only knows about it because Gojo had told him once. He wonders what happened to Gojo—that this is how he views love, as a threat, constantly looming, ready to destroy. But Gojo had been right whether he was aware of that or not, they could never say it. As soon as they did the sword would come crashing down on them and destroy them both.
When Megumi breathes out Yuji feels the air hit his lips. Even though some may object, Yuji isn't stupid. He sees the way Megumi looks at him, hears the words he only seems to find for him and can tell well enough what his ghosting fingers mean. Yuji can see through him just as easily as Megumi can see through him for better or worse.
Under the sterile bathroom light Megumi's eyes are more deep blue than green, luring Yuji into the cold and endless waters of the entity that is Fushiguro Megumi. Come, they seem to whisper. Lean in. Drown in us. Drown in me.
Megumi closes his siren eyes when Yuji moves just the faintest amount, and drops his hand from Yuji's hair. His lips are slightly parted and he sighs, small and quiet, when Yuji moves to kiss the highest part of his cheekbone before he pulls away. He doesn't open his eyes again as Yuji slips out of the bathroom before he can make a mistake, before he does something he will never be able to take back—something that will doom them forever.
Ghosting through the hallway he bids Kurusu and Takaba goodnight before he enters the bedroom again. He disregards the bathrobe, letting it drop to the floor carelessly and promptly crawls into bed. There's only one blanket for the queen-sized bed because why should there be two? Megumi might choose to not sleep in here now. Maybe he should have taken the couch so he could leave Megumi the bed, he was way worse off than Yuji and needed the sleep more than he did. Yuji pulls the blanket up until it covers him up to his nose and rolls around to stare out of the floor deep windows that allow for a sight over the entire city—whatever's left of it anyway.
Sukuna has been almost eerily quiet, all things that just transpired between them mere minutes ago, considered. Yuji is pretty sure that this is Sukuna’s way of mocking him—by constantly keeping Yuji on edge, wondering if the parasite will come out or if he will merely open one eye in Yuji’s body and taunt him from within. It’s scarier when he’s quiet like this.
A few minutes later the door creaks and a small stripe of light dances up on the wall. Yuji doesn't dare move until the mattress dips on the other side and cold air hits his legs as someone else—Megumi—slips underneath the blanket. First, silence engulfs them until Yuji is convinced Megumi's not going to say anything at all.
“I'm sorry,” he says eventually, “about earlier.”
Yuji rolls around only to come face to face with Megumi who's already looking at him. In lieu of talking about that part of their interaction earlier, which is without doubt the thing Megumi is referring to, he says, “Sorry for crying on you and getting snot everywhere.”
“You didn't. Don't worry,” Megumi whispers back at him. “Even if you did, I would have been fine with it.”
He's kind enough to let the cloud of doom which hangs over their heads go.
“But Yuji—”
Or maybe not. Yuji cuts him off because he knows what Megumi is going to say.
“You don't have to worry. It's fine,” he says quickly.
In the dark Yuji can only make out the faintest outline of Megumi's face which is unfair because Megumi can probably see him perfectly fine. An unfair advantage given to him by his cursed technique. Yuji doesn't care what anyone says Megumi has the best technique out of all the people he's met so far. As if he can read Yuji's mind Megumi folds his slender fingers into the familiar hand sign and seconds later the black dog pops up at the end of the bed. At the same time Megumi says quietly, “Come here.”
And Yuji is tired. He's so tired. Everything hurts and nothing will ever stop hurting. In the end, he's too tired to fight this and he shuffles closer until he's able to put his head down on Megumi's chest, draping an arm across to press his face into the soft fabric of the t-shirt harder. Cold fingers wrap themselves around Yuji's biceps, while the other pair of them push into his hair, scraping over his head in soothing motions.
“No one ever cuddled with me before,” Yuji says, lips loosened by the little amount of pressure Megumi works into each touch. Not anyone he remembered. His grandfather, for all that he loved Yuji, never cuddled with him. And he doesn't remember his parents. Can a toddler even be cuddled? Yuji thinks cuddling is sort of a two way street. A toddler can't cuddle with you.
“Oh,” Megumi says.
“Did you? Cuddle with people before?” Yuji asks. He's not sure what kind of answer he wants. Though, he thinks he knows already because Megumi seems proficient at this.
“Tsumiki and I used to have sleepovers,” Megumi says slowly, “which didn't make sense because we lived in the same house but I guess we would cuddle sometimes.”
He works his fingers into Yuji's hair a little harder, a little more frantically, when he continues talking. Yuji thinks his voice is so nice, there's a little drawl to it now, late at night when sleep is fighting with them as it overcomes them.
“I suppose, sometimes after training when I was little and I was tired I would fall asleep on Gojo…and I guess—I guess he used to hold me then. If that counts. I don't know, I think it might.”
Yuji lifts his head in order to look at Megumi, who is already looking at him. Apprehensiveness clouds his eyes as if aware what Yuji is about to ask him now, now that he gave this piece of information up. A part of him always knew that there was more to Gojo's and Megumi's relationship than they let on.
“How long have you known Gojo-sensei?”
“A few years,” Megumi mutters. Under Yuji's stare, he relents. “Since I was six, more or less. He took care of Tsumiki and me after our parents left, I suppose.”
“You never told us.” Yuji presses his face into Megumi's chest again, who smells like vanilla hotel shampoo. It’s not his usual scent. He doesn't want to come across as too accusatory as he knows Megumi is just a private person and his privacy is never meant to be anyone's personal offense.
If he had told Yuji, he would have handled things differently. For one, he wouldn't have announced Gojo's sealing from the top of a building, but he might have told Megumi first. Even though Yuji gets the impression that Megumi would've liked it even less to be singled out for his relationship to Gojo-sensei.
“Living with Gojo isn't exactly something to brag about,” Megumi huffs and they leave it at that with Yuji relaxing further into the touch of the hand scratching his head. Their silence is comfortable. Comfortable enough for Yuji to let out a content sigh against the warmth of Megumi's body.
Yuji thinks about how there might have been a time where he would have been embarrassed over sharing a bed with his crush and getting his hair scratched by them. But it’s nothing like that with Megumi. Sometimes he thinks about Junpei and how his crush on him was small and vulnerable like a flower after the last of snow, a blush here and there but with Megumi it’s something different entirely. Sometimes, Yuji wants to crawl inside his chest and make a home there like Sukuna did with him, he wants to know all of him, every inch of bone and blood so he can mend it and have Megumi never hurt again. The thoughts overwhelm him sometimes, the clarity with which he’s so sure of it and the way he accepts it with open arms. Those are big thoughts for any fifteen year old to have, Yuji is pretty aware of that not only because Sukuna mocks him relentlessly for them.
“Sleep,” Megumi whispers close to Yuji's ear. The weight of the shadow dog is comforting and warm across his legs where he laid down to sleep. The shadows flickering across the room don't disturb Yuji anymore because he knows he will be safe in them. And so he falls asleep for the second time today, only this time in Megumi’s arms. It's his second mistake today as well.
Yuji dreams about Sukuna and his hell-ish laugh, he dreams about Shibuya burning burning burning as he keeps tossing and turning. In front of his closed eyes in the dark he sees Nanami taking his last breath and he hears the whispered words of “Itadori Yuji stands accused of mass murder in Shibuya on October 31, 2018.” that keep haunting and taunting him. When he awakes in the middle of the night and the entire room is bathed in darkness, Megumi is his lifeline. He clutches him a little tighter in the dark of the room as if daring anyone to try and take him away.
The next morning he feels like he hasn't slept at all. His head is spinning and it doesn't get any better when they relocate to the living room and talk to Kurusu and Takaba. It doesn’t get any better when it is revealed that they have a shot at freeing Tsumiki and Kurusu—Angel—will help unseal Gojo, will help if she gets to kill Sukuna. If she gets to kill him.
While his head keeps on spinning from the lack of sleep, he considers it. All in all, Yuji thinks it's a fair price to pay. He gets to have one last night of peace and serenity and away from bloodshed and violence before he will do what he’s always been meant to do. A fair price. He got longer than he expected when he first talked to Gojo in that murky room in the school. A good ending. Yuji considers it a fair price. Megumi—does not. Yuji sits at the edge of the bed, while Megumi has huddled up in the far corner of it as if he can't get far away enough from him as he keeps scowling at an unidentified spot in the room. Sometimes those daggers he shoots from his eyes are directed at him and Yuji can’t bring himself to blame him for it. Yuji slumps his shoulders.
They have had this fight before. Megumi, it seemed, could stomach the guilt of saving Yuji's life who had taken this shot at life and let a demon rage across the city and burn it to the ground, killing thousands. They talked about this for the first time after Shibuya. Yuji felt that it was only right to bring up the fact that it would be the right choice to kill Yuji if Sukuna ever got a hold over him again. That night Megumi's lips had pulled themselves into a thin line and he had simply shook his head at Yuji. He did it again this time, promptly and without faltering for a second. Yuji had excused Megumi and him from the main suite and dragged him back into the bedroom under Kurusu’s (Angel’s) watchful eyes.
“No,” he had said at that time when Yuji brought it up for the first time. As if simple as that.
“What do you mean ‘no’?” Yuji had shot back.
“No,” Megumi had said again. And that was that. Later, after dying and coming back to life Yuji had said the same thing to Yuta—had told him that he thought Yuta could do it because evidently Megumi couldn't. Yuji twists his body to look at Megumi, before promptly using his hands extended behind his body to pull himself further into the bed, close to the center. Closer to Megumi.
“Don't you want Gojo-sensei back. Don't you miss him?” he asks, and realizes in about the same second that it's a low blow. He doesn’t dare ask for Tsumiki.
“Of course I do,” Megumi snaps and he looks impossibly small at this moment, like a small child left out alone in the rain and at the same time offended that Yuji would even ask him such a thing.
It's a rather easy thing for Yuji to decide then. If he can help bring back Tsumiki and Gojo back for Megumi then… that's a small price to pay. He can continue his work in the machinery—he can take almost all of Sukuna with him when he goes.
Hesitantly, Yuji extends his pinky across the blanket until he grazes Megumi's pinky finger, who sits with his legs still pulled close to him.
“Yuji, no,” Megumi says—more like pleads. Yuji looks at Megumi. Megumi looks at Yuji before pressing their foreheads together. For a moment Yuji closes his eyes and allows them to be before averting his gaze to look out of the floor-plunging windows. The tip of Megumi's nose pokes into his cheek from where he remains, resting his forehead against the side of Yuji's face.
“You know why you can't do this, right? You have to know by now.” The skin alongside his temple tingles when Megumi's unfairly long eyelashes flutter against it. To Yuji it sounds like an admission of defeat. If he had to sum it up—Megumi sounds entirely defeated. He sighs. “Gojo said I haven't been very subtle about this,” he adds quietly.
Yuji lets the words sink in. He lets them settle into his bones so they can take root and enshrine themselves into every part of his being. Suddenly his throat feels dry. He blinks.
“I know,” Yuji whispers.
And they were doomed from the start weren't they? There was no gentle fall, there was only the crash of Yuji swallowing a finger he wasn't meant to swallow and Megumi spearing his life. There was Yuji's first death—his second death—and the looming threat of love's curse over their heads. There never was a gentle first spring when everything was young and small and vulnerable, but given the chance to grow. They never got that and it would be foolish to assume otherwise.
The evening spills the city lights into their room and paints everything purple and blue. That’s a bleak outlook, Yuji thinks. He doesn't want to look at Megumi and think of him and his feelings as a curse thrust upon him, as something corrupted that Yuji shouldn't touch. Yuji doesn't want to look at Megumi and consider his feelings as anything but pure. His feelings are anything but. They have blessed Yuji with their firm, never wavering words, and have given him gentle fingers to comb through his hair. How could he not–
“But Megumi,” Yuji says then, quietly. An admission just between the two of them. His name is like honey in Yuji's mouth, it's sweet and gentle and just Megumi’s name makes his heart quicken up its pace. “I do too, just so that you know. If you don’t already.”
And then—because it was always supposed to go like this with Yuji's beating heart in Megumi’s hands—Yuji, foolish until his last breath, leans in and kisses him.
Megumi, in the end just as foolish as he, takes Yuji in—already waiting.