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Fushiguro found Itadori outside, curled in on himself near a campfire. He silently sat, eyes focused on the flickering flames, the reflection illuminating in his pupils.
Fushiguro found him. Though he wasn't sure if that was the Itadori he had come to know. Or perhaps, somewhere along the way, a change had happened. A shift where the reality of situations had really set in and the weighted guilt of what had happened ran deep within your bones. Like a disease seated within the roots of a tree. Bound to climb up the trunk and infect the rest of the body. Whilst he had found the living, breathing form of Itadori– he wasn’t sure if he had found his soul. Not yet, anyway.
Not the bright, cheerful and painfully optimistic student who took everything in stride. Itadori, who was sunshine incarnated and saw the good in the world even when they were shrouded in sin.
Yuji’s hands were bloodied, Fushiguro could not deny that. Itadori’s body had killed but his body and mind were two separate components and that was something his friend seemed to struggle to understand. The difficult realisation that somewhere along the way Yuji stopped and Sukuna started. Even though they may share a body, they were two completely different, separate entities.
However, Fushiguro had killed before. He had killed mercilessly in the past, too. If he were to judge people on their perfect ideals then he would simply be a hypocrite. He was nowhere near perfection. His skill level may be high and he may have too much pride to let go of but he knew, deep down, his heart was not pure. He didn’t know if it could be pure in a setting like this. With death around every corner and curses growing stronger and stronger with each passing day.
He may not be perfect. Not how the world had intended him to be. But, for Yuji, he could at least be the support. Though he assumed his views would fall on deaf ears, Itadori was always too self-critical when it came to issues like these. Yet he could still try.
Before he could even say anything, Itadori called out without lifting his head from the campfire. “You shouldn't be here.”
“Why not?” Fushiguro inquired, approaching slightly. Yuji was much faster than him, if he wanted to run, he could.
“You know why.”
He frowned. Another step, he was just behind Yuji's slouched form. “I really don't.”
Itadori sighed heavily before craning his head upwards to meet Fushiguro’s gaze. Yuji's eyes held a gentle sheen, the wetness being lighted by the flames. Megumi sucked in a breath.
Ah, so it's one of those conversations, then.
He recalled a time when he had been crying as a kid, Satoru had tried with all his might to comfort him. The white-haired man had been pretty useless and young Megumi wasn't afraid to voice his opinion on that matter. Now, however, he realised maybe he wasn't too suited to this sort of thing either. Emotions had never been his forte and he much preferred not having to deal with his own.
But for Itadori , he could certainly try.
“Megumi,” Yuji's lip quivered. His voice, usually so lively and joyful, was merely a whisper. “You shouldn't be here. With me.”
This wasn't the first time they had encountered this type of conversation. Yuji and his ability to doubt his own control was a common occurrence. Once he had been brought back after dying, something minuscule had changed. A new side to him where he was a little more cautious about using Sukuna. A little more aware of what the curse could truly be capable of.
Though Megumi had never lost faith in Yuji. Or his ability to control Sukuna. He wasn't afraid of what could happen, not now, not ever.
With an exhale, he sat down next to Itadori, the warmth of the fire hitting him pleasantly. Above the stars blinked. The night sky was a beautiful visage towering over them both. The calm before the storm, he told himself silently. A picturesque scene for them to live through before the horrors of tomorrow, next week, next month.
He kicked a rock into the pit, a smattering of burnt crisps and amber flecks flying into the air.
“I'm not afraid of you, you know?” He offered, eyes trained on the dispersing sparks. He heard Yuji let out a shaky breath beside him.
“Why not?”
He turned to face him. Itadori’s features were doused in a gentle gold. Jawline sculpted by the glow, glossy eyes made of pure fire. Made of pure emotion.
“Because why should I be afraid, Yuji? It's you. You're not going to hurt me–”
“He might.” Itadori cut in, voice hushed.
“He won't.” Fushiguro shot back adamantly. “Because you're in control.”
Itadori's breath hitched, chest still for a moment. Fushiguro could tell what was going to happen, the way Yuji bit his lip hard enough that a bead of crimson formed. It muffled a cry, Itadori clamping a hand over his mouth in an attempt to stop any sound from escaping. Shoulders silently shaking. He blinked several times before, finally, a tear rolled down his cheek.
Despite Satoru’s useless comforting techniques, Fushiguro liked to think he had learnt one from him. “You’re allowed to cry– crying doesn’t make you weak, kid,” Satoru had uttered to him. “You can cry.”
Without truly thinking over the words so he wouldn’t hesitate and back out, he said, “You’re allowed to cry, you know?”
The barrier broke, flood gates wide open and the noise Yuji made next would haunt Fushiguro for the rest of eternity. A pained, guttural sound ripped out from the depths of his soul. Still muffled by the palm of his hand yet it was so prominent and so broken, Megumi knew it held mass amounts of guilt and sadness and grief. So much so that it was too much to unpack right now.
With an unsteady hand, he reached around Itadori's back, cradling his body inwards so pink hair rested against his chest. Finally, Yuji's hand fell from his mouth instead grasping at Megumi's t-shirt, sobs falling past his lips and echoing through the night sky.
“How– I– no–” Yuji didn't form a coherent sentence, words separated by distressed sounds. At one point a gag forced its way up and Megumi, for a brief moment, was terrified he was going to get thrown up on. Then Yuji gulped, whining long and low.
Megumi wasn’t sure what had gotten into him but he found himself recalling another memory from the past. He recalled a time when he was ill. Back when he, Satoru and his sister were trying to get back on their feet. He had hated it so much. The useless feeling of not being able to do anything, bound to his bed. One night he had woken up, a raging fever wracking his frame. He remembered wailing, feeling pitiful and weak. Satoru had come to his aid, running slender fingers through his hair rhythmically.
Hesitantly he lifted his free hand. The one not squeezing Yuji's shoulder.
All or nothing, he supposed.
Then he ran the hand through his pink hair, fingers going through the strands in a way he hoped was comforting. It was awkward and bulky but Itadori laughed weakly (fondly) at the feeling, falling further into Megumi's chest. He hoped that was a good sign.
They stayed like that for a while. Neither speaking. Just Itadori's soft sniffles that eventually quietened down. And Megumi, running his hand through Yuji's hair. The night sky watched and waited, as two lonesome souls sat and wondered about the state they were in.
“It's not fair,” Megumi said after a long time, voice hoarse as it broke the silence. “It's not fair that we have to face this. You especially don't deserve this Yuji.”
“I'm a terrible person,” he mumbled, hiccuping into the fabric of Megumi's shirt. “I killed people.”
“You did nothing of the sort. Sukuna did that.”
“I–”
“Yuji. Look at me.”
There was silence.
“Please.”
Then, reluctantly, Itadori lifted his head to meet Fushiguro’s eyes. “How can you still like me after what I've done?”
“I have never been afraid of you,” he started steadily. “Nor will I ever be afraid of you. You are kind, Yuji. His actions don't reflect your own. Sukuna has killed you, has killed many but none of that was done by your own hands. Never by you.”
Yuji stuttered out a breath. “I don't deserve this. I'm not as good as you make me out to be, Megumi.”
“No, you're so much better than the words I use.”
“I–” Itadori sighed, a tiredness so deep-rooted and present appeared across his face. “I don't want to hurt anyone anymore.”
“I won't let you. And you won't let yourself either, remember that.”
Perhaps it was a useless promise. Perhaps Sukuna would take control of Yuji tomorrow and Megumi would be killed by the curse. They weren't sure of the future but he could at least promise Yuji he was going to try. If anyone deserved happiness, it was the boy sitting right in front of him currently.
“Please, Megumi, I can't kill anymore people.” It was a request, quiet and whispered. Only heard by the two of them and the stars.
“Okay.” Megumi gently took Yuji's hand in his own, squeezing it. “Okay.”
Then, several weeks later, Megumi was shunted out of his body. Soul and mind detached as a cursed presence, sickeningly overwhelming, took control. The last thing he saw was Itadori's face, panicked and lost before Sukuna submerged Fushiguro’s soul into complete darkness.
Then, several– he wasn't sure how long he had spent there, in his own mind drowning. However long it had been– he was suddenly back in his body, understanding Yuji's wishes to never kill again. Knowing what it felt like to have your body contorted like a puppet and used for things you did not want to do. Lives had been taken by Sukuna, through his own body, and Megumi wasn't sure he could ever shake off the guilt.
But then Itadori, cheeks rosy and full of pure sunshine, gave him a grin. One of forgiveness and empathy, knowing what it was like and knowing the steps needed to move on. Only then, does Megumi truly understand. Only then, does he learn to forgive himself. And only then, does he learn how to love.