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When Nobara blinks herself awake, disgruntled and groggy from her impromptu nap, the sky outside has fallen completely dark. She pushes herself upright with a start, a blanket slipping off from around her shoulders as she moves. On the other end of the couch from her sits Megumi, wrapped in a blanket of his own, knees pulled up to his chin as he stares unblinkingly in the direction of the front door. He’s tense, stiff and unnaturally still in a way he hasn’t been in a while, now. Even with the fog of sleep still muddling her mind, Nobara understands the situation in an instant.
“He’s still not back yet?” she says sharply. She doesn’t bother waiting for a reply, struggling against the knitted throw still tangled around her legs as she goes to stand up from the couch. The floor is icy-cold against her bare feet, making her shudder as she scuttles over to the window overlooking the front yard and squints out into the night. It appears to be snowing, and a thin layer of white already blankets the ground. But the walkway up to their little home is conspicuously absent of pink hair and a scarred grin, despite it being—she pulls her phone from her hoodie pocket—half past seven on the twenty-fourth of December, with the hotpot dinner the three of them had prepared to eat together still sitting cold and uncooked on the kitchen table.
“I’m going to kill him,” Nobara seethes. “How does it take you over two hours to pick up some fried chicken in the city?”
“It is Christmas Eve, to be fair,” Megumi finally speaks, voice dull. “The lines are probably miles long at this point.” Despite his words, it’s clear he has no conviction in what he’s saying.
With a huff, Nobara crosses the room to rejoin Megumi on the couch, ignoring his half-hearted glare as she invites herself into his blanket nest and shoves her cold feet beneath his thighs. The blanket Megumi has chosen to burrow in is a fluffy, orange monstrosity, criss-crossed with black like the stripes of a tiger and fleecy to the touch. It’s hideous, so naturally it’s Yuuji’s favourite. Nobara takes a moment to bury her face within the blanket’s folds and breathe deeply, catching a twinge of the lavender scent of Yuuji’s shampoo. Her hand finds Megumi’s beneath the covers and grips it tight. Megumi’s fingers entwine with her own and squeeze back.
“He hasn’t said anything in the group chat?” Nobara mumbles, voice aiming for irritated but coming out rather small instead. She feels more than sees Megumi shake his head.
“Maybe he got caught up with something else,” he says doubtfully. “Ran into a curse, or received a call from another sorcerer.”
“He would’ve texted us then,” Nobara counters, grip tightening around Megumi’s hand. “And it’s Christmas Eve. He wouldn’t just run off like that, not without us, unless—” She cuts herself off, and doesn’t voice what they both know to be true. Unless he had no other choice.
Even a year after the battle at Shinjuku, it’s hard to shake the apprehension that still haunts them whenever Yuuji is gone from their sight for too long. Yuuji, Nobara suspects, feels similarly about them. He’s always been affectionate, but for much of those first months following Sukuna’s defeat he was downright clingy, visibly nervous of being left alone as though she and Megumi would disappear the moment Yuuji let them slip from his reach. Things gradually improved as they began to slowly heal together—especially when they moved out of the student dorms over the summer into a small, separate residence of their own on the outskirts of campus. Having some distance, however slight, from the college and all the memories associated with it helped. But their hands are still the first things Yuuji reaches for whenever he’s disturbed by lingering fears in the night.
Then there’s that stupid, stubborn hero complex of his that continues to persist despite everything. While Yuuji’s more self-sacrificial tendencies have lessened significantly post-Sukuna, his impulsive urge to save others in need, regardless of any peril to himself, has not. It’s just who he is, and they wouldn’t have him any other way—but Yuuji’s habit of barreling headfirst into danger for the sake of others, including Nobara and Megumi themselves, hardly does wonders for their blood pressure.
The palm of Nobara’s free hand itches, and she curls it into a fist. “We could’ve just made fried chicken at home,” she mutters. “But nooo, getting shitty fast food for Christmas is traditional, or so the idiot says.”
“I’ll kill him if he’s gotten himself into trouble again,” Megumi mumbles. His hand, entwined with Nobara’s, keeps twitching as though holding back the urge to summon his shikigami.
“Get in line,” Nobara huffs, aiming a poke at Megumi’s ribs. “I call dibs on kicking his ass first if he doesn’t get back home right this instant.”
It’s almost comedic, the way the doorbell rings almost as soon as the words pass her lips. Megumi just about jumps out of his skin and Nobara whips around to face the front door so fast she thinks she pulls a muscle in her neck, ow. The doorbell cuts off, but is soon followed by repeated, rattling thumps, as though someone is trying to kick down the door. Nobara, though unarmed, is on her feet in an instant; behind her, Totality growls as its massive form emerges from Megumi’s shadow.
Its growl cuts off abruptly, though, and Nobara watches, befuddled, as Totality lifts its nose into the air and sniffs once, twice. Megumi blinks, looking as confused as Nobara is, when the shikigami’s ears perk up and its tail begins to wag.
“It’s Yuuji,” he says, as though this isn’t obvious from Totality’s reaction.
Nobara is already stomping towards the front door, irritation and relief warring in her chest in equal measure. “For fuck’s sake. Why can’t he just open the door like a normal person?”
She yanks the door open, but the sharp words die on her lips as she takes in the sight before her.
Yuuji is a wreck. The nice new coat he’d bought at Nobara’s recommendation just last month is practically destroyed, white down feathers pouring out through long scratches that mar the puffy material all over. The warm toque that Megumi had foisted upon his head when he left the house earlier that evening is missing, and there’s a dead leaf sticking out of his mussed hair. Most alarming are the thin streaks of dried blood on his face, though any wounds he’s sustained have already been healed by his RCT.
“Hi,” Yuuji says. His smile is sheepish. “Sorry I’m late.”
“What,” Nobara says, blankly, but can’t even get the rest of the question out. She doesn’t know what expression her face is making, but Yuuji visibly winces at the sight of it.
“What the fuck?” Megumi says, and Yuuji winces even more.
“I’m really, really sorry,” he says all in a rush. “I know it’s late and I’ve been gone for hours, but I found this little guy in the alleyway behind the bus stop—you know, the one on the street by that restaurant with the mid dumplings? And it just looked so sad and I couldn’t just leave it so I tried to lure it in with some food but it ran away when I got too close so I had to chase it down like fifteen blocks and then there was this cyclist and a takoyaki cart and this really angry baasan and Ijusthadnoideathatcatscouldrunsogoddamnfast—”
“Okay, pause.” Nobara holds up a hand, the other going to massage her temples. She squints at Yuuji, who’s drooping and looking even more guilt-ridden than that one time he’d accidentally dropped Megumi’s phone into the toilet.
“Get in here,” she finally sighs, taking Yuuji by one arm and tugging him through the door. Yuuji stumbles in, movements unusually stiff, and that’s when Nobara notices the awkward way he’s holding himself, left arm cupped around his upper torso like he’s injured. But that can’t be the case, because he knows how to use reverse cursed technique now, so why—
As soon as the door shuts behind them, Yuuji relaxes and shakes out his arms. Something moves at his chest, beneath his coat, and for one horrifying moment, Nobara has visions of that one gross scene from the weird alien movie Yuuji had forced them all to watch back in first year. Beside her, Megumi makes a choked little noise and sort-of lurches in Yuuji’s direction. But instead of a creepy dick-looking alien thing making a gorey, chest-bursting entrance, something… white falls, wriggling, out from the bottom of Yuuji’s coat to the floor. Something white and bedraggled, with matted strands of hair that stick out from all over it like spikes, and Nobara genuinely thinks for a moment that Yuuji’s brought home some sort of cursed corpse in the shape of a mop-head when the something opens two large, startlingly blue eyes and emits a dissonant, creaking noise from its body.
“...is that a cat,” Megumi says flatly.
Nobara sputters. “That is not a cat,” she objects. “That is a mutant Swiffer.”
“I couldn’t just leave it behind,” Yuuji says again, plaintively. Then his shoulders sag when, as one, Nobara and Megumi turn their heads to give him identical, withering stares.
The story, as they eventually glean from Yuuji’s rambling account, is as follows:
On the way back home, he had heard what sounded like screaming coming from an adjoining sidestreet. Said screaming had turned out, of course, to be the mournful cries of one very cold, very hungry cat (“Not a cat,” Nobara had repeated, one eyebrow raised, as she observed Megumi and Yuuji attempting to wrestle said cat into the tub for a much-needed bath). Yuuji, soft-hearted as he was, immediately set his sights on rescuing the pitiful creature, and didn’t give up even after it had clawed his face and arms and set him off on a wild goose chase through the crowded streets of Tokyo on Christmas Eve. Special grade missions had given him less trouble when compared to capturing this one (1) pillow-sized cat.
“And I dropped my phone down a gutter,” Yuuji adds sadly. At this, Megumi can only shake his head.
“What is with you and losing phones?” he sighs, and sputters when a lashing tail sends a wave of dirty bathwater splashing right into his face. The cat screeches like a dying teakettle, squirming furiously in Yuuji’s grasp as it makes another valiant attempt at escaping the tub.
“Nobara!” Yuuji yelps, nearly losing grip of the writhing animal. “Stop laughing at us and come help!”
“Not a chance,” Nobara snickers. Her phone shutter clicks as she takes another photo from her seat on the bathroom counter, a safe distance away. “You two can deal with Hurricane Hellspawn and I’ll stay right over here where it’s nice and dry, thanks.”
“Asshole,” Megumi mutters, wincing when the cat gives another long, croaking howl that comes off as less animalistic and more eldritch horror. “I think we can rinse it off now,” he says to Yuuji, bracing himself for the next stage of their mission. “It’s clean enough, and I don’t want to stress it out any more than we already have.”
What happens next is no less than a battle of epic proportions, including one climactic moment when the cat, in an ultimate bid for freedom, leaps straight for Nobara’s safe perch on the counter, sending all their toiletries flying when she nearly jumps clean through the ceiling. In the end, it takes all three of them to wrangle the cat safely into a towel, where it thankfully accepts the blowdryer on its lowest setting with much more grace than it had the bath itself.
“It’s a girl,” Megumi says, much later. The three of them have migrated back to the living room couch, where they watch the now mostly dry cat explore her new surroundings, creeping around corners and occasionally casting wary glances in their direction. Yuuji, now freshly showered himself, sits in-between Megumi and Nobara, wrapped in his favourite blanket and holding their hands beneath the covers. He perks up at this new information.
“We should give her a name,” he says brightly. Nobara drops her head onto his shoulder with a groan.
“We are not naming the cat Jennifer Lawrence.”
“Aw, come on!” Yuuji immediately protests. He lets go of Megumi’s hand to gesture emphatically in the cat’s direction. “Just look at her and tell me she doesn’t look exactly like a Jennifer Lawrence.”
Nobara fixes him with a deadpan stare. “Yuuji. There isn’t a single cat in the world that ‘looks like’ a Jennifer Lawrence.” She pauses, her brows scrunching together, and then adds, “Come to think of it, I’m not sure even Jennifer Lawrence herself looks like a Jennifer Lawrence.”
Yuuji gasps, mock-offended. “You take that back.”
“Normally I wouldn’t touch this conversation with a ten-foot pole,” Megumi says, “but Jennifer Lawrence is, objectively, a stupid name for a cat.”
“It is not,” Yuuji insists. “You guys are just prejudiced. Her nickname could be Jenni-chan!”
“That’s somehow worse,” Nobara says, shuddering. Yuuji pouts.
“You guys are so mean to me,” he whines, slumping deeper into the couch cushions. His free hand falls back into Megumi’s lap, where Megumi instinctively clasps it between his palms once more. Yuuji’s hand is warm, a vast improvement over the icy touch of his skin from when he’d first returned to the house. Having him back, safe and sound by their sides, is a comfort that goes beyond words. Megumi rests his head in the curve of Yuuji’s shoulder while Nobara nestles in closer on his other side, and Megumi feels more than sees Yuuji’s fond little smile that he aims at them both.
A gentle silence settles over the room, warm and content. Then Megumi is seized by a sudden thought, the catalyst that had landed them all into this situation in the first place and brought them the small creature currently sniffing around their living room, her blue eyes wide with curiosity.
“Hey, did you ever manage to pick up that fried chicken you wanted so badly?”
Yuuji stirs at his question, and then goes stiff all over. Megumi can practically hear the gears whirring in his head as he retraces his footsteps from that evening. Abruptly he groans.
“Shit. I must’ve left the bag behind in that alleyway.”
“Aw,” Nobara says teasingly, prodding Yuuji in the side. “And after you risked your life to bring it back for us, too.” Megumi can’t hold back a short huff of laughter at this, bringing one hand up to tug playfully at Yuuji’s ear.
But their amusement quickly dies when Yuuji pulls away from them, slumping forward in his seat and burying his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry, guys,” he says, voice muffled and thick. “Fuck. And I made you both wait for me for all those hours, too.”
“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that,” Nobara says, looking a little alarmed. She rubs at Yuuji’s shoulder, a bit awkwardly. “It’s just food. It’s not like we’re going to die if we don’t eat karaage right this instant or something.”
“Yeah, we can still go ahead and have our hotpot like we originally planned,” Megumi says, brow furrowed at Yuuji’s sudden change in mood. He reaches out and rests a hesitant hand on Yuuji’s hunched back.
“It’s not that,” Yuuji says, voice still muffled. He scrubs roughly at his face. “I just—god. Fuck, it sounds so stupid now that I really think about it.”
Although Yuuji can’t see it, Nobara raises a challenging brow. “Try us.”
Yuuji gives a gusty sigh, but uncovers his face and sits back up, eyes a little red. They wait as he takes a moment to collect his thoughts.
“It’s just—this time last year was so shitty, for obvious reasons,” he says eventually, eyes downcast. He flexes his left hand, the one missing two fingers, and something in Megumi’s stomach clenches at the sight. “Then the rest of this year’s been hard, too, what with everything being so… different.” He doesn’t mention the losses they’ve endured, but he doesn’t need to. For a moment, Megumi thinks of Tsumiki. Of Nanami-san. Of the bright blooms of flowers that rest on their graves. Of the still-healing rows of stitches across Okkotsu-senpai’s forehead, and across Gojo-sensei’s. He watches as Nobara, apparently unconsciously, runs her fingers along the edges of her scarred, empty eye socket. He extends his free hand, palm-up, in her direction, and wordlessly she takes it.
The grief on Yuuji’s face is immeasurable. “You’ve both been working so hard these past few months,” he says quietly. His dark gaze turns to Nobara, who twitches beneath his sudden focus. “I know you haven’t been sleeping well, Nobara. And Megumi,” those intense eyes turn to him, “you keep skipping meals.” Megumi can’t help but avert his gaze beneath Yuuji’s scrutiny, which is kind—unfailingly kind as Yuuji always is—but also leaves him feeling naked, unmistakably perceived. From the corner of his eye, Megumi can see the slow bob of Nobara’s throat as she swallows and tightens her jaw.
Yuuji shifts, looking uneasy, when the two of them remain silent. “I don’t mean to say that I think either of you are weak, or incapable of handling yourselves. I guess I just—” his voice catches, “—I just wanted you guys to be able to enjoy a nice, normal day, for once. Just a regular Christmas Eve with some nice karaage and Christmas cake, to help get our minds off everything.”
Yuuji trails off, twisting his hands in his lap. His gaze drops, and he no longer seems able to meet their eyes. “I mean,” he mumbles, “that was how Jiisan and I used to celebrate Christmas together, at least. I wanted to pick up some fried chicken to go with our dinner, and then stay up late to bake some cakes for you to eat tomorrow morning. I thought it might be a nice surprise.” He rubs a hand over his face. “But in the end, all I did was force you both to go along with my stupid plan without even explaining myself first. Then I made you worry by staying out so late, and I couldn’t even give you the nice evening you both deserve.”
When he uncovers his face again, his eyes are red and damp. “I’m so sorry, guys,” he says, voice choked. “I’ve ruined everything.”
Yuuji lowers his head as though to accept a reprimand, or punishment. But before Megumi can say something, anything, a couch cushion suddenly whizzes past his head, catching Yuuji on the shoulder. Yuuji flails backwards with a startled yelp.
“You dumbass,” Nobara snaps at him. She chucks another cushion in Yuuji’s direction, which he only narrowly manages to avoid by ducking, eyes wide and shocked. “You’re just so—you’re such a damn—ugh!”
She grabs the front of his sweater, and Megumi, catching onto her intentions, swiftly joins her in enveloping Yuuji into a rough, fierce hug. Sandwiched between the two of them, Yuuji’s body is as rigid as a plank, but he begins to relax by inches the longer he’s in their embrace, his arms creeping up to cover their own.
“I can’t believe you,” Nobara mutters into the side of Yuuji’s neck. “Is this seriously what’s gotten you so stressed lately?”
Yuuji makes a muffled noise of protest, but is cut off when Megumi squishes his cheeks together in warning with one hand. “You’re such an idiot sometimes,” he says gruffly. “You don’t need to throw us a party or prepare a whole banquet in order for us to have the perfect Christmas or whatever.” He rests his forehead on Yuuji’s sternum, finding comfort in the strong, steady beating of his heart in his chest. “We just want to spend time with you.”
“It’s not that we don’t appreciate the effort,” Nobara says. “But you shouldn’t beat yourself up or blame yourself when we’re struggling, either.” She sits back slightly, giving Yuuji’s cheek a pinch before the act gentles into a careful cupping of his face.
“The world’s shittiness isn’t your fault,” she tells him, firm and resolute. Her expression softens. “Don’t take all of those burdens onto yourself. You deserve better than that.”
“We aren’t the only ones hurting here, Yuuji,” Megumi says quietly, wrapping his fingers around Yuuji’s wrist. He brushes the scarred stumps of the two missing fingers of Yuuji’s left hand. “You deserve to be cared for, too. You don’t have to deal with things all on your own anymore.”
“Oh,” Yuuji says, faintly. Then, even more quietly, “Right.” He doesn’t say anything more, but he buries his face in Megumi’s shirt-front, where a damp heat begins to collect, and clutches at Nobara’s sleeve hard enough that the cloth stretches and his knuckles turn white.
There they sit, holding on to one another, while outside their window, the snowfall thickens and dots the deep, dark sky with blotches of vibrant white. The wind howls and rattles the window panes, but the cold can’t reach them within these walls. Nothing will ever force them apart again, if they can help it.
Something fuzzy brushes by Megumi’s side. The three of them untangle slightly, just enough to spot a small pink nose poke up from the edge of the couch, followed by a pair of perky white ears, triangular as onigiri. Two vibrant blue eyes complete the curious feline gaze that meets their own.
“Guys, look,” Yuuji whispers with growing delight. “It’s Jenni-chan!”
Nobara throws her head back and groans theatrically, even as the cat hops fully onto the couch and begins to creep towards them. “I am vetoing that name. It is vetoed. I refuse to use it.”
“She’s probably hungry,” Megumi says, extending the knuckles of one hand out for the cat to sniff. “We should all go get something to eat, at this point.”
The cat considers his hand for several long moments, and then ignores it entirely in favour of beelining towards Yuuji, where he sits cross-legged in between Nobara and Megumi. Yuuji sucks in a sharp, quiet breath when the cat kneads her front paws on his pant-legs, before apparently deeming him as an acceptable sitting space and proceeding to curl up in his lap.
“She’s sitting on me!” Yuuji practically gasps. His unabashed excitement is contagious, and Megumi can’t help but smile. After a long minute of contemplating the cat in his lap with undisguised awe, Yuuji lifts his head and says gravely, “It is now illegal for me to move, ever.”
Nobara snorts, stroking one finger across the cat’s head as it huddles tighter in its comfy position, letting out a surprisingly loud, long, creaky meow. “Clingy little thing, isn’t she?” she murmurs. “Talkative, too.” Then she pauses, and realization seems to dawn in her eyes.
“Come to think of it, doesn’t she kind of remind you of somebody we know?”
It takes Megumi a second to parse her meaning, and when he does, he shoots her a horrified glare.
“We are not naming the cat after Gojo-sensei, Nobara.”
Nobara squawks, indignant. “Of course not! I never said we should!”
By their sides, Yuuji’s sudden peal of laughter is bright and joyous as a bell.