Work Text:
By the time they’d turned 30, they’d had an inkling as to what was going on.
The air in the izakaya had been thick with steam and the raucous din of a Friday night crowd, but none of that had mattered to them at the time. They’d survived their twenties and the celebration felt more like a victory lap than anything else. Nobara had been the loudest, her cheeks flushed pink from the sake, while Yuuji just beamed with that never ending brightness of his.
Nobara had been the one to break the comfortable lull in conversation. She had snapped open her compact mirror, squinting critically at the corner of her uncovered eye under the dim lights. She’d groaned so loudly in despair that she'd drawn the attention of the table next to them.
Then, she’d grabbed Yuuji’s face between her hands, squishing his cheeks until his lips puckered like a fish.
"Y’know, it’s actually pissing me off," she’d slurred, her voice sharp with indignation. "You eat garbage and sleep, like, four hours a night, but you still look exactly like you did when we were first years."
Yuuji hadn't pulled away. He just laughed it off and said something about good genes, flashing a peace sign.
From across the table, Megumi watched them fondly, nursing his drink to hide the small smile tugging at his lips. He’d noticed it too, how Yuuji’s skin had remained weirdly unblemished where his own had begun to show signs of stress and sleepless nights.
But he’d dismissed it.
He’d told himself it was just Yuuji being Yuuji.
By the time they’d turned 40, they’d known for sure.
Years after Nobara had first said something at the izakaya, Shoko sat Yuuji down after a regular checkup, confirming it with a grim sort of wonder. His body hadn't just stopped regenerating, it stopped dying altogether. His cells had locked themselves into a permanent state of being, refusing to yield to the passage of time that was slowly claiming everyone else.
That realization hadn't pushed Megumi away, rather, it had terrified him into action. He’d looked at Yuuji and felt a sudden sense of greed. He’d realized that while Yuuji might somehow have forever, he himself only had now.
The proposal hadn't been a sweeping romantic gesture. It was less about the future and more a claim on the present. They had exchanged rings right there amidst the scattered photos, binding themselves together. And as Megumi slid the simple gold band onto Yuuji’s finger, the visual had stung just a bit. His own hands had started to look weathered while Yuuji’s had remained soft and smooth.
By the time they’d turned 50, Yuuji had settled into looking like a young twenty-something.
The lights of the supermarket had been unforgiving that one afternoon, casting a sterile glare over the checkout counter. They’d been buying groceries for the week as usual. Yuuji was bouncing on the balls of his feet as he unloaded the cart, humming a pop song that hadn’t seen the light of day in three decades.
The cashier had smiled warmly at Megumi as he pulled out his card. "It’s so nice to see young people helping out," she’d said, gesturing at bright, unchanging Yuuji. "Is your son home from university for the summer?"
Megumi hadn’t been anticipating the sting of her words.
Standing there, conscious of the reading glasses tucked into his shirt pocket and the dull ache in his lower back that always flared when it rained, he suddenly felt less like a partner and more like a burden. He’d felt the weight of his fifty years in that moment while Yuuji remained a perpetual font of energy.
Yuuji, however, hadn't even blinked. He had leaned over the counter, flashing that youthful, radiant smile that time refused to dim. "Husband," was all he said, sliding his arm around Megumi’s waist with an unexpected possessiveness. "I’m his husband."
That night, for the first time in years, Megumi had turned his back to Yuuji in bed. He’d stared into the darkness, suddenly heavy with a new fear. He’d begun to wonder how long it would take before Yuuji would grow to resent being bound to a decaying body.
By the time they’d turned 60, Megumi fucked up his back and had to finally retire from being a sorcerer.
It hadn't even been a Special Grade that finally ended his career. They’d been clearing a routine warehouse in Chiba when Megumi’s L4 suddenly betrayed him with a sickening pop. He remembered vividly how his legs had given out, and how Yuuji had been there instantly, scooping him up bridal-style before he could even hit the concrete.
The civilian doctor had told him to cease all strenuous activity or risk paralysis.
The silence in the hospital room had been deafening until Yuuji had broken it, gently telling Megumi that maybe it was time to let the next generation handle the heavy lifting. That night, while Yuuji had prepped for yet another mission, Megumi quietly submitted his resignation. He’d traded his shikigami for physical therapy.
By the time they’d turned 70, Megumi had sucked it up and started using a cane outside the house.
It had leaned against the shoe rack for over a year, a gift from Nobara that Megumi had refused to touch. But on a rainy evening, as they had prepared to leave the house for a movie, his back had throbbed so violently that he hadn't been able to hide the wince.
Yuuji didn’t give him a look of pity. He’d just picked up the cane and held it out handle-first, insisting that he wanted to walk with him, not carry him. Megumi had looked his husband in the eye and, in that moment, finally swallowed his pride. He’d taken the handle, and Yuuji immediately slowed his stride to match the rhythmic step of the old man beside him.
Now, at 78, the silence in the bathroom was thick.
Megumi leaned his weight against the porcelain sink, its cold edge pressing into his hips. He exhaled slowly, watching the fog of his breath ghost over the mirror before fading. The man staring back at him was a stranger he was slowly learning to recognize. The spiky, unruly hair of his youth had tamed itself, thinning significantly and turning into a wash of gray.
He was tired. It wasn't a weariness of life, he loved the peace they had worked hard to carve out, but rather the exhaustion of constantly trying to keep pace. It just took a huge amount of effort to stand next to the sun day after day and not feel like a fading shadow.
He lifted a hand, his knuckles swollen slightly from the damp weather, and traced the deep groove etched from the edge of his nose to the corner of his mouth.
Suddenly, warmth pressed against his back.
Arms wrapped around Megumi’s waist, firm and solid, locking him in place. Yuuji rested his chin on Megumi’s shoulder and looked into the mirror.
His face was smooth and unblemished, not a day past twenty. His eyes held that perpetual clarity, undimmed by the decades. In contrast, Megumi looked like a map of the era they had survived. The bathroom light caught the crepe texture of the skin beneath his eyes.
Megumi stared at their hands resting on his stomach in the mirror. Yuuji’s fingers were interlaced with his own, littered with veins and age spots.
"Shit, look at us," Megumi muttered, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.
Yuuji tightened his grip, nuzzling closer. "I am. Best view in the house."
"Stop it." Megumi’s voice was rough, a gravelly sound that seemed to vibrate in his chest. He didn't lean into the touch this time. Instead, his shoulders went rigid. "I look like I’m robbing the cradle."
He let out a dry laugh that held no humor. The image in the mirror made his stomach turn. Together they were a vibrant, immortal beauty wrapped around a decaying shell. It felt wrong.
"Let go," Megumi said, his tone sharpening with defensive panic. He clawed at Yuuji’s forearms, trying to pry the iron grip loose. "I’m tired. I’m going to bed."
But Yuuji didn't budge.
Before Megumi could voice another protest, the grip on his waist tightened, and the world tilted. Yuuji spun him around, pressing him back until his hips bumped against the edge of the vanity.
Megumi found himself trapped. Behind him was unyielding porcelain and in front of him was the comforting furnace-like heat of Yuuji.
"Don't," Yuuji said. His voice dropped, shedding the playful lilt from moments ago. "Don't hide from me."
"I'm not hiding," Megumi snapped, the fight draining out of him as he slumped slightly against the counter. He refused to meet Yuuji's eyes, staring instead at the junction of his neck and shoulder. It felt like the smooth, taut skin there was mocking him. "Just… I need some space."
"So you can go sulk? So you can convince yourself you’re doing me a favor by pulling away?" Yuuji challenged, stepping into Megumi’s personal space. He was so close now that he was forced to look up at his face. "Tell me what you see in that mirror, Gumi. Tell me what’s so terrible."
“I see a man pushing eighty dragging around a boy,” Megumi whispered, the venom in his voice directed entirely inward. He poked a finger hard into Yuuji’s chest. It was like poking a marble statue. "You haven't changed in decades. It’s–"
"It sucks, I know," Yuuji cut in.
Megumi froze, his hand lingering on Yuuji's chest.
"You think I like this?" Yuuji grabbed his hand, pressing the weathered palm against his own cheek. "You think I like looking in the mirror and seeing myself like this? I’m the one who’s stuck, Gumi."
"You're immortal," Megumi argued, though his voice wavered. "You have forever."
"I have time. It’s not the same thing." Yuuji leaned in, his forehead resting against Megumi’s. His eyes were fierce, burning with devotion. "Every time I find a new line on your face, I feel like I won the lottery."
"That’s a little morbid."
"No, it’s a miracle, really," Yuuji shot back. He shifted his grip, one hand coming up to cup the back of Megumi’s neck, his thumb tracing his hairline where the silver was most prominent. "Sorcerers don't get to be old men, Gumi. We were supposed to die before we reached thirty."
Yuuji tilted his head, brushing his lips against the deep crease etched into Megumi’s forehead.
"Everyone else we had to bury," Yuuji murmured against the skin, "they never got these lines. They never got to complain about back pain."
Megumi swallowed hard, his throat tight. "That doesn't make me beautiful, Yuuji. It just makes me a survivor."
"And that’s the most beautiful thing you could be." Yuuji pulled back just enough to lock eyes with him again. The intensity there stole the air from Megumi’s lungs. "Every wrinkle is another year you chose to stay with me."
"You're romancing an old man," Megumi grumbled, but his hands had stopped pushing. They were clutching onto Yuuji’s t-shirt now.
"I'm romancing my husband," Yuuji corrected. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the corner of Megumi’s eye. "I don't want the twenty-year-old version of you. I loved him, sure, but he didn't know me like you do. He hasn’t lived this life with me."
Yuuji’s hands slid down to Megumi’s hips, squeezing the softer flesh there with possessive intent.
"I want this," Yuuji said low in his throat, the sound vibrating through their connected bodies. "I want the grey hair and the aches and pains because it means you’re here, Gumi. You’re real, and you’re with me."
Megumi let out a shaky breath, his defenses crumbling under the weight of Yuuji’s conviction. "I can't keep up with you anymore, Yuuji. Not physically."
Yuuji smirked then, a hungry expression that made Megumi’s pulse stutter. "Who said you had to do the work?"
He pressed his hips firmly against Megumi’s.
"Let me worship you," Yuuji whispered, his lips grazing Megumi’s ear. "Let me show you exactly how much I love this body."
Megumi could only gasp at his words.
The air shifted the moment Yuuji’s mouth descended on his. It was hungry and devouring, a pressure that stole the breath from Megumi’s lungs. He gasped, the sound swallowed immediately by the wet heat of the kiss, as Yuuji’s other hand slid from his hip to the nape of his neck.
The sensation was dizzying. Yuuji’s fingers, terrifyingly strong even when gentle, tangled in the thinning hair right at the base of Megumi’s skull. There was no hesitation. Yuuji began to move them as if Megumi were made of paper, his body a wall of unyielding heat guiding Megumi out of the bathroom.
Megumi’s knees, stiff from the humidity of the rain earlier that day, buckled just a bit. Yuuji caught him, and he felt a rush at being held up entirely by a strength that hadn't waned in sixty years.
They stumbled into the shadows of the bedroom.
When the backs of Megumi’s legs hit the mattress, he didn't fall so much as sink. He relaxed in immediate relief. The mattress contoured perfectly to his lower back, but before he could sigh, Yuuji followed him down.
Yuuji, usually filled with bright, chaotic energy, was suddenly still, hovering over him. He braced himself on his arms, caging Megumi in.
"Light," Yuuji said softly. He reached out, clicking on the bedside lamp.
"Yuuji, don't," Megumi protested instinctively, throwing a forearm over his eyes. The light felt abrasive, promising to highlight every flaw he wanted nothing more than to hide. "Turn it off."
"No." Yuuji gently but firmly pulled Megumi’s arm away, pinning his wrist to the mattress above his head. His grip was warm and smooth, but impossible to break. "I told you. I’m looking."
Megumi shivered. As Yuuji began to undress him, Megumi became hyper-aware of his own texture. The air hit skin that felt notably more fragile than it used to be.
Yuuji didn't go for his pants right away. Instead, his hands began to map the terrain of Megumi’s torso with a look of focus.
He traced the long, faded jagged line of the scars across Megumi’s chest. The skin there was different now. What had once been shiny scar tissue was softer, yielding under Yuuji’s thumb.
"This one changed shape," Yuuji murmured. He lowered his head, pressing his lips to the scar. The sensation of Yuuji’s tongue tracing the uneven ridge sent a jolt of electricity straight down to Megumi’s groin.
"It stretched," Megumi breathed out. He stared at the ceiling, feeling the wet heat of Yuuji's mouth begin to move lower. "My skin isn’t elastic anymore. It sags."
"It has texture," Yuuji mumbled against his ribs. He ran his palms over Megumi’s sides, where the flesh was looser, lacking the taut definition of their youth. Yuuji’s fingers dug in, kneading the softness with reverence. "I feel like plastic compared to this."
Megumi squeezed his eyes shut. The flood of sensation was overwhelming. Yuuji’s skin was like a furnace pressed against Megumi’s perpetual coldness. Where Yuuji touched, the aches in Megumi’s joints seemed to dissolve, burned away by the heat.
Yuuji moved with a sense of calm urgency, like was memorizing Megumi as he was today. Megumi knew that in another five years, the map would change again. He could see Yuuji drinking in this specific iteration of him before time washed it away.
He lifted Megumi’s free hand, bringing it to his lips. He kissed the swollen knuckle of his ring finger, then the age spots on the back of the hand.
"You're so warm," Megumi whispered, his insecurity bleeding out, replaced by a haze of drowsy arousal. Yuuji’s heat was still seeping into his tired muscles, soothing the stiffness in his shoulders. It felt like sinking into a hot bath.
"And you're here," Yuuji replied against his pulse point. He looked up, his eyes dark and dilated, his amber irises burning. "You're right here."
Yuuji didn't give him time to respond. He sealed his mouth over Megumi’s, swallowing the next breath, the kiss deep and consuming. It was a sensory overload that began to shut off Megumi's brain. All he could taste was mint and Yuuji, moaning at the slide of his tongue.
While Megumi was lost in the heat of it, dizzy and grasping at Yuuji’s shoulders for purchase, Yuuji’s hands were busy at their waistbands. He moved with practiced dexterity, making short work of buttons and zippers.
Cool air brushed Megumi’s legs as the fabric was stripped away, only to be immediately replaced by the warmth of Yuuji’s skin pressing against him.
Yuuji didn't stop kissing him. He dragged his lips across Megumi’s cheek as his hand slid down between them.
Megumi flinched instinctively when Yuuji’s fingers wrapped around him. He was still soft, a reminder that his body moved at a slower, more deliberate pace than it used to. Shame began to rise up his neck.
"Relax," Yuuji murmured against the sensitive skin below his ear. The vibration of the word went straight to the base of Megumi’s spine. "I've got you. There’s no rush. We have all night."
Yuuji’s grip was firm and grounding. He didn't treat Megumi’s body with impatience but with devotion. He began to stroke, a steady friction that was well practiced. Yuuji knew the landscape of Megumi’s body better than Megumi himself did at this point. He knew exactly how much pressure to apply, how to coax the blood flow without forcing it.
Megumi let his head fall back into the pillow, his eyes sliding shut. He focused entirely on the sensation of Yuuji’s hand. Pleasure began to gather deep in his belly.
Yuuji used his thumb to circle the head, catching a drop of fluid and spreading it slick and slow. He kissed the underside of Megumi’s jaw, humming in approval as he felt Megumi’s breath hitch.
"That's it," Yuuji whispered, the praise sounding like a prayer. "Feel that, Gumi? You're still so responsive for me."
"Takes... longer," Megumi gritted out, his hips twitching involuntarily against his hand.
"I like longer," Yuuji countered, picking up the pace just slightly as he felt Megumi begin to harden further in his grasp. "I like taking my time with you. Like I'm the only one who knows how to do this right."
His shame evaporated, burned away by the friction and the evidence of his own desire. Megumi felt himself filling Yuuji’s hand, the blood rushing with a thumping insistence that drowned out the persistent ache in his joints.
He reached down, his own hand shaking slightly, to grip Yuuji’s forearm.
"Yuuji," he gasped, the name tearing out of him.
"I’m here," Yuuji promised, leaning down to capture Megumi’s lips again, sealing the promise with a kiss. "I’m right here."
Yuuji didn’t break their kiss as his hand shot out blindly to the nightstand, fumbling the drawer open and snagging a bottle.
The sound of the cap popping was the only warning Megumi got before he heard the wet, slick sound of Yuuji preparing himself. He moved with a speed that was almost unfair, a blur that Megumi could feel rather than see. In the time it would have taken him to sit up and grab his glasses, Yuuji was already slicked and ready, discarding the bottle somewhere on the floor.
Yuuji shifted, swinging a leg over Megumi to straddle his hips. He settled his weight, the dense muscle of his thighs bracketing Megumi’s waist.
He didn't pull back. He kept their mouths connected, drinking in Megumi’s ragged breaths as he lifted his hips and began to sink down.
The sensation was earth-shattering. Megumi groaned into Yuuji’s mouth, his hands scrabbling at his back. Yuuji took him in slowly, stretching himself, nudging the hollow ache that had been plaguing Megumi all night.
And then Yuuji finally bottomed out and they were locked together.
Before he even started to move, instinct took over. Megumi’s body remembered the rhythm of a lifetime of love. He tried to snap his hips upward, to meet Yuuji’s weight and drive into him, but a sharp, hot bolt of pain shot through Megumi’s spine, seizing the muscles in his back. He choked on a gasp, his body going rigid, his face twisting against Yuuji’s lips.
Yuuji froze instantly. He still didn't pull away, but he shifted his weight to pin his hips firmly against the mattress.
"Stop," Yuuji murmured against his lips, the vibration soothing against the grimace Megumi was trying to hide.
"I can–" Megumi started, frustration bleeding into his voice.
"No," Yuuji cut him off. "Don't move. You’re gonna strain yourself."
"I just want to–"
"I know," Yuuji whispered, softening his words with a kiss to Megumi’s jaw. "But you don't have to. Not tonight."
Yuuji shifted his posture, taking all the pressure off Megumi’s torso. He sat up slightly, just enough to get leverage, but kept his face close, his eyes locked on Megumi’s clouded ones.
"Relax your back for me," Yuuji said, his voice low and hypnotic. "Just lie there and let me make you feel good."
Megumi hesitated, his pride warring with the pain, but then he looked up at Yuuji and surrendered. He exhaled, letting his muscles go slack, sinking deeper into the pillows.
"Good," Yuuji praised.
Megumi gasped as he began to move again. He ground down, hitting the perfect spot within himself with a small hitch of his breath. Then lifted and dropped again. He set a rhythm that Megumi himself couldn't possibly have matched.
All Megumi had to do was exist. Yuuji did everything. He controlled the depth, the speed, the angle. His body demanded nothing from Megumi but his presence.
"That's it," Yuuji panted through his own building moans. Megumi’s eyes started to roll back in pleasure, his hands coming up to weakly grasp at Yuuji’s waist. "I've got you, Gumi."
The room narrowed down to the sound of their breathing and the steady friction of their bodies.
Yuuji was relentless. He set a pace that was maddeningly consistent, rocking his hips with a fluidity that made Megumi’s toes curl. Every time Yuuji came down, he squeezed in such a way that made the breath stutter in Megumi’s throat, turning his moans into something more desperate.
Megumi lay back, surrendering completely. The strain in his back had faded into a dull background hum, drowned out by the overwhelming feeling of his husband. Above him, Yuuji looked almost like an angel with sweat slicking his collarbones and hair sticking to his forehead. His expression was one of loving devotion.
A drop of sweat fell from Yuuji’s chin, landing hot on Megumi’s chest, right over his racing heart.
"You're okay," Yuuji panted, seeing the way Megumi’s eyes were losing focus, swimming in pleasure. "I’ve got you. Just feel it."
Yuuji leaned forward, bracing his weight on his forearms on either side of Megumi’s head. He lowered his face until their noses brushed, inhaling the scent of Megumi’s skin.
"Look at me, Gumi," Yuuji whispered, his voice rough.
Megumi forced his heavy eyelids open. He looked up into eyes that hadn't changed in decades, amber and bright and full of life.
"I love you," Yuuji said, the words punctuated by the bounce of his hips. "Every version of you. Every year that passes, I will keep loving you."
The sincerity of it shattered the last of Megumi’s defenses. Pleasure coiled tight in his belly, sharp and blinding. He reached up, his trembling hands grasping at Yuuji’s biceps, feeling the stone-hard muscle shift under his palms.
"Yuuji," Megumi gasped, his voice breaking. "Please."
"Together," Yuuji promised.
He picked up the pace, abandoning the slow grind for a frantic bounce that made Megumi’s nerves sing. Yuuji reached down between them, his hand wrapping around himself, matching the rhythm of his hips to the strokes of his hand.
The sensation of Yuuji clenching around him crested like a wave crashing against a cliff.
Megumi arched his back off the mattress, a cry tearing from his throat that for just a moment sounded agonizingly young. His release hit him with the force of a lightning strike. For that suspended second, there was no age and no aching joints, just existence.
Yuuji followed him seconds later. He groaned and shuddered violently, grinding his hips down as he came up onto his stomach. He floated like that for a second before collapsing, burying his face in the crook of Megumi’s neck, riding out the aftershocks, holding onto Megumi as if he were the only solid thing in a world of flowing time.
They stayed like that as the silence slowly returned to the room. They tried to remember how to breathe as their hearts hammered against each other.
Megumi let out a sharp gasp when Yuuji finally pulled off of him, the absence of his heat leaving a hollow ache that the cool bedroom air rushed to fill. He shivered, his muscles twitching as they began the slow, confusing process of uncoiling. He felt sated in the best possible way, his mind quiet and pleasantly hazy.
He cracked one eye open.
"Towels," Megumi croaked, his voice sounding like it had been dragged over gravel. He made a weak, aborted motion to sit up. "We should... clean up."
"Later," Yuuji whispered. He didn't move to get up. Instead, he pulled the duvet up over them, tucking it around Megumi’s shoulders with maddening care. "Just stay for a minute."
Megumi didn't have the will to argue. He sank back into the pillows, letting his head lull to the side to look up at his husband. Yuuji was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, looking down at him. He didn't look tired, or even winded. He looked like he was ready to run a lap around Tokyo, but he was forcing himself to be still for Megumi’s sake.
Under the sheets, Yuuji’s hand sought Megumi’s.
When their fingers interlaced, Megumi felt the familiar, bittersweet sting.
"I hate that you can see it," Megumi murmured sleepily, lightly squeezing Yuuji’s hand in his. "The time on my face."
"I told you, I like it," Yuuji said softly, his thumb sweeping over the back of Megumi’s hand. "It proves we’re doing it right."
"Doing what right?"
"Living," Yuuji answered simply. He squeezed Megumi’s hand back. "I wake up every day exactly the same. But you..." Yuuji’s eyes softened, glowing faintly in the dim light. "You get to change. You get all the lines and gray hair and stuff."
Megumi snorted, a weak puff of air. "Gee, thanks."
"I mean it," Yuuji insisted. "Watching you change is the only way I know time is actually passing. It’s the only way I know we’re actually living the life we fought for."
Yuuji leaned down, kissing the corner of Megumi’s mouth.
"You're doing the living for both of us," Yuuji whispered. "I'm just lucky I get to watch."
The words settled in Megumi’s chest, heavy and warm. The insecurity that had plagued him in the bathroom finally began to dissolve, for now at least.
His eyelids felt like they were weighted. The adrenaline had fully crashed, leaving behind the bone-deep exhaustion of a seventy-eight-year-old man who had pushed just a little past his limits. The darkness of the room began to creep into the edges of his vision.
"You're too sentimental..." Megumi mumbled, his words slurring together.
"Go to sleep, Gumi," Yuuji’s voice was a soft rumble, a lullaby vibrating against the sheets.
"Stay?"
"Always."
Megumi let go. He drifted off within seconds, his breathing evening out into the heavy snore of a deep sleep.
Beside him, Yuuji didn't sleep for a while. He shut the light off and lay there in the dark, eyes wide open and amber-bright, holding his husband’s hand. He was content to stand guard over the precious, fleeting time that Megumi had left.
By the time they’d turned 80, two years later, Yuuji was alone.
The incense stick had burned down to a fragile column of gray ash, trembling in the slight breeze before collapsing onto the cold stone.
Yuuji reached out, his hand brushing away a few fallen leaves from the base of the grave marker. The granite was cool to the touch, yet rough against his fingertips. The carving was simple, just as his husband had always wanted.
Fushiguro Megumi
[2002 - 2082]
There were no titles. Just a name, and two dates that bracketed a life that had been long and hard, but complete.
Yuuji sat cross-legged in the dirt, heedless of the damp seeping into his black pants. He picked at a loose thread on his cuff. The silence of the cemetery usually brought him peace, but today, it felt far heavier than usual.
"I went to Hana’s funeral last weekend," Yuuji said to the stone. His voice was conversational, as if Megumi were just sitting on the other side of the marker. "It was a nice service. Lots of white lilies."
He huffed a dry laugh, shaking his head.
"She never really gave up, did she? I bet she’s chasing you right now. Probably sprinting across the Sanzu River trying to catch up before you even have the chance to cross over all the way. Good luck with that."
Yuuji smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He plucked a blade of grass, twirling it between fingers that refused to die.
"Nobara was there," he murmured, his voice dropping to a whisper.
He had seen her from across the room. She’d aged rather gracefully, draped in a heavy shawl despite the warmth of the day. Her hair may have been white, but her face was poised and elegant.
"I couldn't do it, Gumi. I couldn't talk to her."
Yuuji stared at the name carved into the granite and felt a lump form in his throat.
"I saw her, and I just… I froze. If I went over there, I’d have to say goodbye. And I know she’s next. I can’t do it again, not so soon after you."
He leaned his head back, looking up at the canopy of a sakura tree. The blossoms were falling, indifferent to his grief.
"Grandpa told me to help people," Yuuji said, his voice starting to crack. "He told me to die surrounded by others. That was the whole point, right? To not be alone in the end?"
He looked back at the grave, his expression starting to crumble.
"You did it. You got a good death."
Yuuji clenched his hand into a fist on his thigh. It had been in their bed, towards the end of a sleepy afternoon. Megumi’s body was frail from illness and light as a bird, his breathing a rattling rhythm that slowly spaced out until it simply… stopped.
Yuuji had been holding his hand through it all. He’d watched the light fade from Megumi’s eyes and felt the exact moment the tension finally left his husband’s body.
It was the quietest thing Yuuji had ever witnessed.
"But you know what? Being immortal actually really sucks, Gumi. Because if I’m the one doing all the surrounding, who’s gonna be there for me? It’s only a matter of time before I’m the only one left."
A gust of wind shook the branches above, sending a cascade of pale pink petals raining down on them. One landed on the dark stone of the grave, right next to Yuuji’s hand.
"I’m happy for you, really," Yuuji whispered, the tears finally spilling over, leaving hot tracks on his unblemished skin. "I’m glad you got to go how you wanted. But goddamnit, I’m so lonely without you."
He sat there for a long time, just watching the sun set over the cemetery. He could see the world stretched out before him, endless but still somehow achingly empty.
Eventually, the chill of the evening settled into the earth.
Yuuji finally sighed, wiping the stray moisture from his face. He reached out one last time, his thumb tracing the granite of the grave marker. He rubbed the grooves that made up Megumi’s name. Blessing.
After another minute, he stood up, brushing the dirt from the seat of his pants. Yuuji adjusted his black coat, pausing to glance at the ring that still sat on his finger. It was a simple gold band wrapped around skin that would never wrinkle to match the man who gave it to him.
"See you later, Gumi," he whispered to the silence.
He adjusted his hood and turned to walk away down the gravel path.