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Megumi was laying down in his room when Tsumiki came in.
This wasn’t inherently odd, as his sister liked to appear on a whim. Normally, though, she would knock before entering.
Megumi blinked sluggishly at her silhouette in the doorway. If he squinted, he could see the cursed energy come off of her in thin waves—she didn’t produce that much, and even if she did, hers was never volatile enough for Megumi to feel anything other than a mild sense of wrongness. In a way, or a part of him, maybe, sometimes wished that Tsumiki would wake up and have the ability to at least control her own cursed energy. But she never did. Megumi never brought it up. He knew how it would sound.
He wasn’t listening to music this time, and it wasn’t like he was doing anything that needed his attention. Tsumiki normally knocked. Her energy rippled, and Megumi tried to focus on it—but he couldn’t see it—Gojo would see it, but Megumi wasn’t… as aware of those things.
“Huh,” He said, blankly. “Tsumiki?”
“Megumi,” Tsumiki said, even now, and she tugged on one part of her sweater and smiled at him. From below, she looked identical to the sun. Bright and shiny and grand.
Megumi blinked one more time before mumbling, “Yeah?
“Let’s hang out,” the girl said, and she shuffled further into the room.
It was then that Megumi realized she had—a bag with her? He forced himself to sit up at an alarming speed. His head spun once his posture changed, and he watched Tsumiki close the door. A bag? They were down the hall from each other. What good was a bag? What good was—what were they doing? What was she even talking about? Hanging out wasn’t a big deal. They didn’t even plan it. Most times, they would just end up in the same room and stay there with one another until one grew
bored. Megumi was first to grow bored, but he wouldn’t leave until Tsumiki said something. It was a habitual thing.
“Why’d you bring that?” Megumi mumbled.
Tsumiki barely glanced at him and sat down on the carpet. She tugged her backpack off. Sanrio characters were plaster all over the fabric—cutesy animals with cutesy faces that Megumi didn’t know the names of. Gojo probably bought the bag with her in mind, rather than just her buying it with Gojo’s money.
“I brought you some stuff,” Tsumiki said, rather than anything useful. “I couldn’t carry it all, so a bag was easier.” From the bag, coloring books and magazines began falling onto the floor in a rhythmic thump-thump-bump-thump-thwunk pattern. Pencils, pens, highlights, and a few bunny shaped erasers fell out, too. She cleared her throat, awkward and stiff. Two books about wolves—and then another coloring book that looked serious with all its twisting vines on the cover. Then, Megumi watched a receipt fall from the bottom of the bag, too.
And to tie it all together, a weird—thing. Megumi frowned. “What the hell is that?”
“A receipt,” said Tsumiki. She brushed the paper aside, stuffed it into her skirt pocket.
“No, that,” Megumi said, and pointed to a doughy-looking ball.
“Oh, it’s a stress ball,” said Tsumiki, and then she plucked the atrociously colored object off the floor and held it out in her palm in Megumi’s general direction. He stared at her—and the offending object—and something like dread settled in his gut. “Do you want it?” Tsumiki asked, miming innocence. “It’s okay if you don’t, but I think you might like it.”
“I don’t think so,” Megumi muttered, and he eyed the bright green ball with disdain. His stomach did a flip, habitual—he always got like this when Tsumiki was involved in anything more than a hello or a good morning.
“I think so,” Tsumiki said again. But then she set the ball down in front of him, and started sorting through all the fallen drawing and coloring books. “I think you’d like this,” she said, while dragging a nature book out. Wolves and plants were all over the covers. She tapped the wolf that was depicted as black and blue, “Aren’t your dogs this color?”
Megumi paused. Then he shrugged a little, “Kuro is.”
“Oh,” said Tsumiki, and her eyes flicked to the cover then to Megumi’s face. She smiled weakly. “Is the other… Shiro, right?”
“Right,” mumbled the boy.
“You’ve had them for a long time,” Tsumiki said, but she really meant it as a question.
Megumi looked at the books and highlighters and the ugly stress ball at his knees. His bedroom was rather plain compared to Tsumiki’s. That was by choice, though. And not for a lack of decorating on Gojo’s part. Weird trinkets were tucked away on Megumi’s desk and bookshelf—though the shelves were lined with school stuff and two novels that Megumi only finished because he had been too sick to do anything else other than flip pages over and over again. He didn’t even remember if the books were good. There was a photo frame on the wall next to his clock—it was a garish red frame with weird gold and blue sparkles plastered all over it. Inside was a very ugly drawing of a Divine Dog that he made some time ago. A year or two or six. Tsumiki had found it in the bottom of a suitcase and insisted it was kept, and then Gojo had agreed and bought that ugly frame to match. Megumi didn’t know why he still had it up. For personality, said a miniature Gojo voice in Megumi’s head.
“Yeah,” the boy said. “I guess.” He reached for the ugly green ball and squeezed it once it was in his hand. “Why’d you bring all this in here?”
“You need stuff,” Tsumiki mumbled, and flipped through a few pages to show him an actual coloring image. “Look, see, like the dog in this one. It has so much stuff. The fact that you… you, uhm, barely decorate.” She winced, too, “And you wouldn’t want to come in my room, so obviously I had to come in here.”
Megumi frowned. “I have stuff.”
“But you need more stuff,” Tsumiki said, with her imperative thirteen year old logic.
Megumi, who was stuck at the frightful age of twelve, sighed heavily. Kids weren’t supposed to act like them or anything similar. See ghosts, see curses, do anything but complain to mommies and daddies and whatever. But neither of them had parents anymore, and Megumi was supposedly a big shot sorcerer. Or would be, in the following years.
“And even if you had more stuff,” Tsumiki said with the kind of patience that made Gojo laugh and Megumi feel sick, “You’d still need to hang out with me, so I’d still bring you stuff.”
Which was something Tsumiki said often, anyway. Even before Gojo took them to the new apartment, and before he ever truly mentioned jujutsu sorcery to Megumi as a viable option. Sold off, but the first thought rattling around in Megumi’s head was always: will my sister be happy?
Because… because, because, because… well, if one of them had to be happy, then it should be Tsumiki.
She would create less curses that way, too.
“I dunno,” said Megumi.
“Well, I do,” said Tsumiki. “I think I’d know about these things. You might have magic,” and she said the word teasingly, almost happily. “But I have brains where you have shadow puppets, right? You should let your personality show. I think a few extra books would make you have better days. A good story can be really impactful, you know.”
Megumi was a sorcerer. He wasn’t in the business of creating curses, even when he felt like this. Twelve year olds are too young to feel—so—so—he didn’t know. There were all kinds of mediocre talks about it, and about him at school. The previous counselor used to try and talk to him about his behavior. Tsumiki talked to him about it, too. Gojo normally let it slide as long as Megumi wasn’t too full of himself—wallowing—laying down and doing nothing all day—the guy would start getting all huffy and start trying to drag Megumi and Tsumiki by extension to theme parks and ice cream stands. Gojo didn’t really talk about the unexplained sadness. He did, however, make a joke about Megumi’s status. At least you aren’t a nonshaman! Being this sad all the time, you’d make so many curses, ha! Megumi had stared at him blankly and then told him to screw off back to Italy or wherever he had been previously.
Tsumiki, however, hadn’t been pleased with either comment. Megumi couldn’t remember what she had said, or did. He just remembered going back to his room and feeling sad. Over and over again, just sad, just sad. Tsumiki might’ve followed him and read him a book. She might’ve fallen asleep next to him on the bed. Gojo, at some point, likely showed up with ginger gum and an apology without words—but Megumi couldn’t remember that, either. It was all a grey haze.
“I guess,” Megumi replied. He squeezed the stress ball again, staring at the coloring books. Some were patterns and geometrical. He wasn’t a big fan of… a lot of things, really. But if Tsumiki wanted to, then he could probably pretend to be interested for an hour or two until he inevitably lost all motivation to try. “Did you get this…”
Gojo liked calling those instants moments where it’s even more important to keep trying. Then he would ruffle Megumi’s hair with Infinity, and Megumi would mutter something angrily.
“I thought you might like this one,” Tsumiki repeated, holding the one with wolves. She pointed at the dark one again, flipped the pages open, and gestured to a large page with a wolf sectioned off with tiny little lines. It was like each tuft of fur was available to be colored.
He blinked fast again, stomach sinking further.
Sometimes, Tsumiki knew him. Sometimes, she didn’t. Megumi knew it was because they didn’t really talk. Maybe real siblings talked in real ways. But with them, they didn’t have that kind of—luxury.
“Are the dogs here with you?” Tsumiki whispered quietly. She glanced around as if a Divine Dog could appear—appear to her.
She couldn’t see any cursed energy, let alone cursed techniques. But she believed in it. She saw the effects of Satoru Gojo, and watched scratches appear on Megumi’s palms when he tried to chase the shikigami rabbits at the park—subjugation wasn’t his thing—so Tsumiki, after seeing evidence, did believe in jujutsu sorcery. It wasn’t so hard to think of, maybe, for someone like her. But she didn’t—there wasn’t—it wasn't normal for her, and obviously Gojo ran his mouth sometimes, but Tsumiki was a good person.
Megumi swallowed the lump in his throat, squeezed the stress ball another time, and then shook his head slowly. “I don’t keep them out all the time,” he said. “They get kinda loud. And it’s a lot of energy to keep them here. Gojo doesn’t like them sniffing around the house.”
Gojo never actually yelled at him about the dogs—or so much as said anything remotely negative about them, but Megumi didn’t want to push his luck.
“Ehh,” Tsumiki laughed a little, sounding weird. “I didn’t know that.”
Megumi nodded once. “Yeah.”
“Well, that’s okay,” Tsumiki said, gingerly. “I don’t know why I asked. It’s not like I can see them, right?” And her smile was still the same smile that Megumi grew to recognize. He looked for it in most situations—his sister and him weren’t close. They weren’t clingy with one another. And yet, if Tsumiki weren’t around, Megumi would probably be dead, or a lot worse.
“I can summon them,” Megumi blurted. “If you want them in the room—you won’t see or feel them. There won’t be a difference, but I can…”
Tsumiki blinked once at him, mirroring surprise. “But it’s tiring.”
Megumi weighed the options. “Everything is tiring,” he mumbled. “Don’t tell Gojo I said that.”
Tsumiki slowly set down the coloring book. She frowned, now, too—her normal expression melting off her face unceremoniously. “Everything shouldn’t be tiring, Megumi,” and her voice was so resolute, so soft. “I don’t want to add to that. It wouldn’t be right. Especially if I don’t even gain anything from it.”
It made Megumi’s skin crawl. He squeezed the stress ball and caved—letting it roll out of his hand and bounce onto the carpet again. “If you want to meet them,” he repeated, “I’ll summon Kuro and Shiro right now.”
Tsumiki frowned again. “But you just said—”
“I know what I said,” Megumi insisted.
And he cupped his hands together, squeezed his palms harshly, and then made the proper summoning hand shape to bring forth the Divine Dogs of the Ten Shadows Technique that the Zen’in Clan longed for.
(Or so Gojo said.)
Kuro and Shiro formed from the shadows within the room, bleeding together until the grey sludge became solid fur, red markings clear as day on their foreheads. Yellow eyes looked around, aware and attentive. Kuro didn’t make a sound. Shiro whined—one of those odd breathy noises that most canines made when lost—without commands, the shikigami were just dogs with fancier names and responsibilities attached. Similarly, Megumi didn’t fight curses. He hadn’t even gone on a real mission yet. He had trained a little with Gojo—barely anything—and had spent less than a week on the Tokyo campus in the last two years. He sent the dogs after a cursed corpse that Masamichi Yaga made specifically for him, which was why he knew a decent amount about the Divine Dogs and their behaviors in the first place. That and an odd sense of… familiarity.
He lowered his hands and didn’t say a word.
Tsumiki had watched him with rapt attention, but once his hands pressed back down into his knees, she furrowed her brows and started scrutinizing the room. “I think,” she said, sounding quite silly, “You summoned them.”
With smoothened dread, Megumi looked at Kuro—who was sniffing aggressively at the pile of coloring books. Shiro was yawning, making those odd sounds. They traversed the room, though, until settling down closer to Megumi. Shiro was bold and went to stuff his wet nose along Megumi’s knuckles. The jump—he should have seen it—but his shoulders raised and he pulled his hands closer to himself, out of the path of devastation.
Tsumiki saw him move and laughed a little. “Are they… with you?”
Megumi nodded, only a little emboldened. In fact, he would much rather have thought this through and not have done it at all. “Being nosy,” he said at last, drawn-in. “Kuro’s looking at you. Shiro is…” and his face contorted, watching a Special Grade shikigami begin rolling on the floor, belly up. “…doing what he always does.”
Tsumiki smiled, though, otherwise unchanged. “You’re right,” she said, “I don’t see them at all.”
“I know,” Megumi sighed.
He wasn’t disappointed. He knew summoning the Divine Dogs wouldn’t change anything.
Tsumiki couldn’t see or hear or interact with curses at all—some nonshaman could see them, like bad horror flicks—when curses attacked—but even then, those people still wouldn’t know what those things were. Instead, they would say stuff like ghosts or being haunted or being attacked by something otherworldly. Tsumiki was only a little different. She agreed that curses existed. She understood parts of the jujutsu world, too, because she preferred to talk to Gojo about things that didn’t involve her—rather than talk about things that did, like school or book club or dinner plans or what color she wanted to paint her room. Unlike Megumi, ha, who didn’t want to talk at all.
“It’s okay,” Tsumiki said, with great ease. She flipped another page in the coloring book, the image showcasing a wolf howling at a full moon. She traced the outline of the dog. “If only you could take photos of them. Gojo’s phone has a really nice camera. I bet with that quality, the dogs would definitely look realistic.”
Shiro rolled around some more. Kuro was sitting closest to Megumi, of course, but his tail swished over the carpet and his ears were pricked.
Megumi wrinkled his nose, very similarly to how Kuro often presented his face before snarling. Rather than saying curses don’t show up in photos or videos, he asked, “Didn’t he buy you a phone already?”
“Yeah,” Tsumiki snickered, and she looked up at him with a brightness in her face. “He bought you one, too, remember?”
“I don’t use it,” Megumi said flatly.
“I know,” Tsumiki lamented, still giggling a bit. “It’s still charging on the kitchen counter where you last left it.”
Her happiness was contagious when she was with other non-sorcerers. Nonshamans. But when she was here, talking with Megumi, he still felt so disconnected. He was a kid. They both were kids, but they tasted real hunger and copper and knew what it was like to sleep on the balcony of a shitty apartment because the mold inside the building was bad, and getting worse. Gojo didn’t poke fun at them for their habits, but he wasn’t… around enough. Megumi didn’t like him when he was around, either, though—and Tsumiki knew that and chided him for it all the time. Despite the guy appearing and taking both of them under his wing, he really only did it to take in Megumi. And yet—yet—he and Tsumiki got along so well.
“It’s not like I call anyone,” Megumi justified, only a little sour.
“Of course. And it’s not like you play mobile games like I do,” Tsumiki laughed some more. “And that’s okay. You don’t really have to worry about calling anyone, anyways. I can take care of that.”
Megumi scratched at his elbow, then crossed his arms and tucked his hands into the creases. “I know,” he said.
Tsumiki still smiled at him though, soft around the eyes—pupils too wide. Megumi didn’t know why anyone would ever put so much faith into him. Tsumiki shouldn’t value him at all. She should have left with her mother when that woman was packing bags, and Megumi’s father was nowhere to be found. Instead of even trying to leave with her mother, she stayed behind with Megumi. Combed his hair and took care of him when he was coughing from the mold, rubbed his back even when he was snapping at her to not touch him, lest she get sick too. But she stayed, she tried. She still smiled at him. Megumi didn’t know why. He guessed—it must be a sibling thing. Siblings, even if they didn’t talk a lot, must have some unidentifiable connection that led them back to each other during trouble. Whatever. Maybe it was evolutionary. Maybe it wasn’t. Something about—being born in a way, and being in a place that made you that way. Tsumiki would know more about it. Megumi didn’t pay attention—he didn’t, he didn’t, he didn’t.
“Hey,” Tsumiki said, abruptly, “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” Megumi replied, instantly. Stones in his stomach, a little bit of doubt pressing at the tender spots in his neck and ribs. “Why?”
“I haven’t asked in a while,” Tsumiki answered.
Megumi thought about it. Sure, that was… true. But it wasn’t the end of the world. Are you okay? People asked it. People answered it. Megumi wasn’t the type to fixate on someone’s okay-ness. They either were or they weren’t. Megumi fell into the were category. He was fine. Neither of them were hungry or stressed anymore. Megumi would soon learn how to properly use the Ten Shadows technique. Tsumiki was entering her final year of junior high soon. Megumi was still stuck with normal people who didn’t get along with him, and made him angry more often than not. Tsumiki never got into school fights. Megumi had started, well… being the reason Gojo got called. Ha.
“I’m okay,” Megumi restated, just to make sure Tsumiki heard him. “A little tired. But I’m fine.”
Tsumiki nodded, understanding and calm and patient for a thirteen year old. “I figured,” she said, with the kind of logic that should come from a teenager rather than a kid. But Tsumiki had always been manning the household alone. She had been handling it all—a grown-up in a little body—but not a grown-up at all, because thirteen year olds weren’t adult-like in any capacity. Megumi looked at Tsumiki and saw his sister, even though neither of them had to hold onto a family identity if they didn’t want to. “If you’re tired, you can let Kuro and Shiro go. Thank you for summoning them, even if I can’t see them. You’re sweet, Megumi.”
“It’s nothing,” said the boy, and he let the dogs fade. Kuro looked at him with those dark yellow eyes, glistening, before fading into the shadows created by Megumi’s own body. Shiro rolled onto his belly, smacked his head onto the carpet, and absorbed into the floor just like that. “It’s not sweet.”
The dogs vanished.
The weight that was tugging at his soul and mind settled down. Gojo would be able to tell they were here—traces of paw prints, a heavy kind of uncertainty that sniffed at coloring books and covered floor boards.
“If you say so,” Tsumiki said dubiously, likely with the intent of placating him. “I know what would be sweet, though!”
Megumi eyed her with sudden distrust, and sighed. “What would?”
And his sister smiled, and started to talk about all the sweets that Gojo had stocked the pantry and fridge with. It was an entire list, one that she animatedly discussed. She uncapped a yellow highlighter and placed it onto the page with the moon, tracing the lines and creating a ring of bright yellow. “He bought chocolate muffins, too,” she was saying, coloring in smooth streaks. “I think there’s lychee fruit in the fridge, though, for you. It’ll still be sweet but it won’t be as bad as the mint ice cream…”
Megumi looked at the stress ball, then the assortment of books and coloring utensils. He reached for a dark blue pen, carefully, and inched closer on the carpet. He didn’t open a different coloring book. Slowly, he uncapped the pen and reached for the same page Tsumiki was coloring in. He traced the line of the wolf, trying not to bump his hand against Tsumiki’s, and meticulously began coloring the howling creature.
It went on like this for a bit. He felt aware of himself, the way his wrist stretched as he colored in the wolf’s ears and face—trying not to make too many streaks on the paper. It wasn’t so tiring. It wasn’t so bad. He wasn’t half-asleep yet, even though sleeping would take less effort. He kept coloring.
And, like a mind-reader, Tsumiki cleared her throat. “I’m glad you’ll still indulge me,” Tsumiki said after a while of this tedious exchange. “Even if you’re tired.”
Oh. Because you’re always sleeping, was the unsaid statement.
Because Megumi wasn’t active in the ways Tsumiki was. They both had enough energy to run laps and swing at the park and exchange witty jokes. On days where Megumi felt restless, he was able to persevere and often engage in conversations without feeling dread. Other times, Megumi would bundle up on the floor or his bed or his spot on the couch and Tsumiki would turn to talk to him and see that he was asleep—half-tussled, never really resting. That was something Megumi and Gojo had in common. Once, the two of them had fallen asleep on the couch while Tsumiki remained awake. Apparently, while they snoozed fitfully, she had eaten the entire bag of shrimp chips right under Gojo’s nose. Megumi had woken to the crinkle of the bag, and her smile as she pressed a finger to her mouth. The movie hadn’t been that good. Gojo had complained endlessly when he woke up again. Maybe he knew all along—pretending to sleep—but Megumi had stared at him intently as cursed energy prickled and smoothed out routinely. Maybe, maybe not, maybe…
Inks were strewn over the coloring page.
Megumi thought the whole thing was quite tacky—but Tsumiki was smiling. He wished he had the energy to do the same—wished his belly wasn’t tense, wished he wasn’t a sorcerer, wished they could get along better, wished he wasn’t storming when she was made of sunlight.
He swallowed the sour taste from before and said, “I don’t mind.”