Chapter Text
“Put me down,” Megumi croaks as Panda approaches the veil.
It isn’t the first time he’s asked since they left the river. But to his credit, Panda remains placid as he once again refuses. “No can do, Fushiguro-kun.”
Maki is, characteristically, more direct. From where she’s draped over Panda’s other shoulder, she snipes, “Don’t be an idiot. Itadori and Todo can handle themselves.”
The thing is, Megumi knows that. There had been something in Itadori’s voice as he told him it would be alright: a deep certainty beneath the lighthearted reassurance. It made Megumi trust that he would win, even though the special grade cursed spirit was more powerful than anything they’d been up against before.
But that doesn’t make it any easier to leave Itadori behind. Again.
“I won’t fight,” Megumi grits out. The cursed buds in his abdomen laugh as though taunting him, the sound tinny and grating. “I want to wait for him.”
“You need to see Shoko,” Maki counters. “Panda, ignore him.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Panda says, puffing out his chest. He seems like he would salute her if he had any paws free.
He doesn’t slow down as they pass through the veil, which lets them through unimpeded, almost to Megumi’s disappointment. He closes his eyes for a moment and lets himself slump.
“Waiting wouldn’t have made any difference,” Panda tells him as he turns towards the infirmary. He probably means the words to be comforting, but instead they twist in Megumi’s gut, not unlike the roots of the cursed buds corkscrewing into him.
After all, it’s true, isn’t it? Megumi waiting for Itadori at the juvenile detention centre hadn’t done anything to save him. He was too weak then, and he’s still too weak now.
When they get to the infirmary, Maki is able to stand on her own power, but Megumi’s knees almost buckle as he slips off Panda’s shoulder. Panda grabs hold of him just in time, and manages to keep him on his feet.
Distantly, Megumi registers Maki shouting for Shoko, but he doesn’t bother lifting his head. Instead, he watches as blood from his gut wound drips onto the tiled floor at his feet. It makes him think of Itadori’s blood, splattering and pooling on the ground.
“Help me lift him onto the cot,” he hears Shoko say, her voice low and urgent. Megumi’s field of vision tilts and goes a little spotty at the edges as Panda follows her instructions.
The bed is one of those adjustable ones that bend at a couple of points. Shoko uses it to prop Megumi semi-upright.
“Feel better soon, Fushiguro-kun,” Panda says once he’s settled. Megumi lifts a hand in acknowledgement, but one of the cursed buds attempts to bite his fingers, so he puts it down again quickly. Panda tugs the privacy curtain shut behind him as he leaves.
Shoko pulls on a pair of disposable gloves, her eyes fixed on the plants growing out of Megumi’s abdomen. She’s always had an unflappable manner — medical professionals have to be calm in emergency situations — so her only outward reaction is a single raised eyebrow. “I take it this is courtesy of the cursed spirit that Kamo-kun and Inumaki-kun were also hurt fighting?”
Megumi nods. “You’ve already treated them?”
“Mm.” Staying clear of the snapping heads, Shoko picks up a pair of medical scissors and begins cutting into Megumi’s uniform, peeling the ripped fabric away from the base of the cursed buds. “This is the most unique attack it used, though.”
She’s being gentle, but the skin is broken and tender. Megumi bites his lip, and waits for himself to adjust to the pain before speaking. “Lucky me,” he says drily.
“Bear with me, Fushiguro-kun,” Shoko murmurs without looking up. “I need a clear site before I can give you a local anaesthetic.”
“It’s okay, I know,” he says. This is far from the first time Shoko has had to treat him, although her Reverse Cursed Technique usually works quickly enough that she can skip the painkillers.
Come to think of it, Megumi has had to see Shoko several times since Itadori died. And if Itadori has been on any big missions in that time — he has to have been, since he’d admitted that something had happened — then Shoko would have had to heal him too.
So she must have known, before today.
“Ieiri-san?” Megumi’s throat feels tight. “Has Itadori been alive this whole time?”
Shoko doesn’t seem surprised by the question, but she does sigh, as if long-prepared for it. “Sukuna restored his heart before I could perform the autopsy,” she says evenly. “Has Gojo not spoken to you about this?”
Megumi scoffs, then grimaces when the motion makes his stomach twinge. “Gojo-sensei wheeled a box up to us and had Itadori pop out of it.” Even if there had been time to talk to Gojo before the group battle commenced, that hardly seems like a good start to the conversation.
Shoko winces. “Nanami wanted to stop him from going overboard,” she says, “but you know how he is. No one can rein in Gojo.”
Her expression turns oddly wistful as she says that last part, and she goes quiet for a second. Then she clears her throat and continues working. Megumi is faintly curious about what made her react that way, but doesn’t want to distract her, so he doesn’t ask.
In no time, Shoko finishes cutting away his shirt, and begins injecting him all around his torso. The pinpricks are nothing compared to the gnawing pain of the cursed buds, and Megumi can already feel the anaesthetic starting to work.
While she gets him numbed up, Shoko asks him questions about how deep he thinks the roots have gone, how long it’s been since the plants were embedded in him, and whether there’s anything else he knows about them. “They feed off cursed energy,” Megumi tells her. “But I was already running low, and I’ve been controlling my output.”
Except for when he’d been on the verge of summoning Mahoraga until Maki stopped him. He’d felt the things burrow deeper then, following the flow of his cursed energy as it stirred.
Shoko clicks her tongue, frowning. “I need to remove all the plant matter before I can heal you. Maybe I should put you under general anaesthesia. If this thing runs too deep, the local won’t be enough. You’re going to feel it.”
Megumi shakes his head. “Please just take it out, Ieiri-san.”
Rationally, he knows Itadori will be fine, especially with Todo fighting beside him. But Megumi has always been more emotional than rational when it comes to Itadori.
He doesn’t know what he would do if he woke up to find himself back in a world where Itadori is dead. He’s only had him back for a few hours.
Just then, the ground starts shaking violently, and there is a thunderous noise in the distance.
“Is that an earthquake?!” yells someone in the infirmary. It sounds like Nishimiya, but he’s not familiar enough with the Kyoto School students to be certain.
“No,” Shoko calls out in reply. Instead of sounding alarmed, she seems almost amused. She exchanges glances with Megumi, who gives a resigned sigh. “That’s Gojo Satoru.”
Hollow Purple is not something many people get to witness, but once you do, you’re not likely to mistake it for something else. Megumi can attest to that. There’s a certain dramatic flair that can’t be anything but Gojo showing off.
But at least if Gojo’s there, Itadori is safe.
Megumi feels himself un-tense a little at that thought.
After a few more seconds, the commotion stops. Megumi can just imagine that white-haired idiot surveying the rampant destruction he’s caused, then giving himself a thumbs-up and a big grin. Any cursed spirits in the vicinity will have either been obliterated or have made themselves scarce, if they were smart and quick enough.
“We should give the lidocaine a couple more minutes to work,” Shoko tells him, pulling out her phone. She scrolls, taps on something, and holds the phone to her ear. After a few seconds, she says, “Gojo? If you’re done damaging school property, come to the infirmary, will you?”
Why does she want him here? Megumi frowns.
Gojo’s voice isn’t loud enough for Megumi to make out all the words, but he does vaguely hear him say something about the cursed spirits’ agenda, and a coordinated attack. Shoko listens without any change in expression, then simply says, “Megumi needs you,” and hangs up.
“No, I don’t,” Megumi says hotly. “Besides, you heard him. He has to handle—”
The door to the infirmary slams open. “Megumi?” Gojo calls.
Shoko sticks her head outside the privacy curtain. “In here.”
Gojo comes barrelling in. “What happened to— woah.” The cursed buds sticking out of Megumi’s stomach immediately catch his attention. He whistles, bending at the waist and peering at them through his blindfold.
“That’s a fun little blend of cursed energy signatures,” Gojo remarks. “A fair bit of yours is in the mix.”
“Is any more of his cursed energy being sucked up by the buds?” Shoko asks.
“I barely have any left,” Megumi starts to say, but Gojo speaks over him, his tone turning serious. “Yes. Shoko, you need to get these things out of him. It’s slow, but they’re still growing.”
“You’ll guide me,” she tells him briskly. “Let me clear the room and get prepped.”
With that, Shoko hurries out of the privacy curtain. Somewhat mutedly, Megumi hears her chivvying everyone into the next room over. It’s also part of the medical wing, but isn’t used often because the infirmary normally has enough capacity.
Exhaling, he lets his head fall back to rest against the top of the bed. He can’t believe he let this pesky attack land on him. Because it feeds off his own cursed energy, even after the cursed spirit is gone, the buds are persisting. Now there’s all this fuss about removing them.
Not to mention that Megumi getting hurt is what gave the cursed spirit an opening to attack Maki. She’d be fine right now if he hadn’t gotten careless.
A scraping noise makes him look up, only to see Gojo dragging a tall stool over. “You must’ve really been a thorn in that cursed spirit’s side,” Gojo says conversationally. “Pun intended.”
Megumi rolls his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” As far as he can tell, he failed spectacularly.
Perching on the stool, Gojo mimes casting about the room. “I don’t see anyone else here who warranted such an incapacitating attack.”
“That’s because everyone left,” Megumi points out helpfully. The infirmary has fallen silent except for the occasional clinking as Shoko gathers medical supplies.
Gojo shakes his head. “Several other students fought that creepy plant spirit. You’re the one who forced it to bring out this attack to negate your cursed technique.”
Megumi blinks. He hadn’t thought of it that way.
“Divine Dog Totality’s claws hurt it,” he says slowly.
“There you go, then,” Gojo says with a shrug.
Megumi opens his mouth to object that if not for teaming up with Maki, he wouldn’t have been able to land a hit on the cursed spirit in the first place. But he stops as Gojo begins rocking on the stool, scooting it towards the bed in a way that is both painfully slow and obnoxiously loud.
A vein in Megumi’s temple throbs slightly. “Just stand up and move it closer,” he mutters.
Gojo flashes him a look of pure delight, and Megumi knows at once that he’s made a mistake.
“Aww, Megumi!” Gojo coos, leaping to his feet and pushing the stool flush with the bed. “You want your Gojo-sensei right next to you while you get your big ouchy fixed, don’t you? Not to worry, of course I’ll stay with you.”
Megumi stares up at the ceiling as if to ask the heavens why they are afflicting him thus.
That’s when Shoko slips back inside the privacy curtain, her hands full of medical supplies. She doesn’t seem at all taken aback by the tableau she’s caught them in. Gojo probably provokes this reaction in many other people, too.
“Let’s do this,” Shoko says briskly, laying out her tools. Her movements are efficient and confident, and Megumi is on board with the proceedings right up until she pulls out a pair of medical scissors that are literally large enough to be gardening shears.
He supposes that’s appropriate, given what she’s going to be cutting away, but the sight of them still makes him gulp.
“Hey, kiddo,” Gojo pipes up from next to him. “Nothing to be afraid of, yeah? It’s no worse than getting your tetanus booster shot.”
Megumi huffs. “It’s a little worse than that.”
Tetanus booster shots are generally recommended for children when they’re around eleven or twelve. But Megumi had gotten his when he was eight, about two years after he first met Gojo.
There had been an incident with a stray cat in the neighbourhood. Megumi was careful when approaching it — he’s always found it more intuitive to interact with animals than humans — but a passing car made the cat startle and scratch his arm. After stroking the cat for a while to calm it down and reassure it, he went home, washed the wound with Tsumiki’s help, and changed into a long-sleeved shirt to hide it. Worried, Tsumiki told Gojo what had happened when he came by that night, and against his protests that all the clinics would be closed already, Gojo bundled Megumi up and brought him to see Shoko.
Eight-year-old Megumi hated having a big fuss made about him. He barely spoke as Shoko asked him questions, and squirmed away when Gojo put a hand to his forehead to check for a temperature. Then when Shoko brought out the needle, Megumi froze like the proverbial deer in the headlights. Tsumiki had insisted on coming along and was holding his uninjured hand tightly, but that just made the whole situation seem more serious, inadvertently adding to his fear.
Then Gojo cracked a dumb joke about cats and dogs, and then another one when Megumi didn’t laugh at the first one. He goaded him non-stop, and Megumi was too busy scowling at him to notice the pinprick on his arm until Shoko was putting pressure on it and asking him which design he wanted on his plaster. He had recently gotten his toad shikigami, so he shyly pointed at Keroppi before continuing to glower at Gojo.
Now, Gojo eyes Shoko’s scissors and asks brightly, “Can you clip it into any funky shapes? Like those cute topiary animals. I can look up reference photos on my phone if you need them.”
Years have gone by, but Gojo is still here, still being an idiot. Some things will never change, it seems. “Please shut up,” Megumi groans.
Shoko, with a long-suffering air, elects to ignore Gojo. Deftly, she lowers Megumi’s bed so that he’s lying fully horizontal. Then, after switching out her disposable gloves for a fresh pair, she tests the extent of the numbing, pressing different areas on Megumi’s abdomen and asking if he feels anything.
Finally, when she’s ready to begin, she gives Megumi a quick explanation of her plan. “These scissors are imbued with cursed energy. My aim at first will be to do enough damage with them to kill it, so it doesn’t try to tunnel deeper into you while I extract the roots. Gojo will monitor things, and guide me as I get closer to your skin. Is that okay?”
“Yes, okay,” Megumi says, knowing she won’t start until he indicates his consent out loud.
He doesn’t like it, but it has to be done.
The cursed buds have been chattering every so often, in that wobbly way that curses tend to have. To Megumi’s revulsion, they start screaming now, the sound cutting out abruptly when Shoko chops off each head.
After that, the main thing he hears is the snipping of her scissors, and Gojo’s occasional murmuring. Staring up at the ceiling, Megumi waits and listens with morbid fascination. But after a couple of minutes, his curiosity gets the better of him, and he peeks at his abdomen.
Big mistake. It’s a mess of stems and buds. Despite Shoko’s plan, some parts still look alive, and are waving angrily, as if protesting their eviction. Where the buds meet Megumi’s flesh, a small amount of blood oozes out, trickling down his side. It all looks so wrong, spilling out of his body. He suddenly feels a little lightheaded.
“Gumi, hey,” Gojo says, sticking himself right in Megumi’s face so that he takes up his whole field of vision. “Don’t look, okay? That’s my job, don’t go taking it from me.”
Megumi looks askance, but can’t stop his eyes from drifting back to his stomach. It doesn’t really hurt thanks to the local anaesthetic, but he can feel the changes in pressure when the remnants of the buds move around.
He swallows. Trying to sound normal, he grouses, “What’s with that nickname? I’m not a kid anymore.”
“Oh, but you’ll always be my little Gumi Bear,” Gojo croons, still hovering over him.
It’s been years since Gojo has used the full version of the nickname he coined early on to describe Megumi’s extra grumpiness in the mornings. Like a bear that’s slept all winter and still doesn’t want to come out of hibernation! he teased, cackling.
At the memory, Megumi glares at Gojo.
But the infuriating man just breaks out in a grin. “That’s it, eyes on me,” Gojo says. “Surely this handsome face is nicer to look at anyway.”
“I just needed to borrow the Six Eyes,” Shoko mutters. “Why does it come attached to such a motor-mouth?”
Megumi almost laughs at that, which makes Shoko pause, give him an encouraging smile, then say, “Getting to the roots. We’ll be done soon. Try to stay still, alright?”
Then she glances at Gojo, who keeps the same blithe expression on his face, but silently slips off his blindfold.
Unveiled, Gojo’s eyes are as startlingly, inhumanly blue as always. Whenever Megumi sees them, he momentarily understands why people get so intimidated by the person he knows as an utter man-child.
Then Gojo winks at him and plops his blindfold over Megumi’s eyes with a, “Hold this for me, will ya?” And the moment is over.
Megumi splutters, but does as he’s told, using one hand to hold the blindfold in place.
He isn’t wearing it properly. He thinks it might start to feel stifling if he did — if he couldn’t see anything at all. As it is, it’s just the right balance. He can’t see what Shoko is doing, but he can see part of Gojo’s back, and the stool that he’d pulled right up next to Megumi.
It’s like when they put blinkers on horses to limit their field of vision, Megumi reflects. It doesn’t fully blind them, and it calms them down when too much is going on in their environment.
In the relative darkness, even Gojo’s voice seems less strident. He quietly and efficiently directs Shoko to the last bits of the cursed buds. Megumi can feel the pressure of her hands, but not much else at this point.
Until a spasm of pain suddenly ripples through his stomach, and he tenses up instinctively.
At once, there’s a new pressure: Gojo’s hand on Megumi’s, the one that isn’t holding the blindfold. His skin is cool to the touch, and dry, without a trace of nervous sweat.
He pats Megumi’s hand reassuringly, but his voice betrays a hint of strain as he says, “Shoko? Can’t you give him anything more for the pain?”
“There’s only a bit left, right?” Megumi asks. It feels kind of weird talking with the blindfold over his eyes, but he doesn’t want to take it off. “I’m okay. You can keep going, Ieiri-san.”
This is what she’d warned him about — the local anaesthetic not being able to go deep enough. But the roots have already done their damage, Megumi reasons, and the second Shoko extracts all of them, she’ll be able to heal him.
“I can see one more piece,” Shoko says after a pause to deliberate.
“There are two,” Gojo corrects her. His clothes rustle quietly as he moves, probably to indicate the spots. “That one looks deep in.”
Shoko sighs. “Fushiguro-kun? It’s up to you.”
“I can take it,” Megumi decides. Shoko’s quick, and this last part hasn’t been hurting as much as the whole plant did earlier. He was just caught off guard by that one spasm. “I’d rather be done sooner,” he adds. Then he can go find Itadori to make sure he’s alright, and sleep this off.
There’s a weird silence before Shoko moves again, picking up her tools from the tray. “Okay then. First one,” she murmurs, giving him warning.
Megumi hums, bracing himself. There’s a tiny pinprick as something comes free, but that’s all. He exhales.
“Last one, almost at the end,” Shoko tells him. He braces again.
This one does hurt, even though he was prepared. The pain is electric, a jagged spike through his gut, and Megumi’s leg even twitches a little as the root tip comes out. He doesn’t cry out, but his breathing hitches before he can get it back under control.
“Shoko,” Gojo says. He sounds — not just tense. Upset.
“I’ve got it,” she mutters, dropping her instruments onto the tray with a clatter. Then the familiar feeling of her Reverse Cursed Technique spreads throughout Megumi’s body, a cooling wave of healing. It starts from his abdomen, then moves outwards to his extremities, washing away all the little hurts that he has accumulated.
He pulls off the blindfold and squints up at them. The overhead light seems especially bright since his eyes have adjusted to the darkness.
After another minute, Shoko straightens up. “All good,” she declares, and reaches over to help prop him up in bed again.
When Megumi looks down at himself, he finds only smooth, unmarred skin. He won’t even need bandages. “Thank you, Ieiri-san.”
Shoko meets his eyes and gives him a small smile. “Of course, Fushiguro-kun. You did very well.”
More so than usual, her face looks drawn, her eyes pinched with tiredness. “You’ve had a long day,” Megumi says, by way of apology. She must have been dealing with injured students from both schools for hours.
“Mm, and it isn’t over quite yet,” Shoko laments, snapping off her gloves and deftly scooping up a kidney dish containing what appears to be chunks of the cursed buds. “I’ll be next door with my other patients. Gojo, make sure he stays and rests here for at least an hour before moving.” Then she addresses Megumi. “You know the drill, make sure to get some sleep. You should be fully recovered by tomorrow.”
It’s always felt a little hypocritical for Shoko to tell Megumi to get enough sleep, given her perennial eyebags. But he just nods and gives her a half-bow as best he can while sitting. There’s a faint tenderness when he tries to bend at his waist.
She leaves the curtain partially open behind her. Meanwhile, Gojo sinks down onto the stool and snags his blindfold from Megumi’s fingers.
He slips it back on, then bends down to retrieve a folded blanket from underneath the cot Megumi is on. “Here,” Gojo says, spreading the blanket over him.
It’s oddly considerate. Megumi had been starting to feel a bit cold, given the gaping hole in his uniform that Shoko had had to cut. He nods his thanks, tugging the blanket over himself.
Gojo gives a thoughtful hum. “You know, if you want to experiment with the crop top look, I could have your future uniforms customised.”
And now he’s stuck with Gojo’s inane chatter for the next hour. Megumi groans. “Don’t you have some cursed spirit conspiracy to investigate?”
“How could that possibly be more important than supporting my beloved student?” Gojo leans forward to adjust the blanket. “Also, I kind of left Yaga to clean up the mess earlier, so at this point I’m hiding from him.”
Megumi scoffs. Typical.
Sometimes, it’s only after Shoko heals him that the exhaustion really hits Megumi. Maybe it’s because it takes that long for all the adrenaline to leave his system. Or maybe his body tends to focus on one thing at a time, so once pain is out of the picture, he’s left with tiredness.
In any case, as Gojo all but tucks him in, Megumi’s limbs start feeling leaden, and he lets himself sink back against the bed. He still wants to see Itadori, so he shouldn’t fall asleep here. But just for a moment, he closes his eyes and lets out a long breath.
“Alright, Megumi?” Gojo murmurs.
He feels a hand in his hair, attempting to smooth some of the spiky locks out of his face. It’s pointless; Megumi’s hair has always been untameable, and falls back into place immediately. But the gesture is surprisingly tender, coming from Gojo.
Megumi cracks open one eye to peek at him. “What’s with the mother-henning?”
Gojo makes a mock offended noise. “I can’t fuss over you a little after you’ve gotten hurt? What kind of heartless sensei do you take me for?”
“The kind that snaps photos of me all beat up to show the second-years?” Megumi deadpans.
“Oh, right. No, I’d definitely do that again, that was hilarious.” Gojo gives him a winning grin.
But there’s something a little off about it.
Gojo has a talent for deflecting when he doesn’t want to talk about something — which is more often than you might think, given how much he does talk — and Megumi can’t always get past his slippery tricks. But this time, when he levels an unimpressed stare at him, Gojo relents.
“Fine.” He leans backwards on the stool, sighing. “I don’t like seeing you… so used to getting hurt. I mean, I would’ve been wailing for Shoko to just knock me out until it was over.”
“Not all of us are dramatic like you,” Megumi says flatly.
Gojo nods sagely. “It’s hard to pull off, but I manage.”
Megumi rolls his eyes.
There’s a short pause. Then Gojo says, “You’re so young to be all hardened and stoic. Don’t grow up too quickly, okay?” His voice is uncharacteristically soft. “Let me protect you kids for a little while longer.”
And Megumi… doesn’t know what to do with that.
The Gojo he knows is childish and annoying. Most of the time, he doesn’t behave like a responsible adult even in his capacity as a sensei — which makes it all too easy to miss the things he does to protect his students.
Megumi doesn’t have all the details, because he hadn’t started high school at that point, but he knows that many higher-ups didn’t approve of Maki because of her lack of cursed energy. Gojo had fought to get her enrolled, and then to give her access to powerful cursed tools from the warehouse shared by the three great families.
There’s Megumi himself, whom Gojo has been looking out for — albeit in his weird, irritating way — since he was six years old. Until now, he doesn’t know what strings Gojo had pulled to stop him from being sold to the Zen’in clan. He’s never asked, and Gojo has certainly never volunteered the information.
And then there’s Itadori.
Megumi realises that he’s been picking at a loose thread in the blanket. Belatedly, he tries to smooth it back down.
In a bemused voice, Gojo says, “You look so serious, Megumi. What’s going on in that sea urchin head of yours?”
The thread isn’t going anywhere. Megumi stops messing with it, but continues staring down at his lap. He bites his lip.
“What about Itadori?” he asks. “Is that why you didn’t tell us he was alive? To protect him?”
In his peripheral vision, he sees Gojo stiffen. “Megumi…” he says on a long exhale.
“We wouldn’t have told anyone,” Megumi interrupts, looking right at Gojo. “We’d have been happy just to have him back.”
But as soon as he says that, he knows: he and Kugisaki wouldn’t have been able to keep the secret. They’d give it away with every little thing they did.
Megumi would be able to make meatballs for everyone’s dinner without losing chunks of time staring into space, remembering all the fond stories Itadori had told him about his grandfather while showing him the recipe. Kugisaki would be able to eat in a conveyor belt sushi restaurant without looking askance when the food starts arriving on cute little trains.
For two months, he’s been channelling his grief into his training, doing his best not to wallow in it. Now, to Megumi’s horror, he feels tears start to well up in his eyes.
“I told you I didn’t want him to die,” Megumi chokes out, past the lump in his throat. “How could you let me think…?”
The tears spill over, running down his cheeks.
“Gumi, hey.” In a flash, Gojo closes the distance between them. Megumi doesn’t know if he’s the one who moves, or if Gojo pulls him in, but somehow he ends up with his face pressed against Gojo’s shirt, dampening it with his tears.
“I’m mad at you,” Megumi tries to say, but he gets muffled by the fabric, and his voice wavers. He is angry at Gojo, but it’s getting overwhelmed by his grief for Itadori.
“I know,” Gojo says, starting to rub Megumi’s back in circles. “I know, kiddo. Go ahead and be mad at me. Better me than Yuji, okay? You’re always so grouchy at me anyway.”
Through the mess of his own emotions, those words catch Megumi’s attention. Gojo would rather he direct his anger at him, and not Itadori?
That can’t be why he’d pulled that stunt with the box, can it?
More likely, he was just being his clownish self. Yeah, that had to be it.
Megumi’s crying is starting to make his stomach ache a little. He wraps one arm around it, pressing the blanket over the newly-healed area.
“Shh,” Gojo hushes him, patting Megumi’s back and head in turn. His movements are comforting but his voice is a little panicked. “You’re supposed to be resting. Shoko’s going to roast me alive.”
That startles a laugh out of Megumi.
“Oh, that’s funny to you, huh,” Gojo grumbles. He pulls back slightly, far enough that he can peer down at him.
Self-conscious, Megumi swipes away his tears with his free hand. He takes a moment to try and compose himself, leaning back away from Gojo.
“I guess I see why you couldn’t tell us sooner,” he says with a last sniffle. “But don’t you dare do something like this again.”
“No promises,” Gojo says.
There’s levity in his voice, but it feels deceptive somehow. Like a false bottom in a drawer, concealing something underneath it.
Frowning, Megumi looks up at him. When Gojo doesn’t immediately continue speaking, he pokes at his arm. “What?”
Finally, Gojo meets his gaze — at least, as best he can with his blindfold on. “Don’t tell anyone I ever said this,” he begins. “But… your Gojo-sensei is not perfect. I have one flaw.”
Megumi promptly whacks at his arm, in a silent admonishment that this is no time for his usual boasting.
“Alright, maybe more than that,” Gojo concedes. “But this is a big one.”
He changes position, leaning against the edge of the bed. “I have a blindspot. When it comes to getting stronger, I only ever think about doing it alone. Probably because that’s how it was for me.”
Megumi narrows his eyes. If Gojo starts bragging about his unparalleled cursed technique, he is fully prepared to hit him again.
Fortunately for Gojo, he chooses wisely, continuing, “I thought the best and fastest way to get Yuji strong enough to survive another assassination attempt was to train him one-on-one. And that was probably the best choice for building up his foundations. But it took him until today to have his big breakthrough. To land his first Black Flash.”
What? Megumi looks up sharply.
Gojo gives a short laugh. “I haven’t asked him, but I know what happens to a jujutsu sorcerer’s cursed energy output and flow after they pull off a Black Flash. Actually, I suspect Yuji landed more than one consecutively.”
“That’s amazing,” Megumi says, awed.
Nodding, Gojo says, “And he did it because he teamed up with Aoi Todo, and because he wanted to defeat the cursed spirit that hurt you.”
Megumi gets a weird feeling in his chest at those words. It’s not unpleasant, just… weird.
Why did Gojo have to put it like that?
Before he can protest, though, Gojo clears his throat. “My point is: I forget that people can be stronger together. Like you and Maki, figuring out that you can store cursed tools in your shadows, and learning how to tag-team cursed spirits.”
His voice turns contemplative. “If I’d let you and Kugisaki in on the secret, you could have trained with Yuji and come up with strategies to keep one another safe. Maybe that would have worked, so you didn’t each have to get stronger alone. Maybe there was another way, and I just didn’t see it. I let you fall right into my blindspot. I’m sorry, Megumi.”
Megumi feels like he’s been holding his breath while Gojo was speaking. He makes himself exhale slowly, trying to process everything.
But the first coherent thought that he has is: “I didn’t know you could be so self-aware.”
Gojo splutters. “Excuse me? I humble myself, I open up, I pour out my whole heart and soul to you—”
“I forgive you,” Megumi interrupts him.
For the first time in his life, he has the satisfaction of seeing Gojo actually shut up. It’s almost comical the way his mouth closes. His teeth practically click together.
It lasts for all of two seconds. Then, rubbing the back of his neck, Gojo mutters, “That’s… Okay. I’m glad to hear it.”
He sounds so awkward. It makes Megumi uncomfortable, too. “Don’t make this weird,” he says huffily.
“I’m not making it weird!” Gojo folds his arms over his chest. “And I’m self-aware all the time. I’ve thought about this for years, you know. It might really be my fatal flaw as a sensei.”
Years?
Megumi is on the verge of snarking that if it took Gojo years to figure out one of his flaws, he has a long way to go. But the words curl up in the back of his throat when he catches the look on Gojo’s face. It’s a complicated expression, made up of too much regret and sadness for Megumi to dare to prod at.
He’s seen Gojo look that way before, every so often. Each time, it only lasts for a moment, until Gojo pulls his mask of childish silliness on over it.
It doesn’t seem like the healthiest way to deal with his problems. But Megumi has to admit that there have been plenty of times when he’s leaned on Gojo for his ridiculousness. Today, with the cursed buds, was just one of those times.
He’s always sniped and groused at Gojo for being so annoying. But he’s never once said thank you.
Megumi looks at Gojo, who has in the meantime gotten distracted by the box of disposable gloves sitting on the station next to him. He’s already blown one up like a balloon and tied off the end. Seeing him reaching for another, Megumi reflexively says, “No,” in a stern tone.
Gojo pouts at him, but leaves the gloves alone. “I can’t believe you just used your dog voice on me,” he complains.
That’s… actually true, he did. Oops.
“I mean,” Megumi modulates his tone to something more normal, “no. You’re not perfect, but we can make up for your blindspot. You…” He pulls a face, but makes himself finish the sentence. “You’re still a good sensei.”
He knows Gojo won’t react seriously, and he’s braced for it. So even when Gojo starts fluttering his hands and using a disgustingly cutesy voice to fawn over Megumi, my most favourite student ever, you love me after all, Megumi just sighs and lets it happen.
At least Gojo heard him say it.
Luckily, Megumi doesn’t have to put up with the onslaught for long. The infirmary door opens, and he hears Itadori’s voice calling, “Fushiguro?”
“Yuji!” Gojo exclaims. “Finally. Megumi’s been asking for you.”
“No, I haven’t!” Megumi hisses, glaring at Gojo.
“Oh, Gojo-sensei!” Itadori steps through the gap in the privacy curtain. His cheeks look a little flushed, and his brow furrows as he catches sight of Megumi. “Fushiguro, are you okay? You looked really hurt earlier.”
Even from here, Megumi can see that Itadori has bruises and abrasions all over his body, especially on his face and hands. There’s also a substantial amount of dried blood in his hair, reddish brown stains and flecks that stand out against the pink.
Megumi scowls. “Idiot. What did I tell you?”
Itadori has the nerve to look down at himself, even patting his torso with both hands, as he says, “What? I didn’t die! Don’t kill me, Fushiguro!”
Gojo gets to his feet, checking the time on his phone. “Well, Megumi’s got to recover here for a little longer, and I should probably go face Yaga’s wrath. Yuji, you stay with Megumi, make sure he gets back to his room okay.”
“Of course,” Itadori says, coming over to the foot of the bed.
He looks so concerned for Megumi, even though Itadori himself is far more injured right now. Has he even been to see Shoko? He can’t have.
“Worry about yourself,” Megumi says, looking off to the side. “I’m fine.”
“Oh, my students are just the cutest,” Gojo coos. Striding towards the door, he calls over his shoulder, “Yuji? Maybe you should carry him there, just to be safe!”
Never mind. Megumi hates him again.