Archive of Our Own ^beta

Megumi wouldn’t forget it, the day that he had first met Gojo, on that street with the setting sun behind his sensei. Gojo was the most beautiful thing that he had ever seen.

Then and now.

A beauty that he didn’t understand, nor appreciate until he grew older, as his limbs ached and his features sharpened with time.

But that’s when things started to change, wasn’t it?

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Silken hair.

The sun peeks in through the windows of the classroom, casting it in a glow, the light glinting off snow white tresses that Megumi longed to rake his fingers through. Would they be as soft as they looked?

“So, for training today, you all are going to—

Pretty pink lips.

Gojo claps his hands, waving them at the chalkboard, covered in writing, something to do with the lesson of the day, one that Megumi had barely paid any attention to. Not when his focus was on those lovely lips that pull into a familiar smile that he wished was for his eyes only.

“Cursed energy needs to be—”

A lovely voice.

He would never get tired of listening to sensei’s voice, even if Megumi made it appear otherwise. A sonata and lullaby that soothed all of his pain. Except the one in his forlorn heart that ached, bled and wept for Gojo to love him—to adore him in the way that he once did. No, more than that, it wasn’t enough.

A beautiful mind.

“—Need to practice and get an understanding of—”

Megumi needed Gojo to love him beyond the way that his sensei loved him as his student and ward. He needed Gojo to view him as his partner in life. As a lover, and above all else, as his one and only one.

Eyes that always took his breath away.

How long had he longed for Gojo-sensei? Megumi’s lost track, all he knew was a life before and after Gojo. The one who had trapped him within his silver web, taking Megumi’s heart without his say-so with a sweet smile on those pretty lips. That he eyes now, distantly listening to Gojo’s words.

“—Partner up and—”

An exquisiteness so breathtaking that even the moon was jealous.

“—Remember to use your curse energy to—”

What would sensei sound like in the throes of passion? It would be lovely, Megumi’s sure of it, something that he wouldn’t want another to hear, someone like—

“Sensei?” Yuta’s voice cuts in from the desk next to Megumi, one hand raised that Gojo’s head tilts towards. He hated the idea that those beautiful eyes were on Yuta behind that blindfold. “There’s an odd number of us, should three of us pair up?”

Teacher’s pet, Megumi wanted to spit, lips curling before he smooths his face out. He had no right to direct any ire towards Yuta, not when the other had done nothing wrong. Well, nothing but take Gojo’s attention from Megumi.

Or it wasn’t attention that Yuta stole from him, not when it was Gojo who had changed—who had pulled away from Megumi as he had gotten older. Why, he wanted to ask, what had he done to have Gojo treat him this way?

But it mattered little either way now, not when this rift between them grew. Megumi wasn’t good at sharing, he knew that now, but it wasn’t fair for Yuta to come back to visit and pilfer so much of sensei’s attention.

He hated it.

“Mhm, oh, you’re right. Well, I guess that means that…Yuta, you’ll be pairing up with me! Aren’t you just lucky!!” Gojo laughs, tapping a finger to his chin, one that was always music to Megumi’s ears.

But not now, not when Yuta was the reason for it.

“More like unlucky,” Maki grumbles from his other side, rolling her eyes at Gojo’s antics and giving Yuta a look.

Who shouldn’t be flushing such a dark red, looking as if Christmas came early and certainly not when it should be Megumi training with Sensei.

“Aw, Maki, be nice!” Panda says, glancing at Inumaki for backup.

Megumi had found Gojo first and been found by him in turn.

“Bonito flakes.”

It’s not as if he had expected to be able to land a hit on Gojo during training, to be able to put his hands on the beauty that he was, but he despised the thought of Yuta being given the chance to. When sensei was avoiding him it seemed, withholding his affections that Megumi so greedily sought.

Look at me.

“Megumi?” Gojo’s voice cuts in through his meandering thoughts, forcing him to blink up from his fists clenched in his lap and towards the classroom door where he was waiting. “What are you doing? Everyone’s already headed to the training ground.”

And only me.

Maybe he was being unkind or rude, taking out his annoyance on Gojo, not deigning to give him an answer as the chair screeches when he stands to his feet. Cutting the space between himself and his sensei, brushing past him out the door.

His heart aches at the way Gojo leans away, as if he couldn’t bare the idea of Megumi touching him. Perhaps he’s crueler than usual to sensei that day, making even Maki send him a particularly heavy look that matched the growing anger in Yuta’s.

Sensei’s eternal lapdog.

If Gojo found it strange, his sensei doesn’t make it known, only giving him an inquisitive stare when he leaves training that day with a huff.

What did Megumi have to do to have his beloved give him a chance?

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It never made sense to him, why Gojo treated him so differently compared to the others. Even Tsumiki was given allowances that his sensei would never give Megumi. Carefree touches, that he had once showered Megumi in when he was younger but something had to have happened between the then and now.

Maybe it was when Megumi had finally hit puberty, with the growth spurt that had him shooting up and baby fat making way for refined features?

But why?

What made it so that Gojo would restrict his love so easily? That his sensei who was free with his physical affection, even when Megumi would sneer at him or slap his touch away, had just…stopped.

That Gojo no longer would hold him in his arms like he once did, hell, his sensei would go out of his way at times to steer clear of Megumi’s touch. Something that he hadn’t noticed at first, until it became too obvious for him to ignore.

Or perhaps it was with the arrival of Yuta that made it so much more apparent that Gojo treat Megumi differently now?

No, it wasn’t Yuta or his arrival that changed things. Not when Gojo seemed to look at Megumi at times as if it wasn’t him that he was seeing, but something or someone else. Not when this had been happening for years now.

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It’s a random memory that hits him while they’re out for one last lunch together before Yuta took his flight back to Africa that evening. They’re at a ramen shop, tucked away close to the school, a place that Gojo had taken Megumi before, just the two of them. Rather than with Yuta and the others like now.

“Tell Miguel that I said hi! We’re going to miss you, time flies by so fast—”

Good riddance, he wanted to say, to heave a sigh of relief to no longer have to stand by and watch Yuta get all the adoration that Megumi desired.

“Of course, Sensei. Ah, you—all of you should visit sometime. I think that you’ll all—”

“Bonito Flakes—”

That was eternally out of his grasp, in the same way that Geto was out of Gojo’s reach, who he knew sensei missed like one would miss their other half. Megumi had only met Geto once, before the man had been expelled and killed by sensei.

Geto had come with Gojo to the small apartment that Megumi had shared with Tsumiki, hadn’t he? Sensei had been intent on moving them out of that dingy place and into a new apartment. One that was in a safer neighbourhood, with good schools, Gojo had said with a large smile on his tired face while he ruffled Megumi’s hair.

It’s an odd memory, Megumi reflects, picking at his ramen, eyes sliding from his food and around the shop, his mind drifting.

(Geto was tall, but not as tall as sensei, who was slim, where Geto was brawny and handsome. Still, Gojo was pretty, like a princess, Tsumiki had always said with a smile, eyes twinkling at the amused laughter that would leave sensei.

Who had left Geto to watch them while he had stepped out to take a call and the man had looked over at their place with a scrunched nose, disgust apparent to the point that Tsumiki couldn’t keep quiet.

“Why are you making that face?” Tsumiki asks in confusion, tugging at Geto’s loose pants and peering up at him with the innocence that only a child could have.

And Geto, he had given her a sneer, seemingly revolted at the touch from Tsumiki, before his face smoothed out as if it had never happened.

“It’s just a bit dusty in here, isn’t it? I’ll open the windows,” Geto murmurs, stepping out of Tsumiki’s reach until her hands lost their grip on his pants while he shuffled off down the hall.

Tsumiki, kind, naive and so sweet, could only give Megumi a bemused smile. “He’s a bit weird, isn’t he?”

Geto was more than strange, the man had been a maniac and yet sensei’s best friend. Who he had trailed after that day, curious about Geto and leaving Tsumiki to continue packing the small number of things that they had in their apartment away.

He had found Geto in his bedroom, peering at the meagre belongings that he had and eyeing the picture that Gojo had set on Megumi’s nightstand. It had been taken the day that Gojo had signed off on guardianship of him and Tsumiki.

Sensei was beaming at the camera, crouched down and holding the both of them close, Tsumiki was looking on in delight and Megumi had all but pouted at the camera.

And that picture was held in Geto’s hand now, who blinks away from it at his arrival, slanting a look at Megumi from the corner of his eyes.

How had Megumi forgotten this memory?

“You’re Megumi-kun, right? Fushiguro Megumi?” Geto hums, setting the frame on the nightstand again, tilting his head and peering down at him in interest. “A blessing…”

Truly, Megumi always hated the name that he had been given. And he had no desire to humour this strange friend of sensei’s, but he didn’t trust him wandering their home on his own either. Not with how he had treated Tsumiki.

“What are you doing?”

Geto smiles at him at his question, the first that Megumi had seen since the man had arrived here and without Gojo around.

“Nothing, I was just…curious.”

His face scrunches, he didn’t understand Geto or Gojo, both these adults—no, they were teenagers, weren’t they? They were odd, but…Gojo, even though he was just a teenager, was promising to give him and Tsumiki a better life. So, for her, Megumi would do anything, even if it meant being polite to someone strange like Geto.

“About what?”

“You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” Geto chuckles, reaching down to ruffle his hair, smiling in amusement when Megumi leans away from his touch. “Hm…I just wondered what that monkey’s spawn looked like. You’re the splitting image of him.”

Megumi’s face twists, confusion washing over him at the odd words leaving sensei’s best friend. He doesn’t understand Geto, nor what he was talking about, his mouth opening to ask more questions, only to be interrupted by the sound of Gojo returning.

“Whooo, I’m back! Packing is getting boring, isn’t it? Why don’t we just leave everything here and I buy you both new things?” he hears Gojo say to Tsumiki down the hall.

And just like that, Gojo had him—no, the both of them, in his hands, didn’t he? That had Megumi giving Geto one last look before he heads back to Tsumiki and Gojo, with Geto following close behind.

Like a moth to the flame, his sensei was the eternally shining North Star that Megumi always found himself searching for and following.)

“Sensei, you don’t have to do that!” Yuta bemoans, cutting through his thoughts.

Maybe he should have thought about it more, Megumi decides, blinking back to the present and bristling at the sight of Gojo pressed against Yuta in the seat across from him. If sensei was any closer, then he’d be on Yuta’s lap.

Which he’s sure that Yuta would enjoy.

“Say ahh, Yuta!”

The others seem amused by Gojo’s behaviour if anything and the flush to Yuta’s face, who opens his mouth obediently when sensei tries to feed him a bite of ramen.

“Ugh, get a room you two!”

“Wah, Maki is so mean to Sensei!”

Megumi couldn’t wait for Yuta to leave. His heart throbbed, wrung out from being forced to watch what should be his, and only his, being coveted by another.

Look at me, Sensei.

And yet, that plea never leaves Megumi’s lips, that he bites at hard enough that the taste of iron fills his mouth while Gojo’s laughter washes over him.

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He wanted to plead with Gojo, to beg him to tell Megumi, just why was he doing this—why was he so intent on ravaging and shattering Megumi’s heart? What had changed and how could Megumi fix it? And yet, he knew that he would never let those words leave his lips.

Never.

Instead, Megumi would stand by, lips twisted bitterly and with this green-eyed monster growing within his chest as he watched Gojo adore his other students.

And Yuta Okkotsu.

Kind, sweet and protective Yuta, who Gojo showered in the touches that he once gave Megumi all those years ago. Was there something about Megumi that put his sensei off?

Did he find out about his love for him…did it disgust him?

Was that the reason why Gojo had pulled away, staring at him in fright at times or blankly, as if his mind had strayed elsewhere? He can’t forget all the nightmares that he had awoken his sensei from when Gojo used to stay over with him and Tsumiki.

Of pleads for a man named Toji to stop.

The last time that Gojo had stayed at his home was a bit after Tsumiki had been cursed and Megumi had tried to awake sensei from his nightmare again. Loud sobs and pleas that woke Megumi up and had him rushing to the guest room that Gojo used down the hall.

To where he found his sensei thrashing and tangled in his sheets, tears dripping into his hairline, while his face was awash in pure horror. Sensei’s eyes had snapped open, locking onto him the moment Megumi had laid a hand on his shoulder to awake him, a wet sob leaving him with a plead to not touch him.

Megumi had pulled his hand away as if burned, hadn’t he? Dread, hurt and confusion settling within his heart. Gojo had never look at him like that before. He’d never seen his sensei look so fearful before, those teary eyes staring at Megumi as if he had shoved his fist into his chest and torn his bleeding heart out.

How funny was it that Gojo would pretend that nothing had happened after that night. Even if he never slept over again and continued to pull away from Megumi all the more. Making the raw and aching wound in his soul throb, tearing him apart at the very seams at the reality that the one he loved was…afraid of him?

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It’s something that had been on Megumi’s mind for some time, he’s not sure when it first caught his eye, or maybe it was that he always knew that Gojo treated him differently than the others.

As his guardian, yes, it made sense, but more than that. His sensei seemed to leer away from him, that while Gojo was touchy-feely, he had strange limits when it came to Megumi.

Like he did on this damned mission that they were on now.

If Megumi knew that this was how things would have gone, then he would have chosen to stay back at the school. A learning opportunity, his sensei had said with a smile, hand twitching as if he wanted to lay it on Megumi’s shoulder or ruffle his dark locks.

He’s not surprised when Gojo had instead shoved his hands into his slacks, unaware of Megumi’s disappointment and hurt. The mission had led them to this dingy and abandoned school, destroyed in a fire is what the locals and world had been told.

Rather than the curse that sensei had just eliminated seconds ago, fading away on the wet grass of the school field before them. It had been a strange curse, one that Gojo said would show people their greatest fears.

Megumi’s greatest fear had already come to life, hadn’t it, with Tsumiki being cursed? But what did Gojo fear? A question that he fails to swallows down, despite knowing that his sensei would only laugh and tell him that he was the strongest, what would he be scared of?

Then what was it that would leave the strongest weeping and wailing in his sleep?

“What did it show you?” Megumi asks, voice muffled by the rain and thunder booming above them, cringing at the way that his wet clothes cling to him.

His sensei doesn’t bother to bring up his infinity to stop the rain from drenching him. Sometimes Gojo seemed to enjoy those little things, like the feeling of rain against his skin.

How pathetic was Megumi to be jealous of rain?

“Hm?”

“What did it show you—the curse,” he presses again, shoving his hands into his pockets and stepping closer to Gojo.

Knowing that his sensei would laugh and step away, to created that damned distance between them like he always did. As if Megumi was diseased, a sickness and rotting carcass that he couldn’t bare to be around.

He wouldn’t blame him for it either. Not with these feelings and thoughts about Gojo that had begun consuming Megumi over the years. And Yuta had only added oil to the fire, hadn’t he?

Look at me, Sensei.

Megumi wanted to demand, to grab Gojo by that dainty jaw and force him to just give him some attention. Any attention, that’s all he wanted, even just a crumb of it. Megumi was a dying man in a desert, begging for his deity for mercy and salvation.

That Gojo refuses to give him.

“Ehhh? Nothing of course! What would I be afraid of, huh? Like anything could hurt little old me,” Gojo laughs, pulling his blindfold from his pocket.

“Really?”

But then why was it fear in those pretty blue eyes when they catch Megumi from the corner of his eye, just as he’s putting his blindfold back on.

“Sensei?”

Gojo doesn’t respond, nothing more than his Adams apple bobbing, eyes widening, hands frozen and clenched around his blindfold.

“Gojo-sensei?” he calls again, frowning and stepping closer.

Was this the curse? It didn’t seem as if Gojo had been affected by it when the curse had locked its eyes on his sensei and used its powers. But there was nothing that came to mind that would explain why Gojo looked ashen now.

Had it done something to Gojo, of all people, Megumi deliberates, bringing his up to reach for his deity. Who looked ill, skin ashy and a strange glassy sheen to his eyes.

“Sensei, are you—”

His hand stings where Gojo’s struck it away just as he’s about to touch his shoulder. But it’s not his hand that truly hurts, no, its Megumi’s heart and soul. Never had Gojo raised a hand to him or to any of his students, not unless it was training.

Nor had he ever looked at Megumi with such rage, the fear, yes, he was familiar with it…but the anger was new and he almost flinches back, a part of him shaken at that wrath. Yet, Gojo’s eyes stay locked on him, unblinking and distant, until he blinks rapidly at the sight of Megumi pulling his hand to his chest, that would no doubt bruise.

“I-I’m sorry—that’s—I don’t know what happened,” Gojo croaks, giving him a rare apology, remorse in his gaze when he studies Megumi’s hand. “Here, let me take a look.”

Reaching for it to heal it likely, but he hoped that it hurt Gojo when he pulls away from his touch. That his sensei’s heart ached in the same way that Megumi’s did when he withheld and rejected his touch so many times. It doesn’t feel good like Megumi expected it to, no, if anything his heart twists at the sight of seeing Gojo’s face crumple in hurt.

“Megumi—”

“Don’t. Let’s just go.”

“Hey, I’m sorry! I didn’t—”

He doesn’t care to listen to the rest of his sensei’s apologies or blubbering, hating himself for being so petty. Slapping the hand that Gojo settles on his shoulder away and turning to make his way to the school entrance where the car awaited. Megumi was being cruel, he knew that, but…

This was only fair for all the hurt that Gojo had caused him.

That’s what he tells himself that night when they go to the onsen ryokan that had been booked for them for this mission. It wasn’t unusual for Gojo to want to make a trip out missions, that rather than teleporting back, he would use it as a chance for his students to get a break.

To be free and have fun like youth should, Gojo had always said, with a forlorn look on his face.

Rather than being sent on one mission after the next, burning out until there was nothing left and to be treated like how sensei was. A weapon, that’s what the elders and world viewed Gojo as. Who always made time for Megumi and the others, despite the little free time that he had between missions.

Gojo had always put them first and even with how he was unknowingly treating Megumi, he only wanted the best for him. He knew that and yet…

It hurt. So much. This gaping maw in his chest where his heart had once been, that bled, ached and wept for its other half.

“Ah, sorry, Megumi. But it looks like they’re fully booked and only have this room available. We'll have to share,” Gojo grumbles, sliding the door open with a frown, those beautiful eyes locking onto him with an apology. “I don’t get how they could have mixed up the booking. I’ll go ask again or maybe I should call Ichiji and—”

“It’s fine.”

“Megumi—”

“I said that it’s fine.”

His words, dull as always, are laced with an ire that he can’t hide. Megumi can’t keep his agitation down, not with his hand still aching and a dark bruise beginning to colour it. He knew that Gojo was eyeing it in guilt, it wasn’t the first time that Megumi had been injured by him, no, but…that was in training and this was nothing of the sort. It’s a different kind of pain, although he knew that it wasn’t intentional.

Gojo would never hurt them, ever, their sensei would sooner die before he did that.

Who had Gojo seen to make him lash out on him, he wanted to ask, to turn to his dearest and drag the truth from those pretty lips. But Megumi does anything but that, laying out his futon while Gojo waffles at the door.

“Ah, I was thinking of grabbing dinner and checking the hot spring after. Did you want to come?”

“No.”

Megumi was always prickly with him, he would be the first to admit it, but sensei knew that something was different this time. Beyond just a little strike on the hands, this was…utter heartbreak. Gojo was and had been breaking his heart for years now.

“Megumi…”

And Megumi couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Don’t make noise when you come back.”

Not with Gojo drowning Yuta in all the love that he wanted and that Megumi deserved. A part of him had foolishly hoped that if he had waited long enough that when he was older, stronger and a man that Gojo could be proud of, that his feelings would be reciprocated.

He had been an idiot for thinking so and what Megumi needed now, was time to put the broken parts of his heart together again.

Gojo shuffles off after changing into his yutaka, having given up on getting Megumi to join him when only silence greeted his requests. The last thing that he wanted or needed was to sit in a hot spring with sensei’s body on show.

There was only a limited amount of patience that he had and Gojo always seemed to try his best to chip away at it, bit by bit. Could sensei blame him when Megumi finally broke? When he couldn’t take watching Yuta get all the love that should have been reserved for Megumi?

But his sensei doesn’t return, even when Megumi tosses and turns on his futon, pushing out of it with a huff to peer at the clock. It was past midnight and Gojo still hadn’t come back, there was no reason for him to fret when it came to the strongest and yet, that’s all that he can do.

His heart wasn't at his side, safe and well, of course Megumi would worry.

That had him shoving the covers of his futon off to stand to his feet with a grumble, fidgeting with his yutaka as he made his way out of their room. To find the hallway empty as it would be while he shuffles towards the hot spring first, peering into the men’s changing room to find no one.

Yet he catches sight of Gojo’s yutaka, folded in a cubby and that’s what it takes for him to enter the hot spring. Ire growing within him to be stuck babysitting his sensei, that even with how Gojo continued to pull away from him, Megumi would remain trapped within his orbit for eternity.

Following him around, begging for his adoration, affection and attention like a mangy dog, despite knowing that this love would never come to pass. In the same way that Megumi’s family was never meant to be happy, not after Tsumiki had been cursed and they had been abandoned by his father whose face that he couldn’t even remember.

Nor his voice, scent, name or anything else. He’s sure that he could find out who he was, the man had been a Zenin after all, if what Gojo had said was true, but Megumi had no desire to. Someone like that man, who would sell his own child off, deserved none of his time, nor a place within his heart or memories.

His thoughts meander off when he steps into the hot spring to find a man already there. One that Megumi would have ignored, if not for that familiar face. He would never forget it, the one who had taken a piece of Gojo’s heart with him when he had defected.

It’s not what he expected to find, to have Gojo across from him of all people, in the hot spring, seemingly unconscious or asleep, unaware of who was sitting before him.

“You’re—”

“Oh, you’re one of Satoru’s kids, aren’t you?” Geto hums, the water rippling around him when he shifts, eyes sliding from Gojo to settle on Megumi. “Isn’t it your bedtime?”

It rankles Megumi’s nerves, Gojo wasn’t his father and he wasn’t his child. He wanted to be anything but that. And yet, he had Geto here of all places, who he could never hope to beat. Not in this life or the next.

“With this treasure—”

Geto laughs lightly, brows raised and pulling at the stitches on his forehead. “Put that away, hm? I’m not looking for a fight and I’m sure that you’re not looking to lose one either.”

The stitches are new, Megumi deliberates, keeping his hands held infront of him, eyes fixated on Geto, trying to keep them from straying over to Gojo. Not when he was waiting for Geto to make his next move and desperately wishing for Gojo to just wake up. He wasn’t stupid, he knew when he was overpowered and it wasn’t like his sensei to allow himself to put his guard down so easily. Leaving himself a sitting duck for anyone to take advantage of.

“Yeah, you’re definitely one of his,” Geto muses out loud, leaning back like this was a vacation. “Tell me, how’s that monkey—I mean, sister of yours?”

He should kill Geto here and call it a day. Maybe then sensei would look at him? And yet, Gojo doesn’t stir, face and body flushed while those eyes stay closed.

“Why are you here?”

“Can’t a man just relax after a hard day?”

“You’re a genocidal—”

“Ah, ah, that’s not nice. I’m trying to make the world a better place for—”

“Cut the shit.”

“What makes you think that I’m up to no good?” the look that he sends Geto has him laughing again, raking a hand through his wet hair and giving him a small smile. “You’ve really grown up, haven’t you, Megumi-kun?”

He doesn’t give Geto an answer, nothing but a deep scowl and all the hate that he can muster through a stare alone. It’s disappointing that he doesn’t burst into flames on the spot.

“Mhm, I see that you haven’t gotten any of Satoru’s humour.”

“With this—”

Geto rolls his eyes, neither amused or threatened by Megumi, not when his lips crook up. “You do that and you kill everyone here—including Satoru. Is that what you want?”

As if sensei would be killed easily like that, but the glance that Megumi sends to Gojo is enough to have Geto chuckling again, waving a wet hand in sensei’s direction with a quirked brow.

“He’s drunk and you know how he is when he’s drunk…Satoru can’t fight, let alone use his RCT.”

Was that a threat? Megumi can’t be sure, he barely knew Geto, but from what he heard from Gojo, Shoko and the others, the man seemed unhinged. Or had been at the end of his life and yet here he was, alive and well, if not for those stitches on his forehead.

There are too many things that he wanted to ask, of how Geto was here when Gojo had supposedly killed him. But could Megumi be surprised that there was a chance that his sensei had spared his best friend, that Gojo was more human than everyone considered him?

That when it came down to it, Gojo hadn’t been able to kill the man that he called his one and only one?

“I’m not here to cause trouble. He was already like this when I got here,” Geto cuts in through his racing thoughts, standing to his feet and grabbing the towel set on the ledge that he wraps around his waist. “I just thought that it would be nice to see an old friend.”

“You’ve seen him. Now go.”

Geto gives him a look that he can’t read, eyes tracing over his features. “You really do look just like him.”

Like who, Megumi wanted to ask, despite the fact that a part of him already knew the answer to that. He had always known, hadn’t he?

(“You’re Fushiguro Megumi, right?” a voice comes from behind him.

Megumi wanted little to do with whoever this man was, he reflects, biting the inside of his cheek in annoyance, wanting to just get home to Tsumiki.

“Who are you?” he asks, turning around to look up at the tall figure in question, to face the—

Beauty.

That’s what this man was, he looked like one of those princesses from the movies and shows that Tsumiki watched. Megumi’s never seen anyone that looked so ethereal, that had him wanting to ask the man if he was figment of his imagination.

But the man’s face twists strangely when he gets a good look at him. It’s annoying how that odd look on the man’s face did little to mar his looks. Weirdo, Megumi grimaces, giving him an irritated look. He didn’t have time for this.

“And what’s with that weird face?”

The man’s face crumples, that odd look of what Megumi thought was fear and dread, making way for bemusement and annoyance.

It seemed brittle, like a mask that this man was trying to use to cover his true feelings. That Megumi had little care for, slowly losing his patience with this stranger as he continued to stare down at him.

"You look just like him, is all,” the man mumbles, reaching up to push his sunglasses up.

Like who, Megumi wanted to ask, confusion apparent on his face no doubt.

My own issue,” the man smiles instead, waving a hand to the side before tucking them in his slacks. “So listen. About your dad…he’s from this big shot jujutsu sorcerer family called the Zenin. But they’re such scumbags, they make even me sick and that’s why your dad left the family and had—”

This man talked too much, it felt as if Megumi’s ears would start bleeding if he let him continue yapping away with no end in sight. He wanted nothing to do with anything that involved that bastard and deadbeat of a father of his.

“—So, Megumi-kun, you were the ultimate card that your dad kept on hand against the Zenin clan. Pisses you off, doesn’t it? So, about that dad of yours. I ki—”

“I don’t care,” Megumi cuts the man off, staring into those eyes, that couldn’t be real, how was it possible for them to look like something out of a dream? “I have no interest in where he is or what he’s doing. I haven’t even seen him in years, so I don’t remember what he looks like. Though I get the general idea from what you just said. Tsumiki’s mother hasn’t come home for a while now either.”

That smile leaves the man, whose studying him now, eyes wide and as if he couldn’t understand the words that were leaving Megumi. It felt like he was seeing through him, no, like he was looking at someone else.

“Ah, Megumi’s home!” Tsumiki calls from behind him, making Megumi turn and glance up at her.

Tsumiki was all that mattered to him now, Megumi reminded himself, wanting for his sister to only know happiness. Rather than hurt, pain and abandonment.

“That means they’re finished with us, and they’re off enjoying themselves elsewhere, right?”

“Are you really a first grader? Well, whatever,” the man says from behind him, a strange hitch to his voice at his next words. Megumi almost wished that he had turned to see the expression on his face. “If you ever want to know about your father, you can ask me. I think it’ll be pretty interesting to hear.”)

Megumi should have asked all those years ago, to confirm what he already knew, that Gojo had been speaking of his father, wasn’t he? That his sensei intimately knew the man who had abandoned his own children, sold his son off to the Zenin clan and disappeared.

“Like who?” Megumi whispers, knowing that he wouldn’t like the answer that Geto would give him.

“Like the one who had killed Satoru—the one who took the strongest apart and turned him into this,” Geto hums, waving a hand in Gojo’s direction and making the water ripple around him, eyes crinkling in mirth that seemed wrong on his face. “Do you want to know what he did to Satoru—your father? How he killed Satoru—made him bleed and break—raped him—”

“Shut up!”

No, no, no, no—

“He has scars from him, you know—your father. On that pretty neck of his and down his side,” Geto says, tapping his own neck and sliding it down his side.

“You’re lying—”

“Mhm, am I? You should take a look.”

Megumi had vague memories of seeing some type of scar on Gojo, once, when he had worn a wide collared shirt. They had been almost invisible to the eye, faint scars that you would only find if you knew what to look for.

What did the other scars look like?

He wanted to deny what Geto was saying to him, to call the man a liar, but things were clicking into place in a horrid way. Of the reason for Gojo’s distance, his stares and fear—he wasn’t seeing Megumi, it was his father that sensei was reminded of when he looked at him, wasn’t it?

Gojo had never given him a chance, even if sensei still loved him, he had judged, sentenced and punished Megumi for a crime that he hadn’t committed. It just wasn’t fair, not when he had never hurt Gojo, never.

And yet…sensei was treating him like he had.

Like it had been Megumi that had held him down and hurt him like Geto was saying. Sick, he was going to be ill. That’s what was going to happen if he didn’t get Gojo back to their room and away from this terrible reality that Geto told him.

The truth that Megumi had asked for.

“Leave!” Megumi barks out, gnashing his teeth and struggling to resist the urge to call his summons.

“Sheesh, you asked,” Geto laughs at his harsh words, clearly not deeming him a threat, but he shrugs his shoulders and makes his way to the exit out of the hot spring. Only stopping to drop a hand on Megumi’s shoulder, it burns in a strange way, Geto’s touch. “He won’t remember this in the morning. He never does when he gets like this…you know that, right? It’s never fun being punished for things that you didn’t do, is it?”

He pushes Geto’s hand off his shoulder, scowling at the tingling sensation left behind and not wanting to deal with the man further. Not when Megumi’s mind was racing and nausea curdling in his gut. Those cryptic words are all that Geto says before he leaves with muffled snicker.

Megumi would have to tell Gojo of Geto being alive in the morning, wouldn’t he? Unless his sensei already knew because he had let the genocidal maniac go in the first place. Was it terrible of him to have wished that Gojo had finished the job and had wiped Geto off the face of the Earth?

Maybe, probably, but he doesn’t care. Not when Geto had treated his sister so poorly and so many others. He can’t understand the friendship that Gojo had with him, of the kind man that he spoke about when Geto seemed anything but that. Who had abandoned Gojo in the end, while Megumi would never do such a thing.

And yet he treated Megumi so distantly.

It’s the not knowing what he’s done to make Gojo pull away that had hurt the most. But knowing the real reason why sensei would never tell him, was all the more horrid. No, Gojo would have never told Megumi. He would have kept this secret sealed behind those lovely lips of his for eternity.

That feel soft beneath his thumb now as he cradles Gojo’s jaw, eyeing his state when Megumi was finally able to drag his limp body back to their room. And after he had thrown up what little he had ate in the toilet, staring at his pallid reflection in the mirror before remembering that Gojo was splayed on top of the futon still.

Before Geto had revealed this truth to him, Megumi would have said that he couldn’t imagine what had led to his sensei drinking himself into a stupor, not that it took much with the light weight that he was. But he knew now, didn’t he?

His father had hurt Gojo-sensei.

There’s no reason to believe Geto’s words, but he knew that it was the truth, that this was something that Megumi couldn’t deny. Not when the evidence was right before him, the scars that marred Gojo’s body that he eyes now peeking out from his dishevelled yutaka.

Just like Geto had said, Megumi thinks, his stomach flipping again at the sight of them. This was the moment that Megumi should pretend that he had never had that conversation with Geto. That he hadn’t learned of his sensei’s horrifying trauma and it made sense now, didn’t it?

Gojo never really drank in the time that he knew him, but the few times that he had and that Megumi had seen it, his sensei had—

(A gentle smile pulls on Gojo’s lips when his eyes catch Megumi’s inquisitive stare during dinner one night at his condo after visiting Tsumiki.

“What’s up, Megumi?” Gojo asks, eyes crinkling at the way that he huffs and rolls his eyes.

Sensei would always indulge Megumi in what ways he could, even if he had started to withhold his physical affections from him now.

“Why are you drinking? I thought that you hated it,” he asks, eyeing the wine swirling in sensei’s glass.

Gojo hums softly, glancing down at his half-eaten meal before him before peering across the table at Megumi with brittle smile.

“Sometimes it’s nice to forget,” sensei murmurs, his smile drooping, eyes becoming distant, as if he was elsewhere and not with Megumi right now.

Where are you right now and how do I bring you back to me, Megumi wanted to plead, to reach across the table to gently take the wine glass from Gojo’s trembling grip. Instead, he does nothing, the two of them finishing their meal in silence and never speaking of this again.)

Megumi knew what Gojo was running from now. Those scars that stained that slender neck and covered the side of his body like Geto said that they would, are an answer on their own. Scars that he gently touches with his free hand, swallowing down bile at the thought of what had been forced upon Gojo. And at the reality that…

Megumi was being punished for the sins of his father.

“Why are you punishing me, Sensei?” he mumbles, brushing his thumb against Gojo’s soft lips, breath cracking in the face of this truth.

That don’t part to answer his plea, no matter how much he wished to know. But did he have a right to ask anything of his sensei with what Megumi wanted to do to him? No, what he was doing to him, Megumi thinks distantly, his mind struggling to catch up with his body's actions.

How foul was Megumi to do this? To take advantage of Gojo, knowing that sensei trusted him. To be better than this, to be a good person and to make him proud. To do anything but this, with his hands making quick work of tugging Gojo’s yukata open.

Sensei couldn’t sleep with this yukata that smelt of alcohol; Megumi needed to change him into a new one that wasn’t stained. Yes, this was okay, because he wasn’t hurting Gojo, he never would. And Gojo must understand that too, despite how he’s drunken and unconscious, because his infinity doesn’t stop him.

Gojo-sensei trusted him.

It made his heart flutter at that reminder, that despite how Gojo leered away from him, that his sensei still trusted him in the end. He loved that sensei adored him enough to let down those walls and let him in—to touch his skin, that’s warm and soft against Megumi’s hands.

But Gojo didn’t trust Megumi, because then why would he punish him for crimes that he hadn’t committed? There would be no world or universe where sensei would accept his love, he had never been surer of anything before.

Not when Megumi reminded him of the man who had brutalized him.

And Megumi who would do the same.

“No—” he gags, hands twitching when he tries to pull them away from Gojo.

These were strange thoughts that he was having, of wanting to bend and break Gojo, to make him weep in the way that he had made Megumi hurt all these years. These weren’t his own beliefs, he never wanted to harm his beloved.

Never.

But it’s as if he’s been possessed, his body moving of its own accord, heat coiling in his gut and his hands rushing to push up Gojo’s yutaka to reveal his lower half. This wasn’t what Megumi wanted, to have his hands shove those boxers aside to reveal sensei’s entrance that his body demanded that he force himself into, all while his other hand pulls his own cock out, already hard and leaking precum.

“W-why—ha…” Megumi pants, biting the inside of his cheek, tasting iron and wanting to weep at his decreasing control over his body.

No, he didn’t want this, why was Megumi doing this? What had happened to him, why was—

“Ah, you’re going to just shove it in like that? No lube, really?” Geto’s voice cuts through his muddled mind, making his eyes slide over in his direction.

To find the man seated crossed-legged on the dresser infront of the open window, elbow on his knee, while his hand cradled his jaw. How had Megumi not sensed or heard him come in?

“You—” he starts, thoughts scrambled with the only thing that he could focus on was trying to ease this heat coursing through him.

And the cause of it had to be Geto, who gives him a grin, as if he was having the time of his life. “You’re going to tear him if you do that and that’s no fun, is it?”

Megumi sneers at Geto, hands trembling where they clench at Gojo’s splayed thighs now. Struggling with the desire to devour his sensei and ease this burn, or throw himself away—to get as far from here as he could for Gojo’s safety.

This was his worst nightmare—no, his greatest fear.

“It’s really done a number on you, hasn’t it? You’re weaker than I thought,” Geto hums, shifting and reaching into the sleeve of his robe and throwing him something that Megumi catches. “Use this, unless you like it rough, ha.”

It’s lube of all things, much to Megumi’s horror, his trembling hand setting it aside, rather than throwing it back in Geto’s face liked he wanted to.

“What did you do to me?!”

That man had to have done something at the hot spring, it still tingles where he had touched Megumi’s shoulder before he had left.

Geto tilts his head, pointing a finger at himself at Megumi’s words. “Hm, me? It’s just a little experiment—a game, if you’d prefer. It’s a funny little curse that I found, I wanted to know what it could do.”

So, it had been a curse, but he can’t get himself to focus on Geto, not while his body refuses to listen to his commands and Megumi felt like a backseat driver. Watching rough hands open Gojo’s yutaka to reveal a slender chest that had his mouth watering in want, all while hyper aware of Geto’s presence.

“S-stop, damn it…” Megumi groans, clenching his eyes shut, feeling them ache with the desire for tears to fall.

“Why? We’re just getting to the good part, aren’t we?” Geto snickers from off to the side, breathless in his mirth that Megumi couldn’t understand.

Wasn’t this man supposed to be Gojo’s best friend?

And yet he was basking in their suffering, treating this like a game and—it’s hard to stay focused, not when his hands begin to explore Gojo’s body without his say-so.

Who knew that his sensei was so slim under his clothing?

Well, Megumi knew, how couldn’t he, when he’d been all but devouring Gojo with his eyes ever since he had first learned what love and lust were. But it wasn’t just lust he felt for Gojo, no, it was more than that…it was love.

“Shit—no…” he grunts biting his lip while his body continues to betray him, at his cock hardening beneath his yutaka.

“Just let yourself go. You know that you want this—that you’re owed this.”

What curse Geto had used had done something that made his body refuse to listen to him, or was it that Megumi's sense of reason had left long before this?

This wasn’t right, he shouldn’t be doing this, not to his beloved.

He wanted to love and adore sensei, to make him happy—no, he should want to have him mewl, cry and weep in the throes of passion beneath him.

This was wrong, why was he having these wretched thoughts?

Sensei knew that he was weak again alcohol, but he drank anyways, hadn’t he? Because he trusted Megumi to get him home safe.

It felt as if Megumi was falling, no, as if his mind was warping into something else.

And safe he was with Megumi, who gently pulls the obi off to open his yukata fully. It’s a dream come true, to have the beauty that was Gojo splayed beneath him.

Until he couldn’t think of anything but satiating this heat in his heart.

“Ah, isn’t love just a beautiful thing?” Geto’s background noise to him, not when Megumi’s fixated on the deity before him.

Gojo’s as beautiful as Megumi had always dreamed he would be, scarred chest gently rising and falling with each breath, face scrunching when his hand brushes against a pink nipple.

“Mhm…”

“There you go…good boy, I’m sure that Satoru would be proud.”

“Beautiful…” he murmurs, slowly and carefully removing the yukata completely, before folding it alongside the obi that he sets aside next to the futon.

“Isn’t he?” Geto agrees from the side, no doubt amused at how Megumi nods to his words. “And he’s all yours.”

Why had Megumi been fighting this again? Sensei was so lovely; it was strange that he had been trying to resist and keep himself from taking the lovely gem presented to him.

Wrong, wrong, wrong—

Whose laid bare beneath him before he knows it, in nothing but a pair of boxers covering sensei’s purity. It’s as if Megumi’s unwrapping a birthday gift, maybe, yes…perhaps.

Gojo was the gift that the universe had bestowed upon Megumi all those years ago, his saviour and reason for being. Though the sound of a jingle, one that he recognizes as the ringtone Gojo had set for his students echoes through the space.

Forcing him to frown and reach for sensei’s yutaka, wrestling with them until he pulls out his cellphone. Of course it’s Yuta’s face appearing on the cell, a recent picture from what it seems like, from where, he’s not sure.

A secret rendezvous between the two, Megumi thinks bitterly, eyeing the phone as text comes through. Sensei was naive and trusting, knowing that Megumi knew his pin number to his phone.

And yet doing nothing to change it.

Not that Megumi ever had a reason to go through it, but he’s curious to know what Yuta had texted sensei. It’s a picture of a simple meal with a text beneath it and Yuta smiling at the camera.

‘The food is good, Sensei! I think that you’ll like it when you come to visit!’

He’s seen and knew enough to know what that visit to see Yuta would entail. That his pretty Gojo-sensei was wrapped around Yuta’s finger. The divine being that continued to sleep unaware beneath him, pink lips pressing into a thin line and brows furrowing when Megumi’s throws that cell to the side to push his thighs apart after gently easing his boxers off.

Yes, this was right and what he should have done in the first place, wasn’t it?

Truly, why had Megumi been so resistant to this before? He should thank Geto for opening his eyes, otherwise he would have remained nothing but the forlorn fool that chased after Gojo endlessly.

Gojo didn’t belong to him, never, Megumi needed to stop, this wasn’t him and he needed to—

“Ah…” he grunts, bringing a hand up to his shoulder that aches and burns, throbbing as if a knife had been stabbed into it.

It hurts when he thinks about leaving Gojo, of stopping this and when he’s not touching his sensei or—

“Mhm…Yuta, no fair…share the mochi with me…” Gojo mumbles in his sleep, a quiet sigh escaping him from whatever sweet dream he was in.

“Three’s a crowd, don’t you think?” Geto voice adds in, dragging him from his spiraling thoughts and pain. “Satoru was yours first, wasn’t he—oh, wait, no that was your father, right?”

What had Megumi been thinking of before?

Ah, yes, his father and Yuta.

Yuta who had stolen Gojo’s heart right from Megumi’s hands and his own father, the man who had taken what belonged to him first. No, his father had damned him by snuffing out any chance between Megumi and Gojo before he even knew what love was.

“I…” he croaks, trying to blink past the tears that blur his vision, his gaze darting from Gojo to Geto. “I don’t—stop—don’t make me, please…”

Who gives him a kind smile and quirks a brow that must pull at those stitches. “Megumi-kun, he’s all yours. Why are you still resisting—why are you still fighting back? Don't you see that he wants this?”

Why was he fighting back or what was he even trying to resist in the first place? Megumi can’t understand it, nor the tears that drip from his eyes and onto his sensei’s bare chest, that rises and falls with his every breath.

“I don’t want to do this,” Megumi rasps, unsure of who he was pleading to, Geto, himself or Gojo?

“You do. Don’t you love him—don't you want to punish him for hurting you?”

For the sins of your father, goes left unsaid, though Megumi understood Geto’s words. Even if he continued to cry silent tears, shaking his head and wishing that he had never gone on this forsaken mission in the first.

His shoulder still hurts when he releases it, though the ache eases when he settles his hands on Gojo’s thighs again. As if his touch alone would chase away any pain that Megumi was feeling.

And it does.

“There you go. Doesn’t it feel better when you follow your heart?”

It didn’t feel good at all, even if all Megumi could think about was taking Gojo here and now. Of washing away his father’s touch, to make his sensei feel good, rather than hurt. And to have Gojo accept him, to understand that he wasn’t his father, that he wouldn’t hurt a single strand on his lovely head.

Megumi was just like his father, wasn’t he?

His hands tremble in a mix of pain and desire, when he releases Gojo’s thigh to snatch up the bottle of lube. Pouring a generous amount onto his hand and his sensei’s hole, that flutters when the liquid touches it. He’s hyper-aware of Geto’s eyes, even if the man had fallen silent for now, seemingly content to watch Megumi take Gojo.

Was this truly the man that Gojo had spoken highly of before?

“Sensei…is this, okay?” he asks, not expecting an answer, though he wishes for one. To have those blue eyes on him and only him—staring at him in the same passion that burned within Megumi, instead of being clenched shut when he presses a finger against his hole. “Can I?”

What would things have been like if Gojo had reciprocated, would sensei have spread his thighs with a pretty and bashful smile? Or would he have been embarrassed, telling Megumi not to look, or…there were so many what ifs.

None that would come to pass, not when this was his only chance and opportunity to taste this sweet nectar of life.

Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it—

“I’m going to put it in now,” he pants, sweat dripping from his forehead and onto Gojo, his body overheating and his shoulder throbbing.

This wasn’t Megumi, he would never do this anyone, let alone Gojo.

It’s warm inside sensei when he eases a finger into him, those walls pulsating on his finger as Gojo clenches around the intrusion. It’s an honour for him to have this chance, to not only see Gojo’s true beauty like this, but to be the man’s first.

A monster, that’s what Megumi was.

No, he wasn’t his first, was he? Not when Megumi’s wretched father had hurt Gojo all that time ago. Who had been the one to have tasted, devoured and adored the strongest one.

Megumi’s dearly beloved Gojo-sensei.

“Ngh…” sensei groans, face scrunching when Megumi sets a slow pace and the minutes go by like that, until Gojo’s face smooths out.

“You can go ahead and put in another now,” Geto hums patiently, as if he was the one who was Megumi’s sensei and not Gojo.

But Megumi deems that another finger or two would work, sliding two in for a total of three, ignoring the chuckle that leaves Geto at his disobedience.

“Impatient, huh? I can’t blame you.”

He’s reaching his limit, but he waits and waits, because Gojo deserved the best. For being that pillar of support for Megumi and his sister when no one else was.

Gojo was everything to Megumi.

Megumi was hurting the love of his life, wasn’t he?

Guardian, sensei, friend, family and the more than anything…the one who had the other piece of his soul.

It felt as if he was nothing but a passenger in this meat suit that he called a body.

Sensei lets out a breathless whine when Megumi crooks his fingers, three that Gojo’s hole struggles around. But it doesn’t matter when he finds it, that bundle that makes sensei flush all the more and pretty moans spill from his equally lovely lips.

Geto murmurs something under his breath from this side before he speaks. “Focus on that now, he’ll like it, trust me.”

A part of Megumi didn’t want Geto here, to have him see this private moment between him and sensei—for the man to even lay his eyes on Megumi’s beautiful deity. He chooses to ignore Geto instead, focusing on trying to ease the pain thrumming through him.

It felt as if Megumi was burning from the inside out, his body and shoulder aching when he removes his hands from Gojo. He’d never felt like this before. It wasn’t as if Megumi was a virgin himself, no…no. He wasn’t, he had spent much too much time finding people that looked like Gojo to sleep with.

But he liked to think that he was a good lover. One that would satisfy his sensei and he must because Gojo’s cock twitches to life slowly, but surely. Beginning to fill out until precum is spilling from the tip and Megumi’s setting a harsher pace with his fingers, completely focused on making sure that Gojo was adored in the way that he should be. Until sensei was coming onto his heaving and quivering stomach with a breathless groan.

“Mhm—ah…”

It’s as if he’s seen the creation of life itself, to see sensei fall apart on his fingers, to have those lips part with a whimper for him. Whose eyes flutter beneath his lids when Megumi pulls his fingers out to slowly press his cock against his entrance next.

There’s clapping from the side, Geto, who continued to be the unwanted audience to this desecration. “Bravo, good show. Now, onto the main course. Go ahead, he can take it. After all, he took your father, didn’t he?”

He didn’t want to do this.

“Go away,” he growls, wrapping his hands around Gojo’s narrow waist, his cock jumping at the way that his fingers meet in the middle.

“Oh, come now. You can’t just not let me see the fruits of my labour—”

“Leave!”

Megumi was losing it, wasn’t he? He can’t tell left from right or up from down, not when he only wanted to ease this ache in his body. That throbs and makes his mouth water, he’s not even sure where he is anymore or if this was a dream.

Oh.

That had to be it.

This was a dream, because there was no reality that Geto would be alive and that Megumi would do this to Gojo. And yet, he knew that this was anything but a dream, that this was a curse that was warping Megumi into this rotten thing.

There’s a voice within him, wailing for him to stop, that’s smothered by the darkness flowing through his body.

He doesn’t bother to see if Geto leaves or not, his focus returning to the beauty within his hands. Who he slowly presses his cock into, watching the way that Gojo’s hole spreads open for him.

Gojo trusted him, Megumi reminds himself, eyes flicking up to find the window closed and Geto gone. A dream, this was just a dream, because if it wasn’t, then Megumi was going to—

“Ngh…” Gojo whimpers in his sleep, face twisting and his head listlessly turning on the pillow.

A foolish and naive little thing was what his sensei was, Megumi reflects, bottoming out inside Gojo, watching with wide eyes as his body takes all the love that he gives him. His sensei should have never trusted him, after all who would trust a monster with a priceless gem?

He would take and take for the rest of this dream—no, it wasn’t a dream, was it? No matter how much Megumi tried to fool himself and fight this losing battle against whatever curse Geto had placed on him. That made him uncaring of Gojo’s wants, happiness or autonomy, and only made Megumi try to soothe this painful heat the gripped him the longer that he fought against the curse.

“S-sensei, I’m sorry…” Megumi weeps, form shuddering with sobs, curling over Gojo’s body, soaking his slender neck in tears and wanting to stop.

And yet…he doesn’t stop.

No, Megumi can’t stop, not when the curse finally wins and he’s fixated on satiating it—that his mind no longer was his, but the curse’s that made him believe that this was a culmination of all his adoration for Gojo overflowing.

A build up of his affections, anger and desperation that had finally boiled over. If it hadn’t been for Yuta, then maybe he would have continued to want and watch from the sidelines for eternity. But he couldn’t, not when Gojo was falling for Yuta.

It hurt.

Even if Gojo was unaware of his love for him, it still made his heart throb to watch the one who held his adorations throw it away for another. And for his sensei to fear Megumi, to lose the chance to be his other half because of his father.

Gojo’s face screws up in pain, pink lips falling open with a whine while Megumi savoured his every groan, cry and moan.

If he had any other choice, then he wouldn’t have done this, not to sensei, who had offered himself up—no, it was Geto who had offered Gojo to Megumi on a gilded platter, wasn’t it? Who had taken Megumi’s autonomy, letting this curse run wild in his body all because of Geto’s curiosity.

Megumi had never hated himself more.

For being too weak and taking the divine apple offered to him, sweet, red and the juices flowing from his lips. That he leans down to press against Gojo’s, that part for him when he presses a tongue against them. His sensei tasted as delicious as Megumi always imagined he would.

All he can taste is regret, hate and agony.

“S-sensei…” Megumi grunts, hands clenching Gojo’s waist as his thrusts quicken and he chases the sweet relief from this pain that release offered.

His sensei felt too good, better than anyone else that he had ever been with. Of course he would be. He had always heard that intimacy with the love of your life was different than a one-night stand. This was a dream come true.

Or a nightmare, Megumi reflects, biting his lip and forcing his way inside Gojo again and again. Whose body clenches around him, struggling to push him out while he continues to force his way in. Sensei does nothing more than whimper and shift beneath him at the intrusion, that Megumi glances down to watch.

It was strange to see his cock inside of Gojo, something that he had only imagined in his wildest dreams and when he was lost in the throes of his imagination.

Had his father seen this side of Gojo?

Disgusting, that’s what Megumi was, for losing against this damned curse and for hurting his sensei in the way that his father had. He was no better than the man in the end, not when he’s fucking into Gojo recklessly, whose body jerks with each pound from Megumi’s hips. With quiet groans leaving his sensei, while breathless sobs and apologies escape Megumi.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m—” he weeps, finding his release nearing, knowing that it wouldn’t be enough to quench this curse.

That he would be forced to continue to debauch his adoring sensei against his will and it hurts to realize that things would be different from here on out. That Megumi had become the very thing that Gojo feared and all because he was too weak.

“Gojo-sensei, I’m sorry,” Megumi groans, tears drenching his face when he stills and comes inside Gojo.

Staining his insides in the same way that his father had, no doubt, Megumi muses, trying to pull away and out of his sensei. To stop this horror show from continuing, but…his body refuses to obey him as darkness pulls at the edges of his vision.

Was it better if Megumi wasn’t awake to see what the curse would make him do to Gojo? He’s not sure either way, not when he weeps when he feels himself harden within his sensei again. Maybe it would have been better if Gojo had let Megumi be sold off to the Zenin clan?

At least Sensei wouldn’t be hurt by him, even if Megumi would have suffered in turn, he would have deserved it for harming his beloved this way. Of becoming the same sinful monster that his father was.

─────────

Sometimes it’s not Megumi that he sees when he looks at his dear ward. It’s someone else, a man with a cruel smile and even harsher hands, that had stripped Gojo of his peace all that time ago.

Toji Fushiguro.

Who had taken his innocence in more ways than one and turned him into this fearful little thing. He knew that no one, but Suguru, would understand why he kept his RCT on eternally. That Suguru had seen the state that his body had been in after what Toji had done to him.

His dearest friend that had held him close through one too many night terrors and had left like everyone always did in the end. It hurt more than anything that Toji could have done to him in a way, but…

It was still Toji who haunted his every waking moment to this day. Gojo had been doing better, he was. So, what if he kept his RCT on or struggled to keep anything down when the memories became too much? That he turned to sweets in an attempt to soothe himself when he could, because Gojo couldn’t take a break.

He wasn’t allowed to.

Not when the world depended on him and not while he had his students to protect—to make sure that he could create a better future for them.

One where they could be free to live like children should, rather than soldiers for the elders to use and throw away. Gojo had promised to make a change, hadn’t he?

And yet…

He had forgotten the number of times that he had turned to alcohol to just forget, even knowing that it put him in a vulnerable state. Unable to regulate his RCT or protect himself. Maybe a part of him wanted it to end, to be caught off guard by a curse that would end his life and suffering?

Or was it that he wanted to be punished for what he was doing to Megumi?

Gojo stayed stuck in the past too often, and he had started to treat Megumi so harshly. No, it wasn’t a sudden thing, was it? It was gradual, the way that he found himself unintentionally and unconsciously pulling away from his dear ward as he grew older.

As his features changed and it wasn’t Megumi that Gojo saw now, but Toji. Who Megumi looked like, more and more with each passing day, much to Gojo’s dread. He didn’t want to treat Megumi any differently, but all he could see was Toji.

In those green eyes.

The sharp curve of his jaw.

Of those lips that would pull apart in a smile like Toji’s whenever Megumi would laugh.

It hurt him, truly it did, because Megumi didn’t deserve this. To be treated like the one that had hurt Gojo and yet…that’s all he did. He was treating his dearest ward like the very monster that had broke him and killed him.

Rather than the sweet child that he was.

He’s not stupid enough to not notice how it’s impacting Megumi, at the pain on his face when Gojo would pull away or when his ward would note how he treated everyone else. Of those touches that he graced the others in—that he touched Yuta with so sweetly.

The one that Gojo had unknowingly given his heart to.

Gojo would fix this relationship, the gaping maw between him and Megumi. Things would go back to how they once were, rather than how distant they are now. Yuta agreed and had understood when Gojo had opened his soul up and told him of all that had happened.

Yuta, sweet and kind, who loved Gojo with all his heart. Who would wait patiently for him to accept his love one day.

But not now.

Not while there was still too much to be done and a world to save. Or maybe it was because a part of Gojo was scared that Yuta would leave just like Suguru had, taking what remained of his heart with him, even though he knew that could never happen.

That Yuta would cradle Gojo’s heart like the most precious gift and treasure, rather than smashing it beneath his heel like Suguru had. His one and only one, who Gojo would allow to break his mind, body and soul forever if it would have made him come back.

The past was Gojo’s home, he refused to live in the present, too busy chasing the what ifs and struggling to cope with all the hurt. He can’t forget the look on Megumi’s face when he had slapped his hand away earlier today, of the utter look of betrayal and heartbreak.

Even as he drowned himself in alcohol now, staring at his half-eaten dinner and shoving away from the table, focusing on getting to the hot spring to ease his racing thoughts. He wanted to weep. None of his students should ever look at Gojo like that and yet Megumi did, because he had hurt him. His dear ward that he had promised to care for.

And yet, who Gojo was hurting by being unable to discern him from Toji. Even now, with Toji dead, the man was still hurting him and Megumi. Leaving scars that would never disappear and keeping Gojo from truly embracing Megumi.

One day he hoped that he would be able to hold Megumi close like he once had, before his ward had grown and become a splitting image of his father. He wondered what Megumi would say, if he knew that Gojo was the one who had killed that monster?

─────────

He awakes to a strange feeling, of hands in places that they shouldn’t be, lips brushing against his own and an ache between his thighs.

That’s familiar.

In the same way that one would never forget the pain of being gutted and killed—an agony that had chiselled itself into his very memory and soul. It takes all that he had to force his eyes open, lids heavy and world spinning while his stomach flips. He doesn’t recognize where he is or who he’s with.

Gojo had been with Megumi, hadn’t he? They had come back from a mission and Gojo had gone for dinner…no, he had drunk himself into a stupor and went to soak in the hot springs, hadn’t he?

And then…

His memory is foggy, his mind blanking out and struggling to understand where he was. Through blurry eyes he recognizes the ceiling of the room that he and Megumi shared, had he gotten back safe then?

But then why did he hurt?

A whimper leaves him at the pain coursing from between his thighs, making Gojo’s dazed eyes slide from the ceiling above him and to his legs, to where he finds—

“You.”

Those familiar green eyes snap up to him. He would never forget that face, those cruel lips and dark hair that glinted beneath the sun as he had watched the clouds drift by in agony.

(That cloud looked like a rabbit, didn’t it? Oh, that one looked like a dragon, like one of the curses that Suguru used. He would find it funny, giving Gojo that fond and adoring smile that he always did, Suguru never seemed to get annoyed no matter how much he chattered on.

“Fuck, ah, so tight—”

His one and only one, was one of the few people that Gojo could call his own. Who would be at his side no matter what, keeping him grounded and safe where no one else could. Listening to all of rants, hopes and dreams.

“This is why I love virgins, ha—”

Then where was Suguru now? Why wasn’t he saving Gojo from these unforgiving hands that grip his waist, fingers digging into open wounds, making blood weep as they tear him open more. Was he dying or…maybe he had already died and this was hell?

“Wish I could have kept you,” a husky voice grunts against Gojo’s neck, that throbs with a pain so deep that he just wanted everything to end.

He didn’t want to hurt anymore.

“S-Suguru…” he rasps, blinking dazedly at sky above him that’s blocked out by a familiar face seconds later.

It’s that man, Toji, who had followed them here and had—

Oh, Gojo thinks duly, staring at that smirk and those eyes that crinkle in delight. Why wasn’t his body listening to him? He needed to kill this man and get back to the others, but his body refused to just obey him.

Move, Gojo tells himself, hands twitching and a watery gasp leaving him, more blood no doubt staining his uniform and the ground below him.

“You’re still alive, huh?” Toji hums, peering down at him, lips quirking all the further while his hands slide down to grab his legs to throw them over his shoulders. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Gojo knew what was happening to him, of course he did, he heard about these kinds of heinous things on the news or of them happening to others.

But not to him.

He was being raped, wasn’t he, in his last moments on this Earth?

The agony hits him like a train, as if his mind was finally catching up to his body and dragging a pained wail from him.

“It hurts!” Gojo sobs, writhing against that unbreakable hold, his hands refusing to answer his call to push Toji off.

As if he could do anything through the blood loss, pain and slow death of himself. This was worse than death, he would welcome it at this point, anything to get away from Toji. From that damned smirk, those green eyes and that face filled with desire that would haunt his every moment if he survived this.

“Sorry, doll, you’re gonna have to deal with it just, ah, a bit longer,” Toji chuckles, fucking into Gojo, uncaring of his pain and pleads.

“Stop! Stop—S-Suguru!”

Suguru would save him, he would and then things would go back to normal, he tells himself dazedly, clenching his eyes shut. Gojo would pretend that this never happened and—

Toji grabs at his jaw harshly, forcing his teary eyes to flutter open, darkness encroaching at the edges. “Hey, eyes on me, I want to see them when I cum.”

It hurt, it hurt, it hurt—

Gojo didn’t want it to hurt anymore, was it so wrong of him then, to embrace the sweet release that death promised him? That had his eyes fluttering while his breathing slowed and just as he felt heat fill him in tandem with Toji’s quiet groan.

“Ha…shit…you were a good fuck, I’ll give you that,” Toji grunts, shifting and not pulling out of Gojo, much to his horror. No, the man hadn’t had his fill yet, had he? “Gonna fuck you again before I kill those other brats.”

“S-Suguru…”

Would Suguru forgive him, for giving up? Gojo hoped that he did, that his best friend wouldn’t be the one forced to bring his desecrated body back to Yaga.)

It was happening again, and Gojo could do nothing to stop it, in the same way that he had failed to kill Toji or save himself from being desecrated the first time that this had happened.

“Stop!”

This couldn’t be happening again, not to him, not to Gojo and not by Toji’s hands. He couldn’t do this again. He felt like a teenage and like he was back in the past, young, naive and foolish.

No, no, no—

“Ngh—n-no! Suguru!” Gojo slurs, hands coming up to try and push Toji off, calling for the very one that he had killed with his own hands to come to his rescue. “Suguru!”

Toji doesn’t budge, in the same way that he didn’t the first time either. No, his hands tighten on Gojo’s waist while he continues to fuck into him as if he wasn’t pleading with him to stop. But why would Toji listen when he hadn’t before?

When he had violated Gojo in his dying moments and when the man was rotten to the core, uncaring of anyone but himself. Even going as far as to sell his son off, the one who Gojo had—

Megumi.

Where was Megumi?

They had been on a mission together, hadn’t they? Or was that a false reality that Gojo had created for himself in an attempt to protect his mind from what Toji had done to—that he was still doing to him.

“M-Megumi!” he’s weeping, tears dripping into his hairline as his plead falls on deaf ears from his bitten red lips.

He can’t get his body to cooperate or connect the dots of what happened between leaving for the hot spring to now. Was this a dream? Had Gojo been stuck with Toji this whole time and he had imagined all that had happened afterwards?

The alcohol that he had drunk, that had to be the reason that his RCT and powers refused to answer his call. Or was it Gojo’s own fear that had his body trembling, his hands dropping down to clench at the sheets beneath him, unable to do nothing but take this new agony being forced upon him?

What would be the point in fighting when it wouldn’t change a thing? That he would be defiled by Toji once again. Who remains silent, with only his grunts and pants filling the air, alongside Gojo’s quiet whimpers and cries.

This was different than the last time, he hated having to even say that, for this to have happened more than once. But Toji couldn’t keep his mouth shut of all that he was doing to Gojo the first time. Laughing in the face of his pain and feasting on it like a starving man, tearing out every drop of misery that he could from Gojo.

And still, he wasn’t satiated.

No, he used him again and again, hadn’t he?

And then he had left Gojo there to rot beneath the beaming sun, soaking in his own blood while his body was stained in the evidence of his abuse.

But there’s none of that harshness here and now, other than the pain between his thighs from every thrust. Toji doesn’t hurt him beyond that, if anything it seemed as if the man was trying to make Gojo enjoy it of all things.

A hand, smaller than Gojo remembered Toji’s being, begins to stroke his flaccid cock, trying to urge it to life.

“S-stop—no—”

This hadn’t been the first time that his body had been forced to enjoy this, Gojo thinks distantly, blinking down tearfully at the cum coating his shuddering stomach. Disgust rolling in his gut at the way that his abdomen bulges with every shift from Toji.

Just like the last time.

“I don’t want to—please—stop…” his voice pitches with a sob, gaze skittering to Toji’s face, blurred by his tears.

There’s no response to his plea, nothing other than Toji continuing to stroke him and forcing him to enjoy this. He wanted to throw up what little that he had ate today, to lean over the futon and gag, hoping that it would disgust Toji enough to make him stop. But he hadn’t minded the gore or blood the first time either, what was some vomit to him?

How long had it been now?

Had Toji been raping him for hours or was it that Gojo had just caught him at the start of his act? No, no, it had to have been for some time now. His body was sticky with something that he doesn’t want to name, that only brings more tears to his eyes and had him biting his lip to keep a keen inside.

Everything hurt and he’s sure that he’ll find hickies or bruises in the shape of Toji’s hands marring his body. Or perhaps the man would try and finish the job this time and make sure that Gojo was truly dead afterwards?

Gojo could only hope, he thinks, dazed eyes drifting around the dark room before they land on the closed window, at the blurry moon that peeked through it. This was something that he didn’t want to have to live through again. To try and pick up the pieces to put himself back together, one stitch at a time with trembling hands coated in blood and shame. Suguru wasn’t here to help him this time either, was he?

Because Gojo had killed him.

There would only be Yuta, Megumi and the others, who Gojo would never put this on, never, they were his dearest students. Who deserved to live without being burdened by Gojo’s trauma.

And yet…

All he wanted was for Yuta to coming bursting in to save him. He would never want Megumi to kill his own father, no matter how awful the man was. But Yuta would stop Toji, in the same way that he had saved Maki and the others.

In the same way that Yuta had wanted to kill Suguru to keep Gojo’s hands clean.

“Y-Yuta…” he tries, knowing that no one would hear his call or plead.

It’s the wrong thing to say.

Hands latch onto his throat, rough and full of nothing but anger—choking him and stealing his air. Making Gojo gasp, his own hands snapping up to claw at the hold on his throat, to try and force it off.

In a distant part of his mind, he knew that he could do more to try and escape. To save himself, but his body just wouldn’t listen. So brought down by the alcohol and his fear, that had his mind blanking out and forcing him into the past.

Of when he was nothing but a teenager, just a child, who had been hurt over and over again. There are dark spots filling his vision while his body struggles to suck in air, and it hits him then, to just let this happen. That in death or unconsciousness, he would finally be free of—

Toji and the nightmares that chased after him to this day.

The expectations placed upon his shoulders by the world.

His guilt that he wore like a noose.

All of the infinite failures that haunted him.

This reality that it wasn’t Toji doing this to him, but Megumi.

Whose face that he blinks up at with anguish and betrayal, the moonlight shining through to reveal his ward’s tear drenched face and blank green eyes.

“M-Megumi…?”

Gojo’s dearest and sweetest Megumi, the one that he raised with love up until now. Who was hurting him just like his father had and Gojo would do nothing to stop him. Because he would never hurt Megumi.

Never.

And yet, through his dazed mind, all he can see was Megumi weeping.

There’s a hand shaped mark on Megumi’s shoulder that his eyes lock onto, marring pale skin and it was a sickly thing. His eyes told him that it was curse, that can only make his heart unclench the slightest, knowing that this wasn’t Megumi’s want or wish.

He can’t ease the curse in the state that he’s in, not when his powers are out of his reach and nor with this being the type of curse that would only leave in time. There’s nothing that he can do but wait, unable to free himself from Megumi’s hands wrapped around his throat.

“Megumi…” he sobs, giving up on trying to free himself from his ward’s grasp around his neck, strengthened by the curse and knowing that any attempt of escape was a lost cause.

Instead, all Gojo could do was reach up to cradle those tear drenched cheeks with trembling hands while the room spins. All he wanted was to take Megumi’s pain away, but all that he can see was Toji, even when he blinks rapidly against the darkness eating at his sight while he gasps for air.

“It’s not your fault…” Gojo rasps, hating the blank stare in those green eyes that reminded him of another’s.

There’s nothing but Megumi’s endless tears that answers Gojo while he continues to thrust into him, even while unconsciousness takes him. Sometimes he wished that he had never survived after Toji. Because then he wouldn’t have had to kill Suguru or live to see this nightmare that he was in now.

How funny was it, that Gojo knew that even if Megumi killed him here, choking him to his dying breath, that his body would revive him again and again. That his RCT would come to life in one way or the other.

Death would forever be out of Gojo’s reach, wouldn’t it?

─────────

He couldn’t bare to live in a world where Megumi had hurt him, no, in a universe where Gojo had failed to protect him. That his dearest ward had been forced to take him apart. He knew that Megumi was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Gojo to appear before him and wipe him from existence.

That Megumi was punishing himself for hurting Gojo, when he too was a victim of this curse, that his ward was unable to tell him where it had come from. His mind blank after he had left the room to find Gojo at the hot spring that night and only awaking to find himself inside him.

Pulling out of him with a broken cry, scrambling to the other side of the room until his back had hit the wall. Wide green eyes locked onto him, filled with nothing but horror, dread, remorse and disgust.

It’s not Toji that Gojo could see in that moment.

No, all he could see and remember was that small boy that he had taken in years ago, who he had promised himself to raise to the best of his abilities. Gojo could never blame nor hurt him, even if Megumi had crushed his heart to pieces and scattered them across the universe to never be put back together again—it wasn’t his fault, despite the way that his body cringes away from the other all the more.

And at the way that Megumi looked broken every time that he would see Gojo. They couldn’t continue to live like this, could they? He didn’t want to see Megumi hurt like this, no, so…Gojo would do what he did before, wouldn’t he?

He would pretend that this never happened.

Megumi would wonder and wait for that day to come, for Gojo to bring this up again, to punish him when he had been the one hurt more because of Gojo’s failures. That day would never come, he would never allow it to.

Not when this secret would die upon Gojo’s lips.

In the end, he still loved and would continue to love Megumi with all that he had. Maybe that’s what hurt the most? That his dear ward could do anything to him and Gojo would give him this pardon, over and over again. Even if Megumi couldn’t forgive himself, Gojo would forgive him for all and any sins.

But there was nothing to forgive here.

Not when all that he did was to ensure that his students lived happily. Not when Gojo had already failed Tsumiki. He had failed Megumi too, for allowing this to happen. For being so selfish to turn to alcohol to try to escape his own nightmares and leaving Megumi to be cursed.

Another failure and more guilt to bury Gojo under.

All he could hope for now, as he made his way to the final showdown, to save Megumi and do right by him, was that his students would be happy in the end. Even as he feels Yuta’s unwavering stare burning into his back. Gojo would save Megumi and free him from Sukuna, he wouldn’t fail his dearest ward again.

Never again.

─────────

He had done the unforgivable, Megumi knew that much, there’s no god or deity that he can beg to for a pardon for this sin. Not when it was his deity that he had desecrated with these disgusting hands of his. That tremble while they hold the letter that Gojo had left him that revealed what Megumi had already known.

Gojo had killed Megumi's father.

These hands of his that had left Gojo’s limp on the bed, covered in marks, bruises and hickies—red, raw and bloody, as if Megumi had been trying to make sure that he had left his mark, clench the letter like a lifeline. A part of him had wanted it so that Yuta and the world would see that sensei belonged to him.

And only him.

Megumi had ignored Gojo’s cry for him to return, hadn’t he? Stumbling to his feet and shrugging his yutaka back on before he darted out the door.

Pathetic, that’s what Megumi was for not being able to face his sins.

How different would things have been if he had just remembered that it had been Geto, no, it had been Kenjaku, hadn’t it? The one who had cursed Megumi that night and left trauma in his wake. Memories that had only come back to him when Sukuna had run wild in his body, forcing him to face them as he tried to successfully weaken him.

It’s disgusting that through the guilt and remorse, Megumi wished that he had died. That the others hadn’t saved him and had instead left him to rot—to become nothing more than a memory as he should have always been.

He still was obsessed, infatuated and in love with his sensei. More than before now, his sweet and dearest beloved who had never blamed Megumi, no, never. Even when it had been his body that had hurt Gojo, wearing the face so similar to his father's, sensei had never hated him.

"He's laughing! Fushiguro's laughing!" Nobara shouts, jumping out of her chair alongside Yuji and slamming her hands down on the table.

Yuji nods, setting his hands on the table and crowding around Megumi with pure curiosity on his face. "Now I'm interested!! Can I see?! C'mon, lemme see!!"

"It's pretty similar to what he wrote in yours, Kugisaki,” he finds himself forcing past quivering lips, struggling to keep it together while nausea crawled up his throat as the pieces fell into place.

"Huh...? This is a major downer."

"Why were you laughing at this?"

Because if Megumi didn’t laugh, then he was going to lose it. He would weep, cry and break, in the end he was truly his father’s son, wasn’t he?

It made sense now, didn’t it?

Gojo never seemed to sleep well, back then or now. Megumi had lost count of how many times that he had awoken to Gojo up and about, refusing to go to sleep or having just woken up from a nightmare.

He didn’t understand back then, what haunted his sensei. Of why he would awake when Megumi would try to pull him out of another nightmare, fear in his eyes and flinching away from his touch.

Yes…it made all the sense in the world now.

I’m not him, he wanted to scream, knowing that Gojo would have only given him a tender smile and told him that he knew that Megumi wasn’t his father. But then why had he treated Megumi like he was like his father? Punishing him for things that he hadn’t done—no…he was just like his father.

God, he had no right to want to weep over this.

Megumi was a disgusting, rotten and a wretched thing that needed to be killed. Rather than saved…his dear sensei had worked so hard to save him, hadn’t he? That despite all that Megumi had done, of how he hurt and betrayed him, Gojo still loved him.

Sensei had been right then, for punishing Megumi. For keeping his distance from him, perhaps a part of him recognized, that beyond the similar features that Megumi shared with his father, that he was just like him in the end.

Yuji should have let Sukuna wear him like a meat suit, nothing was worth Megumi living and Gojo dying. Not when Megumi deserved death, while his sensei deserved the world and more.

He’s not listening to the others bicker around him, when had they joined Yuta and the others? It didn’t matter, not when all he could see was Gojo’s gentle smile, of his sensei that he had hurt and who had died to save him.

Megumi should have died.

“Hey, Fushiguro, don’t cry—”

“Ah, what did you do, idiot?!”

“Wah! Kugisaki, stop, I didn’t—”

All he could do was weep, to press the heels of his palms against his eyes while he listens to the others bustle around him, chatting as if the world hadn’t just ended. Like Gojo-sensei wasn't dead while Megumi was alive.

“Fushiguro-kun,” it’s Yuta’s soft voice that cuts into his thoughts, a gentle hand on his shoulder while he eases Megumi into a seat. “It’s okay, take deep breaths.”

It would never be okay; didn’t Yuta know that?

“I—G-Gojo-sensei…” he blubbers, uncaring of the pathetic sight that he made to the others.

But Yuta understands, he always did when it came to Gojo, didn’t he? The sorcerer nods, a smile pulling at his lips while Megumi’s teary eyes search his face, drifting to those scars that have nausea rolling in his stomach.

“He’s okay—he’s fine. I promise that he is,” Yuta explains, crouching down before him.

“What—how—”

“He promised that he’d win, didn’t he?” Maki cuts in from the side, one hand on her hip and a rare smile on her lips. “You know that Satoru never lies to us.”

They were humouring him, they had to be, because then…

“Where is he?” Megumi croaks, trying to swallow past the ash in his throat, stumbling to his feet, the world spinning around him. “Where is he?!”

“Cool it, Fushiguro, or you’re gonna end up stuck on bed rest again,” Kugisaki mutters, jerking her head in the direction of a closed door that Megumi hadn’t noticed. “He’s in there resting. Sensei’s probably still asleep.”

Yuji nods next to him, bumping his shoulder against Megumi’s. “It took a lot out of him. Ieiri-sensei said to let him rest, but…”

“He asked for you when he woke up,” Yuta says, setting a gentle hand on his shoulder and coaxing him infront of the door. “Sensei really loves you, Fushiguro-kun.”

What was Yuta even trying to do, was it an attempt to rub it in Megumi’s face that Gojo would never love him in the way that he wanted? But, no, it couldn’t be, not when Yuta only has a kind smile on his face.

“You should see him,” Yuta hums, stepping away and returning to the group.

Leaving Megumi to idle infront of the door, listening to everyone’s voices fade away as they leave the room to go elsewhere.

Could he bare to see Gojo now that he had all his memories back? Of killing Gojo, Tsumiki and so many others—of remembering how he had been forced to hurt his sensei in such a cruel way and all for Kenjaku’s amusement.

And yet, he can never refuse his heart that ached for his other half. That had him pushing the door open to reveal Gojo in all his beauty, sitting up in his bed, forehead covered in stitches that matched Yuta's, while he gazed out the window. Gojo blinks, his head turning towards him and those beautiful eyes locking onto Megumi, a smile blooming upon those adoring lips.

“Megumi, there you are,” Gojo hums, wincing and sitting up higher, before he holds his open arms out to him. “I missed you.”

“Gojo-sensei…” he whispers, heart clenching at the sight before him.

If this was a dream, then Megumi never wanted to wake up from it, he decides, his body moving before he can think, towards Gojo and into that familiar warmth.

“I’m sorry,” Megumi rasps, apologies falling from him, one after another, a dam that had broken after all this time. “I never wanted to—I never—I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay, I got you,” his sensei murmurs against Megumi’s dark locks, pressing a kiss to his crown while he weeps against his neck. “Everything is going to be okay—we’re going to be okay.”

Yes…it would be okay, because Gojo-sensei said it would be and Megumi trusted him with his life. The one who held his heart, now and forever, who holds him closer like he was the missing piece to his heart.

This was all that Megumi had ever wanted, to be safe at the side of his beloved and to hold him in his arms.