Chapter Text
Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu High School,
11:45 p.m.
The black car pulled up in front of a flight of stone steps leading up to a path shielded from view by towering trees. A pair of plain, unadorned, lamps stood at the top of the steps, providing a bubble of light that did just enough to cut through the surrounding darkness.
“Is this the place?” questioned the grey-haired driver as he looked through the passenger side window, brows furrowing as he took in the abundance of foliage and the stark absence of other living souls. “Doesn’t look much like a school, I must say." He let out a thoughtful hum. "Well, I suppose a school specialising in this sort of stuff won't look like normal schools…” he murmured to the younger, dark-haired passenger who was busy gathering up the navy coat spread out on the seat beside him.
“I guess,” murmured the young man, wrestling his phone out of his coat pocket and fiddling with it. Once he had found what he was looking for, he placed it in the driver’s waiting hand so he could tap it against the card reader and sort out the trip fare. In the meantime, he pulled on the coat, buttoning it up swiftly and adjusting the collar. A quick glance out of the window had him taking in the dancing silhouettes of the trees, a sight so familiar by now that he could picture it in vivid detail even with his eyes closed.
“Here you go,” said the driver, holding his phone out to him, and he was quick to slip it back into his coat pocket. “Just give me a moment and I’ll get your bag for you—”
“Ah, no, that’s alright. I can get it myself,” he cut in, politely. “It’s chilly outside, there’s no need for you to get down too,” he added in what he hoped was enough of an explanation. He had been told by his friends that he needed to use his words properly, because not everyone could read his mind and he didn't really want to come off as rude, did he?
“That's kind of you! Have a good night then, young man. Hah, the fifteen minutes left of it anyway,” said the taxi driver with a smile as he pressed the button to open the rear door.
“You as well. Thank you,” said the dark-haired passenger as he brushed his hair out of his eyes, fingers twitching involuntarily as they skimmed across the slightly different texture of the pair of scars above his right eye.
He stepped out of the car, letting out a wince as the frosty, late autumn air hit the exposed skin of his hands and face. Retrieving his suitcase from the boot, he stepped off the road, returning the taxi driver's wave as he drove off. Following the car with tired green eyes, he let out a soft sigh when it disappeared around the corner. Pulling up the collar of his coat, he headed towards the steps.
It was rather late for him to be returning, given that it was almost midnight, but he had had no intention of taking up his client’s—or her manager’s—offer of staying an extra night or two. At the age of twenty—twenty-one soon enough—he wasn’t as naïve or unobservant as some of his friends seem to think he was.
Yes, alright, it had taken him an almost embarrassingly long time to realise that the light touches and too-wide smiles every time he passed his client, or carried out a made-up task she assigned him, weren’t accidental or her trying to help him along with his charade of being her “assistant”.
But he would have had to be a particular type of stupid to miss the fluttering eyelashes and the lingering touches on his hand and forearm all throughout dinner earlier that evening. It was meant to be a thank you to all the staff for their hard work after shooting had wrapped up, and since he had been masquerading as her assistant—at the request of her agency—for three weeks, there had been no way for him to decline the invite without it looking strange.
When he had started feeling the weight of her co-star’s keen gaze on his back more times than he was comfortable with, however, he had decided that enough was enough. His work was done. He had protected his client from the abundance of curses that seemed to gravitate towards her and cleansed the cursed object she had unknowingly been carrying around with her. Which meant making his escape the moment everyone had finished dessert was not a bad idea, and would not give the agency that came to them with the job any cause for complaint.
If he had cited urgent, Jujutsu-related commitments that didn’t exist to aid his escape…well, they certainly didn’t need to know that.
When he reached the top of the steps, he allowed his eyes to take in the warm light coming from the lanterns lining the path, but didn’t stare for too long at the risk of recalling memories he would rather not relive right then. Or ever, really.
Enough, he said to the voice in his head, not tonight. I’m tired.
Placing his suitcase down on the paved path, he wheeled it along as walked, forcing himself to concentrate on the rustling of the leaves on the trees, and the cacophony made by buzzing crickets and the odd owl or three making their presences known.
“Eh? Is that Fushiguro-san?”
His head snapped to his left, where a number of newly constructed outer buildings had replaced the older ones that had ended up either damaged beyond repair or outright destroyed. A group of five students were huddled on the ground in front of one of these buildings. “It is!” exclaimed the student jumping to her feet and dropping a can of what he would bet was an alcoholic beverage onto the blanket she shared with two other girls. “You’re back! How did your mission go? It was a mission, right? I mean, fine, I guess it could have been something personal, but you were gone for a long time! Too long for it to not be a mission. Even the managers were mumbling about how much they missed you!”
“Shouldn’t you be in bed, Arisawa?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as the short haired second year student grinned at him.
His mind did its usual double take at the mere thought and sight of a second-year student, a group of them even, because not so long ago there had only been four second year students in this place and for a while, it didn’t seem like they—or any other students, to be honest—would make it through the last few months of that particular year.
“Eh? There’s no curfew, is there? And who’s to say this isn’t a normal time for me—us—to still be awake?” she asked instead, even as one of the others tried to inconspicuously nudge a corner of the blanket to cover the bottles and cans that littered the space between them.
“Fair enough,” he acknowledged, “but Zen’in-sensei isn’t going to go easy on you just because you are hungover or sleep-deprived tomorrow.” He paused to tilt his head in thought, “if anything, she’ll probably be twice as brutal once she realises you are hungover.”
Arisawa Kyoko paled ever so slightly, though she kept the smirk on her face.
“Oooh, you called her Zen’in-sensei—you’re going to get into trouble for that,” she pointed out, before taking a step towards him. “So? How was your mission? It must have been an important one, right? Rumour has it that it had to do with the opposition leader’s home being cursed by the late—”
“—no, no, it was the Tocho that needed to be cleansed of the curses crawling around inside it,” cut in the red-haired boy seated on a second blanket, the nearby lanterns highlighting his hair to make it look like a bloody—
No. It’s just hair. Stop it.
“Eh? Tocho? In Shinjuku? Kaoru, they haven’t finished rebuilding it after 2018. Too much of their funds needed to go into rebuilding other areas. My aunt said that you can still spot so many areas that look like a warzo—”
“Kyoko,” hissed her classmate, Kaoru, his eyes flitting pointedly to where the older male was standing. Kyoko followed his gaze and her eyes widened in dawning horror as she got the message.
“A-Ah. Uh. Right. I was just—” Kyoko glanced at her friends for help as she floundered.
“Kaoru-kun is wrong, anyway. I heard that Fushiguro-san was deployed for a task set out for him by the Prime Minister’s office,” piped up another one of the second-year students, Yamamoto Fuu. “And Saori thinks it had something to do with some big-name actor.” The brunette sitting next to her nodded sheepishly, giving him a small, shy wave.
“Well, whatever it was, I’m sure Fushiguro-san is tired and would like to get some rest instead of facing an interrogation from us,” commented the final member of the group, a blonde, bespectacled male who stood up to give the dark-haired man a respectful nod. “Sorry for this lot, Fushiguro-san.”
“Am I to assume that you have no theory as to where I have been, Kimura?” asked the dark-haired man, a wry twist to his lips as Kimura Ryo shook his head with a grin.
“Oh, no, I’m totally with Saori-chan on this one: I think it had something to do with someone in the entertainment industry. Since that’s where most of the Windows have reported curse-related incidents and issues, and where most of the job offers come from. Well, either that, or one of the others—other than Kaoru—was right. You are too good to be sent out on your average, boring mission that can easily be handled by someone else.”
Letting out a huff, Megumi turned his attention back to the path ahead of him.
“I suggest you lot head back to your rooms. Or at least somewhere indoors, where it will be a lot warmer,” was what he said instead. “And make sure you clean all of that up before you go,” he added.
“Aye-aye Fushiguro-san!”
“Hope you get some rest, Fushiguro-san.”
“Please don’t tell Maki-sensei you saw us out here at this hour, okay?”
“Not that we were doing anything wrong, even if you did tell her though—ow!”
“Shhh! Good night, Fushiguro-san!”
Shaking his head, Fushiguro Megumi continued along the well-trodden, familiar path, to the heart of the Tokyo Jujutsu High.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Entering the main administrative building of the campus, he stopped to rummage through his suitcase, eventually pulling out an envelope, before taking the stairs to the second floor. A quick walk down the still well-lit hallway ensued until he took a right turn, entering the large room that housed the office space of the assistants and managers.
A few heads turned when he entered, whether from their computer screens or from whatever paperwork they were poring over. Their work never seemed to end, even at this late hour.
“Fushiguro-kun, welcome back!” rang out the familiar, brash voice of Nitta Akari as she leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms out over her head. She glanced down at the tablet she had been focused on, eyebrows raising as she saw the time. “I know you said the job was done when you called before, but you sure didn’t waste any time in getting back.”
“I didn’t think it was necessary to stay on for no reason,” he said, walking towards her and depositing his envelope on her desk.
“Eh?” Akari raised her eyebrows at the envelope. “You already emailed me your report.” He had, just as he had kept her updated via texts throughout the twenty-one days away.
“Yes, and this is the written copy as requested by the agency that commissioned us.”
“I could have printed out what you sent me, though? Or just e-mailed it to them?”
“The agency representative apparently decided that they wanted it done in a specific format, which they handed over to me earlier this morning.”
“Eh? But they didn’t mention this when they first got in touch with us.”
“It had something to do with making it easier to report or make a claim for damages, if they occurred.”
“Of course they did,” the short haired Assistant Manager rolled her eyes. “That would have been quite a long trip back. How did you get back anyway? Did they send you back in one of their cars?”
“Ah, no. It was just two trains and a taxi from the station anyway.”
“Sheesh, the least they could have done was take care of your transport back. No wonder you look tired! This report really could have waited until tomorrow, you know?”
“Better to get it over and done with so that I don’t ever need to speak to anyone from that place again.”
Akari stared at him for a long moment before a smile spread slowly across her lips. Placing her elbows on the table in front of her, she leant forward, eyebrows arched in question.
“Oh? Tell me, Fushiguro-kun, was interacting with them as uncomfortable as I thought it might be? I was, after all, the one who fielded their initial inquiries.” She shuddered, “And let me tell you, the guy acting as the agency’s liaison was a piece of work! He was so demanding, reading out about two pages worth of a list of what type of “guard” they wanted us to send over—even when I repeatedly pointed out that the correct term was Jujutsu sorcerer, not guard. I thought he was going to go as far as specifying a preferred body weight and height too! I really wanted to point out to him that our Jujutsu Sorcerers weren't like the actors and actresses under his agency, but we keep being told that we need to be careful about our reputation."
She let out an irritated huff, "Dealing with them face to face can’t have been fun.”
He shrugged.
“We really need to figure out what to do about all these Cursed objects popping up all over the place. Even the smallest object draws more Cursed spirits to it than I’ve seen happen before, and the majority of them are more intelligent than ones we took care of before.”
“So, it definitely was a Cursed object? Nothing else?”
“Nothing else. There was nothing special about the client herself that would have attracted them to her. No soul shattering tragedies, no depression, no envy—well, none that was obvious. I did get the feeling that she was able to see the Curses—but it’s not something I would be able to say for sure.”
Akari frowned in thought, considering the possible outcomes of the increasing number of people who were now able to see Curses even if they had little to no Cursed energy themselves. It was a number that had started with the survivors of those caught up in the Shibuya Incident four years ago, and had continued to rise at a higher rate after the events that took place later that year. Not only were more and more people able to see Cursed Spirits, but more and more people seemed to be in possession of Cursed Techniques of varying levels of strength, activating them by mistake more often than not—which was a problem.
“Well, if the client is safe from more Cursed spirits following her around, that’s all that we can ask for. Have you handed the Cursed object off to whoever’s on duty in the archives?”
He shook his head.
“Ah, no. I didn’t bring it back with me.” He rushed to explain as the older woman raised her eyebrows at him. “I know I said I would, but I wasn’t able to convince her to part with it. It was a bracelet, a rather old one from the looks of it. She said it was a gift from a fellow participant in the audition that landed her a place in the agency she is with right now. The other girl had not made it through to the final round of auditions, and had given her the bracelet to encourage her? Wish her luck? Something like that. The client seems to believe that bad things in some shape or form happen when she doesn't wear it, hence her attachment to it. As she didn’t want to hand it over, I neutralised the trio of curses residing in it before giving it back to her.”
“Do you think the bracelet already had the curses in it, or could it have been the accumulation of the client’s emotions over the years that attracted them to it, and thereby, to her?” asked Akari, her brows furrowed. “Also, I know I don’t really need to ask you this because you would have been careful but, just to clarify: you are sure that the bracelet is now harmless?”
He nodded.
“I don’t think the Curses were intentional, in that the Cursed object was given to the client on purpose. Maybe they formed because of the hopes and dreams of the other participant, that eventually turned negative when she realised she wasn’t going to make it? Or maybe, since it looked to be old, the Curses were already linked to it when the bracelet fell into the hands of the original wearer?”
“Mmm, yeah, it could be any of those to be honest. You are one hundred percent sure that the bracelet won’t attract anymore Cursed spirits to her?”
“Yes. The last three days went by without any problems. I also couldn’t feel any fluctuating energy or residuals from the item itself.”
“That’s good.” He was not quite prepared for the probing look she directed at him. “By all accounts, that sounds like a job well done.”
“I would like to think so, yes.”
“But the fact that you chose to return at this hour—oooh, which, ladies and gentlemen, means I won the bet!—tells me that something must have happened to freak you out. What was it? Were they that full of themselves? I mean, everyone keeps gushing about Fukuda Erina being an absolute darling, and talented to boot which I will give her that, she is good at what she does. But given her profession, that could just as easily be a clever act—”
“—I’m sorry, did you just say you won the bet?” cut in Megumi, his tired mind processing her words at a slower rate. “What bet?”
Akari’s smile faltered.
“Haha, no, no, Fushiguro-kun! You’re hearing things now!”
“No, I’m not. You said you won the bet.”
“I did not.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Did not!”
“You did.”
“You weren’t supposed to hear that!”
“Nitta-san…”
She waved a dismissive hand, a sheepish smile spreading across her lips.
“This was one of the more interesting missions in a while. Since that one Todai mission that almost had us sued for Maki’s physical assault of that crazy professor.” Megumi just raised an eyebrow at her and she groaned, realising that he wasn’t going to be distracted. “It was a harmless bet, really, between us assistant managers. Miyagi-san bet that if they offered to put you up for longer, you would accept the offer and return tomorrow. Naomi-chan and Reiko-san thought you might get back the day after, using the extra day as an opportunity to relax given everything what’s been happening. Kei-kun said—”
She stopped abruptly, “Er, actually, you don’t want to know what he said. Let’s just say that no one thought, or thinks, that you would do that.”
“And you bet that I would return tonight?”
“I did! You don’t tend to be comfortable in that kind of setting, even though someone clearly thinks differently since they insist on sending you to these things. I mean, sure, the fact that they were in the middle of filming might have made it interesting in that it’s something new, but then all those extra commitments you would need to attend with the client, as per the contract, wouldn’t be to your taste at all.”
Akari paused as if she had just remembered something, and let out a laugh as she rubbed the back of her head, “Ah, well, I also bet that you might get hit on, but that was because I figured I might as well throw in something way out there to see if it would get me the—” she stopped at the twitch of the younger man’s eyebrow. “Oh? Oh!”
“Anyway, since I—”
“Were you hit on?”
“Nitta-san—”
“Nuh-uh, Fushiguro-kun! My reputation is on the line here. I never win anything! You know what they call me here? The always-losing Nitta! The Nitta sibling who always, always gets it wrong! Let me have this one, please? Just this once. For the first and last time this year!”
“Maybe you should take that as a sign to stop placing bets?”
“Oh, come on! It’s almost Christmas! Where’s that sense of doing good deeds and helping people out?”
“Christmas is a little over a month away.”
“Fushiguro-kunnnnnnn—” Megumi stared at her for a moment before he let out a sigh, his shoulders drooping.
“…Guess you get two wins this year, Nitta-san,” he muttered, causing Akari throw her arms up in the air as she crowed in delight.
“Hah! Two wins for Nitta Akari!” she exclaimed. “Who was it? The client, or someone else?”
Megumi bristled.
“Now that is not something you need to know,” he said, even as he heard a giggle from the row of desks behind him. He flushed, remembering they weren’t alone. “Whatever. I’ve done my part, and the reports should have all the information needed. If the agency wants to speak to me again, please tell them I will be busy…hmm, cleaning my shoes for at least the next six months.” Someone choked behind him, but he didn’t turn to look. “Later, Nitta-san.” He headed towards the door.
“Wait, wait, wait Fushiguro-kun! It was harmless, right? They didn’t actually do anything that can be labelled as harrassment?”
“No.”
“You’re sure? Because if they did anything inappropriate, I’ll make sure to take it up with that bloody agency. Famous clientele or not, there is the expectation that our sorcerers will be treated with proper respect—”
“Please don’t. Nothing happened.”
“Aw come on then Fushiguro-kun, you can’t just leave it at that! Curious minds need to know these things! Like if we need to start sending someone to protect your virtue on missions like these! I mean, you do have the type of face that people like that tend to like. Pale skin, high cheekbones, and you’ve absolutely got the whole mysterious thing down—”
“Good night, Nitta-san,” he called over his shoulder as he left the room.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Half an hour later, Megumi walked out of the bathroom, a towel hanging around his neck, feeling slightly more alive after a nice, hot shower. Running one end of the towel through his wet hair, he headed towards the kitchenette attached to the suite of rooms he used whenever he stayed over at the school. Rare though those times were, by his own design.
The suite was part of what used to be guest quarters back in a time, long ago, when they had more Jujutsu sorcerers revealing themselves from all over the country and frequently visiting the Tokyo campus. Before politics and survival instincts had kicked in and people started keeping their talents secret.
It was now two years since the suite was first offered to him, and he still had not found it easy to make himself at home within its confines.
He, along with his two classmates, had moved out of the school dorms when they had completed what would have been their fourth and final year at the school—even though there had not been much classroom learning happening since the end of their first year.
As 2018 had drawn to a close, there had been too much to do. Too much to explain, too much to investigate, too much to try and fix, too much to hunt down, too much to apologise for, too much to grieve for.
Too much of everything, and none of which could be achieved by sitting in a classroom following a timetable of structured lessons.
(Lessons that had no teacher to cover them, said a voice in his head, which he ignored with a speed that spoke of being all too familiar with it.)
There had been many times throughout those days, months, years, when fixing things, or trying to smooth things over enough to function properly, seemed like a far away, unattainable dream. He still questioned how none of them had just lost hope altogether, or decided to move on with their lives away from the Jujutsu world and everything it entailed. No one would have blamed them for doing so, not in the slightest bit.
(Hah, how naïve, of course they would have blamed and raged and thrown tantrums! But they didn’t need to, did they? The guilt was too heavy to even think of walking away)
But they had persevered.
Somehow, they had found their reasons for continuing; some finding more parts to add to who they were, and others finding pieces that fit into the empty spaces left in them. They had stuck to the difficult task of rebuilding until they had something that wasn’t perfect, but it worked. For now. Until they had more time to recover, and more time to plan for the long term, especially after the hits taken from the unexpected pandemic that hit the whole world not too long after that. And that was without mentioning the international complications that still loomed in the background, as if waiting for the opportune moment to strike.
Although it had not all been doom and gloom, it had certainly felt that way for a good long while. It still felt that way to him, on bad days. Or on the days he woke up not wanting to do anything else but make his way to the cemetery, flowers in hand, to clean up and light incense for the one person in his life he had thought he could prote—No. Nope.
He was not going to dwell on that.
As they had been told repeatedly, it was fine if the scars--—physical for some, mental for others, or both for a lot of them—they had walked away with never fully healed; what mattered was that they were all still here. They were all still alive and, for once, able to think about what they wanted from life and the future. Instead of consistently reminding themselves that they couldn’t afford to plan ahead, as there were no guarantees they would live long, full lives in their line of work.
Well, he thought as he filled the kettle with water from the tap and flicked the switch on, there still aren’t any guarantees but at least we don’t have to fight against a Jujutsu government that wants most of us dead, or close to it.
He cringed as he reached up to one of the overhead cupboards for a mug.
That was the wrong line of thought to follow.
He did not want to linger on the thought of why they were not being sent to their deaths by a corrupt Jujutsu government and its higher ups.
It had been hard enough to hear about when Okkotsu-senp—Yuuta-san had told him about it, a week after the end of the battle. Not because it had shocked him—it had, but it had been a mixture of shock and resigned acceptance. He had known, after all, how complicated his relationship with the higher ups and Jujutsu government was, just as he had known that tempting though it always had been to be rid of the corrupt, backwards cowards with the snap of the fingers, that wasn’t the way it was meant to happen. Not through straight up violence.
No. What had hit him the hardest had been the realisation that even though that was not the way the higher ups’ end was meant to happen, the fact that it had happened pointed to the most obvious thing: it had been a precautionary act. Just in case.
In case things didn’t go their way.
In case the worst happened.
In case everyone else made it out alive, only to have lost the one who had shielded them from the machinations of the bigoted old men and women that ruled their lives and would sooner see them dead than change.
(In case the ungrateful brat he saved from a pitiful existence did succeed in killing—)
The sound of something shattering, the noise almost unnaturally loud in the silence of the room, jerked him out of his thoughts and away from the familiar, self-deprecating path they were heading in.
He cast a wary look around, confused, when he spotted the jagged pieces of porcelain on the tiled floor in front of him. What? Where had that—
“Ah,” he breathed out as he stared down at the broken shards of the mug he had grabbed out of the cupboard. He hadn’t even realised he had been holding onto it.
Still in something of a daze, he crouched down, careful to keep his socked feet away from the shards, and reached out for one of the bigger pieces. The bin was right there so he could easily— “Ouch.” A streak of red bubbled out of a thin cut on the side of his thumb, and for a moment all he could do was stare, watching as it spread down the length of the minor cut, feeling his pulse quickening against his will.
Red.
Red… so much red… pooling around half of the body that lay on the ground,
flowing down the white fabric that covered the rest of the body that somehow managed to stay standing,
hitting the ground with steady drops as half-severed arms fell to the ground on either side of what was left of the still-standing body—
And just like that, breathing became harder.
What had felt, five years ago, like a large hand wrapping around his heart, razor-sharp claws digging into the organ as it was squeezed tight, now returned with a vengeance.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sososososososorry—
His breaths were coming out in quick, shallow gasps, and he knew he was in trouble. He needed—something. To focus on.
Phone?
Yes, his phone. He could call—who could he call? No one he would want to call was on campus right now. Except for Ieiri-san, probably. Maybe he could call her?
But first, he needed his phone. Where was it?
Ah, he had left it on the bedside table before taking his shower. Could he get up, turn around, and stumble his way to the bedroom? It couldn’t be more than twenty, twenty-five steps away.
No, he wasn’t sure he could manage that.
As if in a dream, he made a familiar sign with his hands, the movement hiding the insignificant cut on his thumb.
“Gyokuken: Kon,” he gasped out, feeling the shadows around his feet ripple before a hulking mass of black and white fur appeared at his side. Growling, its glowing amber eyes looked from side to side, searching for something malevolent to fight, before it turned fully to its summoner, head tilted as if in question. “Sorry,” whispered Megumi, his hands hanging limp between his crouched thighs. “Sorry, Kon. No curses or enemies out here. Just the—just the ones in my head.”
There was another ripple as Kon lowered its shaggy head, nosing gently at the side of his face. The sensation of what felt like hot breath on his clammy skin, along with the soft, lumpy nose on his cheek allowed Megumi to focus a bit more on the present. He certainly hadn’t had Kon with him when he was in that dark, wet, miserable place, eyes screwed shut against everything after Tsumiki—after G—
With a gasp, he found that he could move again. Whatever weight that had held down his whole body lifted, and he took the opportunity to bring his shaking arms up, wrapping them around Kon’s neck. There was a low rumble in his ears from his Divine Dog as Megumi rested his head against the shikigami, allowing trembling fingers to card through thick fur.
Okay.
Okay. He was getting faster at handling the onset of these…episodes. That was a good thing. Something positive to take out of this.
Kon nosed the side of his face again, this time with a bit of force that almost had Megumi toppling over onto his bottom. “No, boy, there’s stuff on the floor that I need to clean up,” he murmured, catching himself before his feet landed on the broken mess. Running his fingers one last time through the Divine Dog’s fur, allowing the movement to slow down his racing heartbeat, he let the shikigami bear his weight as he pulled himself to his feet.
With his mind unclouded he attacked the broken porcelain, with a dustpan and brush this time instead of his bare hands, sweeping all visible shards up before emptying the pan into a hastily ripped off garbage bag. He grabbed the towel from around his neck and wet it before crouching down again and pressing the damp cloth against the tiles the mug had fallen on, mopping up whatever small fragments weren’t visible to his eyes. That done, he dumped the crumpled towel in the sink, made one last sweep with the brush and dustpan, before tying up the garbage bag with the broken shards in it and placing it carefully in the bottom of the otherwise empty bin.
Kon lingered behind him, glowing eyes watching his movements. His ears perked up when Megumi turned to face him again. A wan smile tugged at Megumi’s lips as he watched the shikigami, his heartbeat now slowed down to a normal pace.
“You really are a good boy, aren’t you?” he asked, reaching out to pat his snout even as his whole body suddenly ached something fierce. His eyes fell once more on the cut on his thumb, and he bit down hard on his lip, using that pain to focus his thoughts while he turned back to the sink and held his thumb under running water until the traces of blood disappeared. Turning the tap off after carefully cleaning the area around the cut, he confirmed that it was a shallow cut, something that would only need a plaster slapped on it and nothing more.
Not yet confident enough to release the shikigami from its manifestation despite a part of him wanting him to do just that, he dried his hands and trudged slowly towards the bedroom where he kept a small first aid kit in the wardrobe. He was pretty sure there was a pack of standard plasters in there, along with everything else. Kon followed him although he made no sound whatsoever as he did so. Grabbing the pack of plasters, he slipped one out and peeled back the tape on it before applying it on the cut that had already stopped bleeding.
Well, at least this one won’t leave a scar behind, he thought, a wry twist to his lips as he closed the lid of the first aid kit and moved to the bedside table he had kept his phone on. It wouldn’t have mattered if it did scar though, not really. What was one more scar to add to the collection he already had? At least this one was the result of something far less sinister than—
Kon whined from the door, and Megumi smiled again as he walked towards the shikigami, grateful as he always was for its existence. Even if it did manifest from something that was a part of him.
“Thank you, Kon,” he said honestly, before he released its manifested form. As much as he might have liked to have some company for a bit longer, he really shouldn’t allow himself to get accustomed to using his shikigami to cope with his own weaknesses. They had already suffered enough because of his weaknesses.
Before his mind had the time to potentially spiral into another train of thought best avoided, a jaunty tune cut through the quiet, almost stifling atmosphere in the room, making him jolt in surprise. Brows furrowed, he stared down at the bright screen of his phone. Of course. He had forgotten how some people had taken his phone from him to set up personalised ringtones for themselves.
He eyed the name flashing across the screen for a few more seconds, trying to pull his thoughts together from the scattered mess they had devolved into, before his thumb swiped across the dancing phone icon.
“Fushiguro speaking,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t sound that hoarse.
“Ohhhhh Fushiguro, you picked up! I wasn’t sure that you would!” There was the sound of some rustling on the other end, “Whoa, wait! It’s past midnight! Shouldn’t you be asleep?”
“You’re the one who called, Ita—Yuuji,” he pointed out. “What are you doing awake? Didn’t you say you were going back to Sendai for a few days? To check up on the repairs they were doing in the house?”
“That’s right, I did go back to the house. But they seem to have everything handled, and it felt a little awkward just being there and not being able to even help them lift stuff because they wouldn’t let me!” There was a pause, followed by what sounded like a door closing, “Also, I—aha, Nobara would probably laugh right now, but it kind of felt…lonely, you know? I mean, sure, there were people doing work all around, and the neighbours are still so nice to me like they were when Jiichan was alive, but it was just, hmm, too quiet? Too normal?”
Megumi’s eyes softened as he made his way over to his bed, sinking down onto the mattress with an inaudible sigh.
“I’m sure you made friends with the repairmen,” he said, his voice light. There was a loud laugh at that.
“I did, I did! But it was still…strange.” His friend let out a heavy sigh. “I’m afraid you guys have spoilt me. It feels like I can’t be away for too long without feeling like I’m missing something!”
As always, Megumi never ceased to be amazed at how easily Itadori Yuji could just say things like that—heartfelt, genuine things like that—without feeling self-conscious or sounding fake. Four years on, and he was still surprised.
And he continued to pray that his friend would never be forced to change.
“It’s not our fault that we’re awesome,” he teased him instead, earning an amused snort. “But, seriously, why are you up so late?”
“Ah, well, see, I needed to hand in what I think is a Cursed object that I found by mistake during my last mission—I can’t believe I had forgotten about it! And taken it all the way back to Sendai!—so I came back to Tokyo. And Nitta-san mentioned that you just got back too, so I thought I’d call you to see if you had headed back to your place or if you decided to stay here tonight.” There was a rhythmic, tapping sound that was strangely soothing to Megumi’s ears. “Uh, please tell me you decided to stay at the school overnight?”
“Why?” asked Megumi, arranging his pillows carefully before leaning back against them.
“Ahaha, uh, well, because I’m kind of, almost, right outside your door?”
Wait. What?
“What?!”