Megumi doesn’t knock.

The door to the office slams open so hard it rattles the glass, and Satoru Gojo doesn’t even look surprised. He looks tired.

“You sent her,” Megumi says, and his voice is already breaking.

Gojo doesn’t answer.

That sets Megumi off.

Megumi crosses the room in three strides and shoves him. It’s not calculated, not controlled and it barely does anything. His hands fist into Gojo’s collar and he hits him somewhere, not sure where because Megumi is seeing too much red to know what he’s doing.

Gojo rocks back a step but doesn’t defend himself.

“You knew,” Megumi chokes. “You knew it was shady. I told you it was shady.”

Another shove. This one angrier. Megumi’s shoulders shake.

“She can’t even stand up,” he spits. “She just— she just sleeps. She doesn’t wake up unless someone makes her. She needs help to eat, to move, to—”

His voice fractures completely and as gives himself completely over to anger, he has a small blackout at first. There’s a lot of moving and breathing feels hard to do. Gojo can see how for a while, the boy is on autopilot. He doesn’t register how or where he hits the teacher. Gojo takes it all though.

“S’okay…” he slurs out as his upper body is jostled once again. His head bobs a little, and his hair, usually kept out of his face by the blindfold, falls in all kinds of directions.

The aforementioned blindfold isn’t even covering Gojo’s eyes now, which means the Infinity that usually keeps everything at a distance is deactivated.

That allows Megumi to land every hit.

He avoids the area of the spleen and mainly goes for the chest, where real damage cannot occur, at least not with Megumi’s strength. There’s an occasional shove as the words pour out of him, albeit in a choppy way.

“You n-never listen to any of us,” Megumi gasps, and his sore fist connects with Gojo’s muscle. It likely hurts him more than Gojo. “No, you actually just…just don’t care!”

It’s been about twenty minutes of this, Megumi crying and taking his frustrations out, while Gojo just lets him. Normally, twenty minutes of punches wouldn’t tire out Gojo that much. But it’s actually been a while since anyone got close enough to do that. Voluntarily or not, Gojo is letting himself be beaten up, if Megumi’s attempts at violence could qualify as such.

Gojo presses his lips into a thin line as he looks down and sees his student’s desperate face. The tears clot Megumi’s lashes together, and his skin is red in irregular patches.

“I was—nh— okay with it! I would’ve been okay with this bullshit d-deal!” Megumi continues and sniffles in between the sentences. “I don’t care if you think I’m expendable—“

“I don’t think that,” Gojo interrupts with a mumble. It earns him another shove toward the wall. Fair enough. If Gojo puts all his ego and unseriousness aside, he can see how it looks.

A little predatory, no?

Gojo goes around collecting kids in the most miserable situations, offering them a way out. So it cannot really be 100 percent their choice to join Jujutsu High. It’s either the school or the shit they lived in previously. That kind of thing makes his students dependent on him, or jujutsu sorcery, however they want to interpret it.

All this, coupled with the fact that Gojo does come off a little indifferent toward their fate, understandably it makes Megumi feel expendable. Used.

“I don’t care about what happens to me, but I care about her and Tsumiki—that’s— that’s why I’m here and you—you r-ruined it!”

Gojo doesn’t respond this time, only grunts when a surprisingly strong hit knocks the air out of his lungs.

He doesn’t have enough self-awareness to know if he truly did ruin it. Or, like Megumi claimed, he doesn’t care enough to question what he does and what effect his actions have.

Did he go too far this time?

“S’okay, let it all out…”

The image of your face flashes through his mind. Swollen, one of your eyelids sliced open, popped blood vessels painting the white of your eye red. Barely even able to speak coherently, you sobbed about having gone blind, though Shoko later reassured everyone that it was just blood accumulated in front of your retina and not actual loss of vision.

You haven’t moved much from the infirmary since then.

The familiar sight must have triggered Megumi pretty badly.

“I asked you not to send her there! And now she’s—she can barely walk—“ Megumi cuts himself off with another sob and turns sideways this time, to shove his whole body weight against the teacher. It doesn’t do much. Megumi is tiring out.

“I know, I’m—“

“Don’t…don’t you dare say you’re sorry, I know you’re not, I know you don’t care!”

Megumi stumbles forward and instinctively holds onto Gojo’s shirt so as not to fall. His knuckles turn white from how hard he’s tugging on the fabric. His hysterical cries grow quieter, but his breathing quickens.

The first little trickle of blood seeps through between Gojo’s lips, most likely from accidentally biting his tongue too hard at some point during the breakdown.

The man ignores it as it runs down his chin.

Huh. Weird.

Gojo feels something uncomfortable in the back of his mind, the icky feeling of guilt. He hasn’t felt it in years. Is this what it was like for Yaga when Haibara died? Or when Suguru defected?

A quiet gurgle, damped with the red liquid in Gojo’s mouth, escapes his lips as his body gives in a little more to the emotional pain.

Megumi has stopped sobbing loudly, and it’s just heavy breathing filling the room now. His voice breaks after every other word, going up in whiny octaves after each sentence.

“I’m such a fool… I really thought you’d be serious about us, despite how you kept proving me wrong every fucking day…”

His head dips forward, and his forehead crashes against Gojo’s chest in an aggressive but defeated way. “And I was sitting on such a high horse about it too, belittling Itadori whenever he talked in an admiring way about you while secretely hoping that he’s right.”

The tears and possibly snot smear into the expensive white shirt. The red from Gojo’s lips has soiled the collar anyway.

“I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have… this is my fault for relying on you in the first place,” Megumi slurs out. That does break Gojo’s heart a little. It’s wrong that Megumi is blaming himself, and it hurts that he doesn’t even want to see Gojo as someone he can fall back on.

“S’okay, you just made a little mistake,” Gojo croaks out after having been silent for a while. The bitter iron coating his taste buds matches the bitterness of his decision to play along. Not to put the blame on Megumi, he absolutely does not think he’s right, but in the moment, any protest seems useless.

“You’re so messed up.” Megumi doesn’t mean it as an insult. More like a plea for Gojo to be a good person.

“I know.”

Slowly, Gojo sinks his fingers into Megumi’s cheeks, and forces his head to tilt up. For a moment, Gojo recognizes an impulsive urge in the way Megumi’s nose scrunches up, maybe to spit in his face or headbutt him. But he stays still, exhaustion winning him over.

“I’ll still fix it,” Gojo says firmly. A scoff of ridicule is Megumi’s immediate reaction. Nevertheless, Gojo keeps going. “I don’t think I think of you as expendable.”

“You don’t think?” Megumi raises his voice again, pushing himself away from Gojo. He steps back and wipes his face with his lower arm, his posture as hostile as it can get. Drawn up shoulders, loose fists, flaring nostrils. “You can’t even say for sure.”

Gojo sighs, about to say something when he Megumi turns to his office’s exit.

“Where are you—“

“What do you think?”

There’s no time for a reply because he’s already slamming the door shut, leaving Gojo on his own.

Gojo stares down at his dirty shirt. In the end, he has to realize that he isn’t the bad guy Megumi claims he is—not entirely, at least. If he was, this whole thing wouldn’t hurt as much as it does.

At least he has a conscience, even if it’s dirty. That should make it a bit better. He must care to a degree.

Later, in the late evening, Gojo attempts to visit you, but when he shows up at the entrance to the infirmary, two familiar shikigami block his way.

Predictable and fair.

“You’re too horizontal again,” Yuji declares with a mock thoughtful expression as he stands by the couch. He’s freshly out of the shower after a looong day of training and very happy to see you somewhere outside of your room. He has to seize the opportunity to spend time with you. “That’s not good. A patient needs good blood circulation.”

Patient…?

“Is that right?” you murmur, your voice syrupy with drowsiness. You lie on one of the sofas in the lounge of the building, knees slightly bent towards your stomach and your hair all over the place.

“Yes. I’m a doctor now.”

Another small hum. “I see…”

Yuji drags a misplaced desk chair closer with a loud scrape, spins it around, and sits on it backwards, arms folded over the backrest. Very professional. Very official.

“Doctor Itadori, at your service. I specialize in… uh…” He squints at nothing in particular. “Everything.”

“How impressive,” you mumble.

“Thank you. Now. First, examination.”

Yuji hadn’t been able to suppress his curiosity these past weeks, no matter how scary Megumi’s glares had been.

He thought it was a little unfair that the second years, as in, your classmates, got to be around you while you were awake, which was mostly during class. Had Itadori skipped a few of his own lessons to stalk the second years’ instead? Absolutely. The pink hair didn’t help him be stealthy, but none of the students seemed to notice. Or care.

Least of all you. From what Yuji could see, you just stared at the board and occasionally took notes with a slumped posture. Maki sometimes had to poke your forehead with the dull end of her spear to keep you awake.

Then, at some point, he just so happened to be nearby when you were on one of your little walks in the garden.

He thought you’d be hard to talk to. Megumi had always been fussy and overprotective with you, and Yuji assumed it was because you were fragile and meek.

Turns out, you’re chill. You don’t mind his energy, his stupid impressions, his enthusiasm. It also turns out that visiting you in your room isn’t actually forbidden, not officially. Anyone can come and go; it’s just that Megumi becomes really snappy if anyone does, so everyone ends up avoiding your room anyway.

Everyone except Yuji.

Because he’s stupid and has a big heart, plus his curiosity is insatiable. He finds it a little odd that Megumi is isolating you unintentionally. Usually that boy is pretty thoughtful and logical.

Yuji has started visiting you, entertaining you in the process. You don’t have to be so lonely anymore. He talks to you like a normal person, even if you’re barely responsive most of the time.

Always chattering away as he flips through your journals (now he knows where the glitter comes from), inspects your makeup collection, or looks over your homework. Sometimes he doesn’t even notice that you’ve fallen asleep again and basically ends up talking to himself.

His current silly antic, however, requires a bit more participation.

In a way, Yuji probably just uses play pretend to process your condition, the way children reenact medical procedures they’ve experienced to feel less on edge about them.

Your kohai leans forward and gently presses the back of his hand to your forehead, exaggerating the seriousness of the gesture.

“Hmm.”

You don’t open your eyes, but your lips twitch faintly.

“Well?”

“Temperature check.” He moves his hand to your cheek. “Cold here.”

A thoughtful pause. Then he lightly taps beneath your jaw.

“Warm here.”

You hum again. “Is that bad, doctor?”

He gasps quietly. “Very suspicious.”

“Oh no.”

“Yes. Extremely suspicious. Could be… hmm.” He narrows his eyes like he’s reading invisible charts in the air. “Chronic Roomitis.”

You make a soft, airy sound that might be a laugh.

“Roomitis?”

“Yeah. Symptoms include staying in bed too long, avoiding sunlight, and pretending you’re not lonely.”

That earns him a faint exhale through your nose.

“Do I pretend?” Your flutter open slowly and your pupils shrink to adjust to the room’s brightness. The moment your eyes focus, a very comical picture fills your vision. Yuji’s hair is still a little damp, cheeks flushed but he looks so genuine in what he’s doing.

“Mhm,” he says confidently. “But it’s okay. I’m prescribing something later. Moving on.”

His hand is warm, like always, as he takes yours, pressing down somewhere on your wrist, completely missing the pulse point. You can see the concentration on his face as he presses down gradually harder, unable to find a beat. Then he smiles suddenly.

“Oh, that’s a pretty normal rhythm,” he declares with surprise and pride, having done a good job.

“That’s your own heartbeat.”

His head tilts like a confused puppy’s. “Huh?”

“You missed the point. And if you press too hard, you end up feeling your own pulse.” You sigh softly and, with a weak grip, bring his fingers to the actual spot, where your bone has a subtle dip.

“Oh.”

It takes Yuji a while to feel something, and when he does, his lips curl downwards into a small frown. Too slow.

“S’okay…” you mumble before he panics or actually calls Ieri. “It’s normal for me. My blood pressure is low too.”

“Well… I knew that!”

“Of course.”

There’s a little hesitation as Yuji stops talking for a moment, his expression gives away the sadness for just a second.

The small slits under his eyes, Sukuna’s closed eyes, crease up as Yuji squeezes his own eyes shut to regain composure. Outside, the sound of someone’s loud laughter erupts. It’s an annoying reminder that while everyone else is having fun elsewhere, you’re stuck inside like a narcoleptic dog.

“Anyways, moving on!” Yuji quickly diverts both his and your attention before it gets awkward.

Yuji gives a satisfied nod, the corner of his mouth twitching.

He taps his chin again, pretending to ponder over his next decision.

“I’m going to palpate your abdomen.” Yuji’s words carry a sense of finality as he raises your shirt a bit to expose the skin of your stomach. His fingers, usually so confident and firm, feel oddly gentle as they start to press delicately against your belly, searching.

You can’t suppress an amused snicker this time.

“Mh, the doctor is using big words…”

Yuji learned that term from Ieri, of course. You play along pretty well, and this time, Yuji even assumes you’re being for real.

“That just means I’m going to feel your tummy,” he explains, as a good doctor should always inform their patient in a way they understand, so they can consent to the procedure.

His idea of abdominal palpation is not very professional, though, and he literally just feels around in no particular order, not even pressing down hard enough.

“Does anything hurt?”

You shake your head, sinking further into the pillow on the couch. Your eyes drift up to the ceiling of the common area, and for a moment, you actually enjoy the attention.

Yuji hums and leans back, rubbing his chin as if deep in thought. “Interesting, interesting.”

He pulls your shirt back down and leans closer to your face. Again, the order he’s conducting this ‘examination’ is unusual, but you don’t say anything.

He cups the side of your face with his hands and turns your head this way and that, inspecting every inch like it’s the first time he’s ever seen you. His thumb slides over your cheekbone, the slope of your nose and he even pulls up your upper lip to look at your teeth.

“Uhuh, I see, I see…”

“You do?” you ask, your body completely limp and pliant in Yuji’s hands.

“I think senpai has a severe case of Sleepy Syndrome, along with signs of Roomitis. Luckily, I’ve written a paper about this, so you’re in the best hands.”

“Oh? A whole paper?” you murmur, eyelids fluttering but not quite falling shut again.

“Mhm.” He nods gravely. “Very peer-reviewed. By me.”

“How prestigious.”

“Thank you.”

You huff another quiet laugh, fragile but real. Yuji freezes for half a second, like he’s caught something rare and doesn’t want to scare it off, then clears his throat and resumes his act.

“Now,” he says, lowering his voice to something conspiratorial, “the treatment plan.”

“That sounds expensive.”

“Not at all. I accept payment in snacks.” He pauses, shifting off the chair and kneeling beside the couch so he’s eye-level with you. The playful glint in his eyes softens just a little.

“First prescription,” he announces, holding up one finger. “Sunlight. Ten minutes minimum. Supervised.”

You squint at him. “Supervised?”

“Yeah. To make sure you don’t escape back to your cave.”

“I don’t live in a cave.”

Yuji ignores your protest.

“Second prescription: social interaction. At least one idiot per day.”

“One idiot?”

“Me,” he clarifies proudly.

You’re about to reply when a quiet scoff catches your attention. It’s coming from the open window. Unsurprisingly, Megumi is standing there, visibly annoyed by the sight.

He doesn’t linger, though, and when Yuji turns around, he walks away without a word, his petulant frown growing.

Yuji stares at the empty space for a second longer before huffing. “Rude. Interrupting a medical procedure like that.”

“He’s very concerned about hospital hygiene,” you say faintly before letting out a tired sigh.

Your hand comes up to rest over Yuji’s, still holding your face.

“You should talk to him. Or should I?”

Yuji frowns, not wanting to give up his little game yet. Or maybe he doesn’t want to come back to reality just yet. But you blink up at him with such a soft expression. Like you’re okay. Like it’s all okay. It’s unfair. He just stops pretending, but you continue being his sick senpai.

His shoulders droop, his mock serious expression falls, and you can see the exact moment he drops the act. A sad kohai takes the doctor’s place. Yuji exhales, a long, quiet sound that doesn’t sound like himself at all. The spark of mischief in his eyes dims.

“…No,” he mutters, voice low. “I… I’ll talk to him.”

Yuji and his sick senpai part three | part two | part four ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ cw: flawed!Megumi, protective!Megumi, fighting, physical roughhousing, semi-consciousness, non-canon jujutsu science, implied dark past, mild dark themes note: hai! Glad you like ittt

“I don’t think what you’re doing is very healthy,” Yuji states, trying not to sound accusing. He fiddles with the zipper of his hoodie, which makes a buzzing sound each time his fingers drag it up and down. He doesn’t notice how the constant noise annoys Megumi more and more. Megumi stands with his back turned to Yuji, busying himself with organizing the weapons in the shed. They’re all wooden dummies, used for simple practice. The fact that Yuji entered that place just makes him more uncomfortable. Usually, only he and Maki use the fake weapons, and so it’s a place Megumi often finds comfort in. No one bothers him there. Except now, Yuji is there, he had followed him. His shoulders draw up and his spine curves a little inward, as if wanting to disappear.

“And what do you know about health?” Megumi retorts. Yuji doesn’t understand that jab. Sure, he’s aware he’s not an expert when it comes to the topic, but neither are any of the Jujutsu High students. So what’s the problem? Instead of indulging himself in technicalities, the pink-haired boy decides to go for a different approach.

“Why does it make you upset when I hang out with senpai?” Straight to the point. There’s no use in dancing around the subject.

Megumi tenses up further, his movements coming to a halt. The tonfa in his hands hovers over the plank he was about to place it back on.

“I told you not to bother her. And yet, you keep doing exactly that,” Megumi finally replies. He places the weapon back on the shelf and turns around to face his classmate with crossed arms. It takes a lot of willpower not to show how cornered he feels there, even though Yuji isn’t the type to be mean or aggressively insistent.

“I don’t think I’m bothering her. We have fun together.”

“That’s because she doesn’t know what’s good for her.” The reply is sharp, and Megumi regrets it the moment the words leave his mouth. He hadn’t meant to sound that patronizing.

“Hey now,” Yuji frowns and straightens his back. “Don’t talk about her like that. That’s not like you.”

Megumi averts his gaze, shame and guilt washing over his face. The feeling is uncomfortable, similar to when he opens an oven and the hot air hits his skin at once. He doesn’t apologize, though. His issues regarding cursed people run too deep for that.

Yuji’s fine wrinkles on his forehead and between his eyebrows deepen the more he thinks about Megumi’s words. He shouldn’t feel so much authority on the matter, especially because he’s your underclassman.

“Take it back.”

Silence.

“Take it back.”

A gust of wind that has found its way in through the slightly ajar door rattles the shoji, only stressing the awkward stillness inside the shed.

“Fushiguro.” Reluctantly, Megumi looks back at Yuji.

“You don’t know anything.”

“Talk to me, then.”

Megumi lets out a quiet breath. For a moment, it looks like he won’t. He’ll brush past Yuji, shut the door on this conversation the same way he’s been shutting everyone out. But he doesn’t move. His fingers curl slightly against his sleeves.

“I don’t want her to get worse. I don’t know what would happen if…” Yuji waits patiently for Megumi to finish the sentence. Megumi doesn’t. He trails off, his lips parting in an attempt to say more, but no sounds come out.

After a beat, Yuji speaks up again.

“Why would socializing make her worse?”

“It’s not— She’s just… fragile, okay?”

“You’re wrong.” This time, Yuji doesn’t hesitate, no matter how rude he may be. It’s so obvious to him that you handle things with so much grace and you’re definitely not a damsel in distress. He knows Megumi is wrong, and frankly, he is a bit disappointed in Megumi that he, of all people, would think that. It’s starting to sound like your sickness isn’t the problem, it’s Megumi’s weird overprotectiveness.

The boy is unsure what to do now. Part of him wants to scold Megumi, but it has always been Megumi with the brains and sense, and he has always been the voice of reason. This new setup is unfamiliar, and Yuji isn’t sure how to go about it.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but… I think it’s actually bad for her to keep her so isolated.”

To Yuji’s surprise, Megumi takes the implication pretty well, all things considered. He doesn’t stiffen more, in fact, his shoulders droop. In that moment, Megumi just looks tired.

“I don’t know about that.”

“You can’t be serious.” Yuji doesn’t want to believe that Megumi would be so… accidentally toxic? It can’t be. There has to be an explanation. “Don’t you have a patient to take care of?” Yuji blinks, caught off by the mocking words. He was just playing around with you. You seemed to enjoy it. For a moment, he debates keeping the conversation going but by now, he can see that Megumi is uncomfortable. He drops the subject with the drooping of his shoulders. “Yeah. And just so you know, our estabilishment is taking her care very seriously,” he replies with a proud smile after a beat. Yuji opens his arms, trying to lighten the mood. “And there’s a free spot for another doctor, it opened up just now.” Megumi sighs, then turns away to leave. “I’m not playing your stupid game.”

The best thing about having such a chill and sleepy senpai is that Yuji doesn’t need to worry about being too rough. Despite claims that you’re so fragile and sick, you can take his roughhousing without complaints.

Yuji doesn’t know much about actual techniques, he doesn’t train jiu-jitsu like Megumi or use weapons like Maki. He just punches and throws things. And you know how to land.

You’re barely conscious for half of it and still manage to tire him out.

The white training robe’s belt is looser now on Yuji, the collar slightly open. Your attire isn’t perfectly tight anymore either.

Other students don’t wear a hakama for training. The jujutsu school in Tokyo isn’t very traditional, and you don’t come off as a conservative person either. Yuji actually planned on just wearing his usual workout clothes, but when he saw you carrying those layered textiles, he immediately turned around and begged Gojo to find him something. It felt appropriate, and he wanted to be respectful. As it turns out, anticipating your moves in those baggy pants is difficult.

Yuji lunges again. He’s fast, clumsy in the way that makes him unpredictable, weight crashing forward, expecting resistance. You don’t give him any. Your body folds with the motion instead of against it. His grip slides, then catches, then suddenly you’re off your feet—lifted, turned—and dropped.

Your back meets the mat with a dull thud. Yuji freezes for half a second.

“…Oh—”

You blink up at the ceiling.

“Again?” you mumble.

Relief hits Yuji immediately. He’s getting used to your flow and starting to have a feel for your limits.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, good.” He grins, grabbing your wrist this time and hauling you back up with far less care than he probably should. Your feet barely settle before he’s moving again, testing, pushing, trying to find the point where you’ll actually stop him. It’s weird.

Technically, you have been losing the spar consistently, and yet he’s the one getting sore and tired. You must know some kind of trick to not take a lot of damage when falling. Now that he thinks of it, he has heard of the time Panda was instructed to throw Nobara around so Nobara could learn how to fall “safely.”

This must be an advanced version of whatever that exercise was.

Whenever Yuji expects tension, there’s none. No bracing, no struggle, your body just goes with it, like you’ve already accepted where you’ll end up before he does. You stand up, swaying a little on your feet, and Yuji goes again.

“You’re getting sloppy,” you slur out and grab around him by the nape of his neck with one hand, while the other presses to his side. He runs into you—the inside of your elbow—caught off guard, and you choke him for one small moment in a halfway headlock, then, with a sudden tensing of your muscles, you push him back. All the way back until he’s the one on the ground for once.

Yuji isn’t used to falling, so he doesn’t land in a very comfortable way. The air gets pressed out of his lungs, and his spine curves forward, resisting the defeat up until the last moment.

“What,” Yuji pants, looking up at you from the mat, “What was that?”

Even Yuji can tell that the movement was too precise and elegant to be improvised. It’s odd how little strength you had to use to carry it out.

“That was the senpai special,” you shrug, subtly evading the question.

“More!” Yuji jumps up immediately. As he steps forward and yanks you close again, he’s done it so many times now, you melt completely against him and go limp.

“Woah, hey—“

“Sleepy…”

“But you’re starting to win,” Yuji pouts, but when he feels how he has to keep you upright, he quickly stops complaining.

“Okay, let’s just…” Yuji lowers you on your back slowly, the loose fabric of your pants spreading out on the mat. He climbs on top to inspect your face and check your pulse. It’s low but strong, pretty normal for you. “Are you okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum in response, eyes already fluttering shut.

“You’re going to sleep now?” Yuji asks, already worrying about what he’s supposed to do in case you actually pass out. Getting you dressed in your casual clothes would be out of the question while you’re not conscious, even Yuji knows that.

“No, no, not yet, just taking a break.”

Yuji leans back with confused puppy eyes and sits up properly in your lap. No matter what angle he looks at you from, you look seconds away from sleeping.

“Are you sure?” Yuji tilts his head. In response, you just give his hip a firm squeeze and keep your grip on him like that. This way, he’ll know you’ve passed out when your fingers let go of him.

“You know, I was wondering, senpai, and please don’t be mad,” Yuji pauses to gather his thoughts, “I was wondering about this. You. How this works.”

You creak one eye open and furrow your brows at the younger sorcerer.

“Be more specific.”

“I just don’t understand because… you’re not narcoleptic. I think,” Yuji says, and his voice grows quieter as he speaks. Only now that he’s addressing the elephant in the room does he realize what a sensitive topic it is. He scratches his chin. The silence in the dojo feels uncomfortable, and Yuji wonders if he’s overstepping. “I mean, I looked it up on the internet. You have some other stuff going on.”

A small, amused smile spreads across your face, one that intimidates Yuji a bit. He rubs the back of his neck next, unsure what to do with himself. Sometimes people smile when they get angry; maybe that’s what’s happening. A smart person would shut up at this point, but Yuji isn’t smart.

He overexplains.

“Your pulse and blood pressure are low, and your skin is cold and warm in different places… and… and…”

The small breath that escapes your lips quiets Yuji. His thighs, straddling your lap, tense up.

“Curses form from negative emotions.”

Yuji’s hand drops back to your waist, and he pulls his lips to the side into a small, confused frown.

“I know that.”

“Negative emotions from non-sorcerers.”

“Uh-huh.”

You don’t sound angry at all as you speak, Yuji notices. This is just like when you explain school-related things to him, always starting at the most basic pillars and working your way up. And Yuji listens. Usually, he’s eager, nodding fervently as he soaks up the knowledge like a useless sponge that will spit out the information an hour later. This time, he’s perfectly still, his gaze intense and focused on your face.

You’ve closed both your eyes again. It’s actually pretty cool that you can speak about something so private while you’re at the center of the room, and the attention, nowhere to hide under Yuji’s weight.

You really are super chill, Yuji thinks.

“Sometimes, just one or two people can have lots of bad feelings, enough to form curses by themselves,” you continue calmly.

“Like if they’re really angry or stressed?”

“Sure.”

“You don’t seem angry or stressed,” Yuji states the obvious, as he does sometimes.

“I’m not, if you just let me—“

“Sorry, sorry.” He puts his hands up defensively briefly before leaning forward again.

“Then they often direct it at others. The bad feelings. And it’s like when non-sorcerers curse a hospital or a school, but they do it to a person instead.”

Yuji’s lips part, an accidental silent breath leaves him as he thinks about the implications.

“You’re… cursed?”

You don’t reply, you just give him another smile, softer, weaker now. It makes Yuji’s chest feel heavy, and the pressure even spreads out into his arms, to his wrists.

“But you don’t look cursed,” he blurts out, half out of genuine bewilderment, half a plea for you to deny it, to tell him it’s all a joke and you’re just a very sleepy senpai.

“Well, I fight a lot to stay human.”

There’s a lull in the conversation. Yuji takes his time letting your words settle in him. His eyes trail over your eyebrows, focused on the direction the fine hair is growing in, then your nose bridge and your tired eyes. You have dark circles and thick eyelashes, which deepen the hollows of your eye sockets. Your lips and jaw are relaxed, just like the rest of your body.

The ribs under your robe expand and sink evenly. Maybe you being so laid-back isn’t a good thing after all. With the new context, it seems more like a coping mechanism rather than real composition. Like you’re just cynical.

“Oi, senpai,” Yuji speaks finally, his voice lower and rougher now. “Are you saying someone hurt you that much?” The intense look he gives you is almost daring you to confirm.

Your smile doesn’t change, and you just shrug.

Yuji’s mind automatically wanders into an uncomfortable territory. You were very vague with your explanation, sparing him potentially painful details. That’s worse somehow because now Yuji is imagining worst-case scenarios.

Megumi’s concern makes a little more sense now. But doesn’t he see it? In Yuji’s opinion, you can fight better to stay human when you do human things.

You don’t respond. Your breathing slows. Your grip on him loosens just a little. Yuji notices immediately.

“…Hey.”

No response.

“…Senpai?”

Your fingers slacken completely.

“Oi—hey, wait—”

He leans down quickly, hand hovering near your face before gently tapping your cheek. Nothing.

He presses his fingers to your wrist. Yes, he did learn how to correctly check someone’s vitals just for you.

Pulse—still there.

“…Man,” he exhales, shoulders dropping slightly. His body curls up over you before he climbs down to lie beside you. Hopefully, his weight hasn’t cut off the circulation in your legs too much.

Yuji shifts onto his back, one arm tucked under his head, the other resting loosely over his stomach. He stares up at the ceiling for a while. He should probably text Maki or Nobara to help change your clothes.

“…You really just drop anywhere, huh…”

Your condition, or rather your backstory, shouldn’t surprise him. Gojo seems to be going for the strays. Yuji knows that all too well.

Megumi’s words echo in his head. What does it mean for you to get worse? What does it mean for a cursed person to be worse? More sleep?