#ruer writes

16-3-2018 

It’s a spring day, with cherry blossom petals raining down from the trees and dancing through the air like ballerinas on a stage. You’d just had your graduation ceremony wrapped up, and the passage of time feels bittersweet while you’re excited to continue schooling with a friend you think you’ll have forever. Sometimes you think that things are moving all too quickly. 

“You know, [Name],” Yuuji starts after you’ve walked out of your junior high school for the last time, “You’re actually really kind.” 

“Really?” you scratch your cheek awkwardly, “I’m flattered, I guess? I never thought of myself like that,” you laugh, “But like, so are you.” 

“Nah,” he smiles boyishly, “You’re really kind and gentle. I bet all kinds of animals must like you a lot. Especially those little stray dogs, you know?” 

“Look who’s talking,” you laugh, “ “Everyone absolutely adores you. Why’re you saying this all of a sudden?” 

“No, but, like— everyone knows it. I mean, as long as they know you, they know that you’re really kind, too. That’s probably the best part of it, ‘cause you don’t really know that. But if you can help someone, you just do it, no questions asked. Just now, Ozawa asked me to take a picture with her. Then she said she wanted to thank you, since you were really kind to her. And I thought, ‘Yeah, that’s true!’” 

You grin, “Ozawa said that? What else did she tell you?” Did she confess? 

“Nothing, really. I mean, she looked like she was about to say something, but that she wasn’t really comfortable saying it. She left before I could ask. Wasn’t sure if I should have said anything else,” he chuckles. 

She was so close… “Oh….” 

“Why? Do you think she wanted to tell me anything important? I didn’t know you two were that close, actually.” 

“The thing is, we weren’t,” you say, “I don’t know why she said that. I just wanted to talk to her, because… well… um, girl stuff. Girls support girls.” 

“Oh… like, she likes someone and you want to support her! Like in the manga you made me read! Sounds like something you’d do. That’s why you’re so kind!” 

You nearly choke. The densest boy you’ve ever known. You sigh, knowingly, “You can be so… blind to what’s in front of you sometimes, you know?” 

“But it’s the truth! And everyone’s blind like that, I think,” he says, “You didn’t think you were kind, but you are, so that’s what makes you you.” 

Everyone’s like that, huh? you echo to yourself, You wonder… 

“I guess,” you chuckle, “You’re like that too.” 

“I’m happy you’re my friend,”  he had said once. You’re happy he’s your friend, too. 

In the past, Tsumiki once said the same thing: “I think that you’re a kind person. I think that everyone and anyone can be kind in any way. It’s just that we have to think we’re kind and everything comes easy. I think that kind of life is the best. So… don’t give up on trying to be a good person, [Name]. Or maybe just being a kind one, because I think you’d be amazing at that.” She told you that you were kind, and that was what made you special. And to you, at that time, with nothing to distinguish yourself from your peers and the sense of being extremely average, you’d never thought that someone could know you and think there was something more than ordinary inside. 

Nowadays you don’t think of yourself as kind anymore, though you’re not sure when you stopped. Maybe it was after you stopped being able to talk to Tsumiki, or when you were no longer your parents’ little girl, or perhaps this was all just a part of growing up. So whenever you think of this again— of kindness, or innocence, or nostalgia, all you can think of is Tsumiki and Megumi, of her smiles and his eyes. Now when you do things that may be seen as kind, you do it to emulate her— to be like the role model she was. It’s different from the same kindness you had as a child, twinged with innocence. It was as if the more you knew of the world, the harder it was to genuinely, unquestionably be kind to it. 

26-6-2018

There’s a ringing in your ear when you wake up and have a throbbing pain in the back of your head. When your eyes meet the light you wince, closing them again. You feel horrible— as if you’ve had the awfulness of a fever multiplied a hundred times over. 

“Oh, [Name]! You’re awake!” Gojo cheers softly. 

“Why are you whispering…?” you momble out weakly. 

Your back hurts. 

You realise you’re on your bed back at campus. But how—? 

Tsumiki! 

“Ah— Tsumiki!” you startle yourself, sitting up, “I saw Tsumiki.” 

“Shh,” Gojo hushes you. “Sit back down. It wasn’t enough to help her.” 

“But I have to— where’s Megumi? We have to go back, I need to try again, please, Gojo—!” 

It was never enough in the first place. You thought things had changed, that they were different, that now because you were in the world of sorcery you were special somehow, that suddenly you had potential to do something because you had powers and suddenly you were no longer the faceless, empty girl that people paid little mind to. But it wasn’t enough. You weren’t enough in the end, and perhaps there’s nothing special about you at all— 

“And endanger your health like that?” Gojo argues, “Megumi panicked and brought you here. He carried you all the way thinking you had died. You’d had a nosebleed due to high blood pressure and then lost consciousness due to intracranial bleeding. With how quickly it all went down, you were close to dying of hemorrhagic shock. You’re running a fever now, too. At the moment, there’s no way to help Tsumiki. The others panicked, and we didn’t know if you wanted to tell Yuji and Nobara what happened. We just said you were training and strained yourself. They’re worried. Shoko, too.” 

—And now you’re stuck here, on this bed with your limbs feeling wrong and tangled and twisted all over, and pain festering all over inside you like ticks on bleating sheep, parasitic and hungry. Useless. There’s nothing you can do. 

Utterly useless. You didn’t think you could be so weak. Your head throbs even more and you feel bile rise in your throat, but you’d had nothing to eat in hours. 

How could you help strangers without question yet fail to help one of those dearest to you? 

“But there has to be some way—”

“Rest first, [Name],” he orders firmly. “Take a deep breath.” 

Almost like a parent. 

“You didn’t tell my parents about this, right?” 

“They’re fine. I’ll need to check with your father to see why the effects on your body this time were so adverse, but worry later. Rest first.” 

“Wait, you can’t tell them. They’re going to take me away. I still need to be here—” 

“Worry about that later.” 

Your eyes wander around the room you’re in, succumbing to the pull of slumber as bright ceiling lights’ glares rebound from the walls toward you. There’s a pause in the air, and Gojo takes a seat beside your bed, and you cast your eyes down on your lap. 

“When I saw Tsumiki,” you start, gingerly nursing your tone, “I was terrified. I’m so used to seeing her alive and happy,” your voice wavers, “I didn’t know what to do.” 

He leans closer. You can tell he’s listening, quiet and sombre. “Gojo… do you think she’ll be okay?” you look up at him, “There’s still hope, right? She’ll be okay, right? You have to tell me that she’ll be okay.” 

Then a thought rises up from within you, one as dirty as a carcass, a dead thing festering against its will, bile rises up within your throat and you want to throw out all of the nothing that you’ve eaten in the past who-knows-how-many days. It comes out like a whisper, like a curse, like it’ll come true if you echo it loud enough. 

“She’s not dead, is she?” 

Why isn’t he of all people crying? Why did he— the both of them— never tell you? He watched her grow up, and now this man stands before you, solitary, as the Strongest always was, the separation between you and the people the two of you are having been carved out long ago in history. As if he had never felt anything more than the cursed energy running through his eyes, all the curses demolished with mere blood from his veins. Have things become so untouchable that not even emotion can make this facade falter? That he can’t show more worry at the sight of a girl he raised? 

He grips your shoulder, authoritative and calm, until you realise how badly his hand is shaking. This man, your teacher and temporary guardian, bares himself when he reaches for you. He closes the gap between you two, shedding off his infallible powers, and from his strength is born this image of the loneliest man you’ve ever seen. 

“I don’t know, [Name]. Sometimes there are things you can’t change. So I don’t know, and I’m so, so sorry.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me this? You could have. You could have trusted me with this. I love Tsumiki as much as you do— no, I love her more, I love… both of them, so, so much…”

“I know, [Name],” as if he knew all along the hours and nights you spent waiting for an answer, always having them on her mind, always thinking of Tsumiki’s smile and Megumi’s frown, “I know.”

“Knock, knock,” she shouts from beyond the door, stirring you awake. Gojo must have placed another blanket over you— it feels extra warm. “Everything okay in there?” 

“Yes,” you muster weakly, ready to curl up under the covers again, “I’m fine.” 

A loud sigh. “If you’re going to raise your voice, don’t do it if she’s just woken up!” he scolds. It’s Megumi’s voice, and like clockwork, joy creeps into your heart. Time to have some sweet dreams, then—

The door bursts open: Megumi, Nobara and Yuji. 

“We got you some food,” Yuji grins, “Meatball soup! Woohoo!” 

“Woah— your eyes are super swollen, [Name]! Come on, I need the full details,” Nobara begins, “Let me know what happened, and you can get some of this stuff off your chest. What,” she continues, looking pointedly at Megumi, “Someone hurt you or something?” 

“Wha– Why are you looking at me?” says Megumi. 

“I don’t really feel comfortable talking about it right now, but thank you,” you mutter, voice soft and in all ways unfortunately pathetic. You have to deliberately avoid Megumi’s eyes or you have a feeling you may break right then and there. “Megumi didn’t… he didn’t do anything. But that’s enough about that. Thanks for the food, I’m really sorry to trouble you guys and make you worry.” 

“Don’t worry. It wasn’t trouble at all!” she smiles, then Nobara glares at Megumi once again. “I’m watching you, Fushiguro.” 

“Huh?” 

“Guys!” Yuji interrupts, “Come on, we came here to give her the food, right? Come on, let me set this mini table up for you.” 

“No, it’s okay, I’ll do it myself—“

“Come on,” he insists, “Leave it to us. You should rest.” 

He makes quick work of it, but after seeing Tsumiki your worry for Yuji has only grown tenfold.

“Have you eaten yet? Has anything bad happened? Have you guys been alright the past few hours?” 

“Yes, no, yes, don’t worry!” he says, pulling over the lid of the steaming pot. 

Before long, there’s a tiny table and tinier pots of rice and meatball soup before you, along with a pair of chopsticks. “Here you go,” Yuji says, placing a spoon on the table as well. “...You know, it never hit me before that the reason you got sick so much was that you had your technique or something. I guess summer’s gonna be in full swing soon, since it’s getting this bad, huh?” 

With a blow against the wooden spoon, your hand brings it to your mouth as if it’s about to shatter like glass. It’s comfortingly savoury, warm, and clear as river water. You miss your mother’s cooking. You don’t think you’ll get the chance to try it ever again. 

“Is it good?” 

You nod your head. 

Tsumiki’s in a state of comatose with no cure. Your relationship with your parents has been twisted and deformed far past the gleeful days you used to have eating at the same dinner table and laughing as your father joked with the wisdom you believed him to have, and your mother couldn’t help but giggle along uncontrollably. Your mother’s on a hospital bed with a slim chance of making it at least another year, and your father’s ten steps from either sharing the same fate as your mother due to sheer stress alone, or becoming a lonely widower. You don’t want to speak of Megumi at the moment. 

It’s all sudden. All too sudden, like a dam breaking, emotion surging out of you.

You’ve heard that in these situations it’s always good to be calm, to be grateful, to have hope— but what hope do you have left? 

You miss 2010, Tsumiki letting you run fingers through her hair as you braided it; you miss your father and mother and how no matter which house you lived in or how little friends you had, your parents would shower you with affection and could make everything seem okay then. 

There’s water trickling down your cheek, fragility in your lips and jaw. 

“Woah— hey, hey, why’re you crying? Come on, calm down, okay?” 

You sob, “Yeah. Sorry…” 

Nobara pats your back, sighing loudly. “It’s okay. Let it out, [Name].” 

“Fushiguro!” Nobara calls him,  “Comfort her, damnit!” 

There’s no retort from Megumi, no ‘What am I even supposed to say?’ like you would expect him to. 

“And if you don’t know what to say, think harder, dumbass!” Nobara says, as if she could read his thoughts. 

You regain yourself for a moment, taking a deep breath, and then you’re back to your senses again, though the spasms are still there. “I’m sorry, ignore that— must be fatigue-induced hormones or something, if those exist— hic!” 

Now Yuuji is the one scrambling to awkwardly pat your back, a little lost, but trying his best. You don’t like him comforting you all that much, and he knows it: you’ve always wanted to be the one taking care of him instead. “Hey, it’s alright,” he comforts you, “You wanna have some time alone?” 

You nod like a meek kindergartener. Yuuji smiles and guides you through the crying spasms with a hand on your shoulder. 

The three of them head out as quickly as they came in. “Don’t worry,” Yuji turns back to you before leaving, “Whatever you’re feeling, I’m sure it can’t get to you easily. And I promise, we’re here to help.” 

What were you thinking? It was embarrassing, crying like that, having them worry for you. You weren’t a child! You didn’t want them to think you were someone who crumbled at every obstacle, especially not Nobara or Yuuji. You hide your face in your blanket even if there’s no one who can see you like this anyway. You look pathetic like this, crying with puffy eyes and a swollen face as snot dribbles down from your nose. 

When it all fizzles over, and everything is clear enough that you can breathe, you continue to eat the meatballs in the pot until you’re full, and set the tray of food aside. 

Dr Ieiri enters an hour later. 

“Hey, [Name].” 

“Dr Ieiri,” you call out, “Sorry. I’m not sure why I just went out like that.” 

“No worries,” she says, “But I did want to tell you something. Although your internal bleeding was partly caused by you pushing yourself too hard— which is something we have to work on, by the way,” she stresses, “Your cursed technique could have already caused underlying problems with your blood pressure before that. I’m sure you know this, but unmanaged cases of hypertension can cause ruptured aneurysms and brain bleeds. I’m going to test your blood pressure later for confirmation, but I’m pretty sure this is the best explanation I have for what happened, as of now.” 

“But… those cases usually happen with older people…why—?” 

“Well if there’s one thing I know based on the degree I pretty much cheated to get, [Name], it’s that with the human body anything can happen. Your life could end at any moment,” she states, then ruffles your hair, “But that’s why you just have to make sure you spend good time doing stuff that matters to you.” 

You cast your face down, feeling guilty saddling her with your problems, but you ask her anyway, “So where do I go from here?” 

“Well, high blood pressure isn’t a big problem. You can manage it with changes in your lifestyle and your diet, or by relieving stress. Though, it goes without saying that I’d advise against going too close to any missions right now— just be on standby for support. And even if you’re on standby, just keep some distance unless you end up in the crossfire or get overly anxious about things. What I’m really worried about is why the reaction from your body was so adverse.” 

“But that doesn’t really matter,” you frown, “This part of my cursed technique is just something I have to live with. I’ll always have to go through some kind of pain every time I use it. This time just happened to be particularly bad on my body.” 

“You shouldn’t be viewing the pain as normal, [Name]. I also did an MRI scan on you that revealed that most of the bleeding probably came from your frontal lobe, so our current theory is that the severity of your cursed energy backfiring was due to that mark or seal being especially strong.”  

You keep your lips pursed, diverting your eyes from her. 

“You’ll be alright,” she assures, “I know it sounds lonely. But this is probably only a temporary issue. I’ll work with you on training your cursed technique, since your father told me it was similar to how I learned my reverse cursed technique. It may sound like BS coming out of me, but right now I just need you to take care of yourself better. At the end of the day, you still helped us figure out something new about Tsumiki’s condition. So now, rest.” 

“Okay, doctor,” you smile mildly, “Thanks.” 

“That Itadori boy said the same thing,” she goes, “That you made him feel less lonely. Man, maybe that’s your real power, being that kind of person for other people.” 

It’s the first time in hours that your chest has felt so warm. 

“Well, he’s one of the closest people to me.” 

“I can tell,” she smiles, an indecipherable depth in her eyes, “Hey, word of advice. When you have friendships like that? Hold on to it for the rest of your life. Don’t let that person go. Keep checking in on each other.” 

“Uh… yeah, sure. Of course,” you reply, a bit puzzled. “Well, I’ll try. I worry about him a lot, because it’s a given that he’s crazy. That’s why he ate the finger. But before that, I actually had this notion in my head, like: ‘Yuji can’t be a good Jujutsu sorcerer.’” 

“And why is that?” 

“He’s too good of a good person, and he would try to save people indiscriminately. Like some kind of hero. For people like us, we have to accept deaths and casualties sometimes because they’re just part of the job. It’s just the lot we drew in life. But for Yuji, I always had the feeling that if he misses even one person, he’d torture himself with guilt— and he’s strong. I know he’ll be able to save most people. Just not all of them And, well. I think that would make him break.” You say it as if proclaiming it any louder would be cursing him indefinitely to that kind of fate. 

“…Funny, I knew someone like that,” Dr Ieiri says with darkened eyes. You couldn’t tell what she was hiding from you, whether she’d been wanting to unleash a secret on you or not. “People like that are important in our lives. Especially with what we can do with the ‘curses’ we have.” 

“Yeah, I know. Yuji is really, really important to me. And from the start of this all, I’ve been thinking, ‘I want to protect him,’ because I just can’t handle that happening. I want to keep… taking care of him, because something could happen that—” 

“-that takes him away from you? If in any way he doesn’t need you anymore?” 

What? 

Ding ding ding—! “—oh, wait, that’s my phone. Sorry, I need to take this. Hello? Yes, yes. Understood. I’ll be right there,” she replies, switching personality modes entirely, while you’re left trying to navigate the maze she dropped you in with her words. “Apologies— I’ve got to go. I’ll come back, okay?” 

You nod your head meekly, watching her slip out of the room, but you’re still unsettled all over. 

“Until then— rest well. I think you’ll need it, doctor junior.” 

You don’t know how you should be feeling, but every part of you feels horrible. Your eyelids droop like an unwieldy weight, your head throbs as if it’s become a punching bag, and you don’t think your joints have ever ached so awfully in your life. Your throat hurts, too. Maybe you caught the flu as well. What happened to Tsumiki? What happened to you? Just what did Dr Ieiri mean, and what was she seemingly about to tell you? 

You spend the rest of the day asleep. 

27-6-2018 

You trudge out of bed feeling just as weak as you did the day before. The sun is up, scrutinising you from behind the curtains and shining so bright your head hurts. With a weak grip, you grab your toothbrush and head to the bathroom, having been reduced to a sluggish mess. 

“Hey,” Nobara greets you. You’re surprised someone can look so pretty even just after waking up. 

“Morning,” you momble. You can feel her eyes on you for a little while, almost as if she’s examining you somehow— it’s almost embarrassing, the way you’re hunched over in fatigue, a direct contrast to her beauty, fresh as a rose. It’s mortifying letting her see you like this. 

She asks if you feel better. You nod. 

“I should ask,” she starts, “Where’d you come from, actually? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

You pause to think, then answer her. “Growing up, we moved around a lot. I didn’t really have one place that I came from, but my parents’ hometown is Sendai. I don’t really consider it my home, though. —I mean, it felt like I was being juggled all around a few islands or towns in the countryside, only for my parents to come back to Sendai when I was in my last year of junior high,” you finish, clearing your throat after, “What about you?” 

“A village near Morioka. Filled with old people and old-fashioned people,” she says, then groans, “I hated it. It was always my dream to leave that place and come to Tokyo.” 

“Trust me, I understand the feeling,” you chuckle, “As a kid I lived in Tokyo for one year…” then you pause, “Things are much different when you’re younger. So I guess that’s what made it all the more magical. So much of my childhood can be condensed into that, it’s like the rest is fodder because I was never really doing much. Like, I wasn’t really living my life, I suppose.” 

“Aw, I get that. So much of my childhood was spent trying to end it,” Nobara says, “I was raised by my grandmother, since my parents weren’t really around. I mean, my mom left me, too. And the old hag was strict, and the countryside’s full of misogynistic sickos. Made living there even worse, so I’d always wanted to leave. I couldn’t understand city people’s craze for the countryside.” 

“Yeah, me neither…” you agree, knowing her feelings all too well.

Nobara stands up, her chest puffed out confidently like she’s about to brave some metaphorical storm, her hands in fists around her waist. “Hey, this stuff makes me feel kind of depressed. We should talk about something else!” 

“I don’t know what to talk about, though…” 

“Anything. But I don’t think we should talk about the countryside. I don’t wanna live there anymore anyway, and we’ll just be reaffirming the fact that we’re country bumpkins!” 

“Really? But you do strike me as a city girl. Even if we both didn’t come from the city, you really do seem like the metropolitan type. It’s like everything about you is so stylish, Nobara!” 

For a second she stops moving, like she’s been caught off-guard somehow. Yet her recovery comes faster than the bullet train she sat on during her journey to Tokyo, and she grins cheekily, flashing the prettiest gummy smile you’ve ever seen. “Thanks.” 

Not wanting the conversation to fill with awkwardness, you propose, “We should go shopping next time. I need to learn how to be more fashionable too.” 

“Then I’ll teach you all about it. We can go after that. You’ll look so pretty in all of those clothes!” 

“Really? I don’t really think I’m pretty, but I’d like that.”

“Oh, shut up,” she says sarcastically, “The pretty girls always don’t think they’re pretty, for some reason. Come on! Be confident! It’s going to be an actual problem one day if you don’t realise how much of a catch you are now! You’re literally drop-dead gorgeous!” 

“This is probably one of the first times somebody actually called me pretty,” you sheepishly admit. 

“I’m calling bullshit. Are you serious?” she leans in, closer to you. You don’t think many people have been this interested in you before, particularly about the way you look. It’s nice having this kind of attention on your face, shy as you are to confess it. 

“Yeah, I guess people never really said I was outright cute or anything like that…” 

“Ugh, people these days,” she shakes her head, “It’s just like how that guy didn’t scout me as a model earlier! They all just don’t know real beauty when they see it.” 

You giggle, “That sounds right, probably.” 

“Because I am right!” she passionately claims, “People all over the world are going to be oblivious to someone’s beauty in one way or another. But what we girls need to remember most is that we are pretty to ourselves and that’s all that matters. Right?” 

“Right,” you grin at her. 

29-6-2018

For the next few days, there is not much to do: you avoid Megumi like the plague, and he doesn’t visit you either— out of respect or apprehension, you don’t know. Yuji comes and goes to check on you, and so do Nobara and Gojo, while you crack down on Dr Ieiri’s borrowed biology books to improve your abilities. With every new topic you study, it’s as if things are back to the way they were, especially when you spent your summers sick and nearly bedridden, loneliness returning to you like an old friend. The promise of being here, with the other students, away from your parents— felt quite freeing, at first, though it guilts you to admit that with your mother’s condition. But now you find yourself essentially back at what resembles square one. 

So you haven’t changed a bit, really. 

Eventually, you’re allowed to leave the bed, but you feel so drained you spend hours in your bed anyway. 

“Got a call for you, your mom and dad,” Gojo says, peering from the door, “You okay to answer?” 

“Sure,” you press his phone to your ear, “Hello?” 

“[Name]?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I heard about what happened. While I have some words for you concerning what you did, I called you to tell you that you should probably come home for a while. Your mother is worried about something at the moment—” 

“Is that [Name]? I need to speak to her now,” your mother interjects, voice desperate and never having sounded so weak before. You ready yourself for a long, arduous lecture or five minutes straight of her screaming at you to take care of yourself. 

“Is she okay?” you ask. 

“Health-wise, she’s fine— better, actually. But this is about something else that both of us are worried about,” your father answers, before your mother snatches his phone.

“[Name], I just finished chemo and I’m really weak. But we need to talk to you about something concerning your safety. Come as soon as you can— come tomorrow!” 

“Give it back. She’ll be there, but I need you to come down. You can just hang up the phone now, [Name],” pulling the phone back to him, “But this matter is urgent— you really need to come.” 

“Okay. I’ll be there,” you reply, and things taper off into static silence before your father quiets the sound of his breathing from the phone with a beep, as if your mother was no longer there.

His anxiety hung steadily over his voice like a guillotine, to the point it was tangible through the phone. And you would have tried to get him to treat your mother better, to be gentler with her, especially when she was sick. Yet your head was done with this— being put through the wringer, the repeated cycle of worry and calm and worry, bleaching your brain and forcing it into a perpetually spinning washing machine. So, horrendous imagery aside, you just surrendered yourself temporarily, let people lay you out and do what they want with you for a while. Make the trip back home when your real home is gone. 

“Wow. Rough week, huh? You just got here, and now you’re going to be back there again,” Gojo chimes dryly. 

“…tell me about it.” 

“They’re always calling me and saying, ‘Gojo, is she safe?’, ‘Gojo, are you protecting her?’, you know.” 

You purse your lip. “So, still overprotective,” you sigh, “I’m sorry about that. I hope you can just ignore them, and that they’re not annoying you too much, because I thought that all of this would change after going here.” 

“Your parents love you a lot.” 

“I know,” you agree without thinking twice, “It’s just that growing up, I think they worried about me too much.” 

“You’re right about that,” Gojo says, leaning back, “But I guess I kind of get it now. I thought it was crazy how much they would fret over you when I was seventeen, but now that I’m older, I know that sixteen’s a young age. They overdo it sometimes… but I guess they also think that one day you may be too old to rely on or be protected by them anymore— especially because of the nature of Jujutsu Society. So, you should enjoy this part of being young, too.” 

It’s a stuffy room. Your eyes water a little, the dampness of sweat just barely noticeable on your skin. 

You thought that with how tired you were earlier, you’d be able to get to sleep much easier, fatigue seeping into your skull and carving bags under your eyes. But instead, it seems that you’re burdened with another sleepless night. 

The whole day was spent alone, Nobara off to explore the city and Yuji… well, you’d rather he be there with you, but you understand if he’s away for something more important. It’s not his obligation to care for you, and you bite back the thought screaming indignantly, ‘So why is it yours to take care of him?’ You don’t really want to think about what Megumi’s doing. 

‘I think you’re a lonely girl sometimes, too,’ Yuji had said. Yeah, it’s never going to go away. You’ll be lonely forever until you finally rot. Or something. That’s why personal usefulness to others became your doctrine. If you can’t fill the gap between you and others with closeness, fill it with obligation. 

You miss Tsumiki. That must be what’s keeping you up, you think. There’s a folder you kept like a treasure, of mementos and short messages and letters through all your life. More than three quarters of that is from Tsumiki, Megumi or both of them. Yuji never did much of that, instead ‘living in the moment’, even though he has the notes from the snacks your mother used to make you give him, back when your parents had just met and fallen in love with that sweet young man of your best friend. 

The clear folder hasn’t changed, but your thumbing over its edges halts when you remember that you kept your letter in there too. The one meant for Fushiguro Megumi. The one that had been plaguing your mind even before you went to see Tsumiki. You read through it again, the paper now slightly yellowed after excessive waiting, as if you expected anything different. 

You’ll pass it to him one day, you had thought. Now you don’t want to think of the matter entirely. 

It’s left on your desk, written side facing up. At this point you don’t care anymore if anyone were to read it. 

Knock, knock. Gentle rapping on the door. 

Lots of knocks on your door these few days. People seem to like entering your room a lot. 

Instead of a person, however, it’s a whimper that comes out from the other side of the door. A dog’s whimper. 

“Shiro!” you whisper-shout, “I’ll open the door.” 

It rushes to you, curls in a bundle of white fur around your legs. 

“Are Kuro and Megumi with you—” 

“…hey,” comes the emotionally stunted man’s stunted reply. Damnit. 

“…hi.” 

You both have this problem, dear goodness. Shiro slips back into Megumi’s shadow. 

“Can I come in?” 

You sigh exasperatedly, “Yeah… yeah, sure, for a while.” Awkward silence again. 

“Look, I’m kind of upset, still,” you rub your temples, “So if you don’t have much to say—” 

He steps into your room, closing the door behind him, his expression obscured surreptitiously, some secret he’s trying to keep. There’s a little paper bag in his right hand. The muscles in his left hand clench and tighten and his fingers curl inwards ever so slightly, as if he’s trying to hold on to something, but all he has in it is the air that’s been flowing through the open windows. 

“Sorry, was I, uh, was I disturbing you?” 

“You know what? No, it’s okay. I was about to sleep. You wanted to tell me about something?” 

He places the bag on your bedside table, then pauses, his face still away from yours. 

“...Look, Megumi, I’ve got a lot of things on my mind right now—”

He slumps, all the aloof sturdiness in his body crumbling like sandcastles hit by thrashing waves. There seems to be a kind of frailty in the way his body slightly shakes when he starts to open his mouth and his hands reach to massage his temples— vulnerability you’d still never expect from a person who, up until a while ago, could seem so unreachable and distant, superior in every way yet so dear to you.

There are people who think that weakness wrecks the impression of strength that a person gives. But they’re wrong, and he’s never seemed stronger. To see him like this, to see him sleeping next to you, to see him baring his heart and soul, probably for the first time in the many years you’ve known him— you think that he must have been as scared as you were. 

You don’t know the extent to which he must have gone through, waiting for the most important person in his life to wake up, not knowing if she would, waiting and waiting and waiting; he’s just like you and he always has been. 

When he frowns, throws his head down in shame, he looks so small, no longer the back you gazed at when he was guiding you to places, no longer the shadow you had admired and depended on back then. Your lips purse, then tremble with guilt; you can’t bear to see him torture himself with these things any longer. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, pushing his face deeper into his palm and fingers. “When you fainted, I was worried. I was so, so worried. I didn’t know what to do, thinking I had lost you. I’m sorry. For everything.” 

It’s strange whenever it hits you in the face, that someone can care for you of all people this much. You’re nine times less eloquent and succinct when you’re around him. He’s about to up that number to nine thousand. With a million words in the gap between you and him, you decide to utter the first few. 

It’s silly and jejunely self-centered, the way he’s baring these long-stashed-away feelings to you, bringing shadows into direct daylight, only for you to think, This kind of sounds like shoujo manga. 

“I’m okay,” you say, gingerly patting his back, “I know that it was reckless of me. I know that I shouldn’t have done something like that, especially when I already knew the consequences to my health. I was mad at you at first for not telling me, but I mean— I can understand now,” 

“No, no it’s not your fault,” he whispers, “You were trying to help her, and I had never told you about these things before, and I saw you fall— I’m so sorry—”

“You know that I— I told you that I’ve forgiven you already, Megumi.”

Voice soft, like he can’t even bear to hear it himself. “Not just that. I wrong you all the time, and you always forgive me.” 

That strikes a nerve. “You sound like you’re wallowing in self-guilt,” you snap, “Stop trying to crucify yourself, would you?” 

About 20% of that was meant to hurt— you didn’t think your answer through, but this just frustrated you. There’s about 40% of patience you have left for this circus, first with neither Gojo or Megumi telling you about this, second with the fact that they couldn’t trust you with it: the weight of the situation upon you, or its secrecy between them, you didn’t really care. They had just upped and made that decision for you already, that you couldn’t be privy to this. 

Megumi freezes. 

You gasp, the brutality in your voice hitting you. “I’m sorry—”  

The paper bag crinkles as a gust of wind from the windows pushes past it. 

You pull him near you, your hand on his, even if you’re still facing the ground. 

“I’m just frustrated, Megumi,” you sigh, then angle your face to his, your stare burning into him as permanently as engravings on wood. “Hey. Look at me.” 

“...yes,” he answers, defeatedly bowing his head down again. 

“Then don’t apologise anymore. You keep asking me to forgive you, as if every time I promise you something, I’m lying to you. Please listen. If you care about honesty, then let me give you honesty.” 

Your feel heat rise in your chest, tears bubbling up and yourself about to overflow with emotion, “I know in the past, those apologies must have made me prideful, in a way, like some form of catharsis, but I know now that I can say this,” you continue, “I know that you aren’t some burden on my back. I do want you in my life. That’s why I spent so long waiting for you, right?

“I was livid when I found out about Tsumiki’s condition. I’d never felt so…downright infuriated by someone in my entire life, which says a lot, considering I waited for you for years with the loyalty of a street dog. I was just so mad at that moment that you had never told me about any of this— that nobody tells me about nearly anything. I kept thinking that I was always the outsider, and that you people just— never trust me or tell me things, and then you let guilt and whatever you have of your own psychological problems eat you up from the inside. It made me feel so lonely and frustrated, because I knew I could help somehow, but I could never decide to do so because you just wouldn’t allow me to. If you’re going to hold all that weight on your own, you’ll crumble under it. I just thought, if things are going to be that way, can’t I help you hold that up too?” 

“I—”

Deep breaths, in and out, emotional maturity, communication. That’s what matters. 

Tears are burning at the side of your eyes. 

Even if neither of you excel at it, you need it now. Nobara’s confidence, your parents’ structured way of speaking, Gojo’s apathy to social reservations, Yuji’s social intelligence. Even Maki’s tell it like it is advice, which you’re thankful for to this day. You don’t exactly need to be this way with him, you think; you could blow up in front of him and vent all of your frustrations. He would take it. 

But you want to, you really, really do. For his sake and his sake only, you want to be gentle with him, as difficult as it is for you. 

You don’t think you’ve ever tried so hard to stop crying, even with the experiences you had growing around your parents. 

Like defeating that first curse, there’s calmness in adrenaline and emotional messes; you need to gather the storm of thoughts methodically, assiduously. Your voice rebounds against the wall as you continue your little soliloquy, Megumi standing against your bedroom door as he remains downcast. 

“We both love Tsumiki. Even if I doubted things in the past I’m confident I can say it was always the three of us, at least in my head, because the two of you were just that much important to me. If you still have, at the very least, the respect to honour that relationship, then let me share these kinds of burdens. If you have issues, tell me about them, so we can shoulder them together. I don’t know if it hurts for you to hear this, but it’s the objective truth: stop treating things like they’re exclusively your issues.” 

Because he looks a mix of a) affronted since you said the truth, b) insulted since he feels accused and c) shocked at your sudden show of maturity, you sigh again. “Okay? So no more ‘you’re indebted to me’, ‘I should not be forgiven’, nonsense. I know that you feel responsible for this stuff. And you are. It’s endearing and so characteristic of you to be like this, because you’re… a good person, no matter how you argue otherwise. And a selfless idiot, too. It’s like you always don’t think you’re worth much to people. Things aren’t like that!” 

“But you’re wrong. How can you of all people say—”

“Let me finish.” Then you add, sheepishly and mindlessly, “What I mean to say is, I’ll keep being here. I’ll stay with you. So we need to shoulder this kind of weight together.” 

No words, speechless. You robbed them from him the moment you opened your mouth and freed your truth. 

“You’re an important person to me. I hope you know that.” 

Emotions cycle through his face: anguish, conflict, guilt, shame, clarity. 

You hold out your hand, eyes still boring into his. “So will you let me handle those burdens with you?” 

He finds it, wraps his fingers around yours, with all the tenderness of coming home, and looks straight at you. 

“Okay,” he says. 

For those few moments it’s nothing but silence. The moonlight glowing against his skin, the dull humming of cicadas in the school compound, the moment being wholly yours. You can hear the highs and lows of his breathing, see the rise of his chest slightly peek out from his shirt, feel how warm and comforting his hands are. 

This is the closest you have ever felt to another person. 

You had never put much thought into your future. But would it be wild to say you would like to have this forever? 

You wonder how he feels, looking at you the same way you look back at him. 

…

Bark! Bark! 

Shiro emerges, white fur jumping by the door knob. 

“The door? Why, you want me to open it for you?” 

At your dismay, you retract from Megumi, open the door, then turn to the boy, who’s avoiding eye contact. “Hey, if you want to leave the room, just tell me. You don’t have to summon them behind my back…” 

“Did you give it to her yet?” you hear over the thrumming of your own heartbeat. Behind the turn of the walkway outside your room, Nobara and Yuji’s heads sprout up. 

“I need to give you this,” still flustered, Megumi holds a bag up in the air like they’re sacred offerings, as if he’s sorting out a truce. “Strawberry cake from a shop in Tokyo.” 

“Huh?” 

“…it tastes like the one we made in the past.” 

“…wait. So while I was here the whole day— I was actually studying, mind you— you were out trying cake?” 

He scratches his neck guiltily. “Kugisaki’s orders. She recommended a few places to… cheer you up. Itadori came along and paid for half of everything.”

“And the other half?” 

“…”

“Gojo’s money?” 

“Yeah.” He’s not even ashamed. 

“They thought I did something to upset you… and that it ended with you getting sick for some reason. Next thing I knew I was getting shoved around Tokyo.” 

“I mean…” 

“…wanna have it for supper?” 

You get into hysterics from the absurdity of it all— the image of the three of them scouring through Tokyo for strawberry cake, before Megumi had come into your room looking like a miserable, sopping wet stray dog. 

“Yeah, sure. Let’s— pft— let’s go have supper.”  

The two of you walk side by side to the students’ shared dining table, ready to prop the bag on it and feast at heaven-knows-what-time at night (or morning?), before you’re caught off-guard by the other two. Nobody had ever done something like this before for you, whether you were sick or healthy. You didn’t think that it was possible for someone to do this for you, of all people. For all the goodness of you and Yuji’s closed-up friendship, nothing like this had been done before on either his or your end. 

“Did it work?” Nobara and Yuji ask in unison. 

“Yep. Thanks, guys,” you blink away the tears starting to form, “This was really sweet of you all. Sorry for the outburst, and, you know, the trouble—” 

“Don’t apologise!” Nobara says, “Come on, take a seat. [Name], next time, if Fushiguro does something to make you mad again, tell us and we’ll give him the beatdown of the century.” 

“Uh—” 

“Aw, man,” Yuji interrupts, “Sorry, Fushiguro. I’ll go easy on you—” 

“Yeah, no,” Megumi replies sharply, with the same frown he’s always had. 

Things will be better. They’ll get better soon, and Tsumiki is going to wake up. And when she does, you’ll be so happy to see her smile again. 

You hope you can make her proud of the person you’ve become. You take another bite, feeling that you weren’t so lonely after all. 

30-6-2018 

The two of you sleep in your bed tonight— he’s covered the blanket over you this time. When you greet him in the morning, your health feels good as new. Your body aches less when you gaze into his eyes, and they’ve never seemed so vibrantly green before, like a forest in summer. 

“Today is going to be a good day,” you declare, though it sounds like a promise. 

“It is,” he agrees. 

“I’m going to go see my parents today, but I’m dreading it a lot less than I thought. I mean, I’m worried about my mom, but they said this was about something else— an ‘urgent matter’. I really should be more worried, and normally I would be panicking right now,” you grin, “But I’m just… not.” 

“Well, if it’s a big burden…” Megumi trails off, bashfully scratching his neck, although his back is facing you as he speaks, “...you could share the news with me, whatever it ends up being.” 

You haven’t grinned so widely in your entire life, you think, giddy on the feeling you can’t quite name yet as you sit up against the bedframe, tidying up the pillows behind you, “Yeah. I definitely will.” 

He starts to pull the mattress covers, and you ask that you let him help you with the making of your own bed, the two of you pulling opposite corners of the blanket as you face each other. 

You exhale, light and free, “I feel like we’ve overcome a big obstacle, somehow.” You’re too giddy and light off this feeling to look at him directly, so you busy yourself with focusing on making the bed. 

“Is that so?” he goes, though you don’t miss the subtle blush on his face when you gaze up at him for a moment out of instinct. “Why is that?” 

“Yeah,” you say, still not facing him, “Like… no more secrets. Now all we need to do together is wait for Tsumiki to wake up.” 

“She will,” he replies affirmatively, “I know she will.” 

He inhales. When things happen between you, in your own world and space— they don’t go unnoticed. They never have. You watch the rise and fall of his chest, anticipating what he’ll say next. 

“Kugisaki, Itadori and I have been sent on a mission,” he states, “Just to make a report— they told us not to fight with any curses, unless they were grade two or lower.” 

“Stay safe then,” you remind him. “What about Gojo?” 

“No. Gojo’s busy with something else.”

“Oh, I see,” you neatly tuck the bedsheets in, military-style. 

“I just wanted to ask,” he begins. 

“Yeah?” 

“If your condition gets better by the end of today, and if you don’t mind it… and if you have the time, I mean, this is in case we end up spending a lot of time there. I wouldn’t want you to be hurt either—” 

“You want me to be there to heal you guys after you’re done?” 

“Yeah. Um,” he clears his throat, “For, like, the minor scrapes and bruises. Not anything else, please.” 

He’s shy only when he has to ask for help, still. “I can stay the whole time if you want me to—” 

He brings his finger to your wrist, as if he’s about to pinch it, but settles on poking you instead (it feels like a light tap). “No, I’d rather you rest.” 

“But—” 

“No. Just… I just want you to be there,” he croaks out unconfidently, phrasing his uncertain words like a question, “When the mission ends? After you’re done seeing your mother.” 

“Alright,” you sigh. “But I think this may take a while. My parents told me it was something important,” you clarify. 

He pats your pillow, fluffing it up. “Then are you sure you’ll be safe?” 

“I don’t know, Megumi,” you admit, “But it’s just supposed to be a trip to my mom’s hospital in Sendai. No cursed energy or cursed happenings involved here.” 

“Don’t overexert yourself.,” Megumi ghosts his hand over yours, “… I don’t want to see you collapsed on the infirmary bed again.” 

You reach out to grab a hold of his finger, squeezing it. “I won’t.” 

[Megumi] Could you notify me when you’re at the hospital Or let me know when you’re done You can call or text, either is fine

[Name] I’ll be fine dont worry i’ll just let u know if i’m done earlier and can head to you with this train the journey is only like 1.5hrs long

[Megumi]  Do you feel less sick today Yuji and Nobara are asking if you want any snacks or food And if we finish earlier than you we can get some for you first

[Name] woww that is so sweet, thank you yuji and nobara I am okay, dont worry I feel a lot better especially after the cake thank you

[Megumi] TJIS IS YHJI SO HAPPTYOU”RE FELEINMH BETTER SROry MOVING CAR  NOBARBSD TRYIGNH tOT AKE THE PJHONr

HII [NAME] GLAD YOU’RE FEELING BETTERRR! <333 (NOBARA) STAY SAFE OKAYY <33 

[Name] ohh thank you so much everyone <3 please stay safe don’t overexert yourself take care of yourselves

[Megumi]  okayyy yes maam!!! ( yujfjji) yes mama <3 - nobara I finally have my phone back. Stay safe

[Name] I will, you too

[Megumi] … 

You’re on the Shinkansen giggling as you read through the texts on your phone. It’s the first time you’ve ever had a group of friends this big, and felt actively included in it. They all got on so well, even if they had just met. The dots flash across the little text bubble as you anticipate Megumi’s reply. 

None of this would have ever seemed possible a few years ago, when you felt as if you’d be lonely forever. 

It’s an honest confession: life feels better now. 

[Megumi] Remember to take care of yourself I want you to take care of yourself  Can you keep that in mind I want you to be careful

[Name] okay I’ll remember see you later

[Megumi] See you 

yayy we're done! I explained this better here, but basically the next chapter, which I'll try to post soon, is the last chapter of 'part 1'. this fic is part of a bigger (and longer....) series. I've actually briefly planned the ending of the whole series since chapter 2 or 3 of this fic? and I plan to release that ending in time with the jjk anime ending rolling around... at the heart of the matter, I just wish that whoever reads my fics is as happy as I felt writing them. I know I'm not a very good writer, so for even one person to enjoy what I write, I feel overjoyed! so, thank you so much for everything. I love you guys so much!

taglist:

@bakananya, @sindulgent666, @shartnart1, @lolmais, @mechalily, @pweewee, @notsaelty, @nattisbored

He snaps back to consciousness. 

There was so much to tell you; every moment he had with you, he bit back his unspoken words until he damn well must have choked on them. 

Megumi was stupid as a kid, and he still is now. Life could have thrown whatever the hell it wanted at him but all he needed to do was go back to you, and he knew you’d be there, smiling, never changing. You’d be the same, as long as you still had that part of you whose eyes shined whenever you grinned or laid your heart bare with kindness. 

The world is dark and bleak, for Jujutsu sorcerers and people alike. People are cruel— lives are based on transaction, souls are driven by greed and animalistic desires, the longest-standing of creeds always grow corrupted when tainted by the most human hands. And it’s just what he has to do, fighting in battles every day and surrendering himself to a lifetime of agony just because he happened to be the unlucky swimmer his deadbeat father ruined his stranger of a mother with. He doesn’t know how Gojo does it sometimes, even if he won’t admit it— all the crosses to bear, the heaviness of the crown he wears, plastered over with a botched mask of vaguely concealed suffering and patchwork smiles. 

Yet whenever you stood in front of him it was as if all his demons went away, dissipated by pure sunlight. With you in the world, in his life— he could believe things could change for the better somehow, as if you were the one unattainable key to stopping a long-wrought prophecy. 

And he’d think there was some meaning to being good, good like Tsumiki, who constantly kept you in mind, who laid before him because he failed to protect her, who raised and cared for him despite being a child herself. He’d lost hope in the world when she went comatose— all he wanted was to bring her back. 

But the moment he saw you again he began to have hope. You came back to him like an incipient spring at the end of winter. 

And now he sees you, pale and feverish, unconscious in his arms, and it reminds him of tree branches only laden with snow bare of leaves. There’s blood running from your nose, stark contrast from your pallor and the rate at which your skin seems to be greying. 

His head is swimming— you had been cold to the touch even before this and now you were colder. The way your eyes had shut seemed as if you were emulating Tsumiki on that hospital bed. 

There is nothing, nothing to do— he’s failed to protect you, to put a stop to your stubbornness and utter love for his sister, and know he’s paying the price by letting time pass as he struggles to breathe while thinking of how your breathing will sound once it goes on its death rattle. And he could say that this was the problem with the Good, and it is, but you wouldn’t be you, the you who has him pleading with deities he does not believe in, if you weren’t Good. 

Nothing. Nothing he can do. He can’t breathe. His chest hurts like it’s closing in on himself. He feels like throwing up. Blurry spots seize his vision. Is he dying now? It would make sense if he died only because you did. But he might as well just die now anyway. He can’t live in a world without you in it. 

He needs to get a hold of himself; get a damn grip he must’ve spoken aloud, so he brings you closer, closer enough that he can have his mouth on your forehead and hear your subdued breaths as they fight their way out of you. Your blood streams down from your nose, and he wishes you never had the curse of being isolated; the life you live deems that there can be none to heal the healers. 

But he has to leave now. Even if adrenaline is the only thing compelling his legs forward, even if your breathing is steadily growing weaker and weaker. The hospital lights are usually glaring but he’s staring at them head-on without any ache in his eyes, pupils dilated. You’re still in his arms when he leaves the building and it’s like he’s growing colder. There’s a churning in his stomach, blood glucose concentration heightened and his skin growing in pallor, and he needs to get you to Dr Ieiri soon if it’s the last thing he does, so he slips into the shadows and runs and runs and runs. 

He’s still panting by the time he reaches her office, shivering as he practically blabbers, struggling to form coherent sentences. 

“Megumi! Hey! Kid! Calm down,” she commands, cigarette falling from her mouth, “Put her on the table first. Okay? Now, take a deep breath. She’ll be fine. Keep your mind where your feet are.” 

“She fell when she touched Tsumiki—” he chokes out, “We went— it was my fault— I—” 

“Breathe,” Dr Ieiri repeats, placing her hand firmly on his shoulder, the smell of cigarette smoke thick in the air. “Stuff like this can happen, this is just some kind of freak accident, like the type of case where all the bad stuff can happen at the same time. She’ll be fine. Her chest is still moving, see? She’s breathing, too.” She presses her thumb on your wrist. “Her pulse is a little weak, but she’ll be fine. Nothing I can’t fix.” 

Megumi inhales deeply, heart still racing. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it.” 

“I’m not,” she reassures him, instructing him to sit by you. Her hands lay gingerly over your forehead, and it’s very seldom that the doctor seems so solemn. He spectates the way the cursed energy flows into you, coursing through your brain. “Huh. That’s pretty worrying— but she’ll be fine.” 

“What’s wrong? Is she going to survive?” 

“I promise you,” Dr Ieiri looks at him, placing her hand on his arm in reassurance, “She’s my student, and she’s strong. She’ll be perfectly alright after this.” 

She then hovers her gloved hand over your head. “She overexerted herself, basically. Her brain started bleeding internally.” 

Megumi shoots up from his seat. “Wh—” 

“I can heal her, don’t worry. It’ll just take her body some time to continue healing itself,” Dr Ieiri says, then sighs. “Cell manipulation is effective in the sense that it can perform targeted healing quickly, and the potency of that healing can be trained and learned. In that way, it’s better than what I can do for her. It’s just that it comes with a massive drawback with insufficient training, since it harms the user and strains their brain. She trains every day, but it’s with slight cuts or nosebleeds, never things as major as this. This isn’t even something her father could train himself to heal, and after his retirement his skills have faded— I can heal her, but there’s no getting around the fact that she needs enough rest time for an easy recovery.” 

Reversed cursed technique flows through the room, the subtle warmth of it in the air growing stronger by your skull. “Could you do a few favours for me, Megumi? They’re for her.” 

Megumi nods, reluctantly sitting himself back down. 

“Over the course of her recovery, make sure she’s eating well and drinking well. Feed her stuff she likes, and make sure she gets lots of sleep. Once she starts feeling better, encourage her to ease her brain back into how it feels to use its cursed technique by doing some light training on minor fractures or wounds, but be present throughout in case something major happens again.” 

“Okay.” 

Gojo wakes him up first. 

“Megumi,” his teacher says, hand on his shoulder, “She’s going to be perfectly fine. I’ll have a word with her about how reckless she was once she wakes up. Just go on first.” 

“No, I need to stay—” 

“Megumi, go. I know you have regrets about however you may have treated her in the past. I know how much you care about her. But you’ve been staying here for hours. Take a break, Megumi. Yuji and Nobara are worried about you.” 

Megumi scoffs. “We’ve only known each other for less than a month. They wouldn’t—” 

“I need you to either walk out of the room now, or I’ll have to bring you out myself,” Gojo pushes. “Look, I know how important she is to you. You want to redeem yourself and make her feel better? All I can say now is that you make sure she knows her value to you. When she wakes up, show her how much you actually care about her— let her see it.” 

Megumi walks out of the room, senses not working right. He slips into his shadow. 

This is a scene from his dreams: you awaken, and without any fear or worry in the world, you curl into his touch. In his dreams, every day is perfect, and every day you are with him. 

thank you for reading!!! I recommend you read chapter 10 right after this.

taglist:

@bakananya, @sindulgent666, @shartnart1, @lolmais, @mechalily, @pweewee, @notsaelty, @nattisbored

kyle rushes back after he’s done with today’s tasks. new york city, buried in its slumber, is oblivious to green lantern as a flurry of energy follows behind him, until he’s back in a dingy apartment that’s only maintained by you. this whole week he’s conjured up his sketchbook and pencil with the ring, drawing you more than fifty times— which is a new record, according to hal. the strokes to form your features and the shading of your face under the sunlight have been ingrained into his brain like second nature. he’s passed through the stratosphere, and now by air planes, skyscrapers and the like. from his ring he constructs a bouquet of flowers— they’re the ones you love, save for the fact that it’s completely green and would disintegrate once kyle willed it to.

“hey, honey,” he goes, landing on the balcony.

“hi.”

kyle holds the flowers out. “here, for you.”

“oh, my favourite,” you smile. constructs are translucent, so when you keep a petal between your index and your thumb, you can see through the bouquet.

“couldn’t get you the real ones, though.”

“the real ones aren’t my favourite anymore,” you say, “it’s these ones, specifically.”

his heart overflows with adoration at that, nearly bursting. “sorry I was gone so long. I didn’t get to tell you, but something came up, and I had to be gone for a few days, I—”

“it’s okay. I’m happy you’re back,” you reply, “by the way, I told them to extend your deadline because of a family emergency, so I hope that’s okay with you. —oh, and I was about to sleep. are you tired?”

he glances around. the kitchen counter is all pristine and clean, his and your room tidied and the bedsheets freshly washed.

“no, no I’m okay,” he says, voice instantly getting softer, “thanks for taking care of everything,” he continues as he kisses your forehead, “you should go rest. I’ll handle whatever else is left in the morning, I promise.”

“you don’t have to promise anything,” you comment, “if you don’t know if you can keep it, it’s okay. being a hero is important.” gently, you pull him into a tender embrace, until the two of you are swaying from side to side a little, languidly and smoothly, and the ring changes him from his uniform to the shirt he was wearing a week ago. he strokes your hair. for the past week he’s been green lantern, a hero, a soldier, a member of the corps and the justice league, and now all he is is a man who wants to be home. a man who’s happy he’s returned to you now.

“is it tiring, having to pick up after me like this?”

you shake your head. “not in a bad way. it makes me feel exhausted, but I still want to do it. you come back at night when I’m asleep and leave in the morning when I’m barely awake, but I can understand. they say that when things are sparse you appreciate them more, so you just become more precious to me.”

“but if it tires you out—”

“then you can help me do it tomorrow. I’m not going to leave,” you reassure him, “not now. I don’t think I will until you want me to, because I’m taking the chance that you feel the same way. to me that’s what this is about. so always remember that I’ll stay here.” you turn your head, looking up at him, boring into his eyes, sweet and brown like chocolate. “—hey, that was good. I think I summed it up pretty succinctly. it was good, right?”

“yeah,” he agrees, “it really was.”

his hand slides down to the small of your back, rubbing it over with his palm. “I love you.”

“I love you too, kyle. let’s go to sleep.”

tomorrow, he’s going to stay. he’ll go pick up the clothes from the dry cleaners, and then he’ll draw until he makes his deadline. he’ll coax you back to sleep when you wake up, and kiss your eyelids when you do. he’ll ride the subway and hold the handle wishing it’s your hand in his, then he’ll come back and make sure there’s breakfast ready on the stove for you.

when he was younger, he would have ruined it in some way— jumped to conclusions, taken you for granted, or something. he’s in his thirties now, and he hasn’t felt his hand without the weight of the ring or the burden of green lantern in ages. you’re his respite from all of that. and in the past, he wouldn’t have wanted to keep you chained, would have let you go somehow.

now he’s different, perhaps wisened by age or by being with you, someone akin to a steady stream of water, ever stable and calm. it’s good for him, and now he knows that it’s not the time to let you go. he knows he can change, to be more fluid the same way you are, to hold on to you and mold himself into someone who can support you and not shackle you. you said not to make promises, so he won’t. the last one he makes is the only one he needs, the one he’ll always keep. that he’ll always be there for you, that you’re all he ever needs these days.

the next morning he leaves the bed only to start cooking in the kitchen. not to set out into the galaxy, or to the watchtower, or to oa. just to the kitchen in your tiny shared apartment, or to his workstation so that he can get his next paycheck. his fingers brush through your hair a little, and the callouses from his pencil and art supplies graze against your cheek and lip. you’re still asleep.

he decides he’ll save the money in the bank (he guesses age has taught him how to be a little smarter with money, too) for the right time to spend it on you or on buying a better place. then when things are settled enough, he’ll finally be able to put that ring on your finger.

for now, though, he’s satisfied that he has this. so he’ll do everything to show you that; to make sure that you feel just as lucky.

some notes about this short piece

I actually like kyle a lot. he’s my favourite green lantern and probably my second favourite dc character of all time. however, I haven’t actually read a lot of his stuff.

right now I’m reading his 90s issues, and they’re really fun to read. but I’ve also read kyle rayner and the omega men, and I’m not sure if it’s ooc or not, but there was such a big gap in personality from his 90s comics and the omega men. I wanted to touch it on it a little, which was what I mentioned here.

still, although this piece may be ooc, I hope you enjoy it either way. I enjoyed writing it a lot, and I really do love kyle