Archive of Our Own

☸︎

The flowers in Yuuji’s hands are green. He’d picked them up on his way back to his house, at the same flower shop he’s been going to for years. The woman at the counter, whom Yuuji has known since she was twelve, had been quick to put together a bouquet of green chrysanthemums when he’d walked in. He’s asked for the same thing once a year every year. She knows him by name and order.

The chrysanthemums are light, closer to the color of a budding plant than the deep jade he was looking for, but he didn’t mention it as he placed a few bills in her frail, wrinkled hand. He’s never been able to find the shade he wants, but he makes it a point to ask every year. The chrysanthemums are the most common outcome. 

He holds the bouquet in his left hand as he unlocks the door to the house and opens it. It’s dark, but he doesn’t bother turning on the lights. He finds that he prefers them off these days. 

(Though—these days implies a shorter time frame. Yuuji supposes it’s different for other people.) 

He drops his luggage in the genkan, removes his coat and shoes, and brings the flowers to the kitchen to put them in water. While he fills a vase, he notices that the counters are dusty. 

The whole house is probably dusty. He hasn’t been here in a while. He’ll have to clean—though he’s not sure there’s a point to it. He’ll be leaving again soon enough. 

Yuuji places the flowers in the vase once he’s filled it and brings it to the living room. On the mantle, there are nine candles. Yuuji puts the vase between them and the picture frame beside them, then grabs a nearby lighter. 

He’s pleasantly surprised that the house hasn’t been touched by time, or sorcerers, or whatever. It should’ve been the first place anyone checked in their search for him, but he supposes it's common knowledge that he doesn’t stay here anymore. Or maybe the memory that Yuuji once lived here has been wiped away with the rest of him, left behind in a time that doesn’t welcome him anymore. Whatever the reason may be, Yuuji is thankful the house hasn’t been tampered with. Not that it’s anything to keep watch over, but the mantle is important. It’s the only reason he ever comes back. 

He lifts the lighter and lights the candles one by one. It’s the only source of light in the house. Yuuji has gotten used to the darkness, especially here, so it’s always a bit of a surprise when the candlelight fills the room. 

He sighs, kneels before the mantle, and bows his head. 

He doesn’t pray—he never does. He’s not religious. His grandfather was, but he was more low-key about it. Yuuji suspected it was out of habit rather than devoted belief. He once followed in his footsteps; there was a point in time when he looked to a higher power, but he’s fallen out of practice with it. It all seems irrelevant now, anyway.

Instead of praying, he thinks. He remembers. He flips through years and years of memories; of days spent in this house when it used to be a home; of soft kisses shared in the darkness of night; of a love of old, born through more than one hardship and fought for with too much blood and too many tears. 

Yuuji regrets, too. But that’s not unusual. 

Sometimes, he wishes he could pray. He supposes that, even if he doesn’t have a god to follow, he still has many people to pray to, but he can’t find the words within himself. 

Over a hundred years, and he has nothing to show for it. Nobara would be disappointed. Everyone would, for that matter. 

Yuuji glances up at the urn on the mantle. Today, it seems to be mocking him.

☸︎

Then

Shoko is not emotionless when she breaks the news to Yuuji. There’s a furrow in her brow and a slight shake in her words; likely the product of the camaraderie they’ve formed over the last ten years. 

Megumi is there too. He tenses from where he sits next to Yuuji. Yuuji only looks down. He’s suspected this for a while, anyway. This is only a confirmation. 

“So—” he starts. He clears his throat and looks back up at Shoko. “So I can age, right? It’ll just be slow?” 

Shoko scrunches her face. “That’s the thing, Yuuji-kun. This is all uncharted territory. To be completely honest with you, I have no idea. The most hopeful thing I can tell you is that yes, you’ll age, just slowly, but…” 

She trails off. Yuuji knows what she means. 

“But there’s a chance that I won’t at all,” he says. Shoko nods grimly.  

“We don’t exactly know what you are anymore. After you consumed the death paintings, we can assume that you became part-curse, and no longer age like a human.” She points at a picture on one of the papers she’d handed Yuuji when he first walked in—him, four years ago, looking exactly the same as he does now—and continues. “Though it is clear that you have grown since you were fifteen, so I wouldn’t say that you’re not human anymore. Just… not fully.”

Yuuji nods at her. He feels numb. He reaches out to his side, where he knows Megumi is; Megumi grabs his hand the moment they make contact, five fingers curling tightly around Yuuji’s three. 

Shoko looks down at their hands, then at their faces. She sighs. 

“I’ll let you two look at the papers, alright? Let me know if you need anything.” She pushes the papers on the desk closer to Yuuji and walks out of the room. The second the door closes, Megumi crumples into Yuuji. Yuuji stares straight forward and wraps an arm around Megumi’s back. He’s shaking. Yuuji breathes out. 

“At least you won’t have to kill me, right?” 

His voice is hollow when he says it, stripped of his normal expression. He looks down at Megumi, tries to crack a smile—

Megumi looks back up at him with the most devastated expression Yuuji thinks he’s ever seen. He doesn’t speak. His lips are parted, a shaky breath passing through them, but he’s silent. 

Yuuji’s heart drops past the floor. “Megumi,” he starts, voice still rough. Megumi dips his face into his chest and curls into him. Yuuji leans over him, like if he moves, Megumi will burst. And then it hits him. 

Immortality. 

Yuuji can’t die, at least not from age. He’s 28, but he still looks the same as he did at 23. He’s going to outlive everyone he knows. He—he’s going to watch them all die—

“Megumi,” Yuuji breathes. “Megumi, I don’t—we’re—”

They’ve only been married for two years. 

Yuuji’s chest caves in. He falls into Megumi, and they collapse onto the floor together. Tears fall from Yuuji’s eyes in rapid succession, and he can’t do anything to stop them. 

“We—” Megumi chokes. He’s not handling this any better. “We can figure this out, Yuuji. It’s not the end.”

“But it will be,” Yuuji says into Megumi’s hair. “Megumi, I’m not—I can’t—”

Megumi lets out a rattling sigh below him. He tightens his grip around Yuuji. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Over and over again. Yuuji feels the desperation more than he hears it. It’s no more calming to him than it is to Megumi; a comfort to neither, but a noise made of grief nonetheless. 

When they retire to their apartment, they don’t make it to the bedroom. Yuuji falls onto their couch with a blank expression and ghosts in his eyes, and Megumi sits beside him and rubs his back. They don’t speak until Yuuji can’t stand the touch anymore—a first—because the warmth of Megumi’s hand only stands as a reminder that it’s all fleeting. One day, Megumi will die, and Yuuji will live on. 

He shies away from Megumi that night, a regret that will follow him into the eternity he’s cursed with. Megumi lets Yuuji push him away, but he stays near, because he knows Yuuji better than anybody else. He knows what Yuuji’s pain looks like, his love, his hatred. 

This kind of grief, though—it doesn’t fit in any box. There is no name for the heaviness in mourning a living person, in knowing the ending before the exposition. 

In time, Yuuji will feel immense, indescribable shame about this, but his relationship with Megumi becomes strained. The love he feels never dampens; if anything, it grows into something unbearable. He begins spending nights on the couch two weeks after the conversation with Shoko, because he stops sleeping properly. While he lies awake, he stares at Megumi’s face, and his brain likes to imagine invisible wrinkles on it. 

He decides that Megumi deserves better than to lie with a blubbering mess. So he pulls himself out of Megumi’s grasp and retreats to the couch. 

Megumi only notices the fourth time because it’s not unusual for Yuuji to wake up early and go for a run or make breakfast. He wakes in the deep of night and makes his way to the living room, where Yuuji is curled up, arms wound tightly around himself. Megumi sits on the floor before him and leans his head back against Yuuji’s knees. When Yuuji wakes up, Megumi is asleep there. 

His brows are furrowed, even in unconsciousness. Yuuji reaches down without thinking and smooths the wrinkle between them. Megumi wakes. He doesn’t jump or scare, just looks up at Yuuji with half-lidded eyes. 

“Will you come back to bed?” he asks after a long pause. 

Yuuji doesn’t answer him. He just stands up and lets Megumi guide him to the bedroom. 

Megumi lies back on the bed, his arms outstretched, and Yuuji falls into them. Megumi tangles his fingers in Yuuji’s hair and turns so they’re both on their sides. 

“You can wake me, y’know,” he murmurs. “When it gets bad.”

Yuuji buries his face in Megumi’s chest so he doesn’t have to face him. 

It’s not the last time. 

Sleeplessness finds him more often. Yuuji seeks the couch almost nightly. When Megumi wakes, searching for warmth, he finds Yuuji’s side of the bed cold. He, too, begins to seek the couch. He finds Yuuji there and stays with him until he’s awake, and then he holds his hand with a feather-light grip and takes him back to their bedroom. 

Megumi knows Yuuji. He knows there will never be animosity between them, that this crack stems from Yuuji’s inner turmoil rather than negativity toward him. 

So, when Yuuji sits him down on the couch with a heaviness in his throat and wetness in his eyes, he’s reaching out and telling him firmly, “No,” before Yuuji’s even spoken. 

They both know what he’s going to say, anyway. 

“Megumi,” Yuuji says back. “You can’t just not listen.” 

Megumi clicks his tongue. “I’ll listen, but I’m not letting you do it.” 

“Megumi,” Yuuji repeats. His voice is strained.

“Yuuji,” Megumi says. “We never anticipated this. I know this is hard for you. It’s hard for me, too. But—” He reaches out and grabs Yuuji’s hands—pulls them to his chest, where they rest against his steady heartbeat. “If you keep looking at me like I’m going to rot away if I spend another second in your vicinity, then it will only hurt worse.” 

Yuuji looks down at their hands. His eyes burn—and then he shatters. 

“It’s not fair,” he cries, because it isn’t. He just started his life with Megumi—they just celebrated their second anniversary; they just bought an apartment. And now—now, he’s going to be stuck in time while Megumi presses forward and leaves him behind. 

“No,” Megumi agrees. “It’s not fair. We’ve never had fair.” Yuuji feels his heartbeat quicken as he talks. “Why should that change us? I love you, Yuuji. Don’t leave and throw that away.”

“Megumi, I can’t watch you die—”

“Then don’t!” Megumi argues. “You don’t have to be there when I do—and you know that we have so much time before then!” He digs his nails into the backs of Yuuji’s hands, brushes his thumbs over the stumps of his pinky and ring finger. “Don’t leave now, Yuuji,” he says, gritting his teeth. There’s a wetness in his eyes that makes Yuuji falter. “We—it hasn’t been long enough. Let me have you for as long as I can.” 

The tears falling down Yuuji’s cheeks burn, searing into his skin like a brand. He chokes around the thickness in his throat, tries to respond, but the only noise that escapes is an embarrassingly pathetic whimper. It’s nothing Megumi hasn’t heard from him before, but today, they feel like surrender. They feel like an acceptance Yuuji isn’t ready for; they feel like admitting Megumi is already dead. 

He’s not. Yuuji knows this like he knows Megumi’s hands still hold his own. But isn’t the fact that he will die enough? Yuuji no longer has the luxury of imagining them growing old together. There is no future in which they get their happy ending. 

Yuuji knew the risks when he agreed to become a sorcerer all those years ago. He knew that his life no longer belonged to him. But—he thought that he had gained control. He thought that becoming as strong as he is would eliminate the danger, would make it easier. 

This is not a curse that he can exorcise. 

Megumi is kind. He doesn’t make a face when Yuuji can’t talk, just releases his hands in favor of looping his arms around Yuuji’s back and pulling him down onto himself. 

Yuuji follows—and he knows, like he has never known a single thing before, that he cannot leave Megumi. Megumi is a love that lies on the smooth curve of his bones, pumps through his veins, just as vital as his blood. Yuuji is as much his love for Megumi as he is himself, and as much as it pains him, he would never be able to leave Megumi behind without giving up the largest part of himself. 

And, despite himself, Megumi feels the same. He ignores every warning sign, every blaring red ‘STOP’ that hangs over Yuuji’s head and stays with him, even though he is what he is. 

“Megumi,” Yuuji says, and it truly is a surrender. Megumi is the only thing that will never fail to make him weak. 

Megumi hums. Strokes his neck. 

“What—what am I supposed to do when it happens?” 

Megumi furrows his brows and casts his gaze downward. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “We’ve got time to figure it out, though. I’m not leaving you anytime soon.” 

Yuuji nods solemnly. Buries his head in Megumi’s chest. Tries to fall asleep. Can’t. 

He knows, by the rapid pace of Megumi’s heartbeat, that Megumi is still awake. He doesn’t mention it. He holds him tighter and squeezes his eyes shut, as if that’ll change his fate.

The next day, they go back to Jujutsu High. Yuuta was the only other teacher who was updated about the situation (out of necessity due to their ‘break’) and, after offering Yuuji his heartfelt condolences, told him and Megumi that he would take care of their students until they were back. 

He sees them walk in and offers a slight smile. Megumi speaks to him, not Yuuji. He thanks Yuuta and tells him they appreciate his help. Yuuta, as usual, says there’s no need to thank him.

They move on. 

Things are fine. They go on missions. Megumi saves Yuuji. Gets hurt in the process. Yuuji saves Megumi. Gets hurt in the process. They keep working as teachers. The kids like Yuuji more because he’s playful, but respect Megumi more because he’s cool. Yuuji teases Megumi about it. After classes and missions, they go home together every night, eat dinner, and fall into bed. 

Things aren’t fine. Yuuji tells Nobara a couple of weeks after they get the news, and she looks at him in a way she never has before. Yuuji feels the heartbreak when she hugs him. At the start of one year, a first-year student, unaware of his relationship with Megumi, asks if Yuuji is planning on having children, and he feels an aching so deep in his chest that he calls off classes for the day. Megumi gets wrinkles. Yuuji does not. No matter how hard he tries to smooth them out, they stay. (Yuuji thinks that he would like seeing them—a sign of their survival, of the hard-earned life they live—if things were different.) When Megumi’s age starts to show, the students give them weird looks, even after they find out what Yuuji is. Megumi has to remind him that they’re young, and it’s not exactly normal to see someone who looks like him with someone who looks like Yuuji. 

Yuuji hates it when he downplays everything like that. He wishes that he weren’t the only angry one. 

They buy a house in the northernmost part of Matsumoto the year Megumi turns 63. Megumi wanted to go somewhere quiet, where there were fewer curses to deal with. 

They quit their jobs as teachers at the Tokyo school, retire as sorcerers, and move. It’s harder for Yuuji, because the new higher-ups—who are even younger than he is now, as he’s complained about many times—insist on Yuuji remaining where he is, since he’s more than fit to be a sorcerer and still in his prime. 

Megumi is the one who yells at them, telling them that Yuuji’s done more than enough and he doesn’t owe anyone servitude. Yuuji stays silent because he believes they have a point. He’s young—if not in mind, then in body—and now that Yuuta has retired, Yuuji holds the title of strongest sorcerer. 

He retires anyway—with a deal that he would be on call, but only for extreme cases—because Megumi wants it more than anything. 

And Yuuji… despite the promise he made Megumi years before, he can’t help but feel more fear each passing day. Megumi is old. By now, it’s an undeniable fact. He’s old, and every time he does so much as cough, Yuuji tries to rush him to the doctor. He can tell Megumi gets agitated, but he must also know that they’re nearing the end, because he never raises his voice over it. 

Yuuji has to keep reminding himself that Megumi is only in his 60s and still in great shape, because the distance between them feels greater by the minute. 

The town they move to is quiet, like Megumi promised. Yuuji likes the atmosphere, but he hates the sideways glares that Megumi gets when they walk hand-in-hand. He hates it when shopkeepers recognize him and ask him about his ‘father.’ He hates it when girls less than half his age hit on him while he’s with Megumi, and he has to tell them that he’s not only married, but on a date. 

It’s not the way they look together. To Yuuji, it will never be the way they look together. He doesn’t like how he always has to explain his love to other people, to inform them that no, he’s not being groomed, and yes, he and Megumi are the same age. He knows it stems from a place of worry, but he tires quickly of the constant tsk of, oh, honey, that’s inappropriate. 

They go back to Tokyo a few times a year to visit Nobara; she comes to them just as often. 

She always has this reaction when she sees Yuuji, like she expects him to suddenly age 40 years in the little time between their visits. Yuuji never mentions it. Nobara never acts like he’s anything different after the initial shock. She still hits him when he’s an idiot, yells at him when they disagree, and forces him to hold her bags when they go shopping. 

The only difference is that when they do it in public, people assume she and Megumi are married and that Yuuji is their son.  

Yuuji stops explaining the truth to everyone somewhere in their 70s. It falls from his list of things that he hates and must correct to his list of things that are too tedious to do over and over again. 

Megumi notices. Doesn’t say anything. But they stop going out as often. 

He touches him the same. He talks to him the same. When they go to bed, he’s still as clingy as he’s always been, and sometimes, on nights when Yuuji is lying on his side with Megumi curved around his back, he forgets that Megumi has ever aged a day. 

Things are fine.

☸︎

A warbling sound rings out loudly in the quiet room. Yuuji turns. 

In the center of the room, in the shadow left by Yuuji’s body, the floor ripples. A black hand laced with deep blue tendrils reaches out of it. Yuuji frowns. 

“Hey,” he says softly. He stands and turns fully toward the shadows. The hand reaches out further, revealing an arm. It claws at the floor. “Don’t waste your cursed energy right now.” 

Another hand reaches out of the pool of shadows and digs its nails opposite the other hand. Yuuji sighs. He kneels so there’s a wider shadow. “Or just don’t listen to me. That works too.” 

The arms flex. Blue veins bulge from where they run along their surfaces. A head peaks out from the shadow. 

He’s faceless right now, but Yuuji knows the shadow is still molding itself. So, in its wake, Yuuji waits. 

The cheekbones are first, as always. High and defined. The nose slowly pokes out from between them next, and two divots form above. The eyes, the lips, the ears; they all come out slowly. The hair always takes the longest, like each strand is made individually—though it always ends up messy and untamed. 

When the shape is done, the black slowly melts away. 

“Megumi,” Yuuji whispers once the shadow’s color has changed to a pale, fleshy tone. “You didn’t have to come.” 

Megumi looks up. His eyes are still black. They never change. His irises, though—they’re a deep, ever-moving indigo. A gorgeous sight, but they don’t suit him. Green has always been his color. 

“It’s a bad day for you,” he says, locking eyes with Yuuji. Nowadays, Yuuji finds he doesn’t remember what green used to look like in that steady gaze. “I want to be here.” 

His voice is not how it used to be. It’s deeper, darker, in a sense. It feels more like words that reach straight into your skull and wrap around your brain than a sound. But it’s never bothered Yuuji. 

He reaches forward, and Megumi’s hands grip his own. Yuuji pulls the rest of his body out of the shadows. He’s bare, as he always is, unless he puts special attention into creating clothes—but he only does that when they aren’t alone. 

Yuuji pulls him close and holds him. He can worry about getting him clothes later. For now, he basks in the feeling of Megumi’s presence. 

Megumi hugs him back tightly, practically splayed between Yuuji’s legs and most certainly uncomfortable, but he doesn’t seem to care as he runs his arms up and down Yuuji’s back. It’s been too long since they’ve felt each other. 

“Happy birthday, Megumi,” Yuuji says into his hair. The strands tickle his chin. “I missed you,” he admits, softer. 

Megumi opens his mouth. Yuuji feels the cold press of his lips against his collarbone. 

“Yuuji,” he says—Yuuji would say it sounds breathless, if he didn’t know that Megumi doesn’t breathe. “Fuck, I missed you. I missed you so much.” 

They hold each other tighter. Megumi is cold—freezing. It had shocked Yuuji when he first touched him like this. All Megumi told him was that he couldn’t generate warmth within his shadow, so it remained a steady, cool temperature. He’d always run cold, but never to this extent; never enough to make Yuuji jump at first contact. After over thirty years, though, Yuuji has stopped expecting warmth. 

“How long do you think you can hold it?” he asks. 

Megumi hums. “We’ve got a day or so.”

His hair is dry. Not scratchy, just dry. Yuuji buries his face in it. “Don’t waste your cursed energy,” he repeats. 

“I’ll get it back.” 

His voice isn’t firm. There is no underlying finality. Yuuji could argue, but he won’t. It’s a losing battle—Yuuji wants this just as badly. 

He nods. “Okay,” he says, and that’s it. 

—

Separation doesn’t usually take this long, but Megumi hasn’t used his self-manifestation technique in a long, long time. It’s also his birthday, and Yuuji takes advantage of the opportunity. Megumi doesn’t fuss. Yuuji knows he needs it too. 

An hour may have passed before Megumi finally speaks. Yuuji isn’t aware, or in a position to care. 

“There are two men and one woman who followed you.” Megumi leans back and curls his legs underneath himself. He’s still attached to Yuuji at every limb. “They don’t know that you’re here, specifically, but they’re in the city.” 

“Are they strong?” 

Megumi shakes his head. “Nothing to you,” he says. “But if they found you and told the higher-ups where you are…” he trails off, but the implication is enough. 

Yuuji settles back. “Right.” 

Megumi stands and reaches out a hand that Yuuji takes without question. Megumi’s still naked, he notes. He has to get him some clothes. 

“Do you want me to take care of them?” Megumi asks while Yuuji leads them to the bedroom. 

“No,” Yuuji says. He squeezes Megumi’s hand and drops it so he can reach into his side of the closet. “You don’t have a lot of time. I want to spend as much as possible with you.” 

Megumi frowns. Yuuji kisses him on the corner of his mouth and pushes some of his old clothes into his hands. 

“Yuuji, this town is tiny,” Megumi says. “And you have so much cursed energy. So do I, for that matter. Don’t push this aside. They will find us.” 

Yuuji backs away so Megumi can get dressed. Megumi glares at him the whole time; Yuuji can’t help but smile. 

“It’s fine,” he says. “You said they’re nothing, right?”

“Yeah, but you’re not going to kill them,” Megumi points out. He pulls his head through the shirt Yuuji gave him, which musses his hair up just enough to make him look like a disgruntled cat. “And when you don’t, they’ll use their little watch things to contact the higher-ups, or whoever the fuck, and then they’ll know about the house.” 

“They’re bracelets,” Yuuji retorts. “I think. Actually, I don’t know. I kinda stopped trying to understand after the whole cell-phone thing was dropped, ‘cuz—”

“Yuuji.”

Yuuji sighs. He walks slowly to Megumi, who looks almost the same as he did when he was in his late twenties—smooth skin, toned arms, sharp features. He can choose how he appears; he always chooses to look Yuuji’s age. If Yuuji doesn’t look at his eyes, doesn’t listen to him speak, he can almost pretend that they’re back in that time together, when nobody looked at them weirdly for holding hands in public, when Yuuji wasn’t driving alone to a hospital every morning. 

 He places a hand on the slight curve of Megumi’s cheek and slides his fingers behind his ear. “I just want to be with you today,” he tells him. “If they find us, I can take them.” 

“Don’t ignore this because of me,” Megumi says, but he leans into the touch. “It’ll come back to you.” 

Yuuji grips Megumi’s waist. He looks into blue eyes that he didn’t fall in love with but learned to direct his love toward. He pulls Megumi forward and kisses him like he never lost him. 

“This is a mistake,” Megumi mumbles against his lips. Yuuji hums and presses further. 

“You’ll never be a mistake,” he says. Megumi stays silent, and Yuuji takes it as a sign to lie down with him. 

When the opportunity arises, they don’t do much other than bask in each other’s presence. They can communicate just fine when Megumi isn’t physically there, because he can always hear Yuuji and can summon Kuro or one of his other shikigami to accompany him, so there isn’t a need for words. They don’t typically get into fights, either, since Megumi doesn’t manifest himself out of necessity; it is almost always for Yuuji’s comfort. He can kill other curses with his shikigami easily, can follow Yuuji by staying in his shadow, can make his presence known with the barest of movements. So, when he does manifest himself, it always means a heartfelt reunion and a domestic night where they both pretend they aren’t what they are. 

They touch a lot; Yuuji never feels like it’s enough. It’s almost as if they’re 20 again, finally together and finally able to hold each other without an excuse. If they were clingy then, it’s increased tenfold, underlined with the desperation that comes with knowing what it’s like to lose the other.

Tonight, Yuuji curls himself around Megumi. Megumi’s head is pressed into his chest, their legs tangled so naturally together. 

“Two days ago,” Megumi says after a long beat. “At the old train station. Did I hurt you?” 

Yuuji thinks back to what he’s talking about. They’d almost been caught at one of the abandoned train stations Yuuji once used while he was on his way back to the house from Isesaki. It was a close call, but not unlike others. He’d managed to dampen his cursed energy enough that it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary, but the sorcerer tracking him still sensed it. She hadn’t seen him since Megumi dropped him into his shadow before she could, but it was close. 

“No,” Yuuji answers. “I’m fine.” 

Megumi hums and presses a kiss to his sternum. “Okay,” he says. “Then rest.” 

Yuuji nods. He’s not going to fight Megumi on this, no matter how unnecessary it is. 

In truth, Yuuji doesn’t need to sleep. He’d learned, months after Gojo’s death, the full extent to which his teacher pushed himself. Shoko was the one to tell him that Gojo never slept, except on occasion. He used his reverse-cursed technique instead, healing his body so sleep wasn’t necessary. 

Yuuji had taken this as a cautionary tale. A story of how strength can change a person, give them responsibilities and habits that do nothing more than harm them. 

He understands Gojo now, he thinks. He started doing it too when his travels with Megumi became something less than legal. He only sleeps when absolutely necessary, or when Megumi makes him—and he can only do that when he’s in his physical form. 

It’s become a habit of theirs: Megumi manifests himself, makes Yuuji sleep, and watches him while he does. He’ll run a hand through his hair, hold his waist with the other. Yuuji’s woken up multiple times to the silence that comes with the shadows and the black and indigo of Megumi’s eyes barely inches from his own. 

He pretends to stay asleep sometimes just to feel the soft touch Megumi gives him, oh-so similar to when he was alive. Megumi doesn’t need to sleep either, but he tells Yuuji he enjoys the stillness in the air when lying with him. Yuuji says it’s a waste of his cursed energy. Megumi says that nothing involving Yuuji is a waste. 

He’s still cold when Yuuji tightens his grip around his shoulders. Yuuji thinks that it gets worse when they’re this close, but he might be imagining it. He never mentions it to Megumi, because he knows there isn’t a solution. It’s a pointless endeavor, and Yuuji would rather have this than nothing. 

He falls asleep with a cold hand clutched in the fabric over his chest and a shiver running through his body.

☸︎

Then

Megumi died on a hot summer day. 

Bone cancer, they said it was. The kind that travels through a skeleton and leaves nothing but destruction behind. 

Yuuji hadn’t been there for the diagnosis. He was on a mission overseas when Megumi had his X-ray, scheduled after a long period of pain. He’d told Yuuji it was nothing, just a consequence of his age. Despite it, Yuuji still told his doctor the next time Megumi brought him to a check-up. She scheduled an X-ray. Yuuji tried to drop the mission so he could be there, but Megumi wouldn’t let him. 

When Yuuji returned home, he pulled Megumi into a crushing hug, the same way he always did, but it was laced with a sense of desperation that time: an unspoken question of, "Do I have to worry about losing you?"

Megumi told him the news that night, over their dinner table. He’d cooked a warm meal for Yuuji. Yuuji doesn’t even remember what it was. All he remembers is slumping over the table and sobbing, gripping Megumi’s hand firmly in his own and praying that the wrinkles he felt were just his imagination, even though they were the very same he’d been worshipping for years. 

Yuuji cried for hours. Megumi brought him to their bed and held him. At one point, Yuuji asked why he seemed so okay with it all, and Megumi shook his head. 

“I’m not,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to leave you.” 

Yuuji turned in his arms and wrapped himself around him. They fell asleep like that, holding each other—and in the middle of the night, when Yuuji woke up to sniffles, he curved his neck upward and brushed his nose against Megumi’s. He didn’t say a word; he knew there was no combination of sounds that could reach into Megumi’s skeletal system and dig out the horrible thing inside. 

Megumi stayed silent too, his breath heavy on Yuuji’s lips. It might have been hours before he spoke, and when he did, it was all but a whisper. Yuuji barely heard it over the beating of his own heart.

“Yuuji?”

It wasn’t an unexpected sound. Yuuji had seen the way Megumi had pondered it, tasted the words, debated how Yuuji would feel about them, and then let it out. 

“Yeah?” Yuuji said, just as softly. 

“It’s okay.” Megumi paused, shifting in the bed. “If you want to leave.” 

Yuuji parted his lips; took a deep breath. “What?” 

Megumi trembled in Yuuji’s arms. He’d trembled for a while—a product of his age— but that time, it was out of something else. Yuuji could tell the difference by then, between the tiny shakes that were signs of his grown frailty and the tremors that were born from fear. 

“You told me that you couldn’t watch me die,” Megumi said. Yuuji couldn’t see his face anymore. “We’ve had a lot of good years. It’s—it’s okay if you want to leave it at that.” 

Yuuji felt his eyes growing wet again. He pressed his forehead to Megumi’s, trying to relay the love he felt in every fibre of his being to Megumi. 

“I don’t want to let you out of my sight for a second,” he said, and meant every word.

—

Yuuji went to his next appointment. 

The doctor told Megumi that if they had caught it sooner, he would have had more time. But Megumi had always ignored his pain—a side effect of living as a sorcerer and having to deal or die. 

So Megumi ignored it until it was too late, and the doctor gave a diagnosis. 

Megumi didn’t have long. 

Megumi also didn’t have a chance. The cancer had already spread too far. There wasn’t anybody available who could output reverse-cursed technique. Shoko and Yuuta had passed years before. There were students at Jujutsu Tech who had been training, but they were nowhere near ready. Yuuji himself never figured it out. Even chemo wouldn’t work—the doctors said it was too late. 

Megumi told him exactly once that he needed to find a sorcerer to kill him before the sickness did. They both knew what would happen if Yuuji didn’t. 

He told Yuuji he didn’t want him to have to be the one to do it. He knew that would destroy him. But he had to find someone. Megumi was getting too frail, too weak. He was out of it most days and spent every waking second with Yuuji on days he was more present. 

Yuuji promised that he would. 

—

It happened too early. 

Yuuji visited the hospital at 9:00 am, like always. The drive there was silent. He wore a loose t-shirt and shorts because the sweltering weather had caught him off guard. 

Megumi wasn’t much of a fan of summer. He’d always burned easily, so he hated when he had to go the extra mile and slather on buckets of sunscreen just to go to the konbini. He’d made a joke at some point about not having to bother since he couldn’t leave the hospital, but promptly shut up when he saw Yuuji’s face. 

The woman at the front desk waved to him. Yuuji waved back and gave a friendly hello, then headed to the third floor, where Megumi was. 

Megumi was only 83. 

Yuuji thought about that a lot. Megumi was only 81 when he got sick, 82 when it got worse. He was 83 then, and it showed in every essence of him: his grey hair, his wrinkles, his frail way of moving. A man as healthy as he shouldn’t have been so weak at 83, but he was. 

He was lying on his side when Yuuji entered the room, and Yuuji thought—not for the first time—that he resembled his grandfather. He shook the idea away and smiled as wide as he could. 

“Megumi,” he said softly, “Hey. It’s me.” 

Megumi didn’t move. The air in the room felt stale, suffocating. 

“Megumi?” Yuuji said again. Still, no movement. 

Yuuji paused, his head filling with all the worst things—

“Yuuji?” 

His voice was smaller than it had ever been. Yuuji rushed to his side at the sound of it, grabbing the hand resting on the sheet. 

“Megumi, hey,” he said, the frantic tone of it ill-disguised. “Are you okay? Do you need me to get a nurse?” 

He shifted, kneeling at the side of the bed. Megumi’s grip around Yuuji’s hand tightened just slightly. 

“I was waiting for you,” is all he said. His eyes opened just wide enough for a sliver of green to poke out—and they were dull, so dull—

“Hah,” Yuuji choked out. His eyes were starting to burn—he recognized the moment for what it was. “Sorry. You know I got here right at nine.” 

Megumi closed his eyes again. Yuuji brushed his hair away from his face with his free hand. 

“Let me grab a nurse, okay?” he said, his throat tight. “If—If you’re not feeling well.”

Megumi didn’t respond. Yuuji tried to pull his hand away, just for a second, but his grip tightened further.

“Yuuji,” Megumi said weakly, and Yuuji crumpled.

“No,” Yuuji said. A hot stream of tears fell down his cheeks. “No, Megumi, don’t—don’t say it.” 

“Yuuji.”

“Fuck, Megumi, please don’t—I don’t know what to do, Megumi, please.” 

“Hey,” Megumi said. He opened his eyes, still only slightly. “Stop. Listen to me.” Yuuji sniffled and wiped pathetically at his cheek with the back of his hand. “I want you to move on, Yuuji.” 

Yuuji let out a wet sob. “What? No, Megumi—”

“Don’t ruin yourself over this.” 

Megumi must have known what he was asking. He—he knew what he was to Yuuji. 

“Megumi, you know I can’t—”

Megumi let out a heavy breath. “You’re going to live a long time, Yuuji. Don’t tie yourself to me.” 

“I’m not—I’m not tying myself to you, Megumi; I love you.” 

Megumi opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out. He looked up at Yuuji, made heartbreaking eye contact, visibly bit back whatever words he had to say. Yuuji’s shoulders shook. 

“I love you, Yuuji,” Megumi said. 

He closed his eyes. 

“Megumi?” Yuuji whispered, to no avail. “Megumi?” again, anyway. Megumi didn’t move.

Yuuji didn’t stop crying after Megumi stopped responding. He whimpered against the sheet where his face was pressed, squeezed Megumi’s hand hard like it would bring him back. Megumi didn’t move. 

Yuuji stared at his beautiful face. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. Megumi didn’t move. 

The nurses came into the room after a few minutes. They gently pulled Yuuji away from the bed and whispered their condolences. 

Papers were signed. The body was taken. Yuuji splashed water into his face in the bathroom and refused to look at the 20-something-year-old man in the mirror. He sent exactly one text to Nobara and turned off his phone. 

The process was overwhelmingly familiar. Yuuji gritted his teeth and pushed through. 

He realized, when he got back to his house, that he had failed to complete Megumi’s most important request—he never found someone to end his life with cursed energy. 

In the silence of his living room, with all the emotion and energy of a man still in his twenties, he screamed until his lungs gave out. 

—

He found himself, more than once, hoping Megumi would become a curse. He hated himself more than anything for it. 

The hope waned after three years.

☸︎

There is no sound. Yuuji wakes up to a violent, splitting pain in his abdomen. 

He’s already leaking blood. It’s warm against his skin, sticky when he throws a hand over it and gasps. The blade is pulled out, and a new pain envelopes him. It’s serrated. 

The person on top of him is thrown to the other side of the room with the blade as Yuuji tries to recover. He hears a deep growl and knows that Megumi has summoned one of his shikigami. He must have seen the attack before it happened and done something so Yuuji wasn’t killed by the first blow.

Yuuji lifts himself onto his elbows and nearly topples over from the pain. Fuck. Nobody’s gotten him this badly in a long, long time. He looks up. A woman stands on the other side of the room before his bed, holding the kind of sword that belongs in one of the old anime Yuuji used to watch. It’s a clan weapon, for sure. Long and curved; double-sided, one being serrated. The woman herself is unfamiliar—though that’s not uncommon for Yuuji. 

The curious thing: he doesn’t sense a dime of cursed energy coming from the woman. It takes him a second to put his finger on it, but when he does, he feels a wave of recognition wash over him.  

A heavenly pact. That’s why I didn’t sense her coming.

The woman looks more wary of Kon, who Yuuji notices looming over her in the corner as he scrambles out of the sheets and onto the floor. He stands; stumbles. He starts focusing his energy on healing the wound in his abdomen, but the cursed tool belonging to the woman must be imbued with a technique. He feels heavy, like a bag of sand thrown into the ocean. Reverse-cursed technique may prove to be futile—his energy seems to be drained. Is that what the tool does? 

The woman drops to the ground as Kon pounces on her, sliding across the floor to the corner. Megumi is conspicuously absent. The woman leaps back once she reaches the wall, expertly propelling herself toward Kon and onto her feet. 

Yuuji sees it like a slow-motion movie: the moment her weapon strikes Kon’s side, dips into his flesh, carves deep. He howls in pain, but the sound is drowned out by the loud rumble that echoes through the room. The shadows drip from the ceiling and drop to the floor. They stretch and shrink and grow. 

The woman rips her blade from Kon, and he disappears back into the shadow below himself. She turns toward Yuuji, but the room begins to warp before she can make another move. 

The shadows spill out from where they first gathered. Yuuji recognizes it instantly as Megumi’s domain. 

He steps back and focuses on healing his own wound while the woman is distracted. He blocks everything else out, dampens the cursed energy he uses to shield himself, and pours it all into his abdomen until he feels the familiar tingling sensation. When it comes, he breathes out a soft sigh of relief. As long as he focuses solely on healing, reverse-cursed technique works. 

The woman is still engaged with the growing darkness around her, but her sight catches on Yuuji as she moves. She narrows her eyes and runs at him. Yuuji curses and barely avoids the first swing. Around them, the shadows move like Yuuji has never seen. They’re more unpredictable than ever; unstable, if he were asked to name it. 

Yuuji can’t use his cursed energy if he wants to stay on his feet. The woman doesn’t waste another second in lunging at him again. She’s quick—Yuuji has no choice but to meet her head-on. 

She swings her sword; Yuuji ducks under it and grabs her arm. She shakes him off with ease, but a shadow drops onto her hand and spreads between her fingers, forcing her to drop the weapon. It sinks into the darkness below. Yuuji takes his chance and tackles her to the ground. 

The woman falls onto her back and yelps—her voice is high-pitched, which has him noticing how soft her features are for a second, how young she looks—when Yuuji straddles her hips. Yuuji knows that, even after all the years, he would never win a battle of raw strength against someone with a fully-realized heavenly pact. He wouldn’t even be able to get this far. She must still be a student—and a rather young one at that. He doesn’t want to kill her. 

He gets a good hit in—not nearly enough strength to kill, but enough to knock out a normal sorcerer, who she is very clearly not—before she grunts, grabs his shoulders, and easily switches their positions. Her nose is bleeding, and she’s got a nasty gash under her left eye, but her strength doesn’t waver. He feels the power behind her fists when she punches him in the jaw. His head snaps to the side; pain explodes across his skull. He gasps against the pressure, and, with all his strength, reaches up and grabs the woman’s throat. 

She’s broken something of his, surely, but Yuuji ignores the pain and grips the tender skin of her throat, restricting her breathing. He only needs to knock her out, he reminds himself. He doesn’t want her to die. 

She hisses and digs her nails into his fingers, pulling them away from her throat. His fingers begin to loosen with her efforts. 

Her raw strength truly is a marvel. Yuuji suspects that even if he had his cursed energy right now, he’d still have trouble fighting her. 

While she’s focused on his hands, he bucks upward and throws her off of him. She lands somewhere a few feet away, gasping. 

Yuuji’s abdomen is still less than a quarter healed, he thinks. It’s already taking everything he has just to push the effects of the sword down and keep moving. 

He looks up. The woman is already on her feet, hand grazing the bruised skin of her throat. Yuuji grits his teeth and rolls quickly to the side as she lunges at him again. He looks up, knowing he can’t stand in time, but the moment her feet touch the ground—

The shadows open beneath her. It’s quick as she falls into them, a silent gasp escaping her lips. 

Yuuji heaves a breath. Stands. Steps back. Watches the ground. It doesn’t move. 

A hand touches his shoulder, and he doesn’t flinch. 

“Megumi,” he says. His voice is weak, tainted by his pain. “Let her out.” 

“And what?” Megumi snaps. He pulls his arm back. “Allow her to call for backup? Expose our location?” 

Yuuji turns to him, and Megumi’s expression is overtly furious—but it softens the moment he lays eyes on Yuuji. Yuuji knows how he must look to him, pale, pleading, cursed energy dampened enough to make him look weak. They haven’t had a close call like this since the earlier days, when Megumi’s death was still fresh, and the sorcerers first found out what he had become. 

Megumi reaches out for Yuuji. “You can’t heal?” 

Yuuji slinks back. “Let her out,” he says again. Megumi looks down. Shakes his head. 

“You know I can’t do that.” 

Yuuji’s breath rattles in his throat. 

He knows that her death will make things easier for them, but it seems an unfair trade. Yuuji is 116. He’s lived twice as long as many; he could die and be okay with it. Megumi is a curse. He is dead, has been buried and mourned. 

This woman—she can’t have been older than her late teens. Does she have friends? Family? A partner? A sensei? 

“Don’t kill her,” Yuuji pleads.

She’s strong. With her heavenly pact, she might be able to hold her breath for longer. It’s only been a few minutes, hasn’t it? If Megumi lets her out now—

Yuuji surges forward and grabs the clothes that hang loosely on Megumi’s frame. He looks into dark, blank eyes and knows there is a soul behind them. The shadow doesn’t show the emotion Yuuji knows lies inside. 

“Megumi, please,” he says. 

The two of them have lived; this girl has not. She’s young, strong, like they were once. She deserves to live longer. 

“Megumi,” Yuuji repeats, growing frantic. He brushes Megumi’s bangs away from his forehead and forces him to look at him. “Megumi.” 

Megumi sags in his hold. 

“She’s dead,” he admits. 

Yuuji crumples to his knees.

☸︎

Then

When the curse comes, Yuuji debates whether to let it take him. It’s a tempting thought. It’s also one that would have landed him a scolding. 

There is no one left to scold him. 

The curse that finds him isn’t that powerful. Maybe a second-grade. He hears it from where he’s kneeling in front of the Kugisaki family grave: a short screech, soft chittering as it attempts to sneak up on him. The thought strikes him just as soon. 

He stirs it around in his mind. Allows the weight of it to settle. 

Yuuji does not know if he can die. 

He has come close many times. He knows his flesh can produce blood, is aware that it’s more than likely, but he doesn’t know. 

It occurs to him that the last time he was on the verge of death—if it really was—Nobara had been the one to rescue him, activating her domain to exorcise the curse they were assigned to. That was, what, 35? 40 years ago? Hah. The irony of it all is enough to make him laugh, but he knows that would have earned him as much of a scolding as anything else, so he refrains. 

Yuuji has not seen Nobara in three years. And, well. He did not know of Nobara’s passing until yesterday.

Not at the fault of Nobara, no. Yuuji is aware of how badly he shut down five years ago, how far he took his isolation. Nobara had tried to reach him too many times, but she was older and weaker, and he was still… him. Yuuji regrets that more than anything, but he supposes he has no right to. 

He rubs his fingers over the smooth stone. It’s been cleaned recently. He’s thankful for that. 

He has been to this grave exactly two times before this. The first time on the day Nobara’s grandmother was interred, and the second on the first anniversary of her death—Nobara didn’t want to go alone yet. Neither visit held the same heaviness as this one. 

This is it, then—the last of Yuuji’s friends. The realization settles in the marrow of his bones. He knew this would happen. 

He’s already been alone for years, really. Losing Megumi was worse than he had expected. Again, he knew. He’s known. All of this was written in an open book from the day Shoko told him when he was 28. 

Nobody can really tell him what he’s supposed to do when he’s the first to do it, though. 

Yuuji decides as he deliberates—the curse is slow—to let the curse kill him. He brings his fingers to his lips as it speeds up, its warbling getting louder, and places them down on the kanji of Kugisaki. Wishes her peace, prays that he might end up with her. If Yuuji somehow makes it there, she’ll get angry at him for dying on her grave, but he knows she’ll understand. She’ll be with Megumi, wherever that may be. They’re good people. They deserve their happy afterlife. 

He grabs the ring hanging from his neck and twists it between his fingers. Kisses the cold metal. He leans forward and bows his head. 

The blow doesn’t come from a curse. 

He’s thrown to the side, which isn’t shocking, but it’s the lightness with which he was touched that surprises him. The curse roars, but it sounds further away. Yuuji turns and opens his eyes—

Shadows. Everywhere. It’s the middle of the day, but the graveyard has been enveloped by darkness. 

Yuuji looks up—and there’s a wall. A deep, black wall. It’s made of the same shadows, he realizes, when he sees the way the bottom flows and curls along the ground. 

The curse stares up at it. Yuuji hadn’t seen it before, but it’s an ugly-looking thing—purple like a bruise, tall and thin. It lets out a noise and runs into the darkness. Yuuji stares in awe as the wall of shadows descends over the curse and swallows it whole. 

The shadows fall over themselves like water, knocking against the graves and consuming them in darkness. When they get close to Yuuji, though—they stop. It’s like there’s a barrier around him: they flow and lap at the ground, but they don’t reach past a sizable circle around Yuuji. 

They rise again after a moment to spit something out. Yuuji’s too far; he can’t see what it is. But he chooses that moment to come back to his senses.

He looks over the graveyard, covered in darkness. Darkness that he knows. When his voice comes, it’s a mere whisper. 

“Megumi?” 

The shadows fall like waves on a beach, slip between the gravestones, seep into the ground. When they’re all gone, only one thing remains. 

The name Kuro comes to him, and it tastes like days spent in the sun and afternoon naps in a bed bought with two men and a dog in mind. It tastes like a memory that’s more than just fond, rolled around in his brain repeatedly to the point it’s shiny around the edges. 

Yuuji stands and walks tentatively toward the dog. The dog doesn’t wait—he barks happily and runs forward, tail wagging. When he collides with Yuuji and knocks him over, Yuuji sees—it is Kuro—the smaller, black dog, not Totality. 

He lets out a breath that sounds more like a sob. Kuro licks at his face and paws at his chest. 

“Megumi,” he says again, and the tears start to fall. “Megumi, I—are you there? Megumi?”

He looks around the graveyard, Kuro still wiggling in his arms. There’s nothing. 

“Megumi?” he says again. It’s a plea more than anything. 

The graveyard remains silent. Even Kuro stops panting. 

Yuuji stares into the bright, blue sky, devoid of any clouds, and feels a warm droplet fall from his eye and trickle down his cheek. It reaches his jaw, slides down to his chin. It falls from there onto the stone beneath him. He hears the soft plop as it lands. He sees the way the stone darkens under the liquid. 

He looks up again, and there’s a face in the shadow cast by one of the gravestones. 

Yuuji gasps. The shadows explode again, but they don’t avoid him this time. 

They pull him in, surround him. Kuro drops into the puddle of them and disappears. 

It’s dark, when it’s over. Yuuji stands in the center of nothing. There’s black in every direction. Yuuji knows this place. 

“Megumi!” he shouts. “Are you there?”

Before him, the ground bubbles and stretches. The shadows rise again, and for a second, Yuuji fears he’s wrong—that Megumi really is dead, just as he’s believed for five years, and there’s another Ten Shadows user now with a vendetta against him. 

But the shadows fall again, and Yuuji stops breathing. 

Because—because it’s Megumi—that’s Megumi standing in front of him. His hair, his height, his stature—it’s Megumi. Yuuji’s Megumi. 

He looks like he did in his twenties. He looks the age Yuuji does now. 

Yuuji tries to run to him, but his legs feel weak. He falls to his knees. The shadows below him soften the impact, but it doesn’t register to him. He stares up at Megumi, mouth dropped open. 

Megumi opens his eyes, but they’re not Megumi’s. 

“Yuuji, why didn’t you fight the curse?” 

His voice—too, it’s not Megumi’s. Megumi’s voice was higher—still deep, but not to this extent—and smooth. This voice, it’s almost lurid. 

“Megumi, Megumi, what?” he breathes. “How—when—”

“Since I died,” Megumi answers curtly. “Why didn’t you fight the curse?” 

He speaks like Megumi, though. Purposefully, knowing the weight in every word. Yuuji feels with everything that he is that this is Megumi.

“I didn’t—oh my god, Megumi, you—all this time?” He’s babbling; he knows. But if he’s not actually Megumi, Yuuji decides, then at least he’ll die looking at him. 

“Yuuji.”

Yuuji sniffs. Wipes his eyes. 

“You were gone,” is all he says. Megumi takes that moment to close the distance.

It’s a collision. It’s an explosion. It’s everything Yuuji has craved for as long as he can remember. 

Megumi’s skin is cold when he grabs Yuuji and falls with him onto the pool of shadows. His lips are cold when he kisses him for the first time since he died. His clothes don’t feel like clothes; they’re dry and stiff when Yuuji digs his fingers into them. And his eyes, when he leans back, are black where they should be white and blue where they should be green. But they’re Megumi’s; it’s Megumi; this is Megumi. 

Megumi’s eyes are watering too, but no tears fall. 

“I was watching you,” he says. “I didn’t have enough cursed energy to come to you—I’ve been collecting and saving it for that reason—but I’ve been here.” 

Yuuji’s chest heaves. “You—you have?” 

Megumi nods frantically. 

Yuuji reaches up and places his hands on both sides of Megumi’s face. He does that thing that he always did at the contact, the slow blink, the small smile. 

“Megumi,” Yuuji says. 

Megumi surges forward with a desperation built from years without and kisses Yuuji again. Yuuji melts; he’s nothing more than a puddle underneath Megumi, dripping with emotion and grief and love and relief, so large and so consuming—and as Megumi kisses him firmly, hard enough that their teeth clack together with the movement, he knows that it roars in him too. 

He reaches up, runs his fingers over the shell of Megumi’s ear, the curve of his cheekbones, the base of his neck where his hair ends. It’s Megumi. It’s Megumi; he’s kissing Megumi again, his Megumi. 

Yuuji smiles for the first time in five years.

—

“It’s weird, though. I’m not sure how I can be killed.”

Yuuji blinks. “I hope we don’t find out.” 

“Well—yeah, but Yuuji, you’re technically not immortal. When you die, I hope to move on with you.”

And what a thing to say that is. Yuuji remembers a time when that thought consumed him, not Megumi.

He stretches his legs out—they’ve been sitting on the same bench for too long—and nuzzles his head further into Megumi’s neck. Megumi’s grip around his shoulder grows tighter, and Yuuji wonders if he’s aware of his own strength as a curse. It doesn’t hurt, not to him, but it’s much tighter than any normal person would hold another. 

Well—Yuuji supposes normal was a line they crossed long ago. Megumi isn’t even human anymore. 

“That’s gonna be a while,” Yuuji mumbles. Megumi hums. 

“I know,” he says. “You look great, by the way.” 

Yuuji huffs. “No, I don’t.” 

Megumi looks down. 

“No,” he agrees, “You don’t.” 

Yuuji is aware of how he appears nowadays. Nobara, the last time he saw her, told him he already looked dead. 

Fuck—he misses her. He regrets it all: arguing with her in their last moments together, leaving with no intention to come back. And he knew her age. He knew she didn’t have much time left. 

“Nobara’s gone,” he says quietly. He stops himself before adding the too. Megumi’s not gone, he reminds himself. Not anymore. 

Megumi tenses and tightens his grip even more. “I know,” he says, and Yuuji doesn’t talk about it again. It’ll hurt both of them too much. 

“You—” Megumi starts, flexing his fingers over his thigh. “You didn’t fight the curse earlier.”

Yuuji nods. Megumi’s mouth presses into a fine line. 

“Please don’t do that again,” he whispers. 

“I won’t,” Yuuji says. 

Megumi turns to him. His eyes are blank, but his lip wobbles enough for Yuuji to know he’s struggling with his words. 

“Yuuji,” he says again. 

“I won’t,” Yuuji repeats, firmer. “I have you, now.”

They don’t leave the bench until Megumi admits that he doesn’t have much cursed energy left. He tells him about his predicament. Yuuji makes a promise that he refuses to break this time. 

When Megumi leaves, he dissipates into the floor. It’s a sight that’s all too familiar, the same thing he would see with Megumi’s shikigami during their missions. 

Yuuji walks home alone, eyes catching on every shadow. They seem to grow in his presence now, bubbling when he’s close, stretching when he’s far. 

He’s not alone. He’s not alone anymore. Megumi is here. He’s back, and he’s with Yuuji, and he can’t die anymore. 

Yuuji turns every light in his house off. Packs a bag in complete darkness. He throws it in his car and leaves without looking back.

☸︎

Immortality is an odd thing. (Yuuji knows that’s not the accurate term for him, but he doesn’t care to find out what is.) Yuuji ages—it’s slow, but he knows he ages—and he can get hurt. He doesn’t yet know if he can die of it, because he’s wanted to stay ignorant and hopeful in the case that he can’t. 

Megumi is different. The two of them never figured out how he could be exorcized. He doesn’t have a physical form, so it seemed impossible. 

Yuuji’s seen it before, but he knew for certain with the woman. Megumi is the shadow. He’s not just the one commanding it; he’s become it. So when the woman hurt Kon, she hurt Megumi, too. Because Kon isn’t just a shikigami anymore, he’s a part of Megumi. 

Megumi stays with him while he heaves. He can’t output reverse-cursed technique, but he murmurs soft things Yuuji can’t make out while Yuuji summons the energy to do it himself. 

The cold of his hands isn’t just a light bother anymore; it’s a brand. It feels colder than usual, if that’s even possible, and Yuuji can feel it seeping beneath the layers of his skin, sinking into his pores, leaving its mark behind. 

He chokes on the thickness in his throat, and Megumi cradles both sides of his face, and it’s gentle, so gentle, but it’s freezing, too, and Yuuji can’t breathe in it—

It takes a long time for Yuuji to finish healing the wound. Long enough for the tears to stop, for his breathing to even out, for him to stop spacing out and focus on the soft I’m sorry, I’m sorry coming from Megumi. Over and over. Erratic. Understandable. 

He slumps onto Megumi’s shoulder, still seeking comfort despite the chill. Megumi maneuvers him so he’s better situated, kisses the top of his head, rocks him so slightly that Yuuji barely notices. It’s the same thing he would do for him on a bad day forty years ago. It’s the same thing he would do when they were 18 and not together, but needed each other more than they were comfortable admitting. But it’s not the same. It’s not, it’s not, it’s not, and Yuuji can feel the reality of it all converging on him. He’s been running from it for so long, hasn’t he? 

They’re both still walking, though they shouldn’t be. And they just ended the life of someone who had every right to live. Time has been cruel to Yuuji, but he feels like he’s been crueler. 

“I don’t have a lot of cursed energy left,” Megumi admits into Yuuji’s hair after what might have been hours. “She—I used a lot of it. I can’t hold this form much longer.” 

Yuuji doesn’t fight it this time. He nods. Doesn’t say a word. Megumi sits there with him for longer—an hour, a few minutes, Yuuji still doesn’t know. He lets out a small noise eventually, and Yuuji knows that’s it. 

Megumi guides him back and scans his face, still swollen and red. Yuuji looks at him and doesn’t focus on a single feature. He’s pulled forward again softly, hesitantly, and kissed, and then there’s nothing soft about it. It’s a hard press of lips. It’s desperate. It’s goodbye. 

Megumi dismisses the body. Its shadow melts into the floor beneath, leaving only the clothes it wore behind. 

Yuuji sinks to his hands and knees and cries into them. 

He picks up the shirt and holds it to his face, but there’s nothing there for him to inhale. Shadows don’t have a scent, and Megumi has been dead long enough for him to forget what he ever smelled like in the first place. 

Yuuji pushes his forehead against the floor and sobs.

Megumi can see him, even now. Through the shadows, like he always can. When Yuuji gets emotional like this, which isn’t as often anymore, Megumi usually summons one of the dogs, or the bunnies, or, if he has enough energy, comes to Yuuji himself. But Megumi has spent the last day burning up his cursed energy and surely doesn’t have enough left to risk anything. 

So Yuuji cries alone, in a house that was once much brighter than it is now. 

The lights are still off around him, the candles in the living room long since burned out, and he can feel Megumi’s presence in every part of the room, but the emptiness still claws through his chest the same as it did in those awful five years after Megumi died. 

Megumi would have been 117 today. If nothing had ever happened, if they were still living forty years in the past, perhaps Yuuji would’ve bought a cake. Maybe played some music, forced Megumi onto his feet in the middle of the kitchen and danced with him before he watched him cut the cake. Birthdays would’ve been a happier ordeal, not just a yearly journey to a ghost town. 

It’s times like these that remind him that Megumi isn’t here anymore, no matter how much Yuuji wishes it. His physical self is gone, reduced to ashes that rest atop a mantle Yuuji only visits once a year. The green eyes Yuuji fell in love with, the unruly obsidian hair, the warmth of his body—it’s all lost and left in time. 

And Yuuji’s gotten used to the shadows. He has, really, he has, but they aren’t his. They never belonged to him. He found comfort in them, but it was a shared comfort. 

It’s a lone one, now. And he thinks that he misses the light that existed before.

☸︎

Then

Megumi’s technique never included a self-manifestation. 

He first discovered the clones in his domain, where he had an endless well of shadow and the freedom to mold them to whatever he pleased. It was simple—like working with dough. He imagined multiple versions of himself, and they manifested easily. 

He could not replicate it after. He tried after the first time he opened his domain, and tried harder after he could use cursed energy again once Sukuna had left his body. He’d told Yuuji that it was difficult—the shadows in his domain belong to him and are easily morphed, but other shadows are more foreign to him. It’s even more difficult when he tries to create something original rather than just summoning his shikigami. 

Yuuji watched for years as Megumi tired himself out day after day, trying to shape the shadows into something nobody else had ever dared to. 

It happened one late evening in March, almost a year after their wedding. 

He told Yuuji afterward that it was Sukuna, of all people, who made him realize how he could do it. 

Unstable shadows. Sukuna had summoned the shikigami, but never fully formed them so that they couldn’t be killed. Megumi had thought back on this and used it. 

The shadow making up each shikigami was from Megumi’s innate domain. So, theoretically, it would be just as easy to use that same shadow to create clones. 

He came running to Yuuji after, an uncommon grin smeared prettily on his face, and his arms outstretched. He showed him over and over, and Yuuji couldn’t help but grab him and lift him and spin him around and kiss him, hard, on the smile that refused to fade even after it had settled. 

Megumi later discovered that creating these copies of himself expends a significant amount of cursed energy. He couldn’t hold it for long without risking a blow to his arsenal, so he only worked on it outside of missions. 

He never did end up using it outside of his domain. He told Yuuji that it took almost as much cursed energy as his domain did, and at the end of the day, it just wasn’t worth it. 

—

Megumi came to Yuuji first as a clone—well, not a clone, a self-manifestation—but wasn’t able to hold the form long because of his lack of cursed energy. He would’ve had more if they lived in a more populated city, but they’d chosen to live somewhere quiet. 

Megumi told Yuuji that was why he couldn’t appear sooner. He would have tried, but he didn’t have the cursed energy. Yuuji decided then that he would do whatever it took to get Megumi more. 

They’d left that night. Yuuji packed one bag—no food, no electronics, just an old photo album and the barest of essentials. There was one goal in his mind, and despite Megumi’s protests, he had no intention to fail. 

At a hostel, a week in, Megumi manages to gather enough cursed energy for one night of indulgence. 

“It’s easier,” he tells Yuuji, “As a curse. Cursed energy manipulation is simpler when it’s all you’re made of.”

They’re lying in bed, tangled together; Yuuji’s face is swollen with grief, and Megumi’s skin is cold like the dead. There are people around them, but they’re either asleep or don’t care. Not that they can see Megumi anyway. At least one of them probably thinks Yuuji is crazy. 

“But it still takes a lot?” Yuuji asks. Megumi nods. 

“Not as much as before,” he says. “I can summon it somewhat easily, since I own a lot more of the shadows now. Maintaining it is more costly.” 

Yuuji looks at the pale skin of Megumi’s collarbones, where his shirt rides down just a little. It’s difficult to look directly into his eyes, he finds, when they’re so empty. His face can hold emotion, but his eyes can’t. And Yuuji would never tell him, but he hates the blue. The black is one thing—it’s startling and a little intimidating, but the blue is worse. It’s just—so far from his Megumi. 

If Megumi notices, he doesn’t say anything. He fists his hand in the mop atop Yuuji’s head, pulls him closer to himself. When Yuuji wakes up the next morning, Megumi’s fingers are still rubbing circles into his scalp. 

He melts away soon after, unable to hold the form any longer. Yuuji is able to say goodbye, but—

It’s never enough. 

Megumi summons one of the Divine Dogs to accompany Yuuji—not Kon, but Kuro, the normal, smaller, black dog. He’d summon Kon if it were for safety, but they both know it’s so Yuuji knows Megumi’s with him. 

It’s another four weeks before they run into a sorcerer—Yuuji’s made it a point to avoid them. It doesn’t go well. 

Megumi isn’t manifested, but his cursed energy is undoubtedly not like that of a human. The sorcerer attacks Kuro, and Yuuji—he doesn’t take it well. 

He tries not to hurt him too badly. A few hits to the head, and he’s out. Yuuji brings him to a nearby bench and lays him across it. 

It’s a mistake, and Megumi knows it too. He tells Yuuji he shouldn’t have fought the man, that he could’ve dismissed the technique and made it look as if Kuro had been exorcised, or even fight back and leave Yuuji out so he couldn’t be seen as liable. 

They fight. Megumi doesn’t summon Kuro again that night. It’s not out of malice; Yuuji knows Megumi assumes he doesn’t want to see him, or anything like him, after what’s been said. 

Kuro only comes back after Yuuji goes five days without sleep—the longest he’s gone by far—and guides him to the closest hotel. Yuuji doesn’t fight it; he books a room and lets Kuro lie across his abdomen when he jumps up on the bed with him. 

The next sorcerer he comes across, only two weeks later, tries to kill him. It’s an easy fight—she’s older, but too headstrong. He knocks her out the same way he did the boy and moves on. 

The next time Megumi manifests, he calls him an idiot for getting himself another execution order. Yuuji ignores it. He doesn’t like the higher-ups anyway, doesn’t even know the current ones, since he doesn’t involve himself with sorcery anymore. He assumes they heard about him ‘protecting a powerful curse’ and went wild with the information. 

He tells Megumi that they’ll be fine without a modicum of doubt. 

“We’ll just have to avoid them,” he says. “I’ve been doing that for years already.” 

Megumi frowns at him. They’re in a bigger city, so he’s been able to manifest himself more often, having collected as much cursed energy from the crowds as possible. It’s because of this, though, that they’ve had more close calls. Sorcerers are weaker nowadays but larger in number because everyone knows about them. 

Yuuji truly does believe that they’ll be fine. He is, after all, a special-grade sorcerer, and he assumes that Megumi would be the same (though as a curse). His problem really is only the cursed energy. Yuuji stayed in Matsumoto long after Megumi had died, only left when he came back. And Megumi, as he admitted once, refused to leave his shadow. 

The village they lived in was small. Not nearly enough people to produce enough cursed energy for a powerful curse. Megumi had to collect and save it for five years before he could even manifest once. 

It’s better, now. With all of the people they have around them, Megumi has a good amount of cursed energy. Enough to manifest more often and for longer, anyway.

—

For what the sorcerers lack in power nowadays, they make up for in tracking ability. 

With all their numbers, they have a steady, well-defined system that Yuuji unfortunately has no access to or knowledge of, since—well—they never did this shit when he was involved. 

He and Megumi have to move between cities often. They’re the number-one fugitives and the highest-priority targets according to the higher-ups, which Yuuji heard from a man who was rather talkative in the midst of battle. 

They’ve been able to gather more cursed energy with all the crowds and places they see on a daily basis, but it’s tedious to have to pack his bag and leave whatever place he’s been staying in every time they see a sorcerer nearby. He’s taken to sleeping less, which Megumi isn’t a fan of. 

There was a bad fight a few months ago. A woman with some kind of sound-based technique found them in Honjō. It had taken Yuuji far too long to realize what her technique was before she let out a loud screech in the direction of his left ear. 

He’d lost hearing in it for a couple of hours since he used his energy on higher-priority wounds. Megumi’s been more on edge since, summoning Koso when Yuuji’s in larger crowds. Yuuji has tried to tell him that he doesn’t have to—Yuuji can, and has been fighting his own fights since he was fifteen—but it never goes anywhere. Megumi doesn’t budge. 

—

“Can you eat?” he asks Megumi one day. They’re sitting outside a konbini in Akihabara; Yuuji is nibbling on some cheap prepackaged onigiri. 

“I don’t need to,” Megumi says. 

“Yeah,” Yuuji says through a mouthful of rice, “But can you?” 

Megumi crosses his arms over his knees. “Probably.” 

Yuuji holds out his onigiri, and Megumi hesitates for a second before taking a bite. He chews it, swallows it, then allows the corner of his mouth to curl upward. 

“Well,” he says dryly. “Looks like I’m not going to burst into flames, or anything.” Yuuji chuckles and hands him the whole piece. Megumi pushes it back. “No,” he says. “Just because I can eat doesn’t mean I have to. Keep it.” 

Yuuji takes it back with a frown. He takes a bite. 

“Okay,” he says, “But I’m going to find you some ginger chicken, and you’re going to eat it.” 

(Ginger chicken was his favorite before. Yuuji hasn’t made it since he died.)

Yuuji takes another bite, then freezes. “Oh my god, wait.” 

Megumi lifts his head, his eyes widening with Yuuji’s urgent tone. “What?” 

“Isn’t there that restaurant you liked nearby here? We could get one of your old favorites for dinner!” 

Megumi stares at him, then swats his leg. “Don’t scare me like that,” he says without any anger in his voice. Yuuji lets out a short laugh. “But sure. That would be nice.” 

It would be the first time they’ve gone out on a date since Megumi started staying in the hospital full-time, Yuuji realizes. He grins and nudges Megumi’s knees with his own. 

“Yeah,” he says. “It would.” 

—

A grade-one sorcerer finds them on the street later. They don’t fight; Yuuji and Megumi aren’t in the mood. They flee. 

They board the train that night. Yuuji watches, a melancholic stir in his gut, as Tokyo fades into the distance. 

The restaurant has closed by the time they go back, years later.

☸︎

The next time Megumi comes to him, there are no words. They don’t talk about what happened. 

Yuuji holds an urn in one hand as he walks through a street in Sendai and an old bag with a broken strap in the other. It’s heavier now, with all the new weight. He’s had to take everything from the mantle with him. The house was compromised, and he doesn’t think any sorcerers would be so kind as to respect his husband’s ashes, especially considering what he—they are. 

A hostel, again, is where they find themselves. Yuuji is the one who suggests rest. 

He wonders, dimly, a final thought before he’s overtaken by sleep, how long it will take for it all to fall apart.