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I Saw You

The Fragility of Glass Foundations

The silence that followed Yuta’s departure was not empty; it was heavy, filled with the unspoken weight of a thousand things they were still afraid to say. Tokyo Jujutsu High felt cavernous without the constant, watchful presence of the Special Grade sorcerer, and for Megumi, the absence felt like a limb he had been forced to cauterize.

It had been weeks since the gate, and the "new normal" was proving to be a grueling marathon of self-restraint. Megumi sat in the corner of the training hall, his back against the cold stone, watching Yuji spar with Maki. The sound of wooden staves clashing echoed like bone breaking, a rhythmic, violent music that usually centered him. Today, it made his skin crawl.

He watched the way Yuji moved—fluid, powerful, and entirely unburdened. Yuji laughed as Maki swept his legs, a bright, breathless sound that should have been a comfort. Instead, it triggered that familiar, toxic itch in Megumi’s mind. *He’s happy because Yuta is gone. No, he’s happy because he’s free. He’s happy because he isn't looking at me.*

"You’re doing it again," a voice rumbled beside him.

Megumi didn't turn his head. He knew the scent of old tobacco and medical grade disinfectant. Shoko Ieiri leaned against the wall, her dark circles deeper than usual. She wasn't looking at him; she was looking at the scars on Yuji’s back, visible as his shirt rode up during a tumble.

"I’m just sitting here, Shoko-san," Megumi said, his voice flat.

"You’re hovering with your mind, Fushiguro. Your cursed energy is leaking. It’s thin, like a wire. You’re trying to trip him up without touching him." She took a long drag of a cigarette she wasn't supposed to be smoking on campus. "He’s not a bird you can keep in a cage made of shadows. We talked about this."

"I know," Megumi hissed, his fingers digging into his own thighs. "I’m not doing anything. I haven't checked his phone in weeks. I haven't asked him where he goes after training. I’m doing everything you told me to do."

"And you’re miserable," Shoko observed. "And because you’re miserable, he’s starting to feel guilty for being okay. That’s the next stage of the rot, Megumi. If you don't find a way to exist without him being your only source of oxygen, you’re going to suffocate him just by breathing in the same room."

She walked away before he could retort, leaving him with the bitter taste of truth in his mouth.

Training ended shortly after. Yuji wiped his face with a towel, said something to Maki that made her smirk, and then turned his attention to Megumi. The change in his expression was subtle, but to Megumi, it was a tectonic shift. The brightness dimmed, replaced by that practiced, patient softness. It was the look of a man approaching a wounded animal.

"Hey," Yuji said, walking over and offering a hand. "You want to go get some food? I think Nobara is heading to that place in Harajuku."

Megumi looked at the offered hand. He wanted to take it, to pull Yuji down and bury his face in his neck until the world disappeared. But he saw the way Yuji’s eyes flickered to the door.

"You go," Megumi said, his voice straining with the effort of the lie. "I have some scrolls to finish in the library. Zenin clan business."

Yuji paused, his hand dropping slowly. "You sure? You’ve been in that library a lot lately."

"I’m fine, Yuji. Go have fun."

Yuji lingered for a heartbeat too long, the silence between them stretching into something uncomfortable. "Okay. I’ll bring you back something? Those ginger buns you like?"

"Sure. Thanks."

Megumi watched him walk away. He waited until Yuji’s footsteps faded entirely before he let his head drop into his hands. His heart was racing, a frantic, jagged rhythm. He felt the shadows at his feet churning, a dark, viscous pool that wanted to rise up and swallow the whole room.

He didn't go to the library. He went to his room and locked the door.

The walls felt like they were closing in. He stared at the spot on the floor where he had once pinned Yuji down, where he had used cursed rope to bind the only person who ever truly loved him. The memory was a physical weight, a phantom limb that throbbed with a dull, persistent ache.

He reached into his bedside drawer and pulled out a small, plastic bottle. It was empty—Shoko made sure of that—but he gripped it until his knuckles turned white. He thought about the pills. He thought about the way the world had gone grey and quiet, the way the voices in his head had finally stopped screaming about betrayal and loss.

He was so tired of being "better."

A knock at the door startled him. It was too early for Yuji to be back.

"Fushiguro? You in there?"

It was Gojo. The tone was unusually somber, lacking the sing-song quality that usually defined the Six Eyes user. Megumi didn't answer, but he knew it was futile. Gojo could see the cursed energy vibrating behind the wood.

The door clicked open—Gojo didn't bother with locks. He stepped in, his blindfold pushed up to reveal eyes that looked like frozen lightning. He took in the darkened room, the empty pill bottle in Megumi’s hand, and the way the shadows were crawling up the furniture like ivy.

"You’re spiraling," Gojo said, closing the door behind him.

"I’m fine," Megumi snapped, throwing the bottle back into the drawer. "I just have a headache."

Gojo sat on the edge of the desk, his long legs stretching across the small space. "You know, when I was younger, I thought being the strongest meant I could protect everything. I thought if I just held the world tightly enough, nothing would ever break."

Megumi looked away, his jaw tight. "This isn't a lecture about power, Satoru."

"It’s a lecture about gravity," Gojo countered. "The more mass you have, the more you pull things toward you. But if you pull too hard, you don't protect them. You crush them. You’re trying to be the center of Yuji’s universe because you’re terrified that if you aren't, he’ll drift away into the dark."

"He *is* drifting," Megumi whispered, the admission finally breaking through. "He looks at me and he sees a tragedy. He looks at Yuta or Nobara and he sees a life. How am I supposed to compete with that?"

"You aren't competing," Gojo said, his voice softening. "You’re healing. And healing is ugly. It’s slow. It’s boring. It’s not a Shinjuku showdown; it’s choosing to eat breakfast when you want to starve. It’s choosing to let him walk out that door without knowing if he’s coming back."

Gojo stood up and walked over to Megumi, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Yuji is still here, Megumi. Not because of the ropes, and not because of the guilt. He’s here because he’s Yuji. But if you keep trying to turn yourself into a ghost, eventually he’s going to stop trying to talk to you."

Gojo left as quietly as he had entered, leaving Megumi alone with the silence.

Hours passed. The sun set, casting long, skeletal shadows across the room. Megumi didn't move. He sat on the floor, his back against the bed, watching the moonlight shift. He felt hollow, a vessel emptied of everything but the fear of being forgotten.

When the door finally opened again, it was nearly midnight. Yuji stepped in, smelling of cold air and fried food. He carried a small white bag, which he set on the desk.

"You didn't come to the cafeteria," Yuji said quietly. He didn't turn on the light. He navigated the room by memory, sitting on the floor a few feet away from Megumi.

"I wasn't hungry," Megumi replied.

Yuji sighed, a long, weary sound. "I saw Gojo-sensei. He looked worried. Which usually means I should be terrified."

Megumi didn't answer. He couldn't. The lump in his throat felt like a stone.

"Megumi," Yuji said, his voice cracking. "Talk to me. Please. Don't do the silent thing. Don't go back into the dark where I can't reach you."

"I don't know how to reach back," Megumi confessed, his voice trembling. "I feel like I’m underwater. I see you up there, in the light, and I want to swim up, but my shadows... they’re like lead. They just keep pulling me down."

Yuji moved closer, his knee brushing against Megumi’s. "Then let me dive down. I’ve been to the bottom of the ocean before, remember? I’ve had Sukuna in my head. I’ve had my heart ripped out. I’m not afraid of the dark, Megumi. I’m only afraid of being in it without you."

He reached out, his hand hovering in the space between them. For a long moment, Megumi stared at it. It was a simple gesture, an invitation to be seen, to be touched, to be human.

Megumi took it. His fingers were cold, but Yuji’s were like a furnace.

"I’m sorry," Megumi whispered, the tears finally spilling over. "I’m so sorry for everything. For the way I treated you. For the way I’m still treating you."

"I know," Yuji said, pulling him into a hug. It wasn't a romantic embrace; it was a rescue. He held Megumi as the other boy finally broke, his sobs muffled against Yuji’s shoulder. "I know you’re sorry. But you have to stop apologizing and start living. I don't want your guilt, Megumi. I want you."

They sat on the floor for a long time, the only sound the muffled sobs and the distant rustle of trees outside. The air in the room felt different—less like a tomb and more like a shelter.

"Yuji?" Megumi asked after a while, his voice raw.

"Yeah?"

"Why did you stay? After the infirmary... after the ropes. Why didn't you just go with Yuta? He would have taken care of you. He would have been... better."

Yuji pulled back, looking Megumi in the eye. The moonlight caught the gold in his iris, making him look like something ancient and holy. "Because Yuta is a great friend. He’s a hero. But he’s not the person I chose to share my life with. I didn't stay because I felt bad for you, or because I was trapped. I stayed because when the world ended in Shinjuku, you were the first person I looked for. And you were the person I wanted to see when the sun came up the next day."

He reached up, wiping a tear from Megumi’s cheek with his thumb. "You aren't a project, Megumi. You’re my partner. But partners have to trust each other to carry their own weight sometimes."

Megumi nodded, a slow, painful movement. "I’ll try. I’ll try to be better. Not for you—but so I can be with you."

"That’s all I want," Yuji said.

He stood up and held out his hand again. This time, when Megumi took it, he didn't feel like he was being handled. He felt like he was being lifted.

They didn't go to sleep immediately. Yuji opened the bag of ginger buns, and they sat on the bed, sharing the cold food in the dark. They talked about small things—the way Panda was trying to learn how to knit, the ridiculous mission Todo had been assigned to in Kyoto, the way the stars looked clearer now that the cursed energy over the city had thinned.

It was a slow burn, a gradual reassembling of the pieces. The "zero" Yuji had spoken of wasn't a starting line; it was a foundation. And today, they had laid the first stone that wasn't cracked.

As the first hints of dawn began to grey the sky, Yuji lay down, pulling Megumi with him. They didn't touch much—just their feet hooked together under the blanket—but the proximity was enough.

"Megumi?" Yuji murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

"Yeah?"

"Don't let the shadows win tomorrow. Okay? Just for tomorrow."

Megumi looked at the ceiling, at the way the light was slowly reclaiming the room. He felt the weight of the day ahead, the terror of the "new normal," and the agonizing effort it would take to keep his mind from spiraling.

But then he felt the warmth of Yuji’s foot against his, a constant, living reminder that he wasn't alone.

"Okay," Megumi whispered. "Just for tomorrow."

He closed his eyes, and for the first time in months, he didn't dream of ropes or pills or the cold floor of an infirmary. He dreamt of a road, long and winding and full of light, and a hand that stayed firmly in his, no matter how dark the shadows grew.

The architecture of their lives was still made of glass and bone. It was fragile, and it would likely break again. But as the sun finally broke over the horizon, illuminating the room in a harsh, beautiful gold, Megumi realized that glass could be replaced, and bone could knit back together.

And as long as they were both still breathing, they had time to build something that could finally, truly, withstand the weight of the world.

"Goodnight, Yuji," Megumi whispered.

"Morning, Megumi," Yuji replied, already half-asleep.

The door was still unlocked. The shadows were still there. But the cage was gone, and for the first time, the bird didn't want to fly away. It just wanted to rest.