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Satoru couldn’t recall how many times he had hugged Megumi in his lifetime.
The black-haired boy he had raised as his own was fairly stoic–plain in a way that was a bit frustrating for Satoru at times yet had its own undeniable charm. He moved in a pristine and quick fashion, to the point and unable to be misinterpreted. Satoru sometimes wondered, as he watched Megumi grow into his status as a Jujutsu Sorcerer, if these particular behaviors were the result of what he had been through. It was no shocker that Megumi did not have the easiest life, no matter how tragic it was to say that about someone at the ripe age of fifteen–losing his sister, abandoned by his father, the apartment, the poverty.
Even if Satoru had not been raised in such conditions–in fact, he had grown in quite the opposite, rich clan and all–he couldn’t really bring himself to blame the kid.
That was something that shocked Satoru. Before losing his best friend, his one and only, he never considered himself a very sentimental person. He had his fun and turned in when it was time, and never did anything outside of what would deem him a good person in the eyes of others. Of course, this didn’t come without the yearning that saturated his soul so deeply that maybe it was there that he learned to not blame others for being weaker or less morally grounded than he was.
He liked outwardly and loved in secret, and this eventually proved to be the sentiment of his own downfall. Yes, he did get stronger after losing Suguru–he became the absolute strongest, which is no apologetic feat–but was he satisfied with it? Was he fulfilled with the fact that he had taken this once-in-a-millennium technique to the highest maximum it could go to?
Was this something he even wanted?
Maybe when he was younger, sure, but even that eagerly came with the grabbing hands and the prying eyes of the higher-ups in the clan. He felt reprieve in escaping to the city, his misdemeanor sending the clan to a frenzy and yet nothing in the world could’ve made him care about the $200 million bounty on his eight-year-old head.
He knew who he was, and it didn’t bother him.
Now? He wasn’t so certain.
After all, it was by his own hands that he lost the love of his life without even having the chance of telling him. Satoru had known it in his corrupted soul that Suguru was the one right upon meeting him outside of Jujutsu Tech at their enrollment. The long-haired man struck him in a way that no one else ever dared to, and after some time fighting with him on missions and secretly admiring his amazing technique as he threw out curse after curse, Satoru knew there was no separating him and this man.
At least, that’s what younger him wanted to believe.
They were young, they were naive, they were unquestioning of what they were doing and playing out everything the higher-ups wanted of them in a picture-perfect fashion. But even then, there was something there–something thin and on the precipice of violently snapping. A gaze held a half second too long, their thumbs brushing past each other without interlocking, every moment they shared being three words away from changing forever.
And after everything, after all of it, it was by Satoru’s hands that it was gone.
But as he stares now at his son’s body standing in front of him, possessed by the king of curses, he wonders if he can bear losing him, too.
He thinks this as he and Sukuna stand face-to-face in Shinjuku, the city around them reduced to ash and the voices over the broadcast filling the blood-soaked streets. He knew his beloved students were watching and cheering him on, but the voices that reached him were the ones placing bets on their fight. They analyzed the fight, mourned the damage, shouted out numbers as Satoru and Sukuna brawled it out. The battle of the strongest, the fight that could quite possibly shift the trajectory of the world, was being gambled on like a lottery ticket.
It irked him, it really did, because when he connected the dots of who he was fighting, whose soul was in that body, and who else in that boy’s life gambled…
He threw himself at Sukuna then, punching him straight in the face and sending him flying into a concrete wall. As he punched and kicked and threw his techniques at Sukuna, he refused to let himself think about the fact that it wasn't just Sukuna he was fighting. It was Megumi’s body and hair and eyes and soul that all of these techniques were landing on, and if Satoru dared to let that thought marinate for even a second, he would be the one losing here.
But he didn’t plan on losing, not again.
Not when he had a son to save.
And so he fought with every last bit of might and motive he had left in his body. He stormed through every slash that Sukuna could throw at him, between recharging his cursed energy and throwing out his own domain. Satoru tried his best to focus his own energy on healing himself as well as engaging in effective combat with Sukuna. He figured if he was going to tank so many dismantles and cleaves from his tattooed rival, then he could pour his cursed energy into the reversal and ensure his own survival.
But this was the predicament Satoru found himself troubled with: Satoru was the better fighter, yet Sukuna was the better sorcerer. Of course, though–how could someone with over a thousand years of experience not know the ins and outs of their mastership? He was not entirely aware of the roster of Sukuna’s techniques, and the binding vows alone made him comparable to none.
Paired with the strength offered to him through his nineteen ingested fingers, as well as Megumi’s ten shadows technique that the ancient sorcerer was taking complete advantage of, it made the fight more challenging than Satoru would’ve liked to admit.
And it only got worse as it went on.
Cut after cut, Satoru could physically feel himself losing more blood, losing his strength. It didn’t help to know that Sukuna was holding back, because if what was happening at his hands was him holding back, Satoru had a hard time imagining what he would look like at unfiltered full strength.
But just as he begins to lose his morale, Satoru and Sukuna come to another standstill. Sukuna’s dismantles are still flying through the air, even if he isn’t moving. Satoru squints through the dust and takes a good look at the man in front of him.
That was his next mistake.
He did not see the king of curses. He did not see the ancient cursed object that he was fighting against. He did not see the tattoos on his face and arms, he did not see the red glint in his eyes that made him distinguishable as no other than Ryoumen Sukuna.
What he did see, however, was his son.
He saw the small, prickly boy that he met in that dusty alleyway in Okinawa. He saw the boy that laughed until he cried after summoning his Divine Dogs for the first time. He saw the preteen that sobbed into his shirt upon finding out that his beloved sister got cursed. He saw the teen that would hone into his power, become a sorcerer, break down and build himself up again.
He saw no one else but Megumi Fushiguro.
And oh. His heart shattered.
Sukuna threw another round of slashes at him, and his vision blurred once again. He couldn’t tell if it was his emotions or if it was the damage his reversal technique was inflicting on his brain, but his next steps were clear to him nonetheless.
He needed to get close to him.
He needed to get close to him for two–no, one reason. He had a plan in mind, something that could possibly prolong the fight even more but would ensure his own survival and Megumi’s. It did not fall short on him that everything they were doing here would likely result in one of them dying, but that was likely.
It wasn’t certain, at least not yet.
And so he threw himself at the king of curses once again, an orb of red summoning at his extended index and middle finger. His heart pounded in his ribs as he drew closer. There was no predetermining if this plan of his was even gonna work; it was pure chance that Satoru was relying on. But he prayed to every god that was listening that this would hurt Sukuna and only Sukuna, and finally bring his son, his Megumi, back to him.
Once Satoru finally managed to maneuver past Sukuna’s round of slashes, he squeezed his eyes shut to avoid the horrible confrontation that was about to happen and wrapped his whole body around the man.
How many times have I hugged you, Megumi?
He couldn’t recall the last time he hugged Megumi. Okay, sure, he had a very meticulous habit of ruffling the boy’s hair–not that it did anything, Megumi wasn’t quite the hairstylist. Megumi would move his head away but at some point in his teenage years, he stopped hurling insults at Satoru when he did it. Satoru also liked giving him pats on the shoulder and head that were a little too hard for comfort but also affectionate in their own way. What could he say? Satoru was hyper like that; laughing loudly, sarcastically teasing his friends and his students, poking people to annoy them.
If he had to admit, though, he did it the most with Megumi. He was very well aware that the black-haired boy didn’t particularly enjoy it, but as time went on, he quit backing away from it. Satoru didn’t love having a seven year old boy telling him to ‘back the fuck off dumbass bitch’ but would be somewhat of a liar if he said he didn’t miss it. The thing with Megumi is that he is very simple, but the charm is there if you squint–the way he still makes sarcastic comments to his friends to subtly piss them off, how he operates on a routine that people his age can’t even consider for themselves, his love for black coffee and other simple foods yet would never turn down the sweetest, high-calorie treat.
The boy reminded him so much, too much of himself, that as the world around him and Sukuna faded into complete red, he couldn’t help but feel so proud of this wonderful young man he had raised.
And against every single inhibition of his, the better part of him began to accept the fact that one of them had to die today.
I’m sorry, Megumi. I’m so sorry.
Satoru pointed the Red right at Sukuna’s back, directly behind his heart, and fired.
The force of the explosion was so intense, so loud and overwhelming that Satoru’s ears were ringing when he landed some hundred feet away. He couldn’t hear or see anything around him, and oh god the pain. It shot from his brain down his neck, across his chest and straight through his right arm. It was as if he became nothing but the ache of his technique being overused, no longer human but a concept. Maybe with the way people looked at him or how they spoke of him like he were some kind of mantra, he had always been more of a concept than a mere person.
But it didn’t matter now, not with the revelation that it would be him or his son. Not when his boy’s fate was in the hands of the curse in front of him, as well as his own.
He rose to his feet, his knees wobbling and arms still shaking from the force of the attack. He stammered forward through the dusty city, trying to catch sight of his oppo–his son. Satoru was still alive, but as he listlessly moved forward into the smoke, the daunting question wasn’t able to be ignored: was Megumi still here?
Alas, he saw a shadowed figure rise some feet in front of him, heaving breaths and leaning against a wall. Satoru couldn’t exactly tell if he felt relieved or not, reminding himself that while this was Megumi’s body, it wasn’t entirely Megumi. It wasn’t the boy he once knew and loved with his whole heart, it was an impostor, a possession and a mere shadow of who he once was.
But just as Satoru was making his way towards the other man, he heard a loud male voice booming over the intercom of the broadcast: Gojo won.
He exhaled sharply at that, folding in on himself enough to slow his steps but not enough to tumble forward to the ground. He knew his students were watching him, his beautiful students cheering so loudly for him and praying for his return to Jujutsu High, but did he win? In that moment, in the middle of that destroyed city that once held so many festivities and tragedies, he certainly didn’t feel like he won.
If he had won, he would be back in 2006 with Suguru and Shoko, downing a bottle of some cheap liquor they managed to smuggle into the dorms. If he had won, he would be at home with Megumi and Tsumiki, curled up on the couch and watching some crappy chick flick that Megumi would’ve absolutely hated. If he had won, it wouldn’t just be his students in that room but also Suguru.
This was definitely his biggest regret in life. Suguru was the only person he felt fully comfortable being around, and the only person Satoru felt he could relate to. Satoru had been alone all his life until Suguru came around and then left, but for a reason so stupid and completely gone to Satoru that it almost made him just want to stop.
But he couldn’t, not when he had the next generation of Jujutsu sorcerers to teach and train. He could learn from his mistakes and foster a sense of urgency that Satoru would have thrived with had he known to do it as a teenage sorcerer. If he had been more gentle with what he had with his hands and yet holding onto it tight enough that no one could take it from him.
Maybe then, he wouldn’t have lost Suguru. Maybe they would be together now, in their own home and with their children and living the happy life that they both dreamed o–
Wait.
Why am I falling?
The whole world around him went dark in the blip of a second. The pain returned to him, but it was different. No, it wasn’t his technique causing burnout in his muscles, it wasn’t the devastation of potentially losing his son or the depression of losing Suguru. This was different in the way it was as deep as his soul. It felt infinite, unescapable– a pain so deep that it almost didn’t hurt at all.
What confused him the most was that it was in his stomach.
Satoru’s head hit the concrete then, a slight bounce back but nothing within his control as his mind went completely blank. He couldn’t feel his legs and couldn’t look down to see if he still had legs because there was the gut-sinking feeling that he probably didn’t. His torso stung with the weight of a repressed cough before it forced itself through him, his entire body convulsing with the force of it, blood coming from his mouth and splattering his face. Even then he couldn’t tell if it was blood or if it was tears or something else, no matter how hard he tried to decipher anything that just suddenly happened.
Everything was just muddy.
But then everything got bright, so bright that it was blinding and he had to squint his eyes to see ahead of him. The faint smell of steel found its way to Satoru, overwhelming his senses as he continued to struggle making out his surroundings. When his field of vision finally cleared up, all he was met with was something completely unexpected.
Is that… a train terminal?
He leaned forward in his seat that he hadn’t even realized he was sitting in to try and get a better view of his surroundings. It was only then that everything became clear to him and he could relax his strained eyes: the sky had suddenly shifted from a black field of dust and smoke to a bright blue, sunny day. Birds were chirping all around the terminal, cicadas screamed in the distance. Trees danced idly in the distance, the wind around him comforting and crisp as he watched the leaves move in a steady rhythm.
It was so… quiet, save for the sounds of the chirping birds and wind around him. Satoru didn’t even try to move because as weird as this was, as much as he just didn’t understand what was going on, a part of him didn’t want to leave. It was peaceful and it was relaxing, a heavy contrast to the gore and death he was experiencing just moments ago.
As Satoru took in his confusing surroundings, it dawned on him. He was just in battle with the king of curses, violently driven by the desire–no, the need to protect his son and bring him back, and just when he accepted that he couldn’t save them both, something happened.
And now he’s here, in a train terminal that didn’t exist minutes prior.
He sighed and drooped back onto the steel bench in resignation and, against his best wishes, harrowing fear.
Is this… the afterlife?
A figure approached and sat down next to Satoru. “Hey, Satoru.”
The voice cut straight through his muddy brain, and Satoru had to take no guess who it was. The way it spoke his name so gently, how no one else ever got close enough to him to speak it that way. The voice that belonged to the only person to treat him as a human and not some primordial entity. The voice of his best friend, his one, his only.
A rock formed in his throat as he slowly turned his head to the right, and once his eyes landed on the man next to him, his vision blurred immediately.
It didn’t help when Suguru reached out and rested a gentle hand on his shoulder.
Satoru was in shock. All he could do was stare, his face tight and mouth agape with a trillion words that wouldn’t come out. All in the face of the man he loved most. “I–” he started before choking on a quiet sob, lodged in the back of his throat like everything else– “I don’t- I don’t get it–”
Suguru’s long sigh interrupted Satoru. He looked at Satoru with gentle, understanding eyes, and Satoru chose to ignore the glint of sadness in his purple irises. “You don’t know where we are, do you?
Satoru huffed at the comment. It made him feel like he was a teenager again, tucked into Suguru’s bed as they exchanged back-handed comments about each other. He wanted it to be comforting, but all it did was twist the knife that was in his heart and make his pain even worse.
He fought through the moisture in his voice to speak with the man beside him. “No, no I don’t, but… why? Why are we here?”
“What do you mean, Satoru? You were fighting Sukuna, weren’t you?”
He fell silent once again. Considering all of the times Satoru sat alone and prayed for another chance to speak with Suguru, why the hell was it so hard to speak now? The rock in his throat would not dissipate upon his best efforts, and of course it had to happen now. Of course he had to go and waste his chance to reconcile with Suguru, just like he did the first time.
But even then, even if it killed him to fight through it to speak, he fought nonetheless. Suguru was worth all of it and more.
Eventually, he spoke the grand question again. “Why are we here? I don’t… I don’t understand.”
Suguru shuffled next to him, turning his gaze to meet Satoru’s. “You died, Satoru.”
You died.
I… died?
He stiffened, his body pin straight. He turned his head and looked at the terminal again. He should’ve been scared to find out he was dead, but as the lump in his throat slowly began to spare him, he found that he felt more relieved than anything. It wasn’t the kind of relief that comes with going to bed after a long day or the first bite of food after being starved, but it was the kind of relief that makes one think thank god it’s over. And maybe he did want it to be over, despite the fact that there were people he was fighting for, people he needed to protect.
But there was someone…
“Where’s Megumi?” Satoru asked Suguru, whipping his head around to meet his gaze once more. “Is he okay? Do you know?”
Suguru exhaled a quiet laugh. When he did, Satoru saw the shine on him: Suguru’s eyes glimmering with a quiet sense of solitude; his skin shining like the sun was sitting right in front of Satoru; his body well-rounded underneath his uniform and not skinny with the loss of weight and muscle. He looked so healthy, so content and happy here that maybe Satoru could be okay with leaving the world behind.
Because everything in front of him, everything he was seeing through his tear-brimming eyes, was everything he was fighting for.
When Suguru turned to him and graced his hand down the flat of Satoru’s back–gentle, caring, just as he always was–Satoru couldn’t stop the single tear from falling from his eye.
“Megumi will be okay. Your students are strong, they’ll save him.”
Satoru couldn’t hold anything back anymore. The weight of his life and misdoings and unsaid words came crashing forward at once, and all he could do was lean into Suguru’s shoulder and sob. He cried like an entire world’s worth of tears were coming out of him and soaking Suguru’s uniform top without end. He quivered and wailed into the fabric as Suguru wrapped his big arms around him, resting his chin on top of Satoru’s head. One hand rubbed soothing circles onto Satoru’s back, the other teasing through paper-white hair.
And oh how Satoru relished in it. He curled up into Suguru, feeling so small against his body but wanting to get impossibly closer to him. He couldn’t get close enough because nothing felt as safe as Suguru did. It was not the invisible wall around him created by his Infinity, not the barrier summoned around Jujutsu High, and not the promise of power given to him by his technique.
It was only ever Suguru.
He felt like a teenager again, hiding in Suguru’s room after he forgot to lower a veil and the higher-ups were after him. It felt like the times when it was 3 AM and the two boys were drunk, the words of confession on Satoru’s tongue but never leaking out. Even if they were on missions or in hiding from some self-important old man, Satoru knew everything would be okay just because Suguru was there.
They had each other’s backs in a way no one else did, and now, they would get to do it forever.
Satoru’s sobs eventually died down into shaky breaths, his eyes red and stinging as he nestled into Suguru’s side. Suguru met his actions, turning his head to rest his cheek onto Satoru’s forehead. The warmth between them was grounding, addicting. It was the painter and the muse to Satoru, and he would be damned if he were letting him go again.
“I never hated you, Satoru,” Suguru said, breaking the silence between them. Satoru took a sharp breath in and looked up at Suguru, his blue eyes watery as Suguru continued. “I just… I don’t know, I needed to find a way for myself, not something that was given to me. I’m not quite proud of what I did, but…”
Suguru met Satoru’s eyes, icy blue meeting lavender. Satoru swore he could melt in Suguru’s eyes if he stared just long enough.
“How was Sukuna?”
The sound of a train gliding on its rails manifested from a distance. Satoru wiped his eyes and looked out to see it turning around the bend of a hill.
He understood immediately. He smiled. “He was amazing, I’ve never fought anything as strong as him. It was fun, but–”
Suguru stood up, the hand on Satoru’s head coming down to grasp his hand and urge him up. Satoru kept his eyes on him for a second before rising from his place on the bench. His head felt feather-light from crying so much in so little time, and as he felt tears still sliding down his cheeks, he carefully reached down and grabbed Suguru’s empty hand.
“I would’ve been happier if you were there, cheering me on.”
Their hair blew in the harsh breeze of the train arriving in the terminal. It screeched as it cascaded into a full stop, their hands still holding each other as the machine stilled.
The silence that followed didn’t last long; Suguru huffed out in laughter, his shoulders bouncing slightly as he smiled. “What do you mean, Satoru? I was cheering you on.”
Satoru smiled back at the man as Suguru slowly led them towards the train. “I don’t doubt it, but I meant if you were there.”
“I know what you meant.”
It was Satoru’s turn to laugh, sweet and small and full of the life he had been craving for so many of his walking years. “As snarky as always.”
When they arrived at the train, the two automatic doors slid open with an airy hiss. The two men stood there, the silence beckoning their answer, asking them without a word if they would board or if they would stay.
Satoru knew this was the moment of transition. He never believed in any concept of an afterlife, something beyond death. That also could be because he never had the head space to consider something like this–his mind preoccupied with his never ending duties as a sorcerer, a teacher, and the strongest. Now that he was here, standing in front of this train with the man he loved most, he knew with little doubt in his body that he was now being granted the peace he craved for so long. The solitude, the serenity, the blue spring of youth he prayed he would wake up and return to was all beyond where this train would be taking them.
But what about the others? He couldn’t help but think. He pursed his lips at the thought of Shoko, realizing that she was alone now. Same with Yuuji, now that Nobara and Nanami had been killed, and himself and Megumi were gone–
Megumi.
The urge to turn around and run hit him like a hammer straight to his chest. Megumi, his Megumi, alone in that body of his, trapped inside the brutalization of Sukuna as he watched him kill his father with his own hands. Panic rose quickly in Satoru’s heart, he needed to know if Megumi would be okay without him. He had zero doubt in the kid’s strength and power, but it was a matter of if he would care about himself enough to look after himself while using it. Megumi was like that; aware of his strength yet not quite believing in it. It had often taken Satoru’s intervention to convince him that yes, you are worth this, you are worth it.
But without Satoru there, would he be able to do it on his own?
After everything he had and was going through?
Suguru seemed to sense his worry–his attention to Satoru never failing–and tilted Satoru’s head up with his thumb. When they met eyes, his hands moved to Satoru’s cheeks, his fingers brushing along his temples that told Satoru everything he needed to know.
“He’ll be okay, Satoru. He won’t let you down.”
And Satoru believed him, because in what lifetime could Suguru ever lie to him? His judgement was spot-on, his decisions always the right ones. He knew he could count on Suguru to hold his trust with the utmost care, so he nodded, bringing his hand up to hold Suguru’s.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
They walked into the train together, hand-in-hand and gleeful in the promise of what lay outside this terminal. Before the train left the terminal and every last piece of trauma was washed away from Satoru’s soul, he turned around with one last thought.
Take your time, Megumi.
You’ll be okay.