. . . fushiguro megumi + gojo satoru. too young to be singing the blues.
note. used the recent chapter 230 leaks as reference + spoilers for the manga franchise ahead.
“how is he?”
“he’s well . . he’s still recovering, and hasn’t woken up yet.”
your eyes vaguely gloss over as you take in megumi’s state. his body lay unconscious on the hospital bed, showing not much sign of progress. the slow, rhythmic beeping of the medical equipment that aided his recovery reverberated around the room—and it rang in your ears like an endless gong. you were afraid of what could happen to his vital signs the moment you tended to your other patients.
satoru nods, softly closing the door. his usually beaming, carefree mood is dampened to nothing but a worried, exhausted feeling that eats him away bit by bit. you’ve never seen him be this genuine with his emotions after the major events that took place, but could you really blame him? the kid got lost being a vessel for the king of curses and had to endure his formidable power, almost losing his own life and what’s left of his soul in the process.
“could you open the blinds a bit?” you asked quietly, studying the nurses’ recent reports on megumi’s condition. “megs always scolds me when i rarely let the light in our house.” a bitter sigh escaped your lips as you remembered the memory. “the kid thinks i’m turning into a vampire when he sees me all cooped up in my office.”
satoru chuckles at that, and he does as he’s requested. “i remember.”
. . .
“do you think he’ll wake up?”
a deafening pause followed. neither of you two—or any other medical professional out there in the big, wide world—could really provide a definite answer. but still, someone had to ask what the other thought. to navigate through a raging sea of thoughts and feelings that could drown someone, communication had not always been your forte in the relationship, but now that the storm’s been calmed—even for the briefest of moments—you and satoru wanted to be honest with each other.
cut the bullshit; disregard the thought of not wanting to burden one another.
“i don’t know,” you answer truthfully, and your voice wavers as you do so. “but i won’t ever lose hope that one day he’ll be awake, asking me what i’ll be making for breakfast because i know he wants something specific for that day. . . just like he used to.”
“mm, yeah,” he agrees, observing you take a seat on the opposite side of megumi’s bed, opposite of satoru. “he’s a tough kid,” he says, his hand fiddling with the cold metal bar. “he got that from you, y’know?”
you roll your eyes at his comment. “really? and he got his hardheadedness from you.” you murmur, glancing at megumi who’s still unresponsive. “he could get a bit reckless with his missions, too. guess who he got that from.”
“hey!” satoru pouts slightly, but it’s all to lighten the situation. “well, you know. . . megumi’s keen on his surroundings and often— what’s the word? he picks things up easily.”
“really, you two being reckless would cause me to age thirty times faster.”
“come on, that’s not true.”
“it is.”
“if that’s the case, how old are you now, then?”
“physically, i’m twenty-nine. mentally, i think i’m in my late sixties.”
“wow, ok. you’re an elderly person now,” he cheekily smiled. “does that mean we’ll see you in the priority lanes at fast food establishments?”
you gave him a glare. “whatever, gojo satoru.”
“ooh, using my full name? i think i made the old-timer mad.”
“shut up!” you chuckled.
“i should turn down the ac,” satoru says, arranging a new bouquet of megumi’s favorite flowers on the displayed vase. “yuuji and the others visited earlier this afternoon, and it’s safe to say that they’re still hoping for your fast recovery.”
no response.
he quietly sighed, turning down the air conditioner’s thermostat just a bit. “you hate it when the room’s too cold, right? you always wanted to stay in whenever winter got too cold for your liking.”
once again, he’s met with just the occasional beeping of megumi’s medical equipment.
it’s been a year and a half, and there’s still not much news.
“you’re early, ‘toru.” satoru looks at you as you enter the room.
and the first thing he greets you with is, “you look like shit.” not even a simple, “hey” or “have you eaten?” really, he had to greet you with that?
you contemplate whether you should smack him with the wooden clipboard you’re holding. and so you did, smacking it against his side playfully. satoru, ever the dramatic lover, whines as he soothes the area you hit.
“hello to you, too.”
“hmph.” he crosses his arms over his chest. “can you believe this, megumi? they’re being mean to me again. it just slipped, ok? i think you’re a very hardworking doctor, and your job is very admirable. love you.”
“don’t act all lovey-dovey with me,” you told him, sitting next to megumi’s bed. “you still haven’t washed the dishes.”
“i did!”
“whatever you say.”
satoru slumps on the spot on the opposite side of you. “have you finished your rounds?”
“yeah,” you answer, leaning your head on the cold side rail. “i think i’m going to get a quick shut-eye before i take on another shift.”
“really, you need to get some sleep. stop taking on more work than your body and mind can handle,” he frowned. “why don’t we go home and come back tomorrow?”
“no, no.” you yawn. “i . . .”
there was a pause, and satoru thought you had already fallen asleep.
“i want to be here when he wakes up. megumi might wake up and become worried that he’s all alone, no? or he might panic— i . . . don’t want to go home, satoru.”
because home is where satoru and megumi is.
he nods, deciding not to go against it. “alright, i’ll stay here with you, then.”
“mm. don’t you have work tomorrow?”
“don’t worry, i’ll handle it.” satoru stood up, draping his trenchcoat over your figure and giving you a reassuring side hug as he knelt beside you. “get some sleep, yeah?” he murmurs, placing a kiss on your shoulder. “we’ll be here when megumi wakes up. promise.”
the room is dimly lit by the moonlight that filters through the windows, illuminating softly against megumi’s skin. he stirs awake and blinks slowly through his half-asleep daze. he felt exhausted, and could barely move his head or his hands. uncomfortable with how lethargic he was and the environment he was in, he became worried.
what happened?
where was he?
was everyone okay?
was he okay?
at the feeling of a warm hand on either of his, his eyes glanced over to see who they belonged to.
yours and satoru’s, over megumi’s undoubtedly cold ones.
you had your head on the vacant portion of the bed, and satoru leaned on the side rail, both of you sleeping peacefully. safe and unharmed.
and it’s almost surprising how quickly he felt reassured. a feeble attempt at smiling is made, and megumi relaxes—he’s safe; he’s fine, because he had the two people who cared most about him by his side in his frailest moment. megumi thinks that he’s reverted back to his seven-year-old state, where he feels absolutely embarrassed to even tell you or satoru that he’s had an awful dream.
continuing to apply frosting to your freshly baked cupcakes, you did your best to ignore the man in front of you. culinary class was fun, especially if your class was tasked with making a simple dessert for a graded activity. however, it was not that fun when you have a snarky middle blocker who always had a way to get through your nerves—watching you work throughout the process of creating such a sweet dessert.
even your sweet desserts would turn salty whenever he was around.
kei hums, amused by your response. “did you now?” he replies with that all-knowing smirk plastered on his stupidly good-looking face. “and what happened to calling me by my first name?”
“i changed my mind, that’s all.” you shrug, and he has the audacity to be the one frowning in this conversation. “it’s better to keep things professional, tsukishima. wouldn’t you agree?”
he huffs. “whatever,” he murmurs, propping his elbows on the counter, his head resting on his palm as he gazes up at you—just . . . admiring how you skillfully worked with the fluffy strawberry frosting—not that he’d ever admit it out loud, no way.
with the silence that followed, he quickly grew bored. “can i have some?” kei asks, eyes darting toward the strawberries you had cut specifically in the shape of little hearts for decorations.
“i don’t know, can you? what’s the magic word?”
“fuck you.”
“that’s not the magic word,” you coyly said to him. “i guess i’ll just give these extra strawberries to the volleyball team,” the thought wasn’t a bad one either, “maybe even have hinata or kageyama try these cupcakes i made once it’s graded.”
“no,” he says, slightly glaring at you.
now, it’s your turn to be amused. “no? did i hear that correctly, tsukishima?”
“it’s kei to you,” he corrects, softly this time. his expression was no longer stern, but this time, rather, it was one of slight annoyance and even pouting. “and . . . can i please have the extra strawberries?” he tries again, and for the first time in all the time you’ve known him, he looks at you with this soft, endearing look—as if he were some sort of kicked puppy by the street, begging to be adopted.
“see? it doesn’t kill you to be nicer to me,” you say, feeding him a strawberry or two—which he didn’t mind.
from the other stations, your classmates watched with either surprised or puzzled expressions after they’d witnessed your interaction with kei. even your teacher couldn’t help but ask, “are those two. . . ?” to which your classmates couldn’t answer either.
satoru is a simple man who’s always yearned for a simple, happy life. though fate and circumstances were never in his favor, he still did his best and lived his life.
when you came along, satoru found his life filled with these vibrant colors, one that reassures him that whatever happens, he’ll have someone to come home to, someone that understands what he’s going through without him having to explain and ask to be understood, someone that would love him for as long as time would allow it.
most nights, whenever you two come home from a busy day of teaching and handling curses, he’ll find himself asking you about what you want for the future. things that don't revolve around the burden you both shoulder, your work life, and such.
just simple things, like what kind of house you both wanted, what interior design would you prefer to be done on the kitchen of said house, and even what design the bathroom would have.
“how about when we get married?” he suddenly says, the two of you washing the dishes together. “what do you think the cake flavor should be?” he patiently waits for your answer; after all, you two had the entire night to spend together. “should it be like a one-tier cake or multiple tiers?”
you chuckle to yourself when you notice him eyeing his engagement ring. “i’m not picky with what type of cake we’ll be getting, ‘toru,” you told him.
“do you have any specific flavors in mind?”
his heart flutters in his chest when he hears your reply.
we’ll be getting—
that meant that you were one hundred percent sure that your wedding would have cake and that you’d actually marry him in the future! it may seem childish and not that big of a deal to others, but it’s your subtle way of reassuring him that really keeps satoru going; heck, he knows that you’ll reassure him even if it’s not so subtly done.
“i dunno,” he shrugs, setting off the last silverware on the rack. “same as you, love. ‘m not picky as long as it’s sweet, i guess.” satoru smiles lovingly as he wraps his still damp hands around you, pulling you close to him.
“satoru, your hands are wet!”
he chuckles at that. “come on, just this once?”
he hears you sigh, and that’s how he knows he got what he wanted once more.
“fine, but just this once, ‘toru,” you murmur, and he makes a sound of agreement to that. “i’ll tell our secretary to schedule an appointment where we can taste-test different cakes, then? when we’re not too busy with work?”
satoru nods happily. “mhm!”
you can’t help but smile.
“i love you, ‘toru.”
he doesn’t miss a beat to say, “i love you too.”
satoru thinks back on that night as if it were one of the core memories of your relationships, because to him, it was. it was yours as well, but he just didn’t know that. as he notices your breathing becoming shallow, the words die out in his throat. his eyes are glassy, and he’s shaking, evidently afraid of the inevitable that patiently waits for you.
you only have a few seconds left, after all.
and he wishes—he prays for the universe to take him instead.
when you go limp in his arms, the vibrant colors in satoru’s life go dim.
you’re gone.
he’s choking on his own tears as reality dawns on him.
by chance, if fate would allow it—no, he’ll make sure that fate doesn’t interfere in the next one. in another universe or life, you two would have a happy wedding filled with cheers and overflowing love for one another. the decoration would be out of this world, unless you’d want to go for a much more intimate route, not that he’ll ever mind. everyone he cares for would be there; you would be there; and certainly, he would be present as well.
but before that, of course, satoru would be alongside you, taste-testing different kinds of cake to pick the flavor of your wedding cake with a carefree smile on his face as you wipe the frosting off the corner of his lips.
best friends to lovers with rintarou suna where he unexpectedly asks if you want to go out for a late night drive around the city at the untimely hour of 3am because he knows for an absolute fact that you’re awake as well.
oh and rintarou thinks it’s fucking hilarious to pull into an empty parking lot, stop his car, recline his seat and say “so, what you tryna do?” with his trance inducing hooded eyes and a shit eating lazy grin. LIKE BITCH WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT??? he doesn’t actually want to do anything (yk unless you want to wink wink), he just thinks your reaction is both the funniest and cutest thing ever.
your jaw drops immediately as your soft eyes widen slightly. “the fuck you mean, what am i tryna do?”
the bozo starts cackling and wheezing like a car engine at your words and expression as he starts up the car’s engine once again.
he’s had dreams so high that they could reach the tallest skytree, buildings, and monuments alike. as persevering as he is with everything he does, he’s accomplished quite a number of his dreams. though it was not an easy task, he still managed to push through for his own sake and not anyone else’s.
it was safe to say that he lived by the quote, “it is free to dream.”
but as much as he’s dreamed of many things, from getting to his preferred university and being able to qualify for his chosen course, there was something that always felt out of his reach, and no matter what keiji did, it seemed as though the universe was always against it.
asking you out on a simple date was nearly impossible.
whenever he had a plan in mind—down to even the slightest of detail—there’s bound to be something that came up at the last minute to spoil his advances. you could be busy, a blockmate of his would need assistance, and by the time he’s unoccupied, you’ve already gone home. letters never reached you due to so many hurdles of challenges that came its way. his messages always were never sent because of the poor signal—it was fine a few minutes ago!
this happened way too many times that the small flame of hope in his heart soon dimmed out, and then completely went out when he found out that you already were in a relationship.
he was heartbroken.
nevertheless, he’s glad that you found someone who makes you happy, even though that someone isn’t him.
it could be that it’s what the universe had planned from the very beginning.
“oh.”
“sorry, ‘kaashi,” you smile sheepishly. “is it important? i can always reschedule.”
keiji shook his head, calmly waving his hand in reassurance. “ah, no. it can wait,” he tells you, and you nod happily. “have fun with your date, though.”
“oh! i will.” you smile.
and with that, you’re off to your date.
keiji was a dreamer.
and would it be too much to dream that, in another universe, you would be holding keiji’s drink while he tied your shoelaces as you two were on your way home from your date?
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