Three Years – Chapter Five

Utahime poked the bobblehead on the shelf. The small, grinning figurine of Gojo in his high school uniform nodded at her with the eagerness he did in real life whenever she offered to buy dessert. It was so oddly like Gojo that she was tempted to ask how much Shoko spent on this present and why she thought this was a good idea.

Well, she could think of one reason why.

Gojo may be loving and empathetic, but he did have a tendency towards narcissism that made her want to exorcise him sometimes. Gift him something with his likeness, and he was sure to gush like a raging fangirl, admiring the details with a less-than-subtle attempt at self-praise.

As the bobbing head slowed down, Utahime remembered that Shoko had gifted her something similar in the past. A week after Utahime graduated, Shoko had mailed her a hand-made doll in a miko outfit with a massive bow on the head. It would’ve been adorable if not for the eerie grin on the doll’s face, which made Utahime wonder whether Shoko was sending her a message. Was it her gentle means of telling her that she could be scary sometimes? Utahime knew she had a temper, and Shoko had pointed it out when her anger got out of hand, but nothing quite hit the mark as that doll did.

Apart from that subliminal messaging, however, the doll had been perfectly stitched and dressed in high-quality fabric. It was easy to imagine Shoko sewing the thing in the infirmary as though she was suturing wounds. It did not surprise Utahime at all that the doll reeked of antiseptic.

“Cute, isn’t it?” Gojo said, bobbing his head along with the figurine.

Utahime held his face still with both of her hands. The likeness was dizzying, especially when he grinned like that. “Do you keep every knickknack that people give you?”

“Only the good ones.”

“Did you keep mine?”

Gojo blinked at her several times, affecting surprise. “I’ve had a crush on you since high school. You think I didn’t frame the napkin you used at lunch or the straw you discarded after drinking a soda?”

“You didn’t!”

He laughed and spun her around towards the bedroom. He half-carried her there, forcing her legs to move forward one after another against her will. “Unfortunately, I’m not that freaky.”

Utahime clung to the doorframe to resist him. His bedroom was masculine but cozy; she detected carpet cleaner and cedarwood in the air, which made his white rug, navy curtains, and light grey bedding feel warmer and more personal. The only jarring inconsistency was the Digimon plushie in the middle of the bed, grinning at them. With that included, the masculine quality of the space decreased and turned boyish. She would have to toss that under the bed before they did anything naughty, or else it would ruin the mood for her.

“Why are we going here again?” she said, leaning back to return half her body to the corridor.

Without warning, Gojo ducked and raised her on his shoulder, forcing her to arch backwards at an angle that hurt her spine. She kicked and screamed to be put down, as she was not so flexible as to be comfortable in that position, but Gojo slapped her thigh as he carried her to his bedside. The force of the slap reminded her of other things, and for the next couple of seconds, she couldn’t find it in her to protest.

“Relax, Senpai. I’m just going to show you something,” he said.

“I’ve seen it many times, so put me down!”

He tossed her to the bed, and she bounced on the edge before slipping to the rug with a thud. Unsmiling, he pointed at the photo frames on his bedside table. “I wasn’t referring to my well-endowed self. Look.”

Utahime darted him a glare even as heat spread across her cheeks. Maybe he was correct, and she was becoming a pervert. This would not be the first time that he’d refer to something completely non-sexual, and her mind found ways to interpret it as him suggesting sexy time.

With a huff, she reached for one of the photo frames and held it up to her face. The item inside turned her mute. Beneath the glass, positioned at the very center, was a light pink sticky note with her handwriting. She could still remember scribbling that note in high school, after Gojo had returned from a mission with a badly wounded shoulder.

The injury had startled her, as she assumed his Infinity could protect him from everything, but it appeared that he still hadn’t mastered the simultaneous use of his techniques. When up against two special grades, he had struggled to maintain Infinity while using Blue at its fullest capacity. The enemy found a blindspot and struck him, and the rest was history.

The note had been a spur-of-the-moment idea. While on her way back to campus after a mission, she bought him a box of black sesame cookies and left it in the infirmary with this message:

Never take your strength for granted. Eat up and recover well.

She had done the same for other sorcerers she had worked with, even Mei, whose get-well-soon presents often cost her more than she was willing to spend. It wasn’t anything new or special to her, so she did not expect that Gojo would treasure it like this.

Gojo sat on the floor next to her and proffered another framed note. “This one’s from Megumi.”

Just one glance at the words written on the yellow paper did it. Utahime laughed so hard, tears sprung in the corners of her eyes.

The note read:

You’re a sorcerer, not an animal (I hope).

“What did you do to Megumi?” she asked, using his sleeve to wipe her tears.

“He left that note on the jar of beef jerky that he keeps full for Divine Dog.”

“You ate beef jerky?”

“I was curious, so I tasted it.”

Her amusement died, and she pinched his bicep. “Satoru Gojo, Megumi’s going to age quickly because of you. Stop stressing him out.”

“But it’s adorable when he tries to control his temper. He’s like an old man talking himself out of murder.”

Gojo continued absently smiling at Megumi’s note. It was a rare show of utter contentment, reserved mostly for their quiet moments together in Kyoto and his parents. Utahime leaned her head on his shoulder and studied the note with him. Megumi had such neat handwriting for his age.

“You enjoy looking after them, don’t you? Even though you disagree with the stipulations of his contract with Jujutsu High.”

“The world isn’t fair, but at least I get to make things better where it counts.” He sighed, suddenly exasperated. “Whether that kid appreciates it is another thing entirely. He should be flattered that one of the richest and most influential men in Japan has his best interest at heart.”

“Maybe if you stop being a jerk about it, Megumi would appreciate you more.”

“I don’t see how I’m being a jerk about it,” he said.

“Nevermind.” She had long given up trying to stop him from teasing the boy until he stormed off or scaring him during training until he looked like he might faint. Gojo had a strange way of showing his affection, and even though Megumi acted indifferent towards Gojo, Utahime knew that Megumi appreciated him still.

Tsumiki’s voice pierced through the thick silence in the corridor and stopped them in their tracks. After this initial outburst, incomprehensible scolding leaked from their apartment, urgent and loud enough to force their neighbors to peer at the corridor in alarm.

Utahime apologized to them and reasoned that the kids must be fending off a cockroach, all the while motioning for Gojo to hurry up and unlock the door.

Reflexively, Gojo took the key out in slow motion. Utahime snatched it from him in annoyance and unlocked the apartment herself, knowing that the kids were probably too knee-deep in an argument to hear them.

This would not be the first time they’d catch the siblings in the middle of an argument, with Tsumiki switching from tears to scolding within half a second, and Megumi sulking and throwing out snarky remarks here and there.

Still, that did not prepare them for what they saw when they entered.

As Gojo and Utahime crossed the threshold, Megumi stomped out of his bedroom with Tsumiki tailing him. He jolted at the sight of Gojo, and the sudden action must’ve hurt because he hunched over and clutched his rib.

Tsumiki gawked at them from the bedroom door, and after a tense pause, broke down crying. Although she was angry, she no longer bawled like she did when she was younger. Demureness was settling in, and she hurried to dry her cheeks and fix her hair in the presence of guests.

Gojo dropped their shopping bags on the kitchen counter and crouched before Megumi. Even from the door, he had spotted the blues and purples on his skin, most of them clustered on the side of his face and neck. “Did you get into a fight again?”

“It was the neighborhood kids,” Tsumiki hissed from behind him.

“Shut up,” Megumi snapped.

“Hey.” Gojo didn’t raise his voice, but his emotions bled through his tone, and now everyone in the room fell silent.

Utahime beckoned Tsumiki over to her, and the girl ambled to her with more tears. “It’s alright. There’s no need to cry anymore. Can you fetch the first aid kit for us, please?”

Gojo listened to Tsumiki pad off to the next room as he raised Megumi’s arm to see the cuts he was hiding beneath his jacket. He was so skinny that the sleeves rolled back at once, and the light streaming from the window illuminated the freshly clotted cuts along his forearms and up to his biceps.

Tilting his head, he saw more gashes and discoloration on his legs. Even his socks had a growing splotch of red near the toes.

“What in the world happened this time?” Utahime asked. She sat cross-legged on the floor and patted the space in front of her. “Sit. Your wounds are still bloody, so we can’t do this on the couch. Tsumiki will only get more frustrated if the furniture is stained.”

Tsumiki returned with the first aid kit cradled in her arms. She slid it beside Utahime and sniffed some more. “Megumi bought tea and snacks from the convenience store, but those bullies ganged up on him and stole everything.”

“It’s no big deal,” Megumi muttered. He lowered himself to the floor in front of Utahime with a stifled wince. By the time he made it down, he was quivering with the pain. “I’ll just go and buy them again.”

“You didn’t fight back?” Gojo asked. That had been their one deal since his last fight, and the boy he punched got sent to the hospital. Granted, it was the bully’s fault, and he probably deserved it, but Gojo didn’t want Megumi to be shunned for his inherent strength.

“I defended myself,” Megumi said.

“Why did they do it?”

“They were being losers.”

Gojo sighed and looked away. One day, Megumi would return from missions in a worse state, and Gojo would have to be desensitized to seeing him beaten to an inch of his life.

This was different, however.

There was a physical discomfort that came with seeing Megumi unnecessarily wounded while running an errand. He was a tall boy, but skinny and deeply introverted. He could’ve beaten up a gang of older boys easily, especially with the aid of Divine Dogs and his rabbits, but Jujutsu High warned him against using his technique with non-shamans. Still, it seemed like there was more to the story that Megumi was not willing to say. He shouldn’t be this badly injured otherwise.

If Satoshi were here, he’d have dispersed the Fugen to find the little assholes who did this.

Utahime squeezed Gojo’s knee before opening the first aid kit and sorting the items inside.

Her touch calmed him, and the rising waves of anger in his chest subsided.

“Tsumiki, I’m hungry. Let’s go get snacks while Utahime fixes up your brother.” Gojo winked at Utahime on his way to the door. “Want cake? We can buy two different flavors.”

Tsumiki fetched her jacket, glancing at Megumi repeatedly as she trailed him. “It’s dark now, and I haven’t cooked anything yet. Maybe we should buy dinner instead?”

Gojo offered his hand to the little girl. His heart broke for Tsumiki in a different way. She reminded him of little Hanabi, precarious out of necessity, but still full of care. “Of course. Now that you mention it, I am famished. If we don’t hurry up, Utahime will cook us for dinner. You don’t want me for dinner, do you?”

Utahime dealt with Megumi’s wounds with as much care as she could. The antiseptic would surely sting—there was nothing she could do about that—but she could at least be gentle in cleaning and dressing each cut.

Now and then, she peered up at Megumi’s face. He had grown from shocked to somber in the span of ten minutes, and Utahime knew this change was primarily due to how he treated Tsumiki. Megumi may be a nice kid, but just like any boy his age, he could be harsh when he wanted to.

Utahime would know. She’d been in Tsumiki’s shoes plenty of times. Unlike her, though, Utahime tended to bear a grudge and wish Kazuo died in his missions just so he couldn’t bully her anymore.

“I fought a couple of older boys when I was your age.” Utahime undid a roll of bandage and began wrapping it around Megumi’s discolored forearm. “Kicked them in the chin and made them lose a few teeth. They were ganging up on my baby brother. Haruki’s only a couple of years older than you, and he has a bit of cursed energy, but not enough to make him a full-fledged sorcerer. Plus, he’s a bit of a wimp. He’d stop an entire procession of priests and shrine maidens if a caterpillar were in their path.”

Megumi wiped the snot that had grown stale on the curve of his upper lip. “What happened? Did you get into a lot of trouble?”

“My mother whipped me with a broom until my father begged her to stop. I was mad at her for the punishment since I did it to defend Haruki, but I know now that I deserved it.”

“How so? You were on the good side.”

“I could’ve just done enough to stop them and run away with Haruki, but I didn’t.” Utahime grinned at him, blushing slightly at the confession. “I was a bit of a show off at your age, especially after I realized I could take down men twice my size.”

Megumi’s gaze fell back to his lap, and he frowned. “I wasn’t showing off.”

“I bet. You wouldn’t be in this state if you were. So, what happened?”

Megumi shook his head.

Utahime made a show of taking out her phone. “Alright then, I suppose I have no choice but to call Shoko to treat you.”

He jolted as though electrocuted, and he forced her phone down to the rug beside her foot. “She’s going to inject me and try to suture me again! I don’t need stitches!”

Utahime couldn’t help but laugh at his alarm. Shoko liked visiting the Fushiguro siblings and babysitting them when needed. Yaga paid her for her time, and she could simply lounge around watching movies with them while teasing Megumi about his medical fears.

“Alright, alright, I won’t call Shoko. But you have to tell me what happened from start to finish.”

Megumi sucked on his lower lip, his eyes fixed on the view outside the window. “There was a cat.”

“Huh?”

“I saw them beating the cat with a stick, and its leg was injured, and it was bleeding, so I covered it with my body, and they beat me up so I would let go, but I didn’t want to, and then they got tired, so they just left with everything Tsumiki told me to buy.” He sobbed and hiccupped as he tried to suppress his emotions, but there was no holding them back now. His tears, fat and plenty, skated down his cheeks and created dark patches on his shirt. No matter how often he wiped his eyes dry, fresh tears would surface and wet his face again.

Utahime took out her handkerchief and mopped his cheeks, hoping the contact would sooth him. “Megumi, what happened to the cat?”

He clutched his shirt. His breathing came in short bursts, and soon, he was hyperventilating and drooling on the rug. “It-It—!” He gasped and stopped.

Utahime clutched his shoulders to keep him steady. “What’s wrong? Megumi?”

The front door opened. From where Utahime sat, she saw Gojo walk in with a rabbit on his shoulder and a worn carton box in his hands. The sound of plastic followed as Tsumiki walked in after him, and he instructed her quietly to put away their takeout.

Megumi watched with pink, wide eyes as Gojo approached with the box. The rabbit hopped down from his shoulder and disappeared in a puff of smoke. She supposed it was his shikigami’s contact with Gojo that had broken his panic attack.

Utahime, scowling, looked back and forth Gojo and the box in a wordless question. Gojo only gave her a reassuring nod before lowering himself to the floor beside her and placing the box in the middle.

Long, fluffy rabbit ears poked out of the worn flaps. Slowly, Utahime pulled back the carton to free it and see what it could be hiding.

A tiny, orange tabby lay on its side, bloody and stiff. The rabbit had been standing guard, but now that Megumi was there, it hopped onto his lap and stared up at him as though waiting for a new command.

“I followed your residuals,” Gojo said. “What happened to this cat?”

Megumi broke down. He picked up the cat and held it against his chest, and in between sobs and incomprehensible expressions of grief, they managed to piece the story together.

Megumi had defended the cat from the neighborhood kids, but even after using his entire body to shield it, the cat still died. He had come for it too late.

If only he were allowed to use his Shikigami.

If only he were stonger.

It took a while for Megumi to calm down. His eyes grew red and swollen, and his cheeks had puffed out with his wailing. This had been the most emotional Utahime had seen him, and she knew that even though Gojo’s face remained expressionless, he, too, must be deeply upset by this.

Tsumiki embraced Megumi from behind and cried with him. Utahime interlaced her fingers with Gojo’s. The apartment grew still. Somewhere outside the building, Christmas songs played, and children laughed.

Utahime wondered why Megumi didn’t volunteer the truth and take the cat home with him. Was it shame? Was he afraid his inability to protect the cat would be interpreted as incompetence in protecting anything else of value?

Eventually, they managed to coax the cat out of Megumi’s grip and wipe the blood off its tiny body. With Ijichi’s help, the four of them went to Jujutsu High, where there was plenty of undisturbed land to bury the cat. Gojo thought it would be a good idea, as Megumi could visit it often once he officially enrolled in the school.

Ijichi, the ever-helpful guy he was, found a spot of soft ground under the massive tree beside the dormitories. Utahime held Megumi in her left arm and Tsumiki in her right as Gojo and Ijichi dug a small hole in the ground. After lowering the cat to the grave, they took turns covering it with soil and said a prayer.

Megumi was now ten and too tall to be carried, but his panic attack had disoriented him, and Gojo picked him to little protest.

In Gojo’s arms, Megumi looked small again. The boy cried with abandon, and Gojo simply held him in silence.

Utahime had a conversation with Gojo once about Megumi’s attachment to animals. He guessed the boy’s devotion to them extended far beyond his affiliation with his shikigami. Megumi was too tender-hearted, and to preserve his nature, he filled the empty spaces in his life with animals. A stray dog here, an injured cat there. An excited birdcall for the sparrows in the morning and a gentle smile at the elephant in the zoo on the holidays.

“I’m lucky I have Satoshi, but who does Megumi have?” Gojo had told her on the drive to the Fushiguro’s apartment earlier. “I feel I have to save him in any way I can so that he never falls on the wrong path. Suguru’s enough. I don’t want to have to fight Megumi, too.”

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Erika’s still currently recovering (please wish her well!), so I’ll be doing the illustrations for a bit. I hope you don’t mind! It’s a lot of work churning out content weekly, and I admit sometimes I feel discouraged, but this community has literally saved my life. If only I have the words to express what you’ve done for me. You guys rock!