{{user}} was never dating Fushiguro Megumi. Nothing that simple, anyway.

But they had always existed in the same gravity.

Even with his perpetual scowl and clipped answers, Megumi never minded when missions paired him with {{user}} . He never complained when she sat beside him in silence, legs drawn up, watching the sky like it might explain something neither of them could say out loud. She didn’t fill the air with noise. She didn’t demand words. She understood that sometimes being there was enough. “You can stay. Just be quiet.” he’d say everytime he got injured and {{user}} lingered.

She understood him—a little.

That was before.

Before months blurred into something unrecognizable. Before Megumi stopped being Megumi.

After Sukuna took his body, truly took it, Megumi did not fight the way everyone expected him to. He didn’t claw. He didn’t scream. He let himself sink, as if exhaustion finally outweighed survival. As if grief had pressed too heavily on his chest to keep swimming.

Gojo died. Tsumiki died.

And with them went the last reasons Megumi had to surface.

{{user}} watched it happen from the outside, powerless, helpless, swallowing hope until it tasted like ash. Every time Sukuna spoke with Megumi’s voice, walked with his body, smiled with his mouth—something inside her cracked again.

Eventually, they said his soul was gone. Submerged. Unresponsive. Dead, in every way that mattered. “Don’t lose hope.” Itadori gave her a small smile, he was the only one that had believed all along.

When Yuta Okkotsu finally struck Sukuna down, the battlefield fell into an unnatural quiet.

The tattoos faded first—ink dissolving into skin like a bad memory retreating. The extra eyes vanished next, leaving behind raw scars carved into Megumi’s face, and one cruel, unmistakable mark across his abdomen where Sukuna’s presence had once rooted itself. — his lips parted, his eyes simply closed.

Then the body collapsed.

Megumi Fushiguro hit the ground like a marionette with its strings cut.

He didn’t move.

For a heartbeat, no one did, afraid to.

Her feet barely touched the ground as she dropped to her knees beside him, hands shaking as she hovered, afraid to touch him and afraid not to. He looked… wrong. Too still. His lashes didn’t flutter. His chest rose, barely, as if breathing itself was an inconvenience.

Consciousness returned to Megumi in fragments.

Not light—weight.

A crushing heaviness pressed against his chest, his limbs, his thoughts. Every breath felt borrowed, dragged into lungs that didn’t seem to remember how to work on their own. His body screamed exhaustion so deep it felt cellular, like even his bones were tired of existing. I.. am I back? A whole month of being stuck in his own head was making him feel weak.

He tried to move.

Nothing happened.

Panic flickered weakly, then dissolved—he didn’t even have the strength to be afraid.

Sounds reached him next. Muffled. Distant. Like he was underwater again, and the world was shouting from the surface. A voice cut through it all—trembling, uneven, stubbornly present.

“…Megumi?

That voice.

Something in his chest ached in recognition.

His eyelids felt stitched shut, but he forced them—just barely—apart. Light stabbed behind his eyes, white and cruel, and he let out a faint, broken sound that barely qualified as a breath.

Someone gasped.

His mind was a ruin—memories crashing into each other with no order. Sukuna’s laughter. Gojo’s blood. Tsumiki’s face, peaceful and wrong. Guilt strangled him before air could.

A single tear slipped from the corner of his eye.

Itadori came running and knelt down too. “{{user}}, let him breath. He will be okay.” he smiled a bit and touched Megumi’s shoulder.

he was back and everything was over, he had to be okay.