Chapter Text
I dream of better days when I
was a child, everything
seemed so easy through that narrow little lens.
I just want to feel that way again.
He should be happier.
Megumi’s fingers scale the neck of the guitar, gracefully climbing as they rely on muscle memory.
He should be proud of another best-selling album. He should be excited to go on tour.
The weight of fame and showmanship makes his guitar feel heavier than he remembers, but he presses on. There’s no time to be sluggish.
He should be thankful to be able to create and play music for a living—his passion—and not only that, but to do it alongside two of his best friends. He should be elated.
But he’s not. And he hasn’t been for quite some time now.
Guilt cuts into him like the strings of his guitar dig into his calloused fingers. Yuuji, as always, is lost to the music. As he sings, he has this blinding smile, one that makes you truly believe he loves what he’s doing. He just has this radiant presence—something that draws you in—and it’s what sold Megumi on having him join in the first place.
And Nobara, the backbone of their trio on the drums, holds both of them steady. Her wild and free spirit is suited for nothing else other than her kit—it’s like she was made for it. She’s always pushed them, never taken ‘no’ for an answer or allowed them to give up. A lyricist she is not, but her understanding of rhythm and theory rivals Megumi’s.
He wouldn’t trade these two for the world.
But why does it feel so hollow?
Over the years, slowly and steadily, things have shifted. They’re different. Sure, he, Nobara, and Yuuji are still undeniably close. They laugh together, cry together; they fight and argue and make up again. But even still, they’re different than they were. They aren’t the same sixteen year olds getting their first taste of the big leagues.
Megumi thinks he might understand Yuuji’s lyrics now.
We mourn the loss of the people we were back then.
He sucks in a breath through his nose and closes his eyes, body swaying from side to side with the beat as Yuuji sings, using the music to push the thoughts aside.
“We’re growing slowly, slowly cynical cynical.”
It’s cathartic, in a way, to let himself just feel; the three are so in sync from years of working and growing together that they sometimes don’t even need to focus on keeping the beat or staying in time. In the end, they know they’ll find each other.
They repeat the verse, and Megumi surrenders himself to the flow, to the feeling of his entire body melding into the music as one. His fingers map out the hills and valleys of the neckboard, feeling along the strings and the frets; the weight of his guitar feels good in his hands, more natural, and he taps his foot against the floor, bobbing his head in time as they stay suspended in time together.
Yuuji’s soft, falsetto voice starts the chorus. “Hey, you… better come out right swinging kid and I—”
Without warning, the practice room flies open, the door thudding against the wall and stopping the musicians in their tracks. “Hey, kiddos, I’ve got some news for ya.”
The decaying reverb of the guitar and a few angry beats from Nobara match the tone of the room as all three groan in unison.
“What do you want, Gojou?” Megumi snaps.
“Do you want the good news first, or the bad news?” Nobody bothers answering; it wouldn’t matter anyway. Gojou only ever does what he wants. “Alright, well, bad news first. Sorcery Fight? The co-headliner? Well,” he says, shrugging nonchalantly, “they dropped.”
“What the fuck?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“What happened? Gimme the fucking tea!”
Along with Yuuji, Megumi whips his head around to leer at Nobara, who only shrugs in response.
“Have I ever joked with you in the last six years you’ve been working with me?”
“Literally all the time,” Yuuji deadpans.
Gojou waves off the comment. “Okay, but not about things like this.” He totally does, but Megumi supposes that it doesn't matter. “Either way, the tour is in three days, and you’re missing a co-headliner. Want the good news?”
“Yes, please .” Yuuji fiddles with his guitar strings, a nervous habit he picked up somewhere along the way during their time together.
“We have someone else lined up. And, here’s the kicker, their bassist will also be able to fill in for the tour. Two birds with one stone.” Gojou takes off his sunglasses—keeping them on while inside is one of his more benign eccentricities—exposing his vibrant, aggressively blue eyes. The ones that helped make him famous in the first place. “Which also means we save on expenses. Less overhead, more profit, right?”
Of course. It always comes down to the bottom line with him.
And as true as that statement is, so is the fact that everything with Gojou Satoru comes with a downside—something unexpected that ruins it completely. The man is a walking monkey’s paw.
“So… what’s the downside?” Megumi sets down his guitar and places it on the stand so he can cross his arms and stare down their producer-slash-manager. “There’s always a catch with you.”
Instead of speaking, Gojou makes a motion with his hand, gesturing for someone else to enter. Skeptical eyes narrow as Megumi waits impatiently.
Megumi’s heart sinks. Anyone in their right mind would recognize the muscled, tattooed frontman with reddish-brown eyes so dreamy they’re obnoxious.
“Sukuna,” Megumi spits with disgust.
“Hello to you too, Megumi.” The comment doesn’t even seem to have phased him as he flashes a bright, knowing smile.
“It’s Fushiguro to you,” Megumi grumbles under his breath.
“Awe, come on, Megumi-chan,” Gojou uses his annoying sing-songy voice as he tosses his arm around Megumi’s shoulders. “It’ll be fun.”
“They’re not even under our label.” Megumi knows he’s basically pouting at this point, but there is literally nobody he wants to avoid more than Sukuna. The rocker is known for being loud and brash, for partying like one would expect of a man of his ilk and giving little thought to the consequences. He is everything Megumi hates.
Sukuna is bar chords and screaming. Megumi is a musician.
They only met in person once before—an unfortunate circumstance—two ships passing as they shared a studio. Megumi had just finished recording as Sukuna sauntered in, reeking of alcohol and probably high off his fucking ass, two women in tow. The man had the audacity to cat-call him, even proposition him, but Megumi just gave him the finger.
He makes sure to stay away from people like him as much as he can.
“Well, they are now.” Gojou nods his head toward the door where the rest of the band enters along with a man in a tacky grayish-tan suit and yellow polka-dot tie. “And what better way to announce that than co-headlining?”
It’s hard to read the man’s expression behind the odd goggle-like fashion glasses, but Megumi can get behind the way he grabs the back of Sukuna’s partially shaved head and pushes him down into a deep bow. “Nanami Kento. I’m the manager for Cursed Spirits. We appreciate your generous offer, and I hope we can work well together.”
Megumi is still skeptical, unconvinced by the man’s monotone and frankly bored-sounding voice, but he seems sincere enough.
Of course, Yuuji accepts the situation right away, heading over to introduce himself to the band as Nanami and Sukuna stand. “Hey, I’m Itadori Yuuji. You can just call me Yuuji.”
With his trademark blinding smile, he holds out his hand, extending it to Nanami before moving on to the other members. Nobara joins, while Megumi stays back to listen, arms crossed and glaring daggers.
Kashimo, the drummer, goes through the motions of shaking their hands; he’s jittery but otherwise seems disinterested.
“Oh my god, aren’t you the edgy one?” Nobara shakes the hand of the guitarist. “You’ve got worse raccoon eyes than when I discovered eyeliner for the first time.”
Megumi’s lips press into a thin line, suppressing a smile. The man takes it in stride, moving on to shake Yuuji’s hand. “I’m Chouso.”
“Yuuji. Good to meet you.”
Megumi’s eyes narrow in on their hands as Yuuji moves to let go, but Chouso keeps his hand there, lingering for just a moment longer than necessary before moving on.
“Uraume.” The bassist holds out a slender hand, giving both Yuuji and Nobara a quick shake. How someone so small and unassuming is in the kind of band with more screaming than singing, he’ll never know, but he supposes he’ll find out soon enough.
When it’s Sukuna’s turn, he returns Yuuji’s shake with one of his own, strong and firm, hard enough to make Yuuji wince.
“Good to meet you. Heard a whole lotta ‘bout you, kid.”
“Uh, thank you?” Yuuji moves to the side to allow Nobara a turn.
“And who a—”
“Don’t waste your breath.” Nobara merely taps his hand, somewhere between a handshake, a high five, and a fist bump, before backing away. “Even if I liked dicks I wouldn’t be into dicks, so don’t bother.”
Megumi’s face heats, and his cheeks hurt from the effort of holding back his grin. Megumi can’t always get away with things, but Nobara—she’s a firecracker and a rogue agent Gojou has never quite managed to tame.
“Noted.” Sukuna turns to Uraume next to him. “I like her. She’s fun.” Sukuna crosses his arms, and Megumi can’t help but be drawn to those thick biceps, eyes following the weaving of intricate tattoos along his body. When he’s done, Sukuna is already staring. Megumi’s face heats as he’s caught in the act. “And what’s your deal?”
“Don’t mind him,” Yuuji interjects, answering before Megumi can say anything stupid. “He’s a bit… on edge.”
“Can’t handle the heat, eh? What a waste of talent.”
Megumi rolls his eyes. “A bit condescending, aren’t we?” he mutters under his breath.
“What was that, Princess? You can hold my hand too if you want. No need to fight over it.” Sukuna smirks, his grin wry and twisted.
“Assho—”
A firm hand grips Megumi’s shoulder and he freezes. He knows what it means. He’s pushing too far, and Gojou needs him to stop. He needs to act professional and put on a smile like he was fucking taught to. He fucking hates it. Megumi’s jaw clenches together and his blood boils.
“Megumi-chan is just a little worked up, that’s all. He always gets stressed before a big tour. Isn’t that right?” The squeeze Gojou gives to his shoulder is enough for him to know what kind of an answer he expects. He leans down, whispering in Megumi’s ear, “Sukuna here is doing us a favor. Play nice.”
Slowly, he turns to face Gojou. His nostrils flare as he reigns in his anger, trying to calm the swelling storm. “Play nice?”
“Yeah,” Gojou continues below his breath, lips barely moving. “Play. Nice.”
Megumi pushes Gojou’s arm off him. “No!” He gets some distance and stares at him like he grew a second fucking head. He knows there will be hell to pay later, Gojou never let something like this go without reprimand, but to Megumi it’s worth it. Over six months on tour with a band like this? Around someone like Sukuna? It’s not happening. It can’t. “He’s doing us a favor? We are the ones doing him a favor!”
At first, Gojou doesn’t answer. His eyes, shining bright beneath the studio lighting, convey his emotions loud and clear. A silent Gojou is the worst Gojou. Megumi feels compelled to cower as Gojou stands taller, looking down on him from his towering height.
“I think you’re forgetting, Megumi-chan ,” he adds too-sweetly, “that the studio bassist isn’t available. So you need one to tour with you. Uraume there is going to fill in. They’re more than competent enough, I assure you.”
“Then have them join us and pick someone else to headline with us! This washed up walking controversy isn’t going to help at all. Have you lost your mind? You’d never let the shit they pull fly. And, while I’m at it, what the fuck have they even being doing for the last year anyway? I thought they broke up!”
A hand grabs onto Megumi’s shoulder and he flinches, turning away, but stops when he realizes it’s just Yuuji.
“Megumi.” It’s all he has to say. That calm, soothing voice and gentle touch is enough to defuse him. The hurt and disappointment in his eyes is clear. Megumi’s chest aches; he hates disappointing Yuuji, maybe even more than he hates Sukuna.
“Whatever.” Megumi storms over to the guitars, grabbing his and putting it back on. “Let’s see if they can play, then. And that will settle it. Uraume, you ready?”
They seem hesitant at first, looking to Sukuna before pushing their stark white hair, nearly the same color as Gojou’s save for the little spots of red, back from their face and pulling it into a half-ponytail. Sukuna nods, and Uraume smiles before scurrying over.
“Ready.”
“You two plan on helping?”
Yuuji and Nobara look at each other, and Megumi can tell they’re concerned, not sure if they should indulge, but ultimately they side with him, setting up and preparing to play.
“We’re starting with Dreamer . I trust you’re familiar?”
Uraume nods and adjusts the strap on the bass in the corner, making sure it fits their smaller frame.
Yuuji looks one more time, hesitant brown eyes falling on Megumi, asking for permission. Megumi gives it to him, his eyes speaking for him. When Yuuji turns to Nobara, she quickly starts into the song.
Megumi doesn’t pull any punches. He switches into performance mode, ignoring the eyes staring at their impromptu jam session, especially those deep, coppery eyes he knows are boring holes into his skin.
It’s easy enough at first, or at least for their music in general. Their music tends to be more complex, using syncopated rhythms and alternating time signatures, not afraid to stray from the standard 4-4. It doesn’t always sound difficult, but Megumi and Yuuji are masters of their craft, perfectionists, and they’re never afraid to turn down a challenge. These aren’t typical walking basslines or simple progressions.
Finally, they come upon the moment of truth. If Uraume can get through this, they’re set. They’ll have proved themself. But if they play in Sukuna’s band, Megumi maintains his reservations…
“Hey you better come out right swinging kid. And I don’t mind the places you say you’ve—”
Megumi is floored.
This tiny person, almost child-like in their small stature and frame, shreds the bass solo as easily as one would play scales. Megumi looks back to Nobara, who is smiling like a madwoman as she backs them up. Their fingers move quickly, nimbly, fitting into place like they have been part of the band since day one.
Even as Yuuji enters with the chorus, and Nobara switches up the rhythm, adding embellishments as she sees fit, Uraume doesn’t falter, keeping up the repeating line as Yuuji cuts in, his voice quiet, taking on that sweet, honeyed quality that eventually won Megumi over.
“Take it. Your whole life’s ahead of you, don't let it go to your head.”
Megumi joins, harmonizing, eyes scanning the crowd. Gojou’s glaring with those intense, crystalline eyes, watching. Waiting. For what, Megumi doesn’t know, but the look sends chills down his spine. He’s sure he’ll have an earful later.
“When you’re sleeping, breathe in slow. Dream as high as your bedroom ceiling will allow you to.” His eyes drift over briefly, surprised to see Sukuna already staring at him. Sukuna’s eyes widen as their gazes meet, and Megumi continues. “Take it. Your whole life’s ahead of you.”
Switching to easier chords while Nobara takes the lead, adding more snare and deftly maneuvering between the different toms, Sukuna’s stare never breaks. Though as Megumi continues to provide backup and harmonize with Yuuji, Sukuna’s expression softens. He’s still stoic, lips pressed into a thin line and sharp jaw clenching, but the wrinkles between his brows disappear.
Megumi wants to know what he’s thinking. Is he looking down on him, unimpressed with his skill? Is he bored? He can imagine their brand of music isn’t stimulating enough for someone who thinks screaming is an art form.
Yuuji cuts in with, “But remember all this time is borrowed.”
“From someone else,” Megumi responds, leading straight into his guitar solo.
He finally breaks eye contact with Sukuna, looking to the rest of the band as he plays. Uraume is still right there with them, perfectly in time and jamming along. Yuuji catches his attention, smiling, suggestively lifting his brows as if to say, see—they’re good.
Megumi shakes his head and turns back to the crowd. For some reason, his eyes are drawn to the spot where he knows Sukuna is watching, only this time, he isn’t. Instead, Sukuna’s eyes are closed, relaxed. His foot taps along with the beat and his shoulders sway back and forth. When Megumi’s fingers climb along the neck, a variation of the previous melody, the corner of Sukuna’s mouth curls into a smile and he nods his head.
He doesn’t have time to dwell on his reaction, playing the final note and adding a slight vibrato as it fades out.
The room stays silent, waiting for the sounds to completely dissipate before erupting into applause.
“That was awesome!” Yuuji sets down his guitar and runs over to Uraume.
“Fuck yeah! Sure you don’t wanna join us full time?” Nobara joins Yuuji, crowding the bassist and wrapping her arm around them. Uraume gives a shy smile and shrugs their shoulders.
Megumi takes his time setting down his guitar and joining the others. He has to admit that Uraume has more than enough talent, and it was a good call on Gojou’s part to have him as their bassist for the tour. While it makes sense, Megumi’s petulant side is still angry: angry at Sorcery Fight for quitting on such short notice and having such a stupid fucking name, angry at having to deal with so many changes on such short notice, and angry at Gojou for forcing him to be around Sukuna, of all fucking people, for the better part of the next year.
As Megumi passes Uraume, he gives them a quick, “Not bad. Just make sure to keep up.”
Sukuna scoffs. “ Now who is being a little condescending?”
“Alright. If that will be all…” Nanami expertly steps in front of Sukuna, getting between him and Megumi. “I’ll take them with me to finish the finer details of the tour. There’s plenty to still iron out in the next few hours so, if we’re done with this little test-run, we need to get going.”
Megumi never let off his glare, watching, letting Sukuna know Megumi isn’t one to be pushed over, and he’ll be keeping an eye on his bullshit the entire time. Megumi will not allow this asshole to ruin the tour for him or his bandmates. They’ve worked too hard for that.
The moment the door shuts, leaving the four of them alone, Gojou snaps. “Megumi.” He heads toward the sound booth, gesturing for Megumi to follow. Once it’s just the two of them, Gojou flops down into a chair, exasperated. “What the fuck was that, Megumi?” He runs his hand through his hair as he takes a deep breath. “Are you done throwing your little temper tantrum?”
Megumi’s jaw quakes. His nostrils flare and he bites the inside of his cheek. Eyes burning with unshed tears, ones he will do anything to push back, he swallows his emotions. He’s already embarrassed himself enough, ashamed of his response, he doesn’t want to hear it from Gojou too. He’s twenty-fucking-four for Christ’s sake; he can’t act like the little ten-year-old anymore begging to sit in the studio or hold a guitar.
“Megumi,” he says, this time much softer, “I really just need you to trust me on this one. Everything is signed on the dotted line. It’s happening whether you like it or not. Do you really think I’d sign them without knowing what I’m getting into?”
Megumi knows Gojou is right. The man is meticulous—he wouldn’t have gotten to his position if he weren’t. But Gojou is the one who instilled all of this in him in the first place. And now he’s going back on what he taught Megumi? Really, he’s just reaping what he sowed. Megumi finally responds with a weak, “Okay.”
“Good.” Gojou stands and pats Megumi on the cheek before heading back into the studio. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
Gojou walks past Yuuji and Nobara, waving at them and saying something before he takes his leave. Only once he’s gone does Megumi return to his bandmates.
“I, uh, I’m gonna go.” Nobara grabs her drumsticks, putting them into their case before shoving them into her bag. She gently bumps Megumi’s shoulder as she passes, a playful gesture he knows is meant to cheer him up, to let him know she’s there.
Silence engulfs the space once again as Megumi and Yuuji are left alone.
Megumi just stands there, right arm crossed over his body and holding onto his left. He can’t even look Yuuji in the eyes. His face is flush with heat and his throat tightens, his emotions constricting around him like a noose.
“Megumi…”
“I know.” He barks out his answer more forcefully than intended. “I know,” he says, softer this time, “I fucked up. I don’t need to hear it from you too.”
“That’s… not what I was going to say.” Yuuji steps forward, just once, cautious as he closes the gap between them. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
Yuuji sits in one of the chairs lining the studio wall and motions for Megumi to sit next to him. He accepts, slumping into the chair next to his friend and burying his face in his hands. Megumi rubs his eyes, trying to take away the sting.
Yuuji waits patiently, giving Megumi the space he needs. Yuuji is always like this, somehow knowing how to toe that fine balance between the times Megumi needs space and the times he needs a push. Megumi knows he’s lucky to have someone like Yuuji. Without him, he wouldn’t have made it through all the craziness of record labels, endless concerts, and years of touring.
“Can I ask you a question, Megumi?”
“Yeah,” he sighs, sitting up and looking at his friend.
“Why do you hate Sukuna?”
Megumi scoffs. If anyone else had asked, Megumi would assume ill intent. But Yuuji, has those large, chestnut eyes and a smile like sunshine. “Does it matter?”
“Well, yeah.” Yuuji’s hand comes to rest on Megumi’s knee. “If I’m gonna hate the guy too, I want to at least know why.”
The corner of Megumi’s lip turns up into a smile. “You’re a good friend, Yuuji.” He closes his eyes and thumps his head against the wall behind him. “He’s just… he’s everything I hate. He’s all about the flashiness and the lifestyle. He cares more about fucking groupies and getting high than he does about creating music.”
Megumi turns to Yuuji, taking in his endlessly kind expression. He’s always been a good listener, willing to hear Megumi out no matter how petulant he was.
“Sukuna is everything Gojou warned me about. He’s what…” Megumi’s sentence trails off, but judging by the way Yuuji squeezes his thigh in reassurance, he knows what Megumi meant to say.
“I get that. But…” Yuuji hesitates, finally breaking eye contact, “don’t you think you should at least give him a chance?”
Megumi’s nostrils flare, and his jaw clenches. Before he has a chance to speak, seeing his expression, Yuuji explains himself further. “Look, I don’t want this tour to be ruined for you just because he’s here. You don’t have to be best friends, but maybe there’s more to him than the rumors and the cockiness? I mean, it sounds a little similar to someone else I know.”
Megumi dips his head low. If it had come from anyone other than Yuuji, he’d be furious. But, Yuuji knows him better than anyone else. Even more than himself sometimes. And Megumi wasn’t exactly the easiest to get along with at first either.
“Plus,” Yuuji lowers his voice and finally retracts his hand, placing it on his lap. A light dusting of pink highlights his freckled cheeks. “If you ever need it, I’ll be there to bail you out.”
Megumi can’t help but smile. It means a lot to him. Yuuji can say something so cheesy, yet Megumi still believes him so wholly. He wasn’t the trusting type, but somehow Yuuji had managed to break down that barrier with ease within just a few months of meeting.
“Thanks, Yuuji.”
“No problem,” he replies softly. With a heavy sigh, Yuuji stands and holds out a hand to Megumi. “Ready to get out of here? Hey, maybe we can try the new ramen place before we go!”
He takes the hand and allows himself to be pulled up by his friend. “Let me guess; you’re still procrastinating packing?”
Yuuji stops, eyes widen like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar.
It earns a laugh from Megumi, his frustration and annoyance from earlier significantly diminished. He pats Yuuji on the back as he heads for the door. “Ramen it is.”
Megumi grumbles and takes another sip of his coffee. It’s 5am. Even though spring is in full bloom, there’s an early morning chill that bites at his skin. He hadn’t even bothered to put on nice clothes, opting for sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a zip-up. Hardly star-worthy, but it was about four hours too early to care.
“Aww, is Megumi grumpy?” Nobara, way too energetic for Megumi’s current state, wraps her arms around his shoulders from behind.
He stiffens, then relaxes as he accepts his fate. “Yes. It’s early.” He zips up his hoodie even further, making Nobara release her hold or get caught in the zipper. “And it’s cold.”
“Come on, the sooner we get packed, the sooner we can nap on the road.” Yuuji offers a quick smile before grabbing Megumi’s luggage. He heaves the large gym bag over his shoulder like it's nothing and rolls Megumi’s suitcase alongside his own.
“I can get that.” He follows behind Yuuji with the last of his bags.
“Nah, it’s cool! I’ve been helping load the rest of the equipment for a while, so this is easy.”
Megumi sighs, knowing better than to argue with Yuuji in general, let alone with the drastic difference in their states of coherence.
Once again, Nobara seemingly appears out of nowhere, right at Megumi’s side. He didn’t even hear her approach, until she clapped her hands together in front of her. “So dreamy, Yuuji! You’re Princess Megumi’s knight in shining armor!”
Megumi pushes Nobara away which only makes laugh hysterically rather than regret her comment.
Yuuji says something, but Megumi doesn’t have a chance to hear it. As soon as they turn the corner, Sukuna’s band comes into view, loud and rowdy in spite of the early morning hours. Something causes them to erupt in cheers and laughter.
Megumi leers, though it’s not difficult considering his eyes will only open halfway, at least not until he finishes his coffee. Sukuna is standing next to the run-down passenger van, easily holding a large amp in his arms, laughing along with the other members. He moves it easily and drops it into the back of the van, grabbing another and heaving it on top. His large, tattooed biceps flex with the effort. It’s almost impressive. Megumi hates it.
He hates it even more when bright, reddish eyes find him. Sukuna’s smile drops, but only for a moment before he’s smiling again, this time even wider.
Megumi only glares in return.
“Megumi?” Yuuji calls out to him, his head poking out from the entrance of the large sleeper van. “Do you still like being on bottom?”
He freezes. A beat passes in silence. Then, from his side, out of the corner of his eye, he watches Sukuna’s face redden as he desperately holds in his laughter.
Megumi’s eyes snap to the ground and his face burns. He curses under his breath as he heads into the tour bus. “Yes, Yuuji, I’d like the bottom bunk.”
Yuuji gives him a thumbs up and tosses his luggage onto the bed, missing Megumi’s heavy, exasperated sigh as he leans against the wall.
This tour just might be the death of him.