Chapter 3
The alarm pierced through Megumi's fitful sleep at exactly 5:30 AM. He'd barely managed three hours of rest, spending most of the night staring at his ceiling, replaying the café incident in his mind like a broken record.
"Just another day," he muttered to himself, running his fingers through sleep-mussed hair as he forced himself out of bed. The morning routine was automatic: splash cold water on his face, brush teeth, apply the expensive under-eye cream that Nobara insisted would keep him looking fresh despite his irregular sleep schedule.
In the mirror, he studied his reflection with critical eyes. The lack of sleep showed in subtle ways that most wouldn't notice but a camera definitely would – slight puffiness around his eyes, a barely-there tension in his jaw. Nothing that skilled makeup artists couldn't fix, but still annoying.
His phone lay face-down on his nightstand where he'd left it the night before, deliberately ignored after seeing the first few news alerts about the café. He wasn't ready to see how far the video had spread, wasn't prepared to deal with the inevitable fallout. For now, he could pretend it hadn't happened, that yesterday was just another bad dream.
The drive to the studio was quiet, the early morning streets of Tokyo still half-asleep. His driver, Toge, knew better than to attempt conversation before Megumi's first coffee. The familiar route gave him time to mentally prepare for the day ahead – a morning editorial shoot for VOGUE Japan, followed by a fitting for next week's runway show, and then a meeting with potential sponsors.
Just another normal day. Keep it together.
The studio was already buzzing with activity when he arrived, assistants rushing back and forth with clothing racks and lighting equipment. The photographer, Maki Zenin – his cousin, though they rarely acknowledged the relation professionally – was adjusting her camera settings while barking orders at her team.
"Megumi." She nodded in his direction, not looking up from her camera. "Hair and makeup, then we'll start with the autumn collection."
He appreciated Maki's no-nonsense approach, the way she treated him like any other model rather than family. It made it easier to slip into his professional persona
In the makeup chair, he closed his eyes and let the artists work their magic. The gentle brush strokes across his face were almost meditative, helping him sink deeper into the calm facade he needed to maintain.
"Did you sleep at all?" the makeup artist, Mai, asked quietly as she worked on concealing the shadows under his eyes. "You look tired."
"Enough," he replied shortly, not wanting to elaborate. Mai had worked with him long enough to know when not to push.
The warmth of the studio lights helped ease some of the tension from his shoulders as he moved through the first set of poses. Fashion photography was familiar territory – he knew how to angle his body, how to create lines that would translate beautifully to print.
"Good, but give me something deeper," Maki called out. "These clothes tell a story. Show me the emotion behind it."
Emotion. Right. Megumi adjusted his expression, trying to channel something mysterious and alluring rather than the anxiety gnawing at his insides. The expensive silk shirt clung to his skin, and he used the sensation to ground himself in the present moment.
"Better," Maki approved. "Now turn slightly to your left, chin down..."
The morning progressed in a blur of outfit changes and careful poses. Megumi moved through each setup mechanically. If anyone noticed that his usual grace was slightly forced, they didn't mention it.
"Fushiguro?" An assistant's voice sounded "They need you for the next setup."
He nodded slightly, shifting into a position
"Something's off," Maki said after a few shots, lowering her camera with a frown. "You're too stiff. Take five, shake it out."
Megumi retreated to his private dressing room, careful to maintain his neutral expression until the door closed behind him. Only then did he allow his shoulders to slump, his carefully constructed facade cracking slightly.
His phone buzzed – Gojo .
Gojo: megumi did something happen?
Megumi's fingers hovered over the keyboard, but what could he say? Sorry I met my ex and lost control and slapped him?
A knock at the door made him jump. "Five minutes are up," called one of the assistants.
"Coming," he replied, quickly splashing some water on his face and adjusting his shirt.
The rest of the shoot passed in a haze of poses and outfit changes. Megumi retreated deeper into his professional persona, letting muscle memory guide his movements
"That's a wrap," Maki announced finally, reviewing the last shots on her camera. "Good work, everyone."
As the crew began breaking down the set, Maki approached him privately. "Whatever's going on with you," she said quietly, "deal with it before the runway show next week. I can edit around tension in photos, but live audiences aren't so forgiving."
Megumi nodded stiffly, appreciating and resenting her directness in equal measure. She was right, of course – he couldn't afford to let this affect his work. The runway show was too important, with too many influential eyes watching.
The fitting that followed the shoot was a welcome distraction, requiring enough concentration to keep his mind occupied. The designer, Yuta Okkotsu, was detail-oriented to the point of obsession, spending nearly an hour adjusting the fall of a single jacket.
"The shoulders need to be perfect," Yuta muttered, mostly to himself as he pinned and repinned the fabric. "The line has to flow just so..."
Megumi stood still, letting Yuta work. stand here, turn there, lift your arm, hold this position.
"Are you feeling alright?" Yuta asked suddenly, pausing in his adjustments. "You seem tense."
"I'm fine," Megumi replied automatically. "Just tired from the morning shoot."
Yuta hummed thoughtfully but didn't press further, returning to his meticulous pinning. Another thing Megumi appreciated about him – Yuta understood the value of silence, of focusing on the work rather than idle chitchat.
"Megumiiiii!" Gojo's voice echoed through the hallway as he stopped his characteristic spinning, the momentum causing his white hair to settle in its usual controlled chaos. His ever-present sunglasses slid down his nose as he peered at his ward, revealing a flash of those striking blue eyes that usually remained hidden. "I've been trying to reach you all day!" There was an undercurrent of worry beneath his typically playful tone.
"I know." Megumi's voice came out steadier than he felt. "I was working."
Gojo's usual smile faltered, replaced by a slight frown that creased his forehead. The air between them grew heavy with unspoken concern. "If you're working, why do you look so down?" He took a step closer, his usual boundless energy temporarily subdued. "Your shoulders are practically touching your ears with tension."
"Just tired." The words felt hollow even as Megumi spoke them. His gaze dropped to the floor, studying the patterns in the wood as if they held the answers to questions he wasn't ready to face. The weight of the day's events pressed down on him like a physical burden.
Gojo cleared his throat, the sound sharp in the tense silence. All pretense of his usual carefree demeanor vanished. "You expect me to believe that? What happened?"
"Nothing serious, don't worry about it." Megumi forced himself to lift his head, meeting Gojo's gaze. His heart hammered against his ribs, betraying his outward calm.
"Megumi," Gojo's voice softened, "I've known you almost your whole life. I can tell when you're lying." His sunglasses slipped further, revealing eyes that held equal parts concern and determination. The fluorescent lights above caught the blue in them, making them seem to glow with an otherworldly intensity.
"Look, I told yo-" Megumi's protest died in his throat as Gojo smoothly cut him off, reaching for his phone with deliberate slowness. The movement was careful, almost gentle, as he placed it on the table between them. Each second felt stretched as Gojo angled the device so Megumi could see the screen.
The phone displayed security footage from earlier that day – the exact coffee shop where he'd met Sukuna. Megumi's stomach dropped as he watched their heated argument unfold in grainy detail. His past self grew increasingly tense till the moment of impact: his hand connecting with sukunas cheek
Gojo paused the video with a touch that was almost tender, the frozen image hanging between them like an accusation. His usual playful energy had completely dissolved, replaced by something more vulnerable. "Look," he started, shifting his position and pushing his sunglasses back up in a gesture that seemed more protective than casual. His voice carried a gentleness that made Megumi's carefully constructed walls begin to crumble. "I won't make you talk about it but, please..." There was a catch in his voice that spoke of years of worry and care. "Just tell me when something's wrong. You don't have to carry everything alone."
Megumi's throat felt tight as he stared at the frozen image on Gojo's phone. The fluorescent lights of the fitting room seemed suddenly harsh, casting stark shadows across the space between them. His fingers unconsciously traced the edge of Yuta's carefully pinned jacket, seeking something tangible to ground himself.
"I don't want to talk about it," he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. The words felt inadequate, too small to contain the storm of emotions churning beneath his carefully maintained facade.
Gojo leaned against the nearby table, his usual dramatic flair notably absent. "You know," he began, his tone uncharacteristically serious, "when I first became your guardian, I promised your father I'd protect you." He removed his sunglasses entirely, folding them with deliberate care. "But I can't protect you if you don't let me in, Megumi."
The use of his given name, without any of Gojo's usual playful elongation, made something in Megumi's chest constrict. He turned away, ostensibly to examine his reflection in the floor-length mirror, but really to escape the weight of Gojo's concerned gaze.
"It's Sukuna," he said finally, watching his own reflection speak the words. In the mirror, he could see how his knuckles had gone white where they gripped the edge of the jacket. "He's... back."
The silence that followed was deafening. Gojo's reflection in the mirror went completely still, his usual perpetual motion suddenly frozen. When he spoke, his voice was careful, measured in a way that revealed more about his anger than any outburst could have. "Sukuna. The same Sukuna who—"
"Yes," Megumi cut him off sharply. He couldn't bear to hear it said aloud, couldn't face the memories that would inevitably surface. "That Sukuna."
"I see." Gojo's reflection shifted, and Megumi could see him running a hand through his white hair – a rare gesture of genuine agitation. "And he just happened to be at the coffee shop?"
"Apparently." Megumi's laugh was hollow, bitter. "Said he wanted to 'catch up.' Like we were old friends who'd just lost touch." His voice cracked slightly on the last words, and he pressed his lips together tightly, fighting to maintain control.
"Megumi." Gojo's voice was gentle now, almost painfully so. "Look at me. Please."
Slowly, reluctantly, Megumi turned away from the mirror. Gojo had moved closer, close enough that Megumi had to tilt his head slightly to meet his eyes. Without the sunglasses, without his usual manic energy, Gojo looked older, more like the responsible guardian he technically was.
"What do you need?" Gojo asked simply. "Tell me what you need, and I'll make it happen."
The question caught Megumi off guard. He'd expected lectures about professional behavior, warnings about social media fallout, maybe even disappointed sighs about lost composure. But this – this simple offer of support – made his carefully constructed walls begin to crumble.
"I—" he started, then stopped, swallowing hard against the sudden tightness in his throat. "I don't know," he admitted finally. "I don't know what I need."
Gojo nodded, as if this was exactly what he'd expected to hear. "Then we'll figure it out together." He reached out slowly, telegraphing his movement, and squeezed Megumi's shoulder. "But first, you need rest. Real rest, not just staring at your ceiling all night."
“Also don’t worry about the video, I made the store delete it so the only ones who know is us and the people who were there” Gojo added, noticing his still worried face “so rest please”
"The runway show—" Megumi started to protest, but Gojo cut him off with a wave of his hand.
"Will be fine. Yuta's designs are strong enough to weather a little scandal." He paused, a hint of his usual playful smile returning.
Despite himself, Megumi felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward. "You're impossible," he muttered, but there was no real heat in the words.
"That's why you love me," Gojo replied cheerfully, sliding his sunglasses back on. "Now, come on. You're going home, and you're going to actually sleep, even if I have to sit outside your door all night to make sure of it."
"That won't be necessary," Megumi said quickly, knowing full well that Gojo would absolutely follow through on that threat. "I can take care of myself."
"Mmhmm," Gojo hummed skeptically. "That's why you're running on three hours of sleep and looking like you're about to vibrate out of your skin from tension." He clapped his hands together decisively. "Nope, it's decided. Operation Take Care of Megumi is officially launched!"
"Please don't call it that," Megumi groaned, but he could feel some of the tension beginning to ease from his shoulders. This was familiar territory – Gojo's ridiculous enthusiasm, his own exasperated responses. It felt almost normal.
The drive home was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Gojo, for once, seemed content to let the silence stretch, his presence beside Megumi more comforting than he cared to admit. The city lights blurred past the car windows, creating streaks of color that reminded Megumi of abstract photographs.
His phone buzzed again in his pocket. Before he could reach for it, Gojo's hand shot out, palm up. "Phone," he demanded. "You're officially on a digital detox until tomorrow morning."
"You can't be serious," Megumi protested, but Gojo's expression remained firm.
"Completely serious. Hand it over."
With a resigned sigh, Megumi placed his phone in Gojo's waiting hand. "You know I'm not actually a child anymore, right?"
"Nope, you'll always be my precious little ward," Gojo replied cheerfully, tucking the phone into his jacket pocket. "Besides, age has nothing to do with knowing when to step back and rest."
The remainder of the ride passed in comfortable silence. When they arrived at Megumi's apartment building, Gojo insisted on accompanying him up, despite Megumi's protests that he could manage an elevator ride on his own.
"Humor me," Gojo said as they stepped into the elevator. "Consider it therapeutic for my guardian anxiety."
Megumi's apartment was exactly as he'd left it that morning – immaculately neat, with minimal decoration save for a few carefully chosen photographs on the walls. Most were artistic shots from various photoshoots, but there was one personal photo: a group shot from his high school graduation, featuring himself, Gojo, and his friend Nobara.
"Straight to bed," Gojo ordered, pointing dramatically down the hallway. "No checking emails, no scrolling through social media, no brooding in the dark."
"I don't brood," Megumi muttered, but he was already heading toward his bedroom. The events of the day had finally caught up with him, exhaustion settling deep in his bones.
"Sure you don't," Gojo called after him. "And I don't have impeccable style!"
Megumi paused in his bedroom doorway, turning back to look at his guardian. "Gojo?" he said quietly, the words feeling awkward in his mouth. "Thanks."
Gojo's expression softened, his perpetual smile becoming something more genuine. "Anytime, kid. That's what family's for."
Later, lying in bed with the city lights filtering through his curtains, Megumi found his thoughts drifting back to the café. The memory of Sukuna's face, the shock and anger after the slap, the way his fingers had dug into Megumi's arm – it all felt somehow distant now, like watching scenes from someone else's life.
Sleep came easier than he'd expected, drawing him under like a gentle tide. His last coherent thought was of Gojo's words: "That's what family's for." Not the family he was born into, perhaps, but the family he'd found – the one that stayed, that supported him, that knew when to push and when to simply be present.
The morning brought with it a different kind of quiet. Megumi woke to sunlight filtering through his curtains, casting patterns across his ceiling. For a moment, he simply lay there, letting his mind slowly come into focus. His body felt heavy with the kind of exhaustion that comes after emotional rather than physical exertion.
A gentle knock at his bedroom door drew his attention. "Megumi?" Gojo's voice called softly. "You awake?"
"Unfortunately," Megumi replied, pushing himself up to sit against his headboard. "Did you stay here all night?"
The door cracked open, revealing Gojo's familiar silhouette. "Of course! Couldn't leave my precious sonnnn aloneeeee in his time of needdddd." He was already fully dressed, his white hair perfectly styled and his signature sunglasses in place. "Besides, someone had to make sure you actually slept instead of sneaking off to check your phone."
Megumi rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind the gesture. "Speaking of my phone..."
"Ah ah ah," Gojo waggled his finger. "Breakfast first. Then we'll talk about returning your digital lifeline."
The smell of coffee and something cooking wafted through the open door, making Megumi's stomach growl traitorously. When was the last time he'd eaten a proper meal? Yesterday's chaos had pushed such mundane concerns to the background.
"Fine," he conceded, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Give me ten minutes to shower."
"Take your time," Gojo called as he retreated toward the kitchen. "The food will keep!"
The hot water helped clear some of the fog from Megumi's mind, washing away the last remnants of sleep. As he dressed in comfortable clothes – a luxury his busy schedule rarely allowed – he caught sight of himself in the bathroom mirror. The dark circles under his eyes had faded somewhat
In the kitchen, he found Gojo had outdone himself. The small dining table was laden with an impressive spread: fluffy pancakes, fresh fruit, eggs prepared exactly the way Megumi preferred them, and a steaming cup of coffee that smelled like heaven.
"You didn't have to do all this," Megumi said, sliding into his usual chair. "I could have just had coffee."
"Nonsense!" Gojo declared, settling into the chair opposite him. "Consider it part of Operation Take Care of Megumi."
"I told you not to call it that," Megumi muttered, but he was already reaching for the coffee cup. The first sip was perfect – strong and black, without any of the sugar Gojo usually insisted on adding to his own drinks.
They ate in companionable silence for a while, the morning sun streaming through the kitchen windows and casting everything in a warm glow. It felt almost normal, like any other morning, except for the weight of unspoken conversations hanging in the air between them.
Finally, after Megumi had cleared half his plate, Gojo spoke. "So," he began, his tone carefully neutral. "Take off today, I’ll clear your schedule."
Gojo pulled out his phone – and Megumi's – placing them both on the table.
Megumi raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Aren’t we super busy?"
“Yeahhhhh” he said dragging out each syllable. “But I’m the boss so I can do whatever” his usual cheerfulness back on
Megumi let out a small sigh “what do you want me to do? Just stay here?”
“No no no, go be active! Hang out with nobara or anything you want to do!” He exclaimed
Nobara, he haven’t hanged out with her in a while. Maybe it’s a good time to catch up