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sakura-scum · 20 days

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island in the sun ☼

✧ hip hip ✧

✿ summary: CHARACTER ANALYSIS || Megumi Fushiguro is a teenager burdened with the stressors of the Jujutsu world. Quick to adapt a suicidal mentality, Fushiguro plans to seal his own fate. One day, something makes him rethink this ideology. Can an external light help reveal the light that shines from within? Inspired by Megumi's theme song appointed by Gege: Island in the Sun by Weezer! ☆

✿ w/c: ~3.6k

✿ warning: JJK S2 Shibuya Incident Spoilers! Graphic depictions of blood + scars, lots of mentions/discussions abt su!c!de

✿ a/n: in honor of the solar eclipse, i wanted to do a little sun/moon trope, ehehe~

i feel like megumi's character often gets overshadowed by gojo, itadori, or even geto by comparison. he deserved his own little spotlight and this weezer song has been on loop for me lately so i felt inspired to write this little bit. a little longer than what i usually write lol. hope u enjoy ♥︎

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

I’ve always loathed summertime.

From as early as I could remember.

I was four years old that wretched summer. The quaint apartment where Tsumiki and I stayed was uncomfortably hot. The air was thick and humid; it felt like an oven. The relentless heat oppressed us, making every breath a strained struggle. Our feeble fan, barely functional, merely stirred the stifling air around. Yet, Tsumiki claimed it as her own, propping herself up on our shared twin-sized mattress. She’d sit in front of the fan like a princess, desperately grasping for the slight relief it offered. She claimed she needed it more than I did… something about her being older than me or whatever… I don’t know. I sat to the side as I watched her, renounced to the floor. Even though beads of sweat rolled down both our faces, I complied, my parched lips unable to voice my protest. I finished the last of the cold water, my last drop of hope from the insufferable heat.

I hated it.

Ever since that day that man-child, Gojo, introduced me to the concept of tanning.

“What are you doing?” I asked as I spotted Gojo sprawled out on a beach chair in the backyard. “It’s hot, don’t you want to go inside?”

“Nah,” he’d reply nonchalantly, rolling over to expose his backside to the sun. “I’d tan.”

“What?”

The white-haired man chuckled. “I’m *tanning*. Y’know, sunbathing? That thing that gives your skin that golden complexion so you don’t look as white as snow.” Gojo’s skin practically glimmered under the scorching sun. It was as if he was born to be in the limelight. Which, let’s be honest, he probably was.

“Oh,” I muttered, uninterested. At the young age of seven years old, I couldn’t care less about my appearance. Why start worrying now?

“Why don’t you come to join me, ‘Gumi~?” he’d tease, knowing full well I had no interest. I couldn’t tan if I tried. I always burned. What’s it like to bask in the spotlight, I wondered.

“I’m good,” I’d grumble, heading back inside. Cool, shaded, and away from the glaring sun. Always on the sidelines, that’s where I belonged, right?

“Live a little, touch some grass for once,” Gojo would encourage me. It’s like he didn’t understand. Of course, he didn’t. How could he? He was crafted from stardust and moonbeams; the golden child. Handcrafted by some divine entity, if such a thing existed. Hell– he might just be God incarnate. Or at least he thinks so.

It’s moments like these, that I ponder how Suguru Geto must’ve felt.

Oh, to be taken under the wing of an underdog.

But no.

Summer was the bane of my existence.

I was always the last pick in kickball or any kind of sport. My athletic abilities were mediocre at best. Rumor had it that my biological father possessed some sort of absurd physical strength. Why couldn’t I be gifted like that?

In airing my frustrations about my athletic abilities, I was always met with the same comment from Gojo. “Well ‘Gumi, sometimes other people’s curses are others' blessings,” he would say as he ruffled my hair. I couldn’t shake the feeling he was talking about becoming my guardian, even though he never said it explicitly. On the other hand, what was made crystal clear was Gojo’s disdain for my father, for reasons unknown to me. He always neglected to tell me any details about him, leaving me to wonder if his feelings towards my father stemmed from having to care for us at such a young age.

Summertime reminds me of my father. How he abandoned us. How he left us all alone in that sweltering apartment. How he entrusted me to the care at the hands of some kid. Everyone always reassured me that being sent to the Zenin clan was worse, but how could it be worse than this? Maybe they would’ve made me strong.

After that summer, Gojo made sure to devote extra time to my sorcerer training. It marked the beginning of a turning point in my youth as I delved deeper into the realm of Jujutsu.

Ten shadows dance in the twilight, silent guardians of unseen realms. Shikigami; conjured spirits from nine letters, veiled in mystery’s shroud. Eight Handled Sword General, the beast I yearned to summon— a lasting legacy, a testament to Fushiguro, the name that ate me alive. It became my identity sevenfold yet, I could only claim a sixth of what truly belonged to me. What even was mine? I train rigorously, five days a week, no rest between, remembering who I fight for… “Deep breath,” Gojo’s advice echoes in my head. “Start on the count of three, take the plunge, and never second guess yourself…”

But the countdown halts before it reaches one. The crescendo never arrives.

“WITH THIS DIVINE TREASURE I SUMMON–”

One. Not even one single victory for me.

I trained under the strongest sorcerer alive, yet I couldn’t even manage to go on one successful mission without being a complete failure.

What was the point anymore? Did anything even matter?

No sorcerer in history had ever tamed the general. How the hell was I supposed to be the one to tame Mahoraga? There's no way. It seemed impossible. I’d meet my end swiftly, a pathetic demise. Certainly, this technique would be a last resort, a futile attempt to take my assailant while sealing my own fate in the process. Would there be significance in dying like that? Was it all meaningless? Careless? Reckless?

That’s when it occurred to me.

Maybe my death could be a statement— a testimony to my life; a reclamation of my identity. I would die a hero. I would dedicate my life to it, proving to everyone that I am capable of committing and sacrificing for a noble cause; that I'm not just a burden or a failure. I never shared my plan with anyone; it remained tucked away in the recesses of my mind, a sacred treasure awaiting its moment. Swing and ring, the final act of defiance…

The concept of death had once inspired me like a dog inspires a rabbit. But that resolve was fleeting.

I remember it vividly– the summer when I was 12 years old. I happened to stumble across the song “Island in the Sun”. It played on the radio during a muggy afternoon as Gojo, Tsumiki, and I drove to a beach in Okinawa. Tsumiki seemed overjoyed to get out, while I couldn’t care less. As a child, times like this would excite me, even despite my hatred of summer, however, as I got older, my enthusiasm faded. As the song played on the radio, Gojo hummed along much to my annoyance. Tapping his index finger on the dashboard to the beat of the song, he began to mumble the lyrics.

"When you're on a holiday

You can't find the words to say

All the things that come to you

And I wanna feel it too"

‘Feel what?’ I wondered. By then, everything already felt so numb. That was the summer I stopped caring. I couldn't care if I even tried. In my mind, my fate was predetermined. As a sorcerer, I would sacrifice myself for a noble cause, whatever it may be. Death no longer felt like something I had to run from, like a looming cloud of uncertainty. Instead, it felt like something I started to embrace, a one-way shot to confirming my own end. I thought about it frequently. Surely, that held some significance, right?

At first, the song annoyed me. It would always loop in my mind, and I could never decipher this feeling the singer sought to convey. The thought of a blissful paradise as an escapade sounded like an unobtainable fantasy. Still, the yearning to experience said sensations, or feel anything for that matter, lingered inside of me. No matter how many beaches I visited, that elusive ‘feeling’ never found its way to me; it always seemed out of reach. Driven by relentless curiosity, I found myself repeatedly listening to the song, hoping to remedy my situation. I hate to admit it, but I developed a bit of a fondness for the song.

Yet, as the years slipped away, that summer afternoon faded into memory.. Three years later, the echoes of "Island in the Sun" lingered faintly, but they were soon drowned out by the clamor of new challenges and experiences. The biggest challenge of my life to date was in Shibuya.

Several hours before I set foot in the city, I found myself waiting outside a conference hall alongside my classmates, Itadori and Kugisaki. Annoyance gnawed at me as it became apparent that neither Kugisaki nor Itadori took the warnings from our elders seriously. This was a crucial mission, one fraught with peril, yet they treated it with casual indifference, passing the time with a game of tic-tac-toe while we waited.

Eventually, the pair grew tired of their countless games and resorted to casual conversation until the meeting was dismissed. I must’ve been preoccupied, thinking about the mission or something, as I shuddered when Itadori placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, his voice breaking through my thoughts. “Everything will be alright. Let’s just do our best out there, ‘kay?”

Perhaps I was showing more emotion than I realized, but Itadori seemed to see right through me. He always knew what to say. However, couldn't allow myself to show well he was able to console me. Maintaining a tough exterior felt crucial. I’ve been let down too many times from a young age. There was no room for outsiders in my mind, just me and Tsumiki till the end. She was the only one I could truly trust.

“‘Course,” I replied, mustering a semblance of confidence. “I’m not going out there to half-ass things. Besides, Gojo will be there so everything’s fine. We’re just backup.”

“Right,” Itadori responded with a nod. He gave my back a firm pat before flashing his signature grin. Seeing him smile reassured me that maybe, just maybe, everything would turn out alright.

. . .

Everything did not turn out alright. Gojo was promptly sealed, and we, the backup, were thrust into the forefront of battle. After emerging victorious in an initial battle with Itadori, the chaos only escalated as the night wore on.

Itadori and I split up to better help our comrades. In my attempts to save them, I found myself in need of rescue, saved by a stranger who effortlessly overpowered me. I felt utterly pathetic, convinced my end was near.

As the night proceeded, the events that unraveled became more chaotic by the minute. I had tried to save my peers and ended up getting rescued by a stranger. The very same man proceeded to wipe the floor with me without breaking a sweat. I felt pathetic. I thought I was finished. Suddenly, he asked, “Hey you, what’s your name?”

“Fushiguro.”

“You mean your last name is not Zen’in?”

He held up his weapon, swiftly impaling himself in the head before me.

“That makes me glad,” were his final words before he collapsed at my feet.

I owed my life to someone’s suicide. Over something as insignificant as my name? As if that name hadn’t already burdened me enough. Although I survived, that encounter only deepened my despair. I couldn’t shake the feeling that my fate mirrored his– if I wasn’t killed tonight, I was destined for a similar end.

After witnessing one tragedy after another, I felt utterly drained. And now, just when I’m at my breaking point, some fool with a ponytail decides to pick a fight. My mind is still reeling from the encounter with the man who took his own life. I have no fight left in me; he caught me when I was at my weakest.

Unless…

I’ve attempted this countless times before, but there was always someone to intervene to save me. But not tonight. Tonight, it’s just me.

I have to play my trump card. This is the night I finally sealed my fate. I couldn’t care less about my opponent’s strengths or weaknesses. This is my moment. My last resort.

My moment had arrived.

"On an island in the sun

We'll be playing and having fun

And it makes me feel so fine

I can't control my brain"

It was absurd. Why now? Why did this stupid song have to worm its way into my head?

"With this divine treasure, I summon, Eight-Handled Sword, Divergent Sila, Divine General Mahoraga!"

I had finally done it.

‘I'm sorry, Itadori,’ was the last thought that crossed my mind. The melody of that cursed song faded into a distant echo just before I lost consciousness.

. . .

Did I black out, or had the world become brighter than ever? Sunlight blurred my vision, and I could hear the distant waves crash onto the shore. Birds chirped in a serene chorus and a gentle breeze carried warmth through the air. I woke up in paradise.

Warm honey-colored eyes met mine. I squint as I cover my eyes from the distant sun rays to get a better look. “Fushiguro! Are you alright?” With his pink hair slicked back, a goofy grin spread across his face, and a warm tan gracing his skin, Itadori extended his hand out to me. “You took a pretty hard fall there,” he said, barely containing his laughter.

I looked to my left to find Kugisaki, a guilty expression written all over her face. “My god,” she exclaimed, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “Don’t scare me like that, I thought I killed you!”

Itadori let out a hearty chuckle. “Kugisaki went a bit overboard with the spike and nailed you,” he explained, amusement evident in his voice. “No pun intended.”

Disoriented and confused, I scanned my surroundings. Didn’t I just die?. “Where are we?” I blurt out. Could this be the afterlife? Did Itadori and Kugisaki die in Shibuya too? No, this scene was too familiar, too tangible to be heaven. It was almost like a distant memory.

“The beach, dude,” Itadori replied, shaking his head as he helped me up with a strong hand. “Dammit, Kugisaki, you gave Fushiguro brain damage!”

“I did not!” Kugisaki protested. “He’s just disoriented. Give him a minute!”

Warm sand cushioned my feet, a limitless ocean stretched out underneath a cerulean sky. I look up and see a tall net, wavering in the salty air with each pull of the tide. I was standing on a beach volleyball court, wearing swim trunks and all. I was in the midst of a tropical getaway.

“When you're on a golden sea

You don't need no memory

Just a place to call your own

As we drift into the zone”

The lyrics of the song resurfaced, echoing in the back of my mind.

I’m taken out of my daydream by two large hands cupping my face. “Dude,” Itadori’s voice broke through, bringing me back to reality. Was this reality? “Oh man, Kugisaki, he’s totally out of it!”

For a moment, I melt into Itadori’s palms, a sense of calm washing over me. Maybe I did take a hard fall. Snapping back to my senses, I slap away Itadori’s hands from my face. “You idiot, I’m fine,” I grumble.

Itadori’s expression turned blank before he burst into laughter. “Oh, no, he’s definitely fine! Never mind~!” he called out to Kuigisaki. Then, he turns to me with a warm and sincere smile. “I thought we lost ya there.”

Warmth graces my cheeks, and I feel gradually flustered. My heart fluttered, and I felt the urge to melt in a puddle all over again, wanting to return his soft look. Instead, I rolled my eyes and turned away, walking myself to the sidelines to get some water.

For once, the sun was beating down on my back, its warmth pleasant and balmy. Similar to the flush on my cheeks, I wasn’t hating the heat for once, it actually felt… nice? Despite that, I found myself on the sidelines yet again.

Despite my current position, I felt my lips curl into a faint smile, relishing the rare enjoyment of the Summer atmosphere. The laughter of my friends filled my ears as I leaned back, warm sand beneath my palms, grounding me as I observed their lively game of volleyball. Itadori soared into the air for a powerful spike, momentarily blocking the sun. SLAM! The ball hits out of bounds, tumbling toward the ocean, and Kugisaki runs over to retrieve it.

Meanwhile, Itadori approaches me once more, extending his hand.

“C’mon Fushiguro,” he encourages me. “You gonna play or what?”

I shake my head. “Go on without me, I’ll be fine.” I open my water bottle and take a sip. The water is thick and putridly warm. Itadori pouts at my answer, shaking his head. “You’re playing,” he decides for me. He reaches down for my hand and drags me onto the court. Instead of letting go, he pauses for a moment, allowing our fingers to intertwine. His palms felt warm and inviting, safe and secure. He turned his head towards me, radiating warmth that seemed to glow underneath the sun, as he flashed the brightest smile I had ever seen.

I look down and suddenly notice our position of holding hands. I feel a blush return to my cheeks once more, but I don’t fight Itadori’s gesture. Instead, I avert my gaze, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Something the matter, Fushiguro?” Itadori asked, genuine concern laced in his question.

I shake my head. “No.”

Nothing was wrong. I felt… content.

It was like that one part in the song. My favorite part, actually:

“We'll run away together

We'll spend some time forever

We'll never feel bad anymore”

I look down at our intertwined hands once more, admiring the stark contrast between Itadori’s hands and mine. His were larger, calloused, and adorned with various scars that spoke of untold tales of hardship and battles fought. It was like studying a map of various trials and tribulations. I found myself drawn to these marks, wondering about the stories behind each one. What did they signify? When did they appear? I never remembered him having so many scars on his hands before, though. Maybe it’s because I never bothered to look… but something felt off.

As I continued to gaze, a sense of unease crept over me. It’s as if his hand was undergoing some sort of twisted transformation. The scars, once healed and faded, began to take on a form of livelihood, twisting and contorting into grotesque shapes. Suddenly, they erupted into fresh wounds, skin tearing at the seams, oozing blood that pooled around our intertwined fingers.

I watched as the crimson liquid stained our hands in a horrific display. Sounds of malicious laughter echoed faintly in the background, sending shivers down my spine.

“Fushiguro?” Itadori's voice broke through, pulling me back to reality. His question was posed as if nothing was wrong. As if I was the one seeing things. Despite hearing his voice, I couldn't shake off the horror that gripped me.

I wanted to look up, to find solace in his smiling face, to feel that familiar warmth in my chest. Yet, I couldn't tear my gaze away from his bleeding hands. The sight alone sent chills down my spine. I wanted to let go, to escape from this dream-turned-nightmare, but something held me back, like an invisible force chaining me to him.

“Fushiguro?” Itadori's voice sounded strained now, laced with concern. He called out my name again, each utterance heavier with urgency.

“FUSHIGURO?!” His voice escalated to a scream that reverberated through my mind, drowning out the unsettling laughter that continued to echo around us.

A dark ominous presence enveloped us. I felt shaken to my core. As my breathing escalated with panic, red pooled into my eyes as my surroundings gradually faded out.

. . .

My eyes are hazy when they open, greeted by a world spinning in disarray. A pounding headache pulses through my skull, matched by a sharp, stabbing pain in my side. The ringing in my ears persists, Itadori's desperate shouts echoing relentlessly in my mind. I detect the faint scent of cigarette smoke, mingling with the metallic tang of blood that stains my face. Yet, strangely, there's no trace of blood around me.

I find myself sitting alone on a dimly lit streetside, faint illumination barely casting shadows around me. My gaze drifts upward, drawn to the imposing silhouette of a sky bridge above. In the distance, I can make out the faint figures of Shoko and Yaga, their presence a distant comfort amid bustling chaos.

I'm alive.

The realization washes over me like a tidal wave; relief with a gnawing sense of unease. Perhaps, deep down, I never truly wanted to die. The concept of mortality now looms over me with newfound weight, casting doubt on the meaning I once held about my fate. Maybe I didn’t want to die just yet.

With weary eyes, I shift my gaze upward to the night sky, where the moon hangs alone amongst drifting clouds. A cool breeze sweeps through, stealing what little warmth remains. When did it become so cold? The moon's soft glow casts over the desolate ruins of what is now Shibuya, illuminating the remnants of a city once surging with life.

I squint, trying to keep myself awake. I focus on calming myself down by studying the moon. As I do so, my breath steadies, and I’m met with another realization: the moon owes its luminance to the light of the sun. Suddenly, only one thought encapsulates my mind: where is my sunshine now?

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