Chapter Text
Touch. A single touch, and you'd find your soulmate.
It sounded simple, almost poetic, but the reality was far more complicated. The concept of soulmates had woven itself into society, a mysterious thread tying people together in the most intimate and irreversible way. Skin to skin contact, and then a mark would appear on your wrist—a delicate symbol, unique to each pair, branding them as bound for life.
It wasn’t something impossible, yet many treated it like a fairy tale, a legend from another time. Some spoke of it with reverence, while others dismissed it as mere fantasy, something they’d only heard about in stories. In some places, it was more common to find your person—a brush of hands on a busy street, a casual touch at a café, and suddenly your life changed forever. For others, it was a distant miracle, an event so rare it was spoken of in hushed tones, almost like folklore. Some never found their person at all, spending their entire lives waiting for a touch that never came.
And sometimes, fate played a cruel trick. Your soulmate might live on the other side of the world, or worse—they might have already passed away, leaving you with nothing but an empty mark and the knowledge that you were destined for someone you’d never meet. The world had its own way of punishing hope, and this was just another way it did so.
For this reason, touch became sacred. In this world, touching someone who wasn’t family was no longer a casual affair. It was considered a violation—a crime, even—against one’s consent and fate. What could have been a chance encounter, an accidental brush in passing, now carried the weight of destiny. It was more than physical contact—it was a potential binding of lives. It could ruin a person. An unintentional touch could reveal a soulmate to someone who wasn’t ready or, worse, to someone who didn’t want to know. It could spark joy, or it could destroy everything.
It was strange for Megumi, though. He had grown up in a home where physical affection was normal. His parents were soulmates, after all. His family had always been touchy, warm, affectionate in ways that many others might find strange. Hugs were given freely, almost in excess—his parents, his older sister—they had always surrounded him with care. But they had also warned him, as everyone was warned: Be careful who you touch. Be careful who touches you.
The warning echoed in his mind now, and though he understood it logically, he couldn’t shake the odd sense of disconnection he felt about the whole thing.
Did it really matter if you found your soulmate?
Megumi, now 24, found it difficult to care. He wasn’t interested in finding a soulmate, not like others around him seemed to be. There were far too many other things on his plate to even consider the idea of someone else, let alone a person fated to be with him for life. Soulmates were a distraction, a complication in a life that was already full of stress and responsibility. Love, destiny, and all that came with it—it wasn’t practical, not in his world.
He changed the song on his phone, trying to shift his focus back to the present. His first hospital rotation at Tokyo Hospital was about to begin, and that was what mattered right now. It was exciting in its own right—finally, after years of hard work, late nights, and cramming for exams, he was going to put it all to use. All those moments of exhaustion and frustration would finally mean something. He wasn’t just a student anymore. He was stepping into the world of real medicine.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, breaking his train of thought. He fished it out and saw a text from Nobara:"Are you on your way? I'm trying to review some stuff before we start. I’ve got coffee waiting for you 😁."
A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Having a friend like Nobara made the transition easier. It wasn’t just the prospect of working with a close friend, but the familiarity, the comfort of knowing there was someone he could trust in this new and overwhelming environment.
“Good luck on your first day,” chimed a message from his mom, in the family group chat. Megumi’s father was "typing" for what felt like ages, before finally sending a barrage of emojis—hearts, thumbs up, clapping hands—accompanied by pictures of their two dogs: Lady, the big, fluffy white one, and Sunny, the small black mutt they had rescued from a park. Sunny, the four-legged chaos, was always caught mid-motion, every photo of him blurry, his black fur just a streak across the screen. He was impossible to photograph.
Megumi chuckled softly, his heart warming. He was going to miss them. His family’s small, simple moments had always been a comforting constant in his life, a grounding force amid the chaos of medical school.
Ping. Another message, this time from his sister, popped up in their personal chat.
"I'm in a meeting right now, but when you get back, there's food, Gumi ❤️ . Let me know if Nobara’s coming too."
He could practically hear her voice, full of fondness and teasing. Megumi couldn’t help but smile. Living with her again, even just for a while, was something he had been looking forward to. It wasn’t like when they were kids, bickering over silly things, but an unspoken bond had formed between them since she moved to the city. They only saw each other once every month or two now, and the distance had made him realize how much he missed her.
He stepped off the train at the hospital station, shaking off the sentimentality. There were familiar faces ahead of him—other students, interns, all heading toward the same destination. His stomach churned with a mix of nerves and anticipation, though he tried to push it aside. This was it.
The first real step into the world of medicine.
Megumi paused just outside the station to double-check his backpack. He went over the checklist in his mind: stethoscope? Check. White coat? Check. Notebook with all the vital notes? Check. Small medical guidebook for reference? Check. Everything else was stored on his phone. I’m ready, he thought, though a wave of nervous energy flickered through him. Being prepared for questions in class was one thing, but handling patients, real people, with real problems—that felt like an entirely different beast.
He took a breath, but just as he was about to enter the hospital, he felt a tug on the back of his scrub top, pulling him slightly off balance.
Turning, Megumi found himself face-to-face with Nobara Kugisaki, her short reddish hair tied up in a neat ponytail, her expression bright and mischievous. She was dressed in an obnoxiously pink scrub, with a gray hoodie thrown casually over her shoulders, her stethoscope tucked into her pocket. She looked as prepared as ever. There was something about her that always exuded confidence.
“Morning! Here’s your coffee,” Nobara greeted him with a grin, handing him a warm cup. It was still hot, the faint steam curling in the chilly morning air.
Megumi accepted it gratefully, letting the aroma hit him.
“Ugh, tell me about it,” she said. “I didn’t sleep at all last night. Too excited to meet the new residents!”
They began walking together, moving toward the entrance. Nobara, as usual, was bursting with energy and excitement, already talking a mile a minute.
“I had no clue where we were supposed to go—because, of course, the university didn’t bother telling us anything—but I figured it out. We’re going down this hallway and then to the right.”
Megumi nodded, letting her chatter wash over him as they walked. His eyes scanned the building as they entered, taking it all in. The hospital was huge, the walls a sterile white, polished to a shine. It had that too-clean smell, the scent of disinfectant lingering in the air, almost oppressive. People bustled around them, all dressed in various shades of scrubs, most clutching coffee cups like lifelines as they hurried to their destinations.
Megumi was dressed in a black scrub, simple and loose, with a dark gray hoodie layered over it. His worn-out backpack hung off his shoulders, looking out of place amidst the pristine environment, but he didn’t care. The familiarity of it was comforting in an otherwise daunting place.
“Good thing I’ve got you,” Megumi said as they reached the stairs, glancing at Nobara. “Did you check the schedule? Looks like we start with an orientation before we’re assigned to our wards.”
Megumi raised an eyebrow. Gojo—he’d heard the name, of course. Everyone had. He was a bit of a legend in the medical world, renowned for pioneering techniques in cardiology, and for his eccentric personality. Gojo Satoru, the man who made saving lives sound like an art form, all while maintaining the air of someone who had nothing better to do.
They reached the auditorium just before eight. Megumi checked his phone. 7:58. Perfect timing. They slipped into the back, taking two empty seats. The room buzzed with energy, already packed with interns dressed in a sea of scrubs, mostly muted shades of black and green.Despite the range of colors in the room, Nobara’s scrubs stood out—an eye-catching, almost neon pink, far more vibrant than the softer shades of pink worn by a few others scattered throughout the crowd.
Megumi tucked his earbuds into his bag just as the room hushed. He glanced toward the front of the room, and his eyes widened in surprise.
A tall, slender man with stark white hair and sunglasses—sunglasses?—was standing at the podium. He looked far too relaxed for someone about to address a room full of nervous medical interns. His hair was unruly, wild even, but he didn’t seem old. Albino? Megumi wondered briefly, unsure of what to make of him.
“Good morning!” the man greeted, his voice carrying easily across the room. He grinned widely, almost too casually, as if addressing old friends rather than new interns. “My dear interns, because yes, you’re no longer just med students. You’re one step away from being doctors! And trust me, the patients won’t see a difference between you and a fully-fledged doctor.” He laughed, clearly pleased with himself. “So keep that in mind—be responsible. And maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll become cardiologists like me!”
There was that cocky tone, that air of invincibility Megumi had heard about. Gojo Satoru—the man was a legend for a reason, and Megumi couldn’t help but feel a mix of awe and exasperation. Of course, this was the man they would be working under.
“Alright, alright,” Gojo waved a hand dismissively, turning to the younger doctor beside him. “Dr. Okkotsu, let’s get them sorted into their wards.”
Dr. Okkotsu, much younger than the other attending physicians, looked utterly exhausted. Dark circles clung beneath his eyes, a clear sign that he hadn’t slept in days, and his skin had a pale, almost washed-out quality. His short black hair was tousled, as if he’d run his fingers through it in frustration too many times.
He began calling the students in alphabetical order, his voice tired but steady, moving quickly through the list until he reached Megumi's name.
"Fushiguro, Megumi?" Okkotsu called, scanning the room.
Megumi raised his hand, feeling a slight knot in his stomach.
"Great, you're in Ward 4, Room A. Patients 1 and 3 this week," Okkotsu said with a nod, already moving on to the next name.
As more names were called, Megumi barely registered them. Nobara had already started chattering again, her voice drowning out everything else as his mind wandered, only half-listening to the assignments being given.
“Do you know what that means? We’re in one of the cardiology wards! Sure, it’s a basic one, but it’s right next to the Coronary Care Unit! Maybe we’ll see some surgeons around. I really don’t like internal medicine,” she sighed. Nobara had wanted to be a surgeon from the moment she set foot in medical school. Megumi, on the other hand, still had no clue what he wanted to specialize in. He was a bit surprised at himself for ending up here—he’d once considered veterinary school.
Then, Nobara’s name was called, and both of them turned their heads. She raised her hand enthusiastically.
“Kugisaki, Nobara? Perfect! Ward 3, Room H, patients 5 and 6,” Dr. Okkotsu smiled.
Nobara’s eyes widened in disbelief as she shot out of her chair, her voice rising with frustration.
“What?! No! There’s a mistake! I’m supposed to be with Megumi!” Nobara’s sharp tone cut through the room, causing several interns to turn and watch the scene unfold.
Okkotsu barely looked up from his clipboard, his exhaustion evident. He let out a tired sigh, clearly too drained to fully engage with the outburst, and continued scanning the list as though he hadn’t heard her at all. The tension in the room lingered as Nobara stood there, fuming, but Okkotsu seemed unfazed, more focused on moving through the names than dealing with the disruption.
“I’m afraid the assignments are set, Kugisaki,” he muttered, rubbing his temples as if the headache of the day was finally catching up to him. “Ward 3, Room H. That’s where you’re needed.”
“But we were supposed to be in the same ward!” Nobara insisted, her voice growing louder. She threw a quick glance at Megumi, who was trying—and failing—to look indifferent. “How is this fair?!”
Okkotsu sighed deeply and looked at her with tired eyes.
“You’re both needed in different wards. This isn’t about convenience. It’s about covering the patients.”
Nobara crossed her arms, fuming, clearly not satisfied with the answer.
“But—”
Megumi left Nobara behind with clenched fists, his frustration bubbling under the surface as he walked toward his assigned ward. He was irritated—no, angry. It wasn’t just about being separated from Nobara. He had been looking forward to having her by his side, to manage the first day together, to laugh off their nerves and figure things out. But now, she was assigned to another ward, and here he was—alone—facing the prospect of handling patients by himself. His partner, if they even existed, was either running late or hadn’t bothered to show up at all. For all Megumi knew, he might not have a partner at all. The thought grated on him as he braced himself for the day ahead, feeling the weight of responsibility settle uncomfortably on his shoulders.He didn’t ask for this.
The hallways of the hospital seemed longer than they were, sterile and bright, reflecting the cold indifference of the situation. Megumi checked his phone for the room number again—Ward 4, Room A. Patients 1 and 3. Too many for his liking on the first day. His grip tightened on the strap of his backpack. He hated this. The sense of dread curled in his stomach, a sharp contrast to the optimism he’d felt just an hour ago.
As he pushed open the door to the ward, he immediately recognized a tall figure standing near the window, dressed in a black scrub, white coat over it, and, of course, sunglasses. Who else but Dr. Gojo? Megumi sighed internally, already feeling the day grow heavier.
“Ah, Fushiguro, right?” Gojo’s voice was casual, almost mocking. He turned around, the ever-present smirk playing on his lips. “I hear you’re with us in Ward 4 today! Welcome to one of my special little corners of the hospital.”
Megumi forced a smile, though his anger still simmered beneath his calm expression.
“Thank you, sir.”
Gojo sauntered toward him, looking far too relaxed for someone in charge of a cardiology unit.
“So serious,” he said, raising an eyebrow behind those ridiculous sunglasses. “You sure you’re cut out for this? What’s the matter, not excited for your first day in the big leagues?”
Megumi bit the inside of his cheek, refusing to rise to the bait. Gojo always had a way of making people feel unbalanced, and Megumi wasn’t in the mood for games.
“I’m just here to do my job,” he replied tersely.
“Oh, just here to do your job, he says,” Gojo drawled, chuckling. “Lighten up, Fushiguro. Internal medicine may be serious business, but not everything has to be. You’ll get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that.” He winked as if sharing some great secret, then checked his watch. “Your partner should be here soon. Name’s Itadori, I think?”
Oh, so he had a partner.
Gojo watched him with a knowing smirk, his eyes glinting behind his sunglasses. Megumi barely had time to respond before the door to the ward burst open. A figure came sprinting inside, clearly out of breath, his movements hurried and clumsy. The first thing Megumi noticed was the guy’s pink hair—vivid, messy, and sticking up in all directions, as if he had rolled straight out of bed and dashed to the hospital without a second thought. He was a bit shorter than Megumi, with a stockier, more athletic build that suggested he was no stranger to physical activity. He radiated a restless energy, as if he was always in motion, incapable of staying still for more than a moment.
The guy skidded to a stop in front of Gojo, panting hard as he tried to catch his breath.
“Sorry! Sorry I’m late, sir!” he blurted out, his voice coming in quick bursts between breaths. “My name is Itadori Yuji! I’m an intern too, and I wanna be a traumatologist!”
Megumi felt a wave of irritation rising. This was his partner? A guy who couldn’t even bother to show up on time? The way he looked—pink hair all over the place, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows—made it even worse. He seemed to be an odd mix of chaos and carelessness, and Megumi’s patience was already wearing thin.
But before he could let his frustration boil over into words, something unexpected happened. Itadori, still catching his breath, reached out to steady himself, his hand brushing against Megumi’s without warning.
The touch was brief, a fleeting contact, but it was enough.
In that instant, Megumi felt something sharp, like an electric shock coursing through his body, but it wasn’t pain—it was something deeper, something that twisted in his chest and sent a jolt of heat racing down his spine. His eyes widened, and his breath hitched involuntarily.
What the—?
He looked down, his gaze drawn to his right wrist, heart pounding in his ears as a terrible realization struck him.
No.
His wrist tingled, and there it was. The mark. A sharp, searing pain shot through Megumi’s wrist, and his heart stuttered in his chest. His right wrist—something was wrong. He pulled back instinctively, eyes wide, his hand trembling slightly as he glanced down.
There it was.
A mark, delicate yet unmistakable, had formed on his skin, glowing faintly under the harsh hospital lights. It was a thin black circle encircling his wrist, like an intricate bracelet etched directly into his flesh—subtle, yet impossible to ignore.
Megumi’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, his surroundings blurred as his mind raced. The soulmate mark? No. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not here. And not with this guy.
He felt cold dread flood his system, mixing with the remnants of anger. His heart pounded in his ears, and all he could think was, Why him?
Megumi couldn’t speak. He quickly shoved his hand into his pocket, trying to steady his breathing, but his mind was screaming
Yuji, still oblivious to the shift in the air, scratched his left wrist absentmindedly, too focused on catching his breath and apologizing for being late to notice anything unusual.
“I really didn’t mean to—uh, the train was delayed, and then I got lost trying to find the right entrance,” he rambled, his voice a mixture of genuine concern and the awkwardness of someone clearly unprepared for the situation. His right hand rubbed at the wrist as if it were nothing more than an itch, his brow furrowed.
Gojo’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with amusement. He raised a hand lazily in a greeting.
“Well, well, so a future traumatologist,” he said, voice dripping with mock admiration. “You want to run into chaos, bones snapping left and right, patching people up like you’re in an action movie, huh?”
Yuji nodded earnestly, completely missing the teasing undertone.
“Yeah! That’s the plan!”
Gojo chuckled, clearly entertained by the exchange.
“You know, everyone says that trauma’s where the excitement is. Fast-paced, adrenaline-fueled. But you might change your mind once you see how the heart works.” He straightened up, giving his chest a dramatic pat. “The heart, Itadori, is where the real magic happens. The way it pumps life, sustains everything... You’re not just fixing injuries; you’re preserving life itself.”
But Megumi wasn’t paying attention to their conversation anymore. His vision tunneled, all his focus drawn to the mark now etched into his wrist, hidden inside his pocket. His heart was pounding in his ears, each thud louder and more disorienting than the last.
Gojo glanced at Megumi, who stood frozen.
"Right, Fushiguro?" Gojo’s words barely registered in Megumi's mind, drowned out by the panic rising in his chest. The mark on his wrist seemed to pulse with every beat of his racing heart. He tried to force his mind to catch up, to ground himself in the present. "Anyway, that’s enough wisdom for today. Let’s get started." Gojo glanced down at his clipboard with exaggerated focus, still grinning. "You’ve each been assigned two patients. Fushiguro, you’ll be handling patients 1 and 3 in Ward 4. Itadori, you’ve got patients 2 and 4. Simple enough, right? Don’t worry, I’ll check in later to make sure you two don’t cause too much damage."
Yuji nodded quickly—too quickly—masking his nerves with enthusiasm.
"Got it! Patients 2 and 4. I can handle that."
Megumi swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus. He wasn’t about to let this mark derail him, not on his first day. He could feel the pulse of it, the reality of it pressing into him, but he had to push it aside. His voice came out stiff, controlled.
"Let’s just get this over with."
“Oh, and one last thing,” Gojo added with a mischievous grin as he leaned toward Megumi. "Just try not to kill each other on the first day, alright?" Then Gojo turned to Yuji, waving him off with a laugh. "And you, Itadori, try not to break anything important—especially Fushiguro’s patience. It’s hanging by a thread already."
Yuji laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his head.
"Uh, yeah, I’ll keep that in mind." Yuji gave Megumi an apologetic smile, blissfully unaware of the mark on his own wrist—or the storm they were now caught in.
Megumi’s eyes flicked down to his wrist again, his mind racing as the faint pulse of the mark burned beneath his skin. It wasn’t just a symbol; it was a chain, binding him to this reckless, carefree guy who had no idea what had just transpired. As Gojo’s footsteps echoed down the hallway, growing fainter with each step, the weight of reality settled fully on Megumi’s shoulders.
Yuji scratched the back of his head, his fingers ruffling his already messy hair, still smiling awkwardly. He was clearly oblivious to the significance of what had just happened, his expression easygoing as he looked over at Megumi.
“So, uh… guess we’re partners?” Yuji said, his grin a bit sheepish as he tried to break the awkward silence, shifting from one foot to the other, his body language open and relaxed.
Megumi didn’t bother hiding his irritation. His eyes narrowed slightly as he shot Yuji a flat, unimpressed look.
“Just stay out of my way,” he muttered, his tone cold and dismissive. Without waiting for a reply, he turned sharply on his heel, already heading toward Ward 4 with brisk, determined steps.
Yuji blinked, his grin faltering for a moment. He hesitated, but quickly shook it off, his easygoing nature kicking back in as he jogged to catch up.
“Huh? What’s your deal?” Yuji’s voice wasn’t angry—just genuinely confused as he caught up beside Megumi, his brow furrowed slightly. “I didn’t even do anything! And I said I was sorry for being late!”
Megumi came to an abrupt stop and turned, his glare sharp enough to cut through steel. His arms dropped to his sides, fists clenched in frustration.
“Look,” he snapped, eyes locked on Yuji, “I don’t have time to babysit someone who doesn’t take this seriously. Just focus on your own patients, and we’ll be fine.”
Yuji raised an eyebrow, his confusion deepening. His posture shifted, hands on his hips as he tried to make sense of Megumi’s hostility.
“Whoa, whoa—babysit? Dude, I can handle myself. You don’t even know me!” He scratched his head again, clearly more puzzled than upset. “I mean, come on, it’s the first day.”
Megumi’s jaw tightened, his shoulders tensing as the frustration bubbled beneath the surface. The mark on his wrist seemed to burn hotter with every passing second, a constant reminder of the chaos he wanted to avoid. His lips pressed into a thin line as he struggled to keep control.
“Just... stay out of my way, Itadori!” he repeated, this time more forcefully, his voice laced with irritation. He turned on his heel again, walking off without looking back, his steps more rigid than before.
Meanwhile, Megumi’s mind raced, the presence of the soulmate mark burning beneath his sleeve, growing more unbearable with each step. Yuji had no clue about the mark on his own wrist, and Megumi wasn’t about to clue him in anytime soon. His heart pounded in his chest, frustration simmering beneath the surface as one thought crystallized in his mind with painful clarity: fate had an exceptionally cruel sense of humor, and he was, without a doubt, really, really unlucky.