Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Shit,” Megumi groans as he sits up, groggily rubbing his eyes. He’s slept through his alarm. At his feet, one of his jade hounds, Kuro, yawns widely, sharp canines glinting in the morning light. He reaches down to roughly pet the large, fluffy beast before getting up.

Humming, he makes an instant coffee, grabs the leashes, and takes Kuro and Shiro for their morning walk. He plays music loudly in his headphones, which were a gift from his best friend Kugisaki. The dogs head down their usual route, a narrow path lined with ginkgo and maple trees. The leaves, the colour of corn and blood, rustle as a strong breeze rushes by. He sips his coffee to fight the sudden chill. It scalds his tongue, so he unscrews the lid to let it cool.

Last week the final vestiges of summer shrivelled up and scurried off to some hollow corner beneath the ground to hibernate until spring. Today the air is sharp and biting, the sky clear. Megumi adores autumn. He loves the season’s glorious transience, when summer’s humidity no longer cloys to his insides, before the parching dryness of winter sets in.

Distracted, huffing into his coffee, Megumi is blindsided by the massive Saint Bernard that ploughs straight into his chest. It knocks him to the ground, winding him. He sucks in a deep breath when the canine, the size of a small horse, gingerly steps off his torso. Gasping from shock, he doesn’t feel anything for a moment until he looks down and realises his hand is burning, his arm is burning, fuck his coffee was tipped loose and soaked his entire left sleeve and now it’s really fucking hot. He takes another steadying breath, groans, and lets his head thud back as five more massive dogs and a man fill his swimming vision.

Framed in sunlight, Megumi can’t make out the stranger’s features. He squints, struggling to breathe, and notices his hair is pink, giving him a raspberry tinted halo. He dislodges his headphones.

“Oh my god, oh no, I’m so sorry! Dude, are you okay? Shit, what a stupid question, of course you’re not okay. Is anything broken? Can you breathe? I wanna help you, but I don’t wanna make anything worse,” the man is gesturing worriedly, leashes flapping about as he apologises at Megumi, who sighs and finally sits up. His arm feels sticky.

He wracks his brain for anything that might’ve made him a target for karmic retribution, but comes up empty. Megumi would be more pissed off, but the Saint Bernard is panting slobbery breaths beside him, watery eyes apologetic – he could never be angry with a dog. Besides, its owner is distressed enough for the both of them.

“Oh shit! Your coffee! I didn’t notice, here –” Candyfloss takes out a small cloth, crouching. He gently takes hold of Megumi’s forearm and firmly dabs the wetter parts of the ruined sleeve. He has nice hands, Megumi notices, and he’s wearing black nail polish. Taking in the man’s furrowed brow, his earnest, concentrated expression, and his tongue poking from the corner of his mouth, Megumi realises with a start he’s staring like a fool and still hasn’t said anything. He blushes, pulling his arm from the strong grip, frowning to avoid the almond gaze. There are symmetrical crescent moon scars under the man’s eyes.

“Is your hair pink?” Megumi asks, like an idiot.

“Is your vision messed up?” Kirby cocks his head.

Megumi frowns harder, making what he hopes is intimidating eye contact. “What?”

“I’m worried you’re concussed. If you can’t tell my hair’s pink, we should probably go to the hospital.”

Rolling his eyes, Megumi says, “I’m fine. It was an observation phrased as a question.”

Bubblegum grins, clasping his (truly nice) hands together. He’s squatting in front of Megumi, forearms resting on bent thighs, jeans straining tightly around his powerful muscles. Eyes widening incrementally, Megumi looks away.

“Do you like it, then?”

“Like what?”

“My hair.” Impossibly, the grin stretches. “It’s natural.”

Megumi ignores him as he stands up. He brushes himself down, relieved his jade hounds are so well trained when he sees them waiting alert nearby. They visibly relax as he picks up their leashes.

Still crouched, Jigglypuff speaks again: “I really am sorry. Marshmallow is a total behemoth and runs like a demon set free from the clutches of hell.” He scratches a scar. “Not that it’s her fault, it’s mine for not seeing you. I always take this route because it’s a bit outta the way and we can jog without bothering people, but I guess that backfired, huh,” he stands as well. He’s noticeably taller than Megumi, who considers himself a tall man to begin with. Megumi doesn’t reply. Shuffling his weight, he continues, “Can I at least buy you a new coffee? There’s this great place not far from here–”

“No, really. It’s fine. I’m fine, and I’ve got to finish my walk.” Megumi’s neck is hot. Princess Peach opens his mouth, but Megumi continues, burning, “I’m not concussed, and I don’t need another coffee. It was shitty instant stuff anyway. Seriously,” he presses, as the man seems reluctant to drop it, “It’s fine.”

Megumi watches as the guy tilts his head, eyes tracing Megumi’s own face. He sighs, “I wish I could make it up to you…” Suddenly, he checks his phone. “Ah! I’m late!” He looks at Megumi, an almost desperate expression crossing his features, before saying, “I’ve gotta go.”

Megumi doesn’t reply.

“Well, bye. Again, I’m so sorry!” He tugs on the six leashes (seriously, six!?) and jogs away, the huge dogs gaining speed with him.

Megumi watches him disappear through the trees. A breeze reminds him of his damp arm; he shivers.

.

A couple of weeks later Megumi is reviewing lecture notes in his apartment. He didn’t have class that morning and felt no desire to dress up for the dogs’ walk, so he’s wearing a simple black outfit and his bedhead is outrageous.

“I’d say you look like shit warmed up, but your lips are blue. It’s cold, turn on your damn heating!” Kugisaki orders as she stomps into his apartment, uninvited.

“Good morning to you too,” he grumbles, reading his notes. She humphs—he ignores her. He hears her making herself comfortable on his old sofa, knowing instinctively she’s lying draped across it, legs kicked over one of its threadbare arms.

“You’re a lousy host, I’ve been here nearly a full minute and you haven’t offered me anything to drink,” she complains loudly.

“There’s coffee on the counter,” he replies absentmindedly, highlighting something from last week.

He hears Kugisaki shuffle over, mumbling about visiting Maki, her girlfriend and Megumi’s neighbour, who is apparently the only person who treats her right.

“Pah! What is this gunk?” she spits out. “You drink this shit?” Sighing, Megumi raises his head to see her pour the cup down his sink. Noticing him watching, she quickly grabs his mug too, feeding it to the drain. “Where’s the packet?” she asks.

His eyes narrow. “I’m not telling you.”

“I can make this quick, or I can make this slow, and painful. It’s your choice. Now, where’s the coffee?” Megumi remains silent. Several moments pass, then, “Fine! Guess we’re doing this the hard way,” Kugisaki announces before banging open every cupboard in his kitchen, letting the doors fly wide, smacking on their hinges. Megumi thuds his head on the table and lets out a low groan.

“What did I do to deserve this?” He moans.

“Obviously this is a direct result of you buying shitty coffee. Don’t try and blame some higher power, Megumi.”

“I’m not blaming a god, I’m blaming you.”

“You did this,” she reiterates, starting on the cupboards above the counter.

“I fail to see how it’s my fault you’re borderline batshit.”

“Watch it!” Kugisaki warns, before exclaiming, “Ah-ha! Found it.” She rips open the bag, pouring the grounds directly into the trash.

“Nobara, you know I need coffee to function. You do too. Have some empathy.”

“I do! So, as your wonderful friend, I’m here to save your taste buds from this terrible brew. Get the dogs, we’re heading out.” Megumi opens his mouth to talk back, but Kugisaki is faster, holding up a hand, “There will be no resistance! I know your super nerd brain will short circuit if you procrastinate, so let me reassure you, it’ll be worth your while. Come on. Let’s go.”

Megumi sighs, smart enough to realise resistance was futile. He drops his highlighter, runs his fingers roughly through his hair, and shrugs on a leather jacket.

Kugisaki considers the outfit critically. “Honestly, if I didn’t know you, I’d tell you you look hot. You really pull off that tall, dark and handsome thing.” Megumi almost thanks her, before she continues, “Sadly, I do know you, so I’d never make that mistake. I’m also certain you drink your coffee black to impress others, which is so lame. Being a try-hard is such a turn off.”

“You’re a lesbian.”

“And what about it?”

They leave with the dogs, bickering lightly as they head out. Kuro and Shiro enthusiastically make for the park and Kugisaki doesn’t stop them.

“Aren’t you going to ask where we’re going?”

“I figure I’ll find out soon enough.”

“Ask me where we’re going.”

“Seriously? Just tell me.”

“No, you have to ask.”

“Fine,” he sighs, “where are we going?”

Kugisaki turns to him, eyes flashing. “It’s a surprise.”

He snorts. “Fucking typical.”

“Hey, go right here,” she instructs, just before the park. They walk for a block, turn left, and stop in front of a café. Jujutsu Brew, Megumi reads. He wonders if Kugisaki brought him here because it’s named after one of his favourite pastimes.

“This café,” she gestures grandly, “does the best coffee. It’s magical. It’s so delicious, if it were a person, I’d leave Maki for it in an instant. She wouldn’t even be mad! If it manifested in human form as a dude, I’d go hetero. Do you know how good coffee needs to be to hypothetically make me straight? I’m really, really gay,” she emphasises this with an extravagant slap of her chest.

Megumi raises an eyebrow. “That good, huh?”

“You get the idea. They also let dogs in, so,” she pushes him inside.

Megumi takes in the high ceiling and large windows; the café’s friendly atmosphere is enhanced by the buzz of conversation, and the room is aglow with late-morning sunlight. The wall to his far left is made of exposed brick and decorated with hanging plants. He notices small piles of books, tucked into crannies and settled under tables. There’s an alcove fitted with a pair of worn sofas, mismatched but not jarringly so, similar to the rest of the furniture in the café. He sees fairy lights strung along the wall and assorted lamps dot the room. Megumi imagines it must be beautifully cosy in the evenings.

He spots the obnoxious pink hair too late.

“It’s you! Mr. It’s-Not-A-Concussion-I’m-Totally-Fine guy!”

Behind the counter is the man whose dog knocked Megumi down a few weeks ago. He unleashes a dangerous grin in their direction. Against his better judgement, Megumi finds it adorable.

“Marshmallow,” he replies in a cool monotone as he reaches the counter, reading Itadori on the man’s name tag. He senses rather than sees Kugisaki’s stare, feeling his neck heat and praying it doesn’t show.

“What can I get you?” Itadori asks, leaning forward, “Oh! No! Black coffee, right? I remember!” Megumi’s shocked into silence.

“Oookay,” Kugisaki cuts in, “Itadori, how do you know how my favourite shut-in takes his coffee?”

Slightly detached, Megumi asks, “I’m your favourite shut-in?”

“You’re the only one I know. Let’s not get off topic. Itadori?”

“Hmm?” He acknowledges her whilst ringing up the order, confirmed by Kugisaki’s comment. Megumi watches Itadori’s nose wiggle cutely as he presses buttons on the machine. “I ran into him at the park when I was out with the dogs. He dropped his coffee,” he explains as Megumi pays.

“Right. Of course. Okay,” Kugisaki says, sounding distinctly as if things were not okay. Ordering and paying for her drink, she gives Megumi a look as if to say We’re talking about this later.

As the drinks are being made (Kugisaki’s is some monstrous concoction involving thirty-seven steps and a satanic ritual), Itadori turns back to Megumi. “I didn’t see you again. I was worried I’d done some real damage.”

“You looked for me?”

“Well, yeah. I kept an eye out.”

“You certainly weren’t looking before,” Megumi points out. Itadori flushes, his cheeks matching his hair.

“Yeah. Well. I said I was sorry!” He rubs a scar, before continuing. “Anyway,” he draws the word out playfully, “this is the coffee shop I mentioned!”

“You run me over and the first thing you do is plug your workplace?”

“Trust me,” Itadori leans down, propping his chin on a palm. “It’s really good.” He’s wearing a long-sleeved top, the bent elbow causing it to tighten over thick muscle. Megumi swallows.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he says as Kugisaki collects their drinks.

“Then you better come back and give me your verdict!” Itadori calls as they leave.

.

Back at Megumi’s apartment, Kugisaki begins her inquiry.

“I can’t believe you had a meet-cute and didn’t tell me! The betrayal, the deception, the sheer outrage of it all–”

“I didn’t have a meet-cute. There was nothing cute about it,” Megumi denies.

“The boy was cute! I bet the dogs were cute too. You love dogs!”

“I wasn’t thinking about the dogs from my position, on the ground.”

“Oh? So, you were thinking about the boy?”

“That’s not what I said,” he dismisses. Kugisaki changes tactics.

“You’re mean to people you find attractive,” she points out.

“I would hardly call what I said mean.”

“Hm, that’s true. You’re usually meaner at first. Maybe you were intimidated by his sexy jock aura and beefy arms,” she ponders, tapping her chin.

“Beefy is such a gross word.”

“Yet you do not deny his beefiness, do you?” Kugisaki pushes. Megumi frowns slightly. In a display of patience unusual for her character, she waits. Megumi recalls the encounter in the café.

“His shirt was tight,” he mutters after a minute of silence.

“Hah! I knew you were checking him out!”

Sinking lower into the old armchair he’s in, Megumi murmurs, “I wasn’t! He was basically naked.”

“He was wearing some baggy long-sleeved thing. You can’t gaslight me into thinking otherwise, Megumi, did you forget my major?” Kugisaki teases. “Besides, your blush is a dead giveaway!”

“I fail to see how this is a victory for you.”

“Itadori’s arms are a victory for humanity, Megumi. Don’t forget that.” She claps her hands. “Now, next time you go to Jujutsu, ask him for his number. Go on another walk together! It’ll be romantic.”

“We didn’t walk together last time, he knocked me over.”

“Floored by how sexy you find him, you fell head over heels in love. Got it,” she lies back on his sofa, which she’d spread out on after re-entering his apartment.

“Nobara.”

“Fine. You don’t have to get his number, you moody introvert. You’ll go back for the coffee, anyway, right?” Megumi doesn’t answer, he doesn’t need to. The coffee was amazing, the café practically en-route to the park. He had two perfectly legitimate reasons to return, even without the draw of a certain employee.

.

Megumi went back to Jujutsu every morning for almost a fortnight and ran into Itadori a grand total of zero times, not that he was counting. The café opened daily at 6:00, and Megumi typically reached it an hour later, on his way to the park.

Today, however, he’d slept in again, having had an even slower start than the last time his alarm failed him. He’d stayed up almost all-night watching movies with Kugisaki and Maki in Maki’s apartment, and was now regretting it.

Dragging himself out for the sake of his beloved pets, Megumi makes his way to Jujutsu half-asleep. Trudging like a zombie into the café, he’s momentarily blinded by how Itadori lights up when he reaches the counter. Of course, Megumi thinks, blinking slowly, of all the days to see him again…

“You came back!”

“Good morning, Marshmallow,” Megumi replies sleepily, half a beat too late.

“Oh yeah, we never exchanged names, did we? I’m Itadori Yuuji,” he smiles expectantly.

“Fushiguro Megumi,” he tells him. Itadori’s smile widens and he crosses his arms on the counter, bent at the waist. Megumi tries not to look at his arms and fails.
“Mmm. Pretty,” he says.

Megumi’s slow on the uptake this morning, “What is?”

“Your name. It’s pretty.” Barely awake, barriers down, Megumi’s neck flushes red.

“It’s a girl’s name.”

Itadori laughs, “Hey you said it, not me! Oh, your coffee’s ready,” he takes the drink passed to him by his co-worker, whose mouth is hidden by a scarf. Megumi frowns.

“I didn’t order yet.”

“It’s easy to remember. Here. Take it.” Itadori gives the cup a little jiggle.

“Oh. Uh. What if I’d wanted a different drink?”

“Do you?”

“… No.” Itadori’s smile softens. Megumi takes the drink, reaching for his money.

“This one’s on me,” Megumi stops, wallet in-hand. Catching his eye, Itadori winks, “For the park. Now my debt’s been paid.” Megumi puts his wallet away, lips-parted, looking not unlike a fish.

In an attempt to save face, Megumi asks, “What about the emotional distress you caused me?”

“Hmm.” Itadori drums a quick beat on the machine. “Guess I’ll have to show you a good time then, won’t I?”

“What.” Megumi blinks.

“What?” Itadori tilts his head.

A throat is cleared behind Megumi’s shoulder, bringing him violently back to the real world. Someone is standing behind him, waiting to order. His blush grows as he frowns at the next customer and Itadori in turn, the latter responding with a smile. Megumi leaves quickly in what Kugisaki would undoubtedly describe as a gay panic.

.

Megumi finishes his walk and tries not to think about Itadori; about scars shaped like commas, white teeth in broad grins, or strawberry-tinted hair.

When Megumi returns to his apartment he cleans, thinking about his lectures, the weather, his sister. He takes Kuro and Shiro for their haircut and shops for groceries. He buys a massive bag of shitty instant coffee – he’s going to need it, in the coming weeks. He goes to the dojo, showers, and falls asleep before 10pm.

That Monday, he hunkers down for his upcoming midterms. He stops going to Jujutsu, preferring instant for the time it saves, and spends every waking minute (that he isn’t in class or walking the dogs) revising.

His friends (mainly Kugisaki) claim his behaviour is excessive – he’s already top of his class, naturally intelligent, and exams well. But Megumi’s passionate about veterinary medicine and wants to do his best. These assessments won’t decide his degree outcome, but he knows subsequent tests will be easier if he puts effort in now.

Nobara Wintour:

R u alive

He doesn’t respond.

If u don’t reply I’ll come and see for myself

Ur so intense when u have exams

If u died honestly no one would know

They’ll break into ur apt and wont even find a body

Bc yin and yang will have eaten u

You can study lots AND be social

It’s not good to shut urself away. U get depresso and u know it!!!

( ≧Д≦)

He doesn’t reply.

(｡•́︿•̀｡)

He doesn’t reply to that either.

Ok. Lmk if you need anything, nerd

As Kugisaki predicted, he becomes desperately anti-social. Thankfully, she checks on him, coming by uninvited occasionally to work on her own projects in the same space. He enjoys the company when she’s quiet.

“Back on your bullshit with the instant coffee, I see.”

“Get off my dick, Nobara.”

Maki also often drops by with food, forcing him to take a break. He can never tell her to get lost, because as close as they are, she is absolutely terrifying.

To give students more time for revision, there aren’t any veterinary classes the next week. This change of schedule, while allowing Megumi to study more, means his day is no longer broken up by lectures, and time slithers away from him easily.

When Kugisaki comes by that week, Kuro and Shiro pounce on her, bodies wiggling with excess energy. As she moves deeper into his apartment the dogs follow close at her heels.
“Hey, Gumi. What’s with their crazy behaviour? You didn’t put Red Bull in their bowl again, did you?”

Megumi, who had been reading highly technical notes, is jolted from his trance by her voice.

“What?” he asks, blinking. It takes a second for his hearing to catch up. “For the love of god, Nobara, that never happened.”

“Did you walk them yet today?” she asks, choosing to ignore his comment.

“Uh. I was getting to it,” he responds. She raises one perfectly plucked eyebrow at him, a hand on her hip. “I couldn’t stop thinking about this topic. I can’t wrap my head around it. I got up earlier to review it, and I guess time slipped away…”

“Megumi. They’re bouncing off the walls. They need to be walked.” He nods, already out of his seat and heading to his room to get dressed. “Are those Sasuke pjs?” she asks.

“Shut up.”

Kugisaki insists on stopping at Jujutsu before they get to the park. The leaves have now fully turned, burnt and rich and falling lightly like snowflakes. Megumi loves stepping on them, going out of his way to hear their satisfying crunch underfoot.

“Autumn’s nearly over. You don’t seriously expect me to walk around without a hot drink in hand, do you?” she says as they enter. Megumi sags in disappointment and relief when he sees Itadori isn’t manning the till. It was already late.

Kugisaki leads them on a longer walk than usual, nattering in his ear throughout. He listens mostly in silence, guilty he’d lost track of time so badly. If he couldn’t look after Kuro and Shiro when he was a little stressed, how on earth would he make a good vet?

Later that day, he gets a series of texts from Kugisaki:

Hey, I know ur stressed and it’s only going to get worse until ur exams are done

Ive got a friend who does dog walking and owes me a favour

He could take the chess pieces out in the morning? For a week?

And you could just walk them in the evening?

Idk why im using question marks, theyre not questions lol

He’ll be there at 7 tomorrow

I already told him!

Thank me later xoxo

Megumi’s irritated, but knows better than to argue with Kugisaki about something she’s already committed to. Deep down, he’s grateful. For all her bark, she’s never really had any bite. He doesn’t think he deserves such a good friend.

The next morning, the bell rings just as Megumi’s pouring himself his first cup of coffee. Sleepily, he opens the door, blinking up at none other than Itadori, who’s staring at him, lips parted.

“Uh.” Itadori says.

“Uh?” Megumi blinks again, more rapidly, and he feels his eyes widen comically and his neck grow red. If he’d been more awake, he might have noticed Itadori’s matching blush dusting his cheeks. “What are you doing here?” He asks, too tired to think about whether he sounds rude.

“Kugisaki.” Itadori says, explaining absolutely nothing.

“Kugisaki?”

“She said she needed dogs walking and told me to come here. I walk dogs. I do dog walking. Walking dogs is what I do,” Itadori rambles as Megumi pieces it together.

“You’re her dog walking friend?”

“Ah, I guess? I mean, that’d make sense, wouldn’t it?” He itches a cheek.

“That sly bitch.” Megumi mutters. He’s going to kill her.

“What? I didn’t catch that.”

“Don’t worry about it. Um. Come in?” Itadori enters. “Er. Can I offer you a cup of my finest shitty coffee?”

Itadori laughs, bright in the early morning light, as he takes off his shoes. Megumi’s heart hurts a little. Maybe Kugisaki doesn’t deserve to die.

“No, thanks. Hey, are those Sasuke pyjamas?”

Megumi realises he’ll be committing homicide after all. “Oh my god.”

“No, don’t look like that! They’re cute. I had a Naruto set growing up.”

“Growing up.” Megumi is suitably mortified. Thankfully, his dogs choose that moment to spring into the room. “This is Kuro and Shiro, they’re jade hounds,” he introduces. Itadori is clearly wonderful with animals because his dogs (usually guarded) take to him immediately. “I guess Kugisaki didn’t mention they were my dogs that needed walking…”

“Yeah, but that’s no problem! She said they’re well trained,” Megumi is trying to hide his outfit behind a counter, “and that I’d be doing it for a week. Until Wednesday?” He nods again. Itadori tilts his head. “I don’t mean to intrude. You, uh, don’t seem busy…” he chuckles nervously, gesturing loosely at Megumi’s pyjamas, then the air, before resting his hand on Shiro’s head. “Why do you want a dog walker?”

“I’ve got exams. I need to study.”

“Oh! Midterms? I don’t have those; I only get assessed at the end of semesters.”

Megumi’s surprised. Somehow, he hadn’t thought of Itadori as a real-life person. Of course he’s also a student.

“What’s your major?”

“Film. You?”

“Veterinary medicine.” Megumi’s unsure where to go from here. Itadori either notices and takes pity, or he’s remembered the time and needs to go, because he stands and asks for the leashes. Megumi tries to hand him his dogs’ favourite treats, at which Itadori laughs, revealing a matching bag in his pocket.

Flustered, it takes Megumi a full forty-five minutes to concentrate on his work, soon after which Itadori returns. His hair is slightly windswept, the tip of his nose shiny and red from the cold, and he’s smiling.

“Aww. No more pjs,” is the first thing Itadori says. As soon as he’d left, Megumi had taken a shower and changed.

“How were they?” Megumi asks, welcoming his pets back.

“Angels! Did they come from another dimension?”

Megumi’s lips turn up slightly at the praise, bending to accept kisses from both dogs. He stands and they bound back into his apartment. Itadori is giving him a funny look, one Megumi can’t read. It’s gone almost as soon as he notices it, slightly throwing Megumi, who had considered Itadori an open book. “Same time tomorrow?” He asks, unnerved by Itadori’s gaze.

“Yeah. Sounds good. See you then!” And just as suddenly as he’d arrived, Itadori leaves. Megumi takes a deep breath, and calls Kugisaki.

“Moshi moshi?”

“Itadori’s your dog walking friend.”

“Oh, yeah. Did he just leave? How was it?” She sounds far too satisfied for Megumi’s comfort.

“You didn’t think to tell me it was him because…?” He ignores her questions.

“Because you’d get weird or say no! And I knew you’d like it, so it had to be a surprise.”

“I didn’t say I liked it.”

“You don’t need to~” she singsongs. “I can hear it in your voice~” There’s a brief pause, then, “So. Were you wearing the nerd pjs?”

Megumi hangs up.

.

That week, Megumi learns he and Itadori are the same age and go to the same university. He learns Itadori is chatty, silly, but a good listener and eerily perceptive when he wants to be. Itadori works two jobs and loves them both, and he has a full ride sports scholarship to their school.

“Woah.” Megumi says, when he finds out. Itadori got back some time ago, and they’ve been standing in his genkan, talking. That morning, Itadori had arrived with a fresh coffee from Jujutsu and handed it to Megumi without a word. Megumi had accepted, too flustered to protest or thank him. “What team are you on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like. What sport do you play?” Megumi expands, frowning.

“Uh. All of them?” Itadori replies as if it’s obvious. Megumi, thinking about Itadori’s arms and thighs supposes it might be.

From that day on, Itadori always brings coffee. When Megumi mentions it, Itadori simply says, “Make it up to me sometime.” Megumi isn’t sure about living in a world of traded favours, but if he’s learnt anything it’s that Itadori’s fundamentally a good person. Megumi isn’t anxious about owing him, and he’s starting to suspect Itadori isn’t planning on calling in these favours at all.

Assessments begin, and although Megumi thought Itadori was only committed to the job for seven days, he keeps coming until Friday morning, the last day of veterinary exams.
“Good luck today. You’ll kill it,” he smiles, his matching scars lifting with his cheeks.

“Thanks.” Megumi hands over the leashes.

“Today’s your last one, right?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing to celebrate?”

“Uh, I’ll probably sleep for 48 hours. I’m not thinking about it yet.”

“Well, if you’re not unconscious, there’s this big party tomorrow night. You should come,” Itadori says.

“I’ll see.”

When Megumi gets home, he’s greeted by his happy dogs and gives them a big hug, inhaling their comforting smell. That morning he gave Itadori a spare key, which is now underneath his letter box, where Itadori had returned it. He spies a note on his kitchen table, telling him the time and place of tomorrow’s party (with a cute little doodle of a house underneath), and the digits of a phone number. Megumi glances at it before going straight to bed.

He wakes from his nap to Kugisaki knocking on his bedroom door.

“Wakey wakey, sleeping beauty!” She calls as she pokes her head into his room.

“Ugh,” he groans, “I regret saying you could come round this evening.” Kugisaki was in possession of another spare key, one he doesn’t remember cutting.

“But we’ve got to celebrate!” Megumi groans louder, raising the covers over his head. “Maki’s bringing dessert from Jujutsu and I just put an order in for pizza. Let’s watch Human Planet.” Under his blankets, Megumi smiles.

“Okay. I’ll get up.”

Maki arrives fifteen minutes later, Kugisaki and Megumi dressed comfortably in their sweatpants, settled on his sofa, channel hopping.

“Have you had food from Jujutsu before, Meg?” She asks by way of greeting.

He shakes his head, “Just their coffee.”

“Well, you’re in for a treat.”

“Literally,” Kugisaki adds, making a grabbing motion at the bag in her girlfriend’s hands.

“I thought we were having pizza?” Maki halts.

“We’re college students, since when do we adhere to society’s arbitrary rules? Can’t I have something sweet before something savoury?” Kugisaki pouts, hands flopping into her lap.

Maki laughs, “Dessert first it is.” Kugisaki cheers, clapping.

Maki had brought a wide selection of treats, from cheesecake to fruit tarts to red-bean buns. Megumi didn’t normally enjoy sweets, but after tasting them he had to acknowledge their deliciousness.

“Who makes these?”

“Inumaki Toge,” Maki tells him. “He’s a friend of mine. He also makes the best onigiri. Jujutsu only has fresh goods on sale, so if things sit out too long, they’re taken down. Surplus goes to staff or friends; I asked Toge to save me some today.” She reaches over to dot a tiny piece of cream on Kugisaki’s nose, who goes cross eyed trying to lick it off. “I heard Itadori donates to food pantries,” she glances at Megumi.

“Oh? That’s nice of him,” he tries to find the right balance between conversational and disinterested.

“Maki-chan, you’re not subtle at all.” Maki and Megumi frown. “Neither are you, Gumi,” she cackles. “You’re really into him, aren’t you?”

Megumi, who’d been ignoring all Itadori related thoughts, looks at the wall above the TV. Really into him – is he? He finds Itadori attractive, sure. Anyone with eyes would, in his opinion. Yet, he doesn’t think that’s what Kugisaki is talking about…

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Maki murmurs as she watches Megumi’s frown deepen, earning a snort from her girlfriend.

Thankfully, before he can think too much about it, the doorbell rings. “Pizza!” Kugisaki shouts, effectively ending the conversation.

.

Megumi stands in front of his wardrobe wondering why on earth he agreed to this.

Kugisaki had mentioned the party at the beginning of the week, without much insistence, probably thinking Megumi would be tired from exams. Then halfway through their second episode of Human Planet she’d returned from the bathroom and demanded he come.

“Um,” he’d said.

“Itadori will be there.”

“Uh,” came his articulate reply.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Kugisaki had ended their conversation, turning back to the TV. Semi-mortified that Itadori’s note had been discovered, he’d unthinkingly swept it into the bin with the pizza boxes – causing him to lose Itadori’s number at the same time.

Now, Kuro, snoozing at the foot of his bed, peeps an eye open as his owner releases another over-dramatic sigh.

“I’ve got nothing to wear,” Megumi tells Kuro. “This is a disaster.” Just as he’s closing the doors to his cupboard, his phone rings; it’s Kugisaki.

“I can’t go.”

“Outfit issues?”

“I don’t own any clothes. Any. I opened my wardrobe and nearly died getting sucked into the black hole inside,” Megumi rambles, panic rising. “I don’t do parties very often.”

“But when you do do them, you kill them. Remember? In summer? The shaving foam incident? That shit was legendary.”

Megumi sighs, “Noh, what do I do?”

“Oh? Are you asking me for fashion advice? Is this you admitting I have a phenomenal sense of style? Do I hear a: ‘Nobara, you beautifully, chic creature—save me from my piteous state’?”

Megumi, who had been bullied into going to this party by Kugisaki herself, decides none of this is worth the effort and hangs up. She calls back immediately.

“Okay, here’s what you’re gonna do. Those black jeans that hug your thighs? The leather jacket? Put ‘em on. I’ve got a black turtleneck that’ll make your arms and tits look so good, Itadori will confuse you for a Renaissance sculpture. I’ll bring it over.”

“That sounds a bit… intense.”

“I know what I’m doing. Oh, do you have earrings?”

“Uh…”

“Never mind, I’ll bring a pair. And I’m doing your makeup. I’ll be there in ten.”

As promised, Kugisaki enters Megumi’s apartment exactly ten minutes later, items in tow.

“I don’t want heavy makeup…” Megumi says, but she hushes him pointedly.

“I. Know. What. I’m. Doing.” She tells him firmly. After about thirty minutes, Megumi concedes she does indeed. He must admit, he looks filthy hot.

The turtleneck settles on his skin in a way he finds sinful, accentuating his toned arms and chest. He’s fit, muscles subtle in a way that someone like Itadori’s aren’t, only obvious in an item as skin-tight as this. His legs appear long and powerful, and his jacket gives the outfit a strong masculine edge. Kugisaki gave him small silver hoops and subtle cat-eye eyeliner, with hints of a dark, shimmery eyeshadow.

“Do you want lipstick? I’ve got ‘Persephone’s Undoing’ or ‘Thotful,’” Kugisaki asks. She’s effortlessly stunning, as usual.

Megumi gives her a look, “I’ll pass. I think you’ve done enough.”

“You say that like I’ve done something wrong.”

Megumi eyes himself in the mirror once more, “I’m worried I might kill someone tonight.” He runs a palm along his thigh.

“Yes!” She punches the air, “I love cocky Megumi! Let’s get it!”

His shoulders shake, “Okay, okay. Simmer down.”

They drink beer whilst waiting for Maki to come upstairs.

.

The party is a thirty-minute walk from Megumi’s apartment, in a big student house on the edge of campus. Even before they get to the door, he can tell the night is in full swing from the pulsing music. He wishes he’d had a second beer.

“Before we go in,” Maki unveils a small bottle of whisky, “a drink.”

“Ooooh,” giggles Kugisaki. “Let’s toast!”

Maki pauses. “To confident gays,” she takes a drink.

“To confident gays!” Kugisaki cheers, knocking back a swig.

“… to confident gays,” Megumi repeats, drinking. He puckers his lips, making a face as the alcohol runs down his throat. “Let’s get it,” he coughs. The girls laugh, and they walk in.

To Megumi’s relief, it’s busy, but not rammed. He recognises people from his course and nods to them when they make eye contact. He’s steered into the kitchen, whereupon Kugisaki helps herself to booze, mixing them each a drink. Maki greets a silver haired guy, who’s wearing a fuzzy jumper zipped to his nose. His light brown eyes seem purple in the kitchen light. He recognises him from Jujutsu; this must be Inumaki Toge.

Next to Inumaki stands a massive guy, who’s aura, in great contrast to his hulking stature, radiates cuddliness. He’s wearing a mascot head in the shape of a panda, but this is college, so no one cares.

“Panda,” he introduces himself, clasping Megumi’s hand.

“Fushiguro Megumi. And you must be Inumaki?” He asks the fair-haired man.

“Salmon,” Inumaki replies in affirmation. Megumi nods and sips the drink Kugisaki hands him. The five of them chat, and Megumi’s relieved to discover they get on easily. He relaxes, finishing his first drink and going to make another. As he stirs the cup, he looks into the next room, spotting Itadori.

Itadori is in a big red hoodie and nicely fitted jeans. His undercut is sharper than it was the day before. He seems to be glowing in the ambient room, throwing his head back in laughter as he claps the guy he’s talking to on the shoulder. It’s a light touch, but the man is jerked forwards, spilling his drink even though he’s massive. The guy scolds Itadori; Megumi can’t make out the words, watching as Itadori laughs again in apology, slightly embarrassed. Megumi’s still staring when Itadori’s eyes lower, looking directly into the kitchen and noticing him.

Startled, Megumi re-joins his group. Not a moment later, Inumaki and Maki light up in recognition.

“Itadori!”

“Hey guys,” he greets, stepping into the circle beside Megumi. He angles his body towards the shorter man. “You came,” his smile is wide and genuine. “Congrats on finishing.”

“Thanks,” Megumi blushes.

Itadori seamlessly fits into the conversation, talking animatedly with everyone. He might be imagining it, but Megumi feels Itadori’s eyes on him whenever he makes a joke. It’s as he’s telling the room about the time he nearly ate a finger (“No, seriously guys, a finger”), that Megumi fully snorts into his drink, breaking out into giggles. Itadori stops mid-sentence, staring at Megumi in awe. Megumi, trying to catch his breath, doesn’t notice.

“Wanna go outside? I’m getting kinda hot in here,” Itadori asks, not bothering to finish his story. As they leave Kugisaki and Maki share a subtle high-five.

The boys head onto the porch, sitting side-by-side on the steps to the garden. On the grass someone’s doing a handstand whilst being fed booze through a tube, drinking upside down.

Megumi sips his drink and listens to Itadori’s enthusiastic chatter, making a relevant comment here and there. Their knees brush. He loses track of time, absorbed in Itadori’s voice, thinking to himself Wow, I’m so fucking gay for this boy. He blinks – Where did that come from?

Before he can get wrapped up in his thoughts, Panda comes outside, demanding the pair go to the basement to play beer pong. Itadori perks up like a golden retriever.

“Why not,” Megumi agrees. They go downstairs where a table is already set up. Inumaki’s pouring beer into the final cup as they arrive.

“Best of three?” Asks Panda.

“Hell yeah! We’re gonna take you down,” says Itadori. It’s two on two; Megumi hasn’t played much beer pong before, but he’s got good hand-eye coordination and it turns out he and Itadori make a great team.

“We make a great team!” Itadori cheers when they win the first game.

“You didn’t miss a single shot, I’m pretty sure you’d have won with anyone.”

“No, no. I couldn’t have done it without you,” Itadori insists as they set up the second round. This one should be easier, Megumi thinks, as the other team are drunker now.

But things don’t go their way; Panda has clearly warmed up and is a menace, Inumaki a silent threat. The game is dangerously close and they’re tied going into their final round. Thankfully, it’s Itadori’s go. Megumi stands to the side as his partner lines up the shot. Watching their opponents’ cups, Megumi shrugs off his leather jacket, the basement’s stuffy air getting to him.

Itadori misses. Megumi whips around, Panda howling with laughter behind him. Itadori’s face is flushed red.

“What was that?”

“Ah, I got distracted,” Itadori’s blush grows.

“By what?” His question is left unanswered as they prepare for the final game.

Halfway through the match, a large group of people enter the basement. The new crowd begins dancing, causing the temperature to rise further. Itadori takes off his hoodie, and Megumi stares.

“Are those… tattoos?” He asks in a whisper. Itadori is inked, and Megumi was not prepared. Four pairs of black bands wrap Itadori’s wrists and upper arms, and a geometric line snakes around the junction where his neck meets powerful shoulders. The T-shirt isn’t tight, but it pulls across Itadori’s chest nonetheless. Megumi thanks any and all deities who had a hand in helping Itadori wear white tonight. He can faintly make out circles on the other man’s shoulders and can tell the pattern continues down his chest, but can’t work out its overall shape; Megumi’s going insane.

Panda gives another full-bellied laugh and Inumaki’s eyes crinkle into a smile. Itadori, oblivious, steps up for his turn. His fucking arms. Megumi’s feeling some kind of way.

They win. Megumi barely notices—he thinks he might be astral projecting.

The rest of the party passes in a blur, spent at Itadori’s side. They hang out with the group and make fun of strangers’ drunk antics. It’s as Megumi lets out his second poorly timed yawn that Itadori says, “I’ll take you home.”

Pleasantly buzzed and warm from the alcohol, they walk back in comfortable silence, barely noticing the cold. Itadori’s humming. Megumi sleepily leans into him as they go, Itadori wrapping a strong arm around his waist to keep him steady, his hoodie in the crook of his other elbow.

When they reach Megumi’s apartment, they head inside so Itadori can pet Kuro and Shiro. Megumi kicks off his shoes and hangs up his jacket, turning back to Itadori as he stands.

“Oh, shit, your shirt.” Megumi finally notices the large stain in the centre of Itadori’s top, red wine bleeding down his body like a wound.

“Ah, it happened when you were getting your jacket. Some drunk guy tripped,” Itadori explains.

Megumi pouts, “I liked that top.”

Itadori chuckles, “It’s just a white T-shirt. I’ll buy a new one.”

“Do,” Megumi tells him. They watch each other, before Itadori says, softly:

“I had a great night. Thank you for coming.”

“I had no choice. Nobara made me go.”

“Sure,” Itadori concedes easily. “I’ve got an early start tomorrow, so I better leave. You should drop by the café when I’m on shift, I’ll sneak you treats,” he winks.

“I don’t have much of a sweet tooth,” Megumi admits.

“Oh, sorry, did you think I meant for you? I meant treats for the puppies,” he teases, scratching Shiro’s ears.

Megumi pushes Itadori out the door. He falls asleep with a smile on his face.

Chapter Text

After the party, Megumi changes his routine, mostly studying in Jujutsu. He wakes to frost on the ground, his breath leaving his mouth in a curl of smoke. He used to dislike winter, yet the season feels different this year – the early nights are less depressing from inside the beautifully lit café.

Sometimes he brings his dogs, or sometimes Kugisaki joins him, but mostly Megumi goes to Jujutsu alone. Using his big red headphones to block out ambient sound, he can get a lot of work done without being distracted. That is, until Itadori is on break and inevitably interrupts him. Megumi looks forward to these disruptions more than he’d admit out loud.

Days in Jujutsu pass in comfortable conversation. Itadori brings treats for them to share (more often savoury than sweet, Megumi notices), always forgetting the second fork.

“What’s your favourite food?” Itadori asks. When his break began that afternoon he’d whipped off his apron and launched himself over the counter, to the amusement of Inumaki and great embarrassment of Megumi.

“Ginger.”

“No, silly. Your favourite meal.”

“Anything that goes well with ginger.” Itadori leans his cheek on a palm, tilting his head at Megumi, who says, “Fine. I guess I like hot pot in winter.”

“Mmm,” Itadori hums around a mouthful of cheesecake, “me too.”

.

Another day, Itadori is wearing a dark blue hoodie, tugging on the strings as he tells Megumi about his favourite films.

“I’ll watch anything, really, I’m not a picky guy. But right now I’m into low budget horror.”

.

Mid-November, Itadori asks “Which dog do you like more?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“C’mon. You gotta like one better.”

“You wouldn’t ask a parent who their favourite child was, would you?”

Itadori laughs, “It’s hardly the same thing.”

Megumi frowns, putting on his headphones. Itadori takes hold of Megumi’s upper arm to shake him back and forth as he laughs, “Hey, hey, I’m kidding. I know they’re your babies. Don’t ignore me!” Megumi lets Itadori shake him some more, before relenting.

.

One afternoon, Gojo Satoru walks into Jujutsu, white hair pushed back with a sparkly Alice band. He’s wearing sunglasses, as always. Megumi’s slight shock at seeing his ‘adopted uncle’ (as Gojo likes to put it – Megumi prefers the term ‘eccentric interloper’) is dimmed when he thinks about how close the café is to their university’s campus, where Gojo is a professor in the film department.

Megumi watches Itadori grin as the tall man reaches the counter, chatting in a way that shows they’re familiar. That’s right, Megumi thinks, Itadori majors in film. As he watches them talk, Itadori starts waving and shaking his head jerkily. Curious, Megumi pulls off his headphones to eavesdrop, but Gojo spots him so he puts up a lazy hand in greeting.

“Megumi-chan, long time no see,” Gojo saunters over, drink in hand.

“You came by two weeks ago. You stole my rice cooker.”

“Ah Megumi, so harsh! I didn’t steal it; I was borrowing it.”

“When can I expect it back, then?” Megumi retorts, raising his eyebrows at Gojo as he sits.
Pouting, Gojo changes topic. “Hey, let’s go to karaoke this week. You, me, Itadori.”

Megumi wonders how Gojo knows he’s friends with Itadori, then thinks back to the blustering interaction the two men had moments before. Narrowing his eyes, Megumi says, “I would rather saw off my own ears with a butter knife than go to karaoke with you again.”

“Pretty please?” Gojo asks, slipping his glasses down his nose and fluttering his eyelashes, “It’ll be fun.” His piercing blue gaze leaves no room for argument.

Megumi argues, anyway. “No. I don’t have time this week.”

“Next week it is,” Gojo decides. He has a twinkle in his gaze as he slides his shades back up with a long finger. Megumi sighs, ready to protest further, but Gojo stands fluidly, picking up his drink and making his way out, waving to Itadori. Megumi frowns, turning, to find Itadori already watching him. The other man startles, smiling sheepishly, before going back to work. Megumi, as he always does when Gojo sticks his nose into anything, wonders what he’s got himself into.

.

It’s an unusually hot day for late November, sun radiating through Jujutsu’s large front windows. Itadori is wearing a jumper and has his sleeves pushed up as he works, the dark bands of his tattoos stand out in rich contrast to his tanned skin. Megumi watches as they tense and ripple; he’s been unable to get them out of his head since that party. He’d wanted to ask about them, but couldn’t think of how. When Itadori ambles over for his break, Megumi takes the chance to point out the marks on his wrists.

“I had a bit of a bad boy phase in high school,” Itadori says.

“Excuse me,” Megumi pauses, his usually level voice rising, “You? A bad boy?”

“Yeah, kinda,” Itadori scratches above a cheekbone, beneath a scar. “I got into fights, spent a lot of time alone. I was pretty impulsive.” He runs a thumb over a tattoo. “I’d always loved body art and didn’t have any parents around to tell me no, so one day I thought, fuck it, and got them.”

“You got inked… on a whim?” Megumi doesn’t ask about the absent parents, coming from a similar background himself.

“I mean, not really? I’d wanted these done for as long as I can remember,” Itadori gestures at his chest and arms, Megumi’s eyes drift, following the motion, “but I never thought I’d do it, you know? That is, until I did.”

Megumi blows on his coffee before taking a sip, “I assume you don’t regret it.”

“Nah, of course not,” Itadori stretches his arms out. “I have excellent taste,” he grins, eyes flitting to Megumi, “in everything I choose for myself.”

Megumi fidgets, staring out the windows. “What changed?”

“I don’t follow.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call you a bad boy, Itadori,” Megumi explains, looking sidelong at his companion.

“Oh. Hm. Probably my grandpa.” Megumi waits for him to continue. “He got sick and I had to look after him. He’s my only family. I guess it knocked some sense into me, made me grow up faster. Also, Gojo,” Megumi leans forward, eager to learn about Gojo and Itadori’s relationship. “He came across me after a particularly bad fight, which I won, by the way,” he points out, “and cleaned me up. Took me home, sat me down, put on a movie. I dunno, the rest is history, I guess. He’s the reason I majored in film.” He pauses, before adding, “I took up sports?” He says this as though he himself doesn’t know why he changed.

Megumi thinks about his own childhood, about how he behaved in Junior High School, and how Gojo inexplicably played a part in his growth, too. Taking up jiu-jitsu at the dojo, volunteering at the animal shelter, growing stronger and less violent and eventually deciding to study veterinary medicine could all be traced to Gojo, in a way. He thinks about his only family, his sister in the hospital, and realises he and Itadori have a more similar background than he’d initially assumed.

“How’s your grandpa?” Megumi asks. He feels slightly guilty for not sharing his own past, but doesn’t think now is the time.

“Ah, bad. He’s pretty much a permanent resident at the hospital. Kinda why I have two jobs, on top of the scholarship.”

“I’m sorry,” Megumi says.

“Don’t be. He’s an old git. Hey, you should meet him some time,” Itadori smiles, hopeful. Megumi’s lips turn up slightly.

“Sure.”

.

Before they go to karaoke, Gojo insists they eat. The izakaya he chooses is unmarked, accessed by a run-down door in an unnamed alley. It’s tiny, atmospheric, and smells delicious beyond belief. Megumi and Itadori sit next to each other, legs crossed on the tatami, knees touching. Megumi quickly realises Gojo and Itadori are two sides of the same coin, silliness and distraction growing as they drink, giggling at immature jokes and playing childish games. Megumi acts like he’s above it, but secretly enjoys watching them.

They start with sashimi, the fat melting like mousse in their mouths. They order a huge platter of sushi fit to bursting with giant prawns, ruby roe, and a vibrant spectrum of fish. When it arrives, Itadori leans over Megumi to ask their server, “Hey, do you have any more ginger?” She brings an extra-large portion in a little bowl, handing it to Itadori, who wordlessly puts it by Megumi before helping himself to a morsel of scallop.

Gojo continues talking about destroying the one percent, “As my boy Rousseau once said: when the people shall have nothing more to eat, they will eat the rich,” but raises his eyebrows at Itadori’s action.

Megumi watches as Itadori eats yakitori, gently dragging meat off the skewer with his teeth. He’s mesmerised by Itadori’s chewing, by the line of his throat when he swallows, by his pink tongue, darting out to kitten-lick the salt off his fingertips.

Gojo kicks him under the table; Megumi jerks back, taking a large gulp of his most recent beer. As the food keeps coming, Megumi realises that Itadori has been feeding him, dropping the best items onto his plate over the course of the meal. He doesn’t know what to do with the information, heat spreading along his neck.

Eventually, Gojo deems them fit for karaoke. The venue has a selection of costumes, which Megumi walks past without stopping. He enters their room, orders a round of drinks, and fiddles with the sound before scrolling through the available artists.

The door slams open with a BANG, causing Megumi to jump and drop the controller. Silhouetted in the doorway are Gojo and Itadori, in maid and schoolgirl outfits, respectively.

“What the ever-loving fuck,” says Megumi, monotone.

“Prepare for trouble,” Gojo begins, back-to-back with Itadori.

“And make it double!” the other finishes. Entering the room, both men strike an equally stupid pose. Itadori continues, “But Professor Utonium accidentally added an extra ingredient–”

Gojo drops to his knees, one hand raised, “Chemical X!”

All at once, the two men move, tackling Megumi off the sofa.

“Thus, the Power Puff Girls were born!” Gojo cheers as Megumi struggles, wrestling Itadori on the floor. Itadori’s stronger than Megumi, but the dark-haired man uses the element of surprise (and his black belt) to flip their positions. He ends up on top of Itadori, who’s breathing quickly, eyes wide after their small tussle. Megumi sees a policewoman’s skirt clasped in Itadori’s hands and shakes off the cap that had been placed on his head.

“You bastards,” he says, “those references don’t even match.” Just then, the door opens and a server brings in their drinks, painfully awkward in the sudden silence.

Gojo cackles when it closes, “Alright Bubbles, Buttercup. That’s enough horsing around. Yuuji-kun, duet ‘A Whole New World’ with me.” And so, karaoke begins.

Gojo’s a good singer in that he can hit the notes and doesn’t run out of breath, but his voice isn’t anything spectacular. Itadori, conversely, is a bad singer, in that he sounds like a whale being tortured, or two geese trying (and failing) to fuck. It’s awful, yet he’s so enthusiastic and carefree that it’s not actually painful to listen to.

Megumi dislikes going to karaoke with Gojo because of his stupid antics and inevitable tomfoolery, but he doesn’t dislike karaoke in general. He listens to Gojo and Itadori alternate different hits, the latter butchering anything he puts on. At last, Gojo forces Megumi to pick a song for himself. Megumi chooses a popular ballad, slow and emotional, to show off his great vocal range and calm the energy of the room down.

He loses himself in his performance, enjoying the music, his deep voice in perfect harmony with the song. He should sing more often, he thinks, as he lets go, embracing the moment.

When he finishes the room is quiet. Itadori’s staring at him, “Wow.” Megumi blushes, handing the mic back to Gojo, who immediately puts on ‘Never Gonna Give You Up.’ Itadori, flushed and clearly a bit drunk, brushes some of Megumi’s hair behind his ear.

“I didn’t know you could sing,” he begins quietly, licking his lips. “You sound like an angel. Like a very sexy, deep-voiced angel, who like, has a beautiful voice and is very sexy. You know?”

Megumi, who’s a little tipsy himself, laughs. “Yeah, I know.”

“Cool,” Itadori says, “I gotta pee.”

After he’s left the room, Gojo turns to Megumi, letting the music play on.

“So, are we gonna talk about it?”

“About what?”

“About your massive crush on golden boy.”

“I don’t follow.”

“You couldn’t be gayer, or more obvious, if you tried my dear.”

Itadori returns, planting himself face-down on a sofa, immediately passing out. Gojo sighs, sitting next to Megumi. “Talk to me,” he ruffles Megumi’s hair.

Megumi thinks, watching the steady rise and fall of Itadori’s back, his slack expression and parted lips. He thinks about him crash landing into his life, how coincidence brought them together twice. He also thinks about how they both know Gojo, and wonders if meeting Itadori was inevitable.

Megumi considers how much he wants to share with the professor, who is not renowned for keeping his mouth shut, and says, “He told me he used to be a bad boy.” Gojo’s eyebrows raise in perfect sync. “He said he got into a lot of fights…”

“Ah, that.” Gojo coughs, catching on quickly, “He wasn’t anything like you, if that’s what you’re wondering,” referring to Megumi’s Junior High School days. The older man watches their conversation’s subject, who’s gently snoring. “At the end of the day a fight is a fight, but Yuuji-kun was never the instigator,” he looks pointedly at Megumi, “he was protecting people who couldn’t protect themselves.”

Gojo pauses to take hold of his glass, swirling the ice in a lazy circle.

“It was mostly a wrong place, wrong time kind of thing. He’s grown up, but he’d still defend a stranger in a heartbeat. He’s a good person, Megumi.” The professor gives him a long look, before setting the glass back down. “I’ll take him home,” he stands, throwing Itadori over his shoulder like a bag of rice. Megumi’s constantly amazed by Gojo’s strength but he’s long since stopped showing it.

They part ways outside the venue.

“I had a fun night.”

Gojo smiles knowingly, laying a hand on Megumi’s shoulder before whirling round. He lightly shakes Itadori, “Say bye-bye Yuuji-kun,” he singsongs.

Itadori blinks sleepily, eyes peeping open. He gives Megumi a lazy grin and reaches forward with one hand, before — “Boop”— tapping the tip of Megumi’s nose. Blushing furiously, Megumi mutters goodbye and leaves, Gojo’s laughter trailing into the night.

.

“When do you get off work tomorrow?” Megumi closes his laptop and starts packing away.

“Uhhhhhhh,” says Itadori, mouth around a fork. “Five? I think.” The fork jerks when he speaks.

“Okay, meet me out front. I’ll pick you up.” Megumi throws the rest of his things in his backpack, re-connecting his headphones.

“Uhhhhhhh,” repeats Itadori. He removes the fork from his mouth with a pop, “why?”

“You’ll find out tomorrow.” Megumi zips his bag and stands.

Itadori, who’d been laying semi-sprawled on the table’s surface, sits up straight, “Oh my god, tell me now! Tell me tell me tell me! I love surprises!”

Megumi moves towards the door, “If you love surprises, why do you want to know now?”

“Oh man, I’m so excited.” Itadori is buzzing with energy.

Megumi smiles, puts his headphones on and heads out.

.

The next day is cold and dry; the sky, although cloudless, is grey. A biting chill clutches Megumi’s ankles. He sinks his chin deeper into the soft, dark blue scarf Kugisaki had given him for his birthday last year, hands buried in his pockets. He doesn’t need to be, but he’s nervous.

Itadori walks out of Jujutsu as Megumi gets to the front door, wearing an oversized pink coat and grey scarf. His breath fogs, his cheeks reacting to the cold air almost instantly, turning rosy. Megumi glances into Jujutsu to see a figure in what appears to be a deerstalker duck behind the counter. He doesn’t know why Gojo’s being shady and refuses to let it interfere with his afternoon, taking Itadori’s upper arm, tugging him away quickly.

After weaving through several streets and doubling back twice, he’s satisfied Gojo isn’t tailing them and drops the arm. Itadori knocks their shoulders together.

“Will you tell me where we’re going now?”

“You’ll see in a minute.”

“You said I’d find out today!”

“In a minute is today.”

“I wanna know now,” Itadori whines.

“Ugh, fine,” Megumi makes a show of giving up, before saying, deadpan: “We’re going to a 24-hour strip club.”

Itadori stops walking. “What—” his voice falters. “Me- Fushiguro, no! I—”

“Kidding.” Megumi rolls his eyes. “We’re here,” he jerks his thumb behind him, showing Itadori a tiny, old art-house cinema. Itadori’s horrified face morphs into one of confusion before lighting up in understanding.

“A double billing of ‘Extra-terrestrial Space Slugs’ and ‘Return of the Slime: Slug Mania’!? Fushiguro, this is awesome! I’ve never seen Slug Mania!”

“I, uh, hope you didn’t have anything planned for the rest of today…”

“Nope!” Itadori takes Megumi’s hand in his. “What do I owe you?”

“Um. Nothing. This is repayment for the free coffee… or at least, partial repayment of my mammoth debt to you.” He glances away. Itadori squeezes the hand he’s captured.

“Okay,” he accepts easily, pulling Megumi inside, “let’s go.”

No one else is there, but Megumi didn’t expect two ancient, awfully reviewed B-sides to be a massive hit, so he’s unsurprised. The foyer is decorated with vintage movie posters, some worn and faded, others shiny and new. The ceiling is low, the carpet deep red, framed by dark wood panelling. It smells dusty.

“We absolutely have to get snacks. It’s a crime to watch a movie without them,” Itadori declares, leading Megumi to the counter where only one person’s working.

The man serving them appears to be their age. He has a dark black fringe swept over one side of his face, blocking his right eye. He purses his lips nervously when Itadori asks for “the house’s finest Coca Cola, as big as you can give me.” Itadori turns to Megumi while the drink is being made. “Are you a sweet or salty kind of guy?”

Megumi raises an eyebrow, “Salty.”

“Hm, I’m sweet. Let’s get a mix!”

“Okay,” Megumi smiles. They’re still holding hands.

As the man on shift dumps an obscene amount of popcorn into a bucket, Itadori strikes up a conversation with the cinema worker about the movies they’re there to see. He’d been skittish to begin with, but at the mention of bad horror he changes, enthusiastically debating with Itadori about god knows what – Megumi isn’t remotely following, sneakily whipping out his wallet to pay while Itadori is distracted. Except, they don’t stop talking when the transaction is done.

He watches Itadori’s profile, the slope of his nose, his broad grin and one-handed gestures. The man on shift’s eyes brighten and his slouch eases as he physically opens up. Megumi feels like he’s watching two people click, like tupperware - like that feeling of finding a missing lid and snapping it closed at long last. They clearly have similar ideas on filmography with enough of a difference to spark tension. Megumi’s palm starts to clam up in Itadori’s hand as time ticks on, and he feels awfully self-conscious standing there in silence.

Frowning, Megumi picks up their single, massive Coke, and takes a loud drawn-out slurp. Itadori notices.

“Ah! We should go inside. But hey, er…” Itadori trails off, looking at the man behind the counter.

“Yoshino Junpei,” he offers.

“Cool! I’m Itadori Yuuji, this is Fushiguro Megumi,” Itadori raises their joined hands. “Can I get your number? Only if you think it’s not weird… It’s just you know so much about film! And it’s my major! It’d be cool if we could talk more,” Itadori rambles, as Yoshino’s eyes flick quickly to Megumi before slowly handing over his phone. Megumi frowns, glaring at a poster of some old action movie as they exchange contact details.

He’s not jealous, has no need to be; except his mind lingers on the ease with which Itadori asked for Yoshino’s number. He thinks about the note he’d carelessly thrown away with Itadori’s contact details on it and wonders if he should bring it up or if it would be awkward now.

“Awesome! It was great meeting you!” Itadori says brightly, before leading Megumi underground to the only screen in the venue.

They stop holding hands when they sit, Itadori plunging into the popcorn as the trailers play.

They’re the only ones there until a minute before the first film begins, when an aged, overweight man saunters in and parks himself in the row in front of them, to Megumi’s left. He smells funny, like old cars and synthetic cheese; Megumi wrinkles his nose.

Itadori’s reactive, squealing and jolting in his seat when an actor so much as breathes. Megumi can’t believe he enjoys horror as he watches him peep through the gaps in his fingers. Megumi’s unaffected, born with an immunity to jump-scares and gore. He enjoys the experience, paying more attention to Itadori’s amusing reactions than to the screen. At a particularly gruesome scene Itadori clamps his fingers shut, so Megumi pries a hand away, clutching it in his own, forcing Itadori to watch. He holds onto his wrist for the rest of the film, feeling Itadori’s pulse spike when he’s scared, enjoying the warmth radiating from their point of contact.

Afterwards, Itadori unleashes a verbal stream-of-consciousness about both movies. They meander hand in hand through quiet roads, before reaching a river, trailing its bank back to their neighbourhoods. The road on their left is lined with izakayas and small karaoke bars, marked by a row of red lanterns. Itadori swings their arms between them as he talks. They reach the bridge where they’ll part ways.

Megumi can’t help it, he mentions Yoshino, “You and that guy really hit it off, huh,” he says, immediately wishing he hadn’t.

Itadori, however, apparently finds nothing strange about his statement: “Yoshino? Yeah! I never meet people who’ve seen the same stuff as me. It’s awesome being able to talk about it outside of college.” He’s looking out over the river. His face is half rust, lit by the lanterns to their left. The other half is pale in the moonlight dancing across the water.

“Did you have fun?” Itadori asks, turning fully to Megumi. Red eclipses white to bathe his features in a carmine glow. “Do you, um, want to watch more movies? Together? I’d love to talk about them with you…” He trails off, emphasising the last word.

Itadori loves talking about movies, and he wants to talk about them with him. Megumi feels gooey, and foolish for projecting his insecurities onto Yoshino.

Wind rustles Itadori’s hair and scarf. Megumi instinctively steps closer, using Itadori as a shield from the cold night air.

“I had fun. Let’s do it again.” Megumi realises with a soft warmth that he wants to do everything with the other man – he’d sit through a million terrible films without complaint if it were Itadori’s heart beating beside him, a thought which would scare him if he didn’t find Itadori’s presence so grounding.

“Great.” Itadori smiles gently, fixing some of Megumi’s hair, frazzled by the wind. His caramel eyes are stained red. “How’d you find that place?”

“Ah, I spotted it after our night out with Gojo…” Megumi says quietly, his heart loud in the quiet of the night, in the shadow of Itadori’s body.

“Cool,” Itadori whispers, inhaling, as a strong gust of wind whips past them, dislodging Itadori’s ticket from his pocket. Megumi notices and quickly bends down to grab it. He smacks Itadori’s chin heavily with the back of his head as he stands.

Itadori moans, staggering back and gripping his jaw. “Ow,” he says, wincing.

“Oh my god, Itadori, I’m so sorry—” Megumi doesn’t know where to put his hands, hovering. His skull feels numb, a dull ache blooming. “Your ticket dropped, I thought you’d want it, I, uh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” manages Itadori, rubbing his jaw, eyes squeezed shut. “It’s my fault.”

“How is it your fault? I headbutted you.”

Itadori lets out a hollow chuckle. “Fushi, it’s fine. I’m a big boy,” he winks, but it looks pained. He holds out his hand and Megumi gives him the ticket, feeling awful. Something’s off – the calm intensity from before gone, a palpable disappointment in the air.

Itadori pockets the ticket, making sure it’s secure, and smiles at Megumi, the strange emotion dissipating with the breeze. He’s so attractive, Megumi thinks, so steady and good and secure. He aches to touch him, to be held by him.

“You promise you’ll watch more movies with me?”

“Of course.”

“Alright. Great,” Itadori says with finality. “I’m gonna go home and take some painkillers—”

“I said I was sorry,” Megumi groans.

“You probably should too, I’ve been told I have a strong jaw—” Itadori dodges a half-arsed swipe, giggling. “Night!”

“Night.” Megumi sighs, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. He watches Itadori cross the bridge, before going home.

.

Kugisaki calls him as he’s shrugging off his coat.

“So!? How was your steamy cinema date?” She asks.

“I want him to throw me against a wall and have his way with me,” he says, monotone.

Down the line, he hears Kugisaki wheezing. “Oh my god, Gumi, you’re on speaker phone.” It’s then he notices Maki’s laughter in the background, too.

“I said what I said,” he tells her grumpily, changing into pyjamas.

“Why didn’t you make out with him in the cinema? Slug-Something-Something not erotic enough for you? Oh! Oh! I know – Itadori pushed you away so he could focus on the riveting plot?” Her words are strained.

“Shut up, Nobara,” he sighs, lying on his bed, using Shiro’s soft body as a pillow.

“Ah-hah, okay, wait, one more – did you feed him popcorn like lovers share a box of chocolates? Let him lick the salt off your fingers?” Megumi thinks of yakitori, and blushes.

“That’s hot,” he faintly hears Maki say.

Quietly, he admits, “Noh, I’m scared.” The laughing immediately stops, and he hears Kugisaki move somewhere else.

“Hey, no. How come? What on earth for?”

“I like him so much. What if…” he strokes the dog beneath him, finding comfort in Shiro’s steady breathing.

“What if what, Gumi? Don’t finish that thought. God, I can’t believe I have to put up with you baby gays and your insecurities,” she mumbles.

“What if he doesn’t like me back? We’ve been hanging out for ages now. He’s so confident, he never hesitates to do anything he wants…”

“Do you?”

“What?”

“Do you usually hesitate to do what you want? Have you ever considered that maybe, you make him as nervous as he makes you? Hm?”

She’s got a point, but he can’t let himself fully believe her, let himself get his hopes up. Itadori matters to him so much, he’s scared how bad it’ll hurt if he ruins things between them.

“What are you waiting for, Megumi?” Kugisaki asks him gently.

He doesn’t know.

“How about this, you give yourself a deadline, then do it. Tell him how you feel. You’re not the sort of person to mope or pine over something as obvious as you and Itadori, and I’d hate to see you miss out on an amazing relationship because you were waiting for stupid divine intervention to fix it for you,” she pushes.

“Ah, okay. I guess I can do that,” his heartbeat quickens in anticipation.

“Alright. When?”

“When what?”

“When’s your deadline gonna be? You have to tell me so I can hold your dumb ass accountable.”

Megumi thinks. It’s December now, which means they’ll be busy with assessments for the rest of the month. He doesn’t want to do anything before those are out the way, then it’s his birthday, so –

“Christmas,” he decides. “The deadline can be Christmas.”

Chapter Text

December brings exams for all of them, so Yuuji doesn’t see much of Fushiguro, who’s clearly balancing studying at the café with time spent at home or with Kugisaki. He tries not to miss the other’s company, focusing on his upcoming assessments. He takes fewer shifts at Jujutsu and stops dog-walking for the month, freeing up time to study.

He acutely wishes he had Fushiguro’s number. He should insist, really. Put his details into the other’s phone when he drops by Jujutsu – but he’s anxious. Sure, he thinks, maybe Fushiguro lost the paper Yuuji gave him all those weeks ago, but he’s so difficult to read and may have consciously decided not to text. He’s a man who appreciates boundaries and personal space, whereas Yuuji can’t resist pushing boundaries or invading space. He sometimes thinks he’s trying his luck with the dark-haired man, who gives very little away.

Yuuji’s normally confident and outgoing, but Fushiguro makes him nervous like he’s never been before. He doesn’t want to ruin things by rushing in and thinks Fushiguro is worth being patient for.

Sometimes he catches Fushiguro watching him, thick eyelashes framing an intense gaze. Yuuji feels as though they’re the only two people in the world when he looks at him like that. He loves Fushiguro’s eyes, loves to watch for the minute changes in expression that give away how he’s feeling. He’s taken to reading Fushiguro as he would a new sport – with endless enthusiasm, intrigue, and (he thinks) talent. The slight widening of his eyes and intake of breath when he’s surprised; the crinkles at the corners of his gaze, tiny upturn of lips when he’s happy; the blush that spreads across his neck, climbing to his cheeks when he’s embarrassed – Yuuji finds it all hopelessly endearing.

He doesn’t know exactly when he fell in love with Fushiguro, but he’s been certain of his feelings for a while.

He remembers when they met, when Marshmallow collided with him. Seeing Fushiguro on the floor, Yuuji thought he’d caused the fall of an angel, as cliché as it sounds. When Fushiguro’s blunt dismissal had ended their interaction, Yuuji had searched for an excuse to keep talking, but the other wasn’t having any of it, so he assumed he’d never see him again. Not to say he didn’t search for him every morning after.

He’d been struck with excitement when he first came into Jujutsu. He could have sworn their conversation was borderline flirtatious, but then again, it might’ve been wishful thinking. He’d caught Fushiguro ogling his arms, though, which he counted as a win. He may or may not have positioned them at a flattering angle on purpose.

If Yuuji had to pinpoint a moment his feelings began to crystallise, it was probably when he’d knocked on a door and Fushiguro had opened it, hair mussed from sleep, a yawn on his lips. It had been his favourite week in dog-walking history. He became addicted to the half-smiles he received when he brought coffee, when he came back with Kuro and Shiro happy and tired. He’d been late for more than one shift at Jujutsu that week, having gotten carried away with talking.

He sometimes thinks about the party where they’d spent the night at each other’s side. He likes remembering how Fushiguro giggled, how it had transformed the other’s features into something younger, innocent, open. When he’s tired or bored, Yuuji’s mind drifts and he recalls in slow-motion Fushiguro sliding off his jacket. He’d had no idea the other man was built like that – feline and dangerous in the line of his back, in the laid-back confidence of his stance.

Looking back, he barely knew Fushiguro then, but everything he’s learned since has him yearning to know more, to continue learning about the other man. As they became closer, Yuuji had realised he’d never get enough of him.

He loves how his brow pinches when he concentrates, the way he chews the inside of his cheek or absentmindedly strokes his dogs, focused as he works.

He catches himself on shift, sighing as he gazes at the other man. Inumaki lightly thwacks him with a towel when he stares for too long, desperate for his break to start, needing an excuse to be near Fushiguro, not wanting to irritate him.

Despite Yuuji’s nerves, part of him feels as though they’re already dating. They see each other every day, do things together all the time, mutually seeking points of contact when they’re close. Fushiguro’s always holding Yuuji’s hand when they hang out in Jujutsu. Yuuji likes to snake an arm around his waist when they’re walking, to play with the other man’s hair, running his fingers through the explosive locks – he never pushes him away, often leaning into the touch. Yuuji’s an endless furnace and Fushiguro cools him down.

And yet, the normally straightforward man has never said anything about the burning tension between them, so tangible at times Yuuji knows he’s not imagining it.

Then again, he remembers the one time he’d tried to kiss the other man, after their cinema date. That had ended miserably. He’d been looking into Fushiguro’s chameleon eyes, emerald in the darkness, and had been overwhelmed by his beauty. Yuuji thinks Fushiguro doesn’t know how incredibly stunning he is.

The slant of his eyes, heavy lidded and intense; his high cheekbones and dark hair silhouetted in red; his soft lips parted.Yuuji had wanted desperately to kiss him. So, he’d moved in with intent, burning inside, just as the other had bent down to grab something. In a moment, their heads collided – not what Yuuji imagined at all. He’d felt foolish, but at least Fushiguro didn’t know what he’d tried to do.

He’s being patient for good reason, but Yuuji feels like a broken record, playing thoughts of Fushiguro on loop. He itches to know what he would feel like pressed against him, to experience the taste of the other’s lips.

He can’t wait for exams to be over.

.

Yuuji finishes exams the day after Fushiguro, on December 20th. The next day, having no way of contacting him, he heads into Jujutsu despite not having to work. Sure enough, the other man’s there, with Kugisaki, Maki and Panda. He grins, joining them.

Kugisaki congratulates him when she spots him, scooting over to make space for Yuuji between her and Fushiguro. He silently thanks her, smiling at the group.

“It’s good to be done,” he plops down in the vacated seat. “Congrats to all of you, too.”

Fushiguro doesn’t say anything to Yuuji, silently joining their hands under the table. Yuuji plays with his fingers as the conversation continues around them. When Fushiguro’s finished his coffee, he drops his head onto Yuuji’s shoulder, sighing deeply.

“Tired?” Yuuji asks.

“Yeah. It was a long two weeks.”

“You can nap on me, if you want,” he offers, leaning down to press an almost-kiss to Fushiguro’s head. He freezes, but the man beneath him either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care, because he says nothing.

“Mm, that sounds nice.”

“Hey,” Yuuji begins, slightly nervous, “what are you doing tomorrow?”

Fushiguro raises his head, looking at him directly. They’re close. Yuuji admires his mouth, Fushiguro’s dark eyes narrow. “Why?”

“I, uh, thought I could come over and we could make hot pot. I’ve got an easy recipe for ginger pork meatballs…” he trails off, unable to read his expression. Maki’s talking loudly about how awfully her final exam went, but Yuuji can sense Kugisaki’s attention on them instead of her girlfriend.

“I’m no good at cooking,” Fushiguro says quietly.

“That’s okay, I can teach you, if you want,” he breathes, lightly squeezing the hand in his grip. “It’ll be fun.”

Fushiguro’s neck is turning red, Yuuji notes with interest. “Alright, come over in the afternoon.” Yuuji lets out the breath he’d been holding. Fushiguro places his head back on his shoulder.

.

He knocks on Fushiguro’s door at three o’clock, ingredients in a little bag. When the door opens, Yuuji smiles, taking in the other man. His hair is artfully chaotic, spiking naturally in all directions. He’s wearing his trademark nonchalant expression. Yuuji finds him achingly soft in an oversized T-shirt and comfy black tracksuit pants, wearing fluffy blue slippers.

“Come in, dumbass. We’re letting out the heat.” He gestures loosely to a matching pair of pink shoes for Yuuji to step into, heading to the kitchen. He’s also got two aprons prepared, blue and pink, the latter of which he hands to Yuuji while glaring at the floor. Yuuji grins from ear to ear.

“Okay, so…” he begins, spreading the items out on the island counter as Fushiguro ties his apron around his slender waist. They’ve each got a chopping board and a knife, ingredients laid out between them. “Let’s chop vegetables. Could you dice that onion for me?” Yuuji starts puncturing the meat packets, dropping the mince into a large bowl.

“Like, make it into dice?” Fushiguro asks, knife in hand.

Yuuji laughs, before he realises the other man is serious. “Oh my god,” he says, “You’re serious.”

Fushiguro frowns, “Don’t make fun of me. I have a weapon.”

“How do you not know how to dice an onion?” Yuuji asks, flabbergasted.

“What did I just say,” Fushiguro’s turning beetroot, undermining his threat.

“It’s cool. I, uh, said I’d teach you.” Yuuji moves behind Fushiguro, bringing his arms around the other man’s body. He only realises how potentially awkward the position he’s in is when Fushiguro’s shoulder blades tense momentarily beneath him before he relaxes back in Yuuji’s hold. Yuuji breathes out lightly, hooking his chin over Fushiguro’s shoulder.

He takes the knife from the other and deftly peels and slices the onion in half, before guiding Fushiguro’s right wrist so he’s holding the tool. He takes his other hand in his – he can’t stop himself from running a thumb over his knuckles – as he shows him how to hold the vegetable.

“You know what dice means,” Yuuji tells him. Fushiguro doesn’t answer. Since he can’t see his face, he continues. “Remember in Slug Mania? When the heroine says I’m going to dice your body into a million pieces right before she totally obliterates the slug bastards? Remember all those cubes of goop?”

Megumi’s shoulders shake, “That’s not the most appetising image.”

Yuuji groans, laying his forehead on the base of the other’s neck, “My point is, Fushi, that you know how to dice. We’re making the onion into little cubes. Okay?”

Fushiguro giggles, “Okay.”

Yuuji grins, bringing his head back up. Slowly, he guides their hands until they’ve roughly diced one half of the onion. Reluctantly, he steps back.

“Now try the other side,” he says. Fushiguro glances back at him, face unreadable, before doing as he’s told.

Yuuji finishes cutting up all the other vegetables in the time it takes Fushiguro to chop his one onion-half. But, to his credit, it’s perfect. Yuuji sets aside the stuff that’ll go into the broth and heaps double portions of fresh ginger on top of the seasoned meat and diced onions, before asking Fushiguro to stir it.

“You do know what stir means, right?”

“Yeah. It’s what you’re doing right now. Stirring shit,” Fushiguro mutters, mixing the ingredients.

Yuuji laughs, heating the broth up. “Okay, last thing to do before we chuck everything in the pot is make the meatballs.”

Fushiguro, who had no problem steadily (albeit slowly) dicing the onion, for some reason simply cannot make a meatball come together. Every single time he tries it falls apart in his hands.

“You really suck at that,” Yuuji comments.

“The more you talk, the less likely I am to want to do this again.”

Yuuji chuckles, quickly finishing up another meatball before he moves to help Fushiguro. This time standing in front of him, he once again takes the other’s hands in his, tenderly shaping the ball between their fingers. When he opens their hands to reveal a perfect sphere he beams at Fushiguro, who’s already looking at him.

“Your turn.”

Fushiguro deftly scoops some meat, skilfully moulding it between his palms. “Like this?” He asks, coy. The meatball is perfect.

“Uh, yeah. I told you it was easy,” Yuuji says, surprised.

Fushiguro smiles, “So you did.”

When the ingredients are in and the hot pot’s bubbling away, they take off their aprons and move the portable stove to Fushiguro’s kotatsu, set up for the winter between his TV and sofa, where they sit, talk, and eat.

Fushiguro blows on his first meatball twice, cheeks puffing with the motion, before tasting it. Itadori watches him take a bite, sees his eyes crinkle as he chews, and asks, “So?”

Fushiguro glances up, “It’s good.” Yuuji punches the air, causing the dark-haired man to snort into his broth. “Calm down. I only said it’s good,” he’s rolling his eyes, but Yuuji hums a happy tune as they eat. He shuffles a bare foot forward, finding Fushiguro’s leg and nudging underneath the loose trousers to tickle his shin with his toes.

“Shit,” Fushiguro hisses. “Your feet are like ice.” Yuuji giggles, leaving his foot there when the other doesn’t pull away. A few minutes later, the dogs emerge, yawning, and settle half under the blankets as well.

Yuuji’s been to this apartment many times now, but never for an afternoon. The flat is decorated in muted colours, with accents of blue here and there; stylish and simple, but not unloved. The furniture is soft and worn. There are dog toys thrown around the place; textbooks, notebooks, and novels form haphazard towers in the living room. There are small prickly cacti and dark, leafy ferns on window-lit shelves. A collage of landscape photos is carefully arranged on a large pin-board. It’s been defaced by Kugisaki, if the pictures of her and Fushiguro stuck crookedly along its border are any indication. The apartment smells clean and fresh, comfortable; a humidifier is lightly puffing lemongrass into the air.

Yuuji thinks Fushiguro smells like jasmine in the morning and cinders at night. He wants pictures of him to be on Fushiguro’s wall.

They share easy conversation throughout the afternoon, and time passes quicker than Yuuji would like. It reaches seven before he realises it.

Fushiguro sighs, “I’m sorry, I’ve got a thing I need to do this evening.”

Yuuji, who hadn’t expected to be able to stay all night, is disappointed anyway. “Ah, that’s okay. Let me help clear up.”

After the washing’s done, Yuuji makes to leave. He cuddles Kuro, who emerges from the kotatsu to see him off. He hesitates, gazing into the other man’s eyes, thinking Fuck it, I’m not a coward, and says, “Give me your phone.”

Raising a single eyebrow, Fushiguro tugs the device from his pocket and hands it over. Yuuji puts his number in and texts himself before handing it back.

“See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” Fushiguro’s leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, relaxed and gorgeous.

“Cool,” Itadori opens the door, stepping outside, before the other man speaks once more.

“Yuuji, I had a good time. Let’s do it again.” He hesitates, before leaning in and softly kissing Yuuji’s cheek. His lips are warm and dry, Yuuji is on fire. The door immediately shuts in his face, but Yuuji’s grinning like an idiot, practically skipping home.

In his happy shock, he doesn’t realise Fushiguro had used his first name until he’s back at his own place.

Chapter Text

Megumi wakes on the 23rd of December tired. He’d had a great afternoon with Itadori the day before, cooking and chilling, before going to visit his unconscious sister in the hospital. He’d sat by her, talking to her about the boy he’s developed feelings for, about how it was probably his best birthday yet, despite Itadori not realising the date’s significance. Afterwards, he’d walked home, bittersweetness filling his chest. It had been a good day, but he was drained.

He checks his phone, seeing a good morning!!! text from Itadori. He changes the contact from Itadori Yuuji!!!! to Kirboy <3, before replying. He takes his dogs on a leisurely walk, heading home as it starts snowing. Later in the morning, he grabs the book Kugisaki had given him for his birthday (some new thriller that “took the literary world by storm, Gumi”), and heads to Jujutsu.

Settling into the alcove with the worn-out sofas, he’s earlier than usual, so Itadori doesn’t notice him when he starts his shift. Megumi enjoys watching him, bright smile on constant display, easy laughter drifting to his spot in the corner.

After about an hour, two people enter who Megumi unfortunately recognises. Zenin Mai, not-so-fondly called ‘the evil twin’ by Kugisaki, comes in with Toudou Aoi. Mai sometimes meets up with Maki, her sister, in Jujutsu, but Megumi hasn’t seen Toudou in a long time, and certainly never at the café.

At the counter, Mai greets Itadori and Inumaki, who nods once. After a brief introduction, Toudou gets right to it.

“What kind of woman is your type?” he asks.

Megumi reflects on when he met Toudou, when he’d been asked “What’s your type?” by the massive man. Toudou hadn’t asked him what type of girl he’d liked, and Megumi had been surprised by his perceptiveness.

“By the way, my type is a tall woman with a huge ass,” he’d continued, even though Megumi really hadn’t asked.

Sighing, and wanting the interaction to be over, Megumi had said, “I don’t really have a type or anything. As long as that person has a moral compass that isn’t easily swayed, I wouldn’t wish for anything else.” Toudou had sneered at his answer, but they’d been interrupted, and the conversation had moved on.

Now he watches Toudou give Itadori the same treatment, as the two meet for the first time.

“What's my type? Why are you asking me that,” wonders Itadori aloud.

“Don’t worry, I'm just appraising you,” Megumi’s trying hard to act like he’s not paying attention, staring unseeingly at his book, straining his ears to hear Itadori’s answer.

“I don’t really get it, but if I had to say… A tall girl with a big ass, I guess. Like Jennifer Lawrence.”

“It seems we are best friends,” laughs Toudou loudly.

“Even though you just learned my name?” Itadori asks, clearly confused.

Megumi doesn’t stay to hear more, putting his book away and slipping out the door.

When he gets home, he sets his bag down and drops to the floor. Kuro and Shiro greet him, tails wagging. Sensitive to his bad mood, they nudge and cuddle him; Megumi wraps his arms around them, clutching their fur, eyes tightly closed.

How had he not realised Itadori was straight?

On reflection, he can easily see how he got it wrong. Itadori is Mr. Sunshine, beaming at everything and everyone, making friends effortlessly in the most unusual of places. Their own meeting was evidence enough of that. He knows Itadori and Yoshino text constantly, having become fast friends after they met at the cinema. He knows Itadori’s touchy, slinging arms around shoulders, smacking friends and ruffling hair when he laughs. Itadori has never talked about girls before, but then again, discerning as he is – he’d probably realised Megumi wasn’t going to be interested in discussing girls.

With increasing mortification, he remembers the kiss he’d finally given Itadori yesterday. He’d shut the door so quickly in his nerves that he hadn’t seen Itadori’s reaction. Embarrassment at his behaviour swells within him. God, he felt stupid.

He’d let Kugisaki’s teasing sink into his brain, let his and Itadori’s easy friendship worm its way into his heart. However, at the end of the day, he knows it's no one’s fault he fell for a boy who couldn’t like him back.

Megumi inhales the familiar scent of his home and his dogs, nuzzling once more into their softness before standing. He moves around his apartment, detached, cleaning up. Taking a shower, he stands under the spray, staring at his tiles until the water runs cold. He gets out, dries off, and sits on his couch, staring at his blank TV screen. He’s probably got messages from Kugisaki and Itadori, but he left his phone on silent in his bag. He’s processing.

He’d be reluctant to call himself heartbroken, but that’s the most accurate way to describe it. He falls asleep like that, upright on his sofa.

.

Megumi doesn’t bother to check his phone the next morning, instead walking the jade hounds on a new route, letting the wind ruffle his hair and sting his nose. When he gets back, he opens his wardrobe and sorts everything by colour. Then he indexes the books in his apartment alphabetically by title, before changing his mind and organising them by author.

He hears a knock at his door around four o’clock. Checking the peephole, he sees Maki, pissed, so he opens the door to avoid escalated fury later.

As he steps back to let her in, Kugisaki pops out from behind her girlfriend’s back, saying “Thanks, babe!” before shutting herself in Megumi’s apartment. Through the door he hears a world-weary sigh.

“See you later,” Maki says, her footsteps fading.

Megumi takes one look at Kugisaki, eyes glowing manically, and bolts to his bathroom, locking himself in.

“What are you doing, Gumi. Get out here! Tell me what’s wrong to my face!” Kugisaki yells, banging on the door with a fist. “You can’t ignore my texts for twenty-four hours and not face the music, it breaches our contract of friendship!” Megumi sinks to the ground, resting his temple on the door, feeling the jolt of Kugisaki’s knocks through his head. He closes his eyes, waits until the thudding stops, until Kugisaki asks again, quieter this time: “C’mon. Talk to me. What’s up.”

“He’s straight,” Megumi mutters.

“What?”

“He’s straight.”

“See, that’s what I thought you’d said, but I had to double check because I couldn’t believe you’d say something so incredibly stupid. He wears black nail varnish, Gumi. There’s no way in hell Itadori’s straight.”

“He likes tall girls with big asses, like Jennifer Lawrence,” Megumi sniffs. Kugisaki’s arrival has broken him out of his barely-coping, going-through-the-motions attitude. He feels overwhelmed.

“That’s… oddly specific.” It’s quiet for a minute, before Kugisaki continues, “Whatever happened, it’s got to be a misunderstanding. Itadori isn’t straight.”

“Do you know that for certain, Nobara?” he asks her.

There’s another pause, before: “No, I don’t. But I’ve seen the way he looks at you, how you two are around each other. If, on the minor, inconceivable off-chance he is straight, I can say with full confidence you’re the exception that proves the rule.”

“Why are you talking about our relationship like it’s grammar,” Megumi presses a soft towel to his eyes. “My butt isn’t big,” he adds, as a sad afterthought.

“Maybe you’ve got a flat ass, but Itadori has enough cheek for the both of you,” Kugisaki insists.

“That doesn’t make me feel better. And would be beside the point if he’s straight.”

“I think you need to talk to him, Gumi. It’s Christmas tomorrow, remember?”

Megumi sighs. She’s probably right. “Okay, I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” he stands up and opens the door. Kugisaki slots a foot in quick as a whip, preventing him from closing it.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but no. I don’t think so. You’re talking to him tonight.”

“Noh, I am not going to that party. Look at me! I’m hideous,” Megumi gestures to his face, his hair, his everything.

“You’re a bigger drama queen than me. I’ll make sure Cinderella goes to the ball looking her best, don’t worry.” She forces Megumi out of the bathroom, planting him on his couch. She heads into his kitchen, returning with a large glass of water. “Hydrate or die-drate. I’ll order takeout from that Chinese place we like.”

“The one which delivers suspiciously fast?”

“The very same.” She calls the number, ordering far more food than the two could realistically eat in one sitting.

“I still don’t wanna go to the party,” Megumi grumbles, finishing his glass.

“Panda-senpai and Onigiri-san only throw one party a year, according to Maki. Bonito’s pretty private, so we’re lucky to be invited. It’s important we go. Besides, Inumaki’s my favourite shut-in, we can’t disappoint him!”

“I thought I was your favourite?”

“You’re not a shut-in anymore. And even if you were, you never throw any parties, so Tuna-mayo would win that title regardless.”

After they gorge themselves on take-out, which really does arrive too soon to mean anything good, Kugisaki mixes them each a cocktail. She grabs her bag of makeup and clothes, which Megumi hadn’t noticed earlier in his rush to hide, and they get ready.

She comments happily on his newly sorted wardrobe, “I guess angst is good for something, after all,” and dresses him in an outfit topped with a grey jumper and wide, straight-legged trousers, instructing him to wear leather boots. Finding a long, navy coat Megumi hasn’t worn in ages, Kugisaki adds it as the finishing touch, brushing some eyeshadow in the corner of his eyelids and handing him mascara even though, “You don’t need it. I’d trade my soul for eyelashes like yours.”

Taking a step back to admire her work, Kugisaki asks, “Are you sure you don’t want lipstick? I have this almost-purple-maroon colour that’d totally complete the bad bitch, edgy fashion-king look.”

“The what?”

“The bad bitch, edgy—”

“You know what, never mind. Put it on me.”

As they’re ready to leave, Kugisaki loops their arms together, saying, “You look very handsome, and very gay. And I look very beautiful, and very gay. We’re unstoppable, Gumi. Let’s have a great night.” Walking to Panda and Inumaki’s place, Megumi’s anxiety builds, but he tries not to let it get to him, glad to have his best friend to lean on.

.

When they get to the party, they hang their coats by the door before Kugisaki lets go of Megumi to find her girlfriend. Inumaki gives him a silent tour of his and Panda’s place. They live a few floors up in an apartment block mostly populated by university students and have a nice view of the neighbourhood from their balconies. The party is filled with people Megumi vaguely recognises, school friends of his seniors or students at their rival college.

The tour finishes in the kitchen, whereupon Panda takes over, asking Megumi about his favourite drinks and making him a ‘festive cocktail.’

“I wouldn’t touch the punch unless you wanna see Santa tonight. I dunno what Inumaki put in there – it’s delicious, and deceptively alcoholic. Drink it with caution,” Panda warns him, patting him heavily on the back. Kugisaki materialises, taking Megumi to the main balcony, where Maki and Mai are. He still hasn’t seen Itadori.

He listens to the girls talking, contributing to the conversation where appropriate, and finishes his cocktail. He opens the door to the kitchen, considering the punch when he hears a loud crash.

“Itadori! Let us wrestle!” That voice undoubtedly belongs to Toudou, who Megumi really doesn’t want to see right now.

“Dude, no!” He can hear Itadori laughing, the voices coming closer, “What the hell, man.”

“It will be a glorious display of our brotherly love! Remember when we were but six years old and we would fight until the sun set beneath the hills of our youth?” Megumi grabs the ladle, pouring himself a massive helping of the deadly punch, and quickly backs outside again. Calmer in the cool air, he closes the door, hearing the boys enter the kitchen behind him.

“Bro, I dunno what you’ve been drinking–” Itadori begins, voice much clearer now.

“The goblet of friendship! This glorious punch!” Toudou interrupts.

“—But we only met this week. And I’m not fighting you at this party.”

Feeling a sickening drop in his stomach, Megumi takes a long draw from his cup, praying he goes unnoticed in the darkness outside.

It’s then Mai calls out, “Toudou! Stop harassing Itadori,” drawing attention to the balcony. Fuck, Megumi thinks, She’s definitely the evil twin.

He hears the door slide open and has no choice but to turn around with the girls and greet the newcomers.

“Fushi! Bro!” Itadori lights up, “When did you get here, I—”

“Don’t fucking ‘bro’ me,” Megumi hisses, much harsher than he’d intended, before shoving past Itadori, desperate for space. He’s not ready to unpack everything just yet.

“Fushiguro?” He hears Itadori ask behind him, hurt evident in his voice.

“Drop it, Itadori,” says Kugisaki, firm. “Give him some time.”

“What happened,” the pink-haired man asks. Megumi doesn’t hear the rest, stalking into another room.

He finds Inumaki setting up a game of Mario Kart and sits next to him on the sofa, draining his cup. Inumaki gives him a long look, before disappearing. Megumi lays his head back on the couch, closing his eyes.

“Fuck.”

Suddenly, the seat lurches, Panda landing heavily beside him. Inumaki reappears, a glass of water and a fresh cup of punch in hand. He puts them in front of Megumi, indicating the water first, before handing him a controller, too.

“Who wants to be player four?” Panda directs the question to the room, and they’re joined by a girl wearing pigtails. They make a drinking game of it, and thankfully Megumi wins most rounds, avoiding vicious penalties involving his second cup of punch.

A little later, Panda gets bored, and gathers everyone together to play Never Have I Ever, “For bonding purposes,” he claims.

As the room fills with people, Megumi manages to avoid interacting with Itadori. Eventually, everyone sits in a circle.

Megumi’s opposite Itadori, resolutely avoiding eye contact. Inumaki’s sitting on his left, and Kugisaki had quickly taken the spot to his right. Toudou (who Megumi’s also refusing to look at), is one along from him, on Kugisaki’s right.

“Alright! The game is Never Have I Ever, and the rules are simple. Hold ten fingers up. Put a finger down and drink if someone says something you have done. Finish your drink when you run out of fingers, and if you’re the only person to put a finger down for something, you have to tell the story,” explains Panda. “Let’s go!”

“Damn, the hangover from ten fingers of drinks would be a major curse,” says Itadori. Megumi glares at the floor.

Panda starts it off simply, with “Never Have I Ever gone skiing.” A couple of people take a drink. As the game moves around, Megumi continues to sense Itadori’s eyes on him. He’s frustrated – Itadori hasn’t done anything wrong, but Megumi can’t look at the other man without becoming desperately sad.

Then Toudou announces, “Never Have I Ever kissed a girl.”

“You’re supposed to say things you haven’t done, doofus,” scolds Maki from across the circle.

“I might have never kissed a girl. You do not know everything about me.”

“But I do know that about you, because you give me or my twin a fucking tonsil tennis play-by-play every time you kiss someone new!”

Megumi has this tuned out, because in front of him Itadori puts a finger down and drinks.

After talking with Kugisaki earlier, part of Megumi had hoped what Itadori had said the day before was hypothetical, or platonic, or literally anything that implied he wasn’t straight. Part of Megumi also realises, logically, that Itadori might have kissed a girl and not liked it, but as he sits there, tipsy, thoughts from the day before clouding his mind, the odds are not in his favour. The harsh reality that the boy he’d fallen for might not be remotely into him crashes down again, and he sits there, staring at Itadori, who’s noticed.

“Oh, for fucks sake, you’re all so bloody boring,” interrupts Kugisaki. “Never Have I Ever sucked a dick.”

Maintaining eye contact, Itadori puts a finger down and takes another drink.

Megumi’s suffering from severe emotional whiplash, frozen, arms limp in his lap as he stares at the man opposite him. How had it never occurred to him Itadori might be attracted to more than one gender? Kugisaki was going to murder him.

“Megumi,” says Itadori, using his given name for the first time. “It’s your turn.”

Megumi coughs, rebooting, and stands. “I need some air,” he says, voice dry, leaving without bothering to see anyone’s reaction, although he can feel smugness radiating from Kugisaki in waves. From the sounds of it, the game progresses chaotically, fuelled by the punch Inumaki mixed.

He heads to the balcony at the back of the apartment, seeking space. He’s so lost in his thoughts he doesn’t realise Itadori’s following until the door closes behind them. Megumi turns around, back to the railing.

“Hey,” Itadori steps forwards, “is everything okay?”

“No,” Megumi breathes, “not really.”

Itadori tilts his head, “Yeah? You’ve been kinda off, tonight.”

Unable to form a coherent thought from the range of emotions he’s experiencing, Megumi simply says, “You’ve sucked a dick.”

Itadori laughs, fixing some of Megumi’s hair. He moves half a step closer, dropping his hand to Megumi’s waist. “It was a while ago now.”

“Right.”

Itadori’s smiling a new smile, one Megumi doesn’t recognise, but really, really likes. His lidded eyes glow as he presses a thumb into Megumi’s waist, slipping his hand under the grey jumper to rub slow circles into Megumi’s skin. “Anything else wrong?” He asks. His hand is hot, the air is cold; Megumi shivers, placing a clenched fist on Itadori’s strong chest.

“Yeah. Why aren’t you kissing me?”

Itadori slides in so their bodies are flush, running his other hand over Megumi’s jawline.

“What are you waiting for?” Megumi growls, tugging on Itadori’s collar.

“Okay, needy,” he giggles, breathless, as they come together.

The kiss is close-lipped, the pressure slightly too hard. He feels Itadori take a slow inhale through his nose, before angling his head, opening his mouth. Itadori tastes like strawberries, like air, like brown sugar, and Megumi realises he’s had a sweet tooth all along. Time passes through syrup as they move against each other, sighing into the kiss. Megumi feels like glue, stuck to Itadori, pressing his fingers into the pulse on the other man’s neck. Itadori slides an arm up Megumi’s back with agonising slowness, pushing his clothes up to access bare skin. His other hand leisurely wraps Megumi in a strong embrace. Megumi’s overwhelmed, sinking into black mochi, falling deeper and deeper in love.

Drawing breath, they kiss again with increasing desperation. Megumi touches Itadori, feeling his shoulders, biceps, chest – anything he can get his hands on. Abruptly, the kiss becomes hot, impatient, and they move together urgently. Itadori’s arms tighten, before wandering. Megumi lets out a small groan when he squeezes his ass.

Itadori breaks the kiss, resting his forehead on Megumi’s. They stare into each other’s eyes, before Itadori closes his amber ones, moving back.

Megumi frowns, “What are you doing.” He absolutely refuses to put up with any shit after what just happened.

Itadori runs a hand through Megumi’s hair again, dancing a thumb over his cheek. “We should wait. We need to talk.”

“I cannot believe you’re the one urging patience right now. What kind of sick twist of fate is this,” Megumi grumbles. “I like you. You like me. There, talking done.”

Itadori snorts, leaning in for a quick peck. Megumi chases his mouth, which Itadori stops with a heavy thumb. “We’ve been drinking, it’s late, and you ran out on me yesterday, before ignoring me most of this evening. We should talk, sober.”

Megumi groans, unsexily this time, resting his head in the crook of Itadori’s neck. “I don’t wanna.”

“Let me make myself clearer,” Megumi pulls back. “I want to date the shit out of you,” Itadori looks determined, grip growing firm. “I could not be more into you if I tried. I like you so, so much. Okay?”

“Um, yeah. That’s okay.” Megumi’s blushing a brilliant red.

“So, I’m gonna do this properly. Tomorrow, I’m coming round. We’re talking. Then we’re dating.”

“Boyfriends?” Megumi asks, dazed.

Itadori nods seriously. “Boyfriends.” He kisses Megumi’s forehead.

“Alright,” Megumi coughs, withdrawing his limbs. “I’ll be on my way then.”

Itadori laughs and reaches for Megumi’s hand, “Let me walk you home.”

“Unless you’re fine with me absolutely destroying you the second we get inside, you’d better not,” Megumi threatens, voice low. Itadori visibly gulps, staying put. Megumi’s disappointed that that didn’t make him cave, but feels smug when he notices how tight Itadori’s trousers are. He snorts.

After quickly stopping by the bathroom to fix his smudged lipstick, he runs into Kugisaki on his way out.

“Noh, I’m going home,” he says. “Tell everyone Merry Christmas.”

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow, “Need me to come with?”

“I’ll be fine.” He’s dishevelled, neck on fire. She’s clearly curious, but doesn’t press it, craning to look down the corridor Megumi came from as he sneaks out the front door.

Once home, he strips, showers, and knocks back a pint of water before passing out, bewilderingly happy.

.

Megumi wakes up jittery. He wants coffee, but worries it’ll worsen his anxiety. Not knowing when Itadori’s going to get there, and too nervous to text, he starts spiralling – does he have time to walk Kuro and Shiro? Can he shower? He’s pacing back and forth in his kitchen when his phone vibrates. Jumping, Megumi peers at the notification:

I’ll be there in two hours with breakfast and a coffee!!!

Exhaling, Megumi takes a shower and heads out, taking the dogs on the route he’d discovered a few days ago.

He leaves the door unlocked for Itadori, who enters without knocking, placing a delicious smelling bag on the table, heaping his satchel onto the floor.

“Breakfast first or talking first?” Itadori asks by way of greeting.

“Coffee first,” answers Megumi. They sit on opposite ends of his ratty sofa, Itadori’s legs crossed, Megumi’s socked feet pressing into his shins. Itadori takes hold of Megumi’s ankle, making small loops along it with his thumb.

“My sister’s in a coma,” Megumi blurts.

Itadori looks surprised. “Um… I’m sorry, what?”

Megumi’s face is hot as he clutches his coffee with both hands, staring at a blank spot on the wall above his TV. “You told me about your grandpa,” he explains, slowly. “About your fights in high school. I felt bad for not sharing stuff with you, too.”

Itadori’s palm moves up Megumi’s calf before sliding back down. “You don’t have to tell me things just because I told you stuff,” when Megumi looks back, Itadori’s expression is clear, almond eyes honest. “You can open up when you’re ready.” Megumi frowns. Itadori reaches forward with his index finger, poking Megumi between his eyebrows. “Boop,” he says. “Stop thinking so hard. You’ll get stuck like that.”

Megumi huffs, making to bite at Itadori’s finger, earning a chuckle.

“I’m ready,” he says to Itadori, who cocks his head. “I want to open up. I want to tell you everything about me,” he confesses, covering his eyes in embarrassment.

Itadori puts his coffee on the table, prying Megumi’s cup away as well. “That’s good,” he feels Itadori shift closer, feels him pull his hand away, watches him link their fingers together. “Because I want to know everything about you.” Megumi’s terrified, full, and happy – “Starting with, why were you ignoring me last night?”

Megumi groans, laying back on his sofa, throwing an arm over his face. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to tell you anything.”

Itadori’s trying half-heartedly to pull Megumi’s forearm back, giggling, “Our beautiful and honest relationship starts now, Megumi. Stop being a drama queen.”

Megumi mutters under his breath.

“I can’t hear you~” Itadori pesters, “Speak up.”

“I thought you were straight!” Megumi wails.

Itadori stops tugging at his arm. “You thought…”

“That you were straight. Yes. Don’t make me say it again, or else.”

Itadori sits back on his heels, letting out the loudest noise of glee Megumi’s ever heard him make. “Or else what?!”

“Fuck this,” Megumi mutters, fleeing to his bedroom. He tries to slam the door, but Itadori sticks his head in the way, Megumi only managing to slow down at the last second.

“Ouch,” Itadori grunts, shouldering into the room. Megumi backs up, knees hitting his bed. Itadori stalks over, rubbing his forehead with one hand, bending to wrap the other below Megumi’s ass, lifting him with a single arm. Megumi’s hands fall to Itadori’s shoulders, eyes widening. “That hurt,” Itadori pouts.

“Sorry,” Megumi breathes, “I’ll kiss it better.”

Megumi presses a kiss to Itadori’s temple, running fingers through his boyfriend’s undercut, threading them languidly through the pink locks. Itadori cradles his jaw, still holding him up with his other hand. They kiss tenderly, and Megumi feels dizzy. He really likes how Itadori can throw him around and tells him so.

Itadori pecks him once, twice, thrice, deeply on the lips, before pulling away and setting Megumi down next to his bed.

“Merry Christmas, by the way,” Itadori says.

“Oh, yeah. Merry Christmas. I, uh, got you something,” Megumi rubs the back of his neck.

“Oh? I got you something too,” Itadori takes his hand, leading them back to the kitchen, “We can talk about how you thought I was straight later.” Megumi makes a displeased sound in the back of his throat.

Itadori grabs his bags, returning to the living room and settling on the sofa. Megumi opens a drawer, pulling a large rectangular present from inside. He sees Itadori hoist a strangely shaped gift from the depths of his satchel.

“Can I try to guess what it is?” Itadori asks, excited.

“Sure,” Megumi passes it over. Itadori runs his fingers around the present’s edges, raising it to the light, eyeing it critically.

“I think,” he says, “it’s a box.”

“Really solidifying yourself as the brawn in this relationship, Yuuji.”

Itadori glances up, “I reckon that’s been established, Mr. Take-Me-Against-A-Wall.” Megumi splutters as Itadori hums, a wicked gleam in his eye. “It’s what’s inside the box that’s my present,” he says before violently shaking the parcel.

“Babe – no!” Megumi reaches out, but it’s too late, Itadori’s already giving the box a good thrashing. Megumi sighs, “You are so lucky.”

“Is it a puzzle?” Itadori asks when he’s finished his destructive ministrations.

“Open it and find out,” Megumi says, defeated.

It’s a custom puzzle of Itadori’s favourite scene from one of the slug movies they’d watched together. Megumi had listened to his now boyfriend talk for what felt like hours about the film’s underrated cinematography, about how he believed this scene in particular had a greater impact on horror than Dawn of the Dead.

“Wow,” Itadori gazes at it in wonder. “I love it,” he says. “I love you.” Megumi frowns, heart swelling as he looks away. “Hey, look at me when I’m confessing to you,” Itadori smiles. “Didn’t I just tell you to open up when you’re ready?” he squeezes Megumi’s hand. Megumi squeezes back.

“Okay,” he says. Then, referring to the puzzle, “I thought we could do it together.”

“I’d love that! Because I love this puzzle, and because I love you~” Itadori chirps happily. “Here, guess what mine is!” He drops the heavier than expected present in Megumi’s lap.

Megumi gives it a tap, saying, “Hm, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll have Nobara take a hammer to it. That might give me a clue.”

“Open it!” Itadori urges, “Open, open, open!”

Megumi carefully removes the wrapping paper to reveal a very nice, and probably very expensive, coffee machine.

“I can get you a discount on Jujutsu’s coffee beans, if you want, or we can go shopping for some later, whichever,” Itadori tells him. Megumi stares at the item in his hands, before wordlessly placing it on the table. He climbs into his boyfriend’s lap, who brings his arms around Megumi’s waist.

“I love it.”

Itadori gives him another new smile, close-mouthed, certain. He fixes Megumi’s hair. “I love your eyelashes,” he tells him, nosing at his cheek. Megumi buries his head in Itadori’s shoulder, unable to take any more of the overwhelming cuteness he’s endured so far that day.

“This is disgusting,” he complains into Itadori’s skin, “First the best birthday ever, now the best Christmas…”

“The best what?” Megumi stills in Itadori’s hold. “The best what, babe? Megumi?” Megumi clings tighter like a limpet, limbs fusing to Itadori. Unsurprisingly, the other extracts him with ease. “Birthday? When was your birthday? What are you talking about?”

“Uh, it was the 22nd… we made meatballs.”

“Oh my god, I forgot your birthday.”

“You can’t forget a birthday if you don’t know when it is in the first place.”

“I’m an awful boyfriend!”

“You weren’t my boyfriend then, either.”

Itadori shakes him lightly, earnestly, “Megumi, I feel so bad, I—why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s not a big deal,” he tries to reassure. Itadori doesn’t calm down, though, so Megumi continues, voice deep, “I’m sure we can think of a way for you to make it up to me.”

“Oh?” He certainly has his boyfriend’s attention now. “What do you have in mind?”

“Hm. Kissing me stupid would be a good place to start.”

Chapter Text

They’re in Jujutsu. It’s Boxing Day. Itadori and Megumi walk in holding hands.

Kugisaki boos loudly when she spots them, saying, “Get a room!” as they come close, but she’s grinning. Itadori heads into the back to join Inumaki on shift, but not before he kisses Megumi soundly on the lips. The latter sits next to Panda, a dreamy look on his face.

“As disgustingly adorable as this is,” Maki says, “when did you two become official? It’s very important, for, uh, friendship reasons.” Everyone around the table nods, and he can see Inumaki watching them intently.

“Um, we kissed at the party,” Megumi tells them (“TMI!” shrieks Kugisaki, covering her ears. Maki calmly places a hand over her girlfriend’s mouth). “But we only properly got together yesterday, on Christmas.”

Maki yelps as she’s bitten, taking her hand back.

“Pay up, losers,” says Kugisaki as everyone collectively groans, pulling out their wallets. Inumaki walks by to slap some notes on the table.

“Uh, if you don’t mind my asking…”

“We had a betting pool for when you’d get together. Toge said before exams, Kugisaki said Christmas Day, and I said after the New Year,” explains Panda.

“I said Christmas Eve,” Maki tells him, as Kugisaki sticks her tongue out.

“Noh said Christmas Day, did she?” He looks at his best friend, who grins sheepishly. Later, he extorts half her winnings, using it to take Itadori on more movie dates.

“You were right,” he tells Kugisaki on the phone one day, after he and Itadori watched the entire Lord of the Rings series in one sitting, “he hates getting distracted in films. There’s no Netflix and chill in this relationship. It’s Netflix, then chill. He said no to a blow job, would you fucking believe it? Who doesn’t want their dick sucked while watching Aragorn ride a horse? What’s wrong with him?”

“Oh my god, Gumi,” Kugisaki laughs, “you’re on speaker phone again.”

“Nice to hear your boyfriend’s making you work for it!” Maki yells as he hangs up.

.

They’re at a ramen joint with Gojo, slurping noodles, when he congratulates them on working it out.

“If I had to sit through any more of your eye fucking, I’d have smashed your heads together just to break the sexual tension,” he tells them sweetly.

Megumi blinks at the professor, taking a bite of his egg. Itadori leans over to heap more pickled ginger into his soup.

“Thanks, sensei,” his boyfriend says, heartfelt.

“No problem.”

.

They’re at Panda and Inumaki’s apartment, playing video games and eating pizza.

“We knew Itadori would be a foul perpetrator of PDA, but you’re the real wild-card, Meg,” notes Maki absentmindedly as she destroys them at Smash Bros.

“I’m a passive sufferer, just like you,” he responds levelly, taking another bite of pepperoni.

“You are not, you love it,” argues Kugisaki.

“I don’t,” he retorts, twisting around to feed Itadori the rest of his slice. Itadori’s eyes don’t leave the screen as he chews, arms wrapped around Megumi, his controller in front of them.

“You’re sitting in his lap! We can hear you purring from here!”

“You’re making me sound like a furry.”

“Well, you are going to be a vet. That’s like, at least half-way there.”

.

They’re in Megumi’s kitchen. The fire alarm’s ringing.

Itadori had been concocting a new dessert, which he’d christened ‘the ginger surprise’, when everything went to shit. There are scorch marks on Megumi’s wall, his counter’s ruined, and a metal pan appears to have fused with his sink. There goes my deposit, Megumi thinks.
Their matching aprons, from his and Itadori’s first time cooking together, lie in burnt tatters on the floor. Megumi has no idea how they got to this point.

Itadori emerges from a puff of smoke, fanning the air with a towel. He’s got soot on his cheek and he’s topless.

“Are you okay?” He asks Megumi.

“Yeah.” He takes in the state of his apartment, the state of his boyfriend. He would do anything for this boy, he realises with urgent clarity.

Megumi says, raw and honest, “Yuuji, I love you.”

Itadori raises his eyebrows, as if to say, Really? Now? before kissing him gently on the lips. He tastes faintly of ginger; Megumi bites his tongue.

“Ah,” Itadori says when they pull apart. “We should probably do something about that.” Following Itadori’s gaze, Megumi notices fresh flames sprouting from a cupboard.

“Oh. Yeah.”

.

They’re at a stadium. Megumi’s watching one of Itadori’s volleyball matches. He doesn’t fully understand the rules, cheering “Sports!” when their team scores. It’s the deciding match for the main intercollegiate tournament, and they’re destroying their opponents. Apparently, his boyfriend is a big deal.

They win and Megumi receives a text, telling him to meet Itadori in the changing rooms. When he gets there, Itadori has a towel slung low on his hips, fresh out the shower, tattoos rippling over muscle. His teammates nod at Megumi as they finish changing.

“See you at the bar for victory shots,” they cheer as they head out, excited for a night of celebrating.

The door swings shut. Megumi looks his boyfriend up and down. “How tired are you,” he asks.

“Hmm, not very,” Itadori stretches his arms above his head. The shirt he’d put on rides up, exposing the dips of his waist, the strong lines of his stomach.

“Got enough energy to fuck me in the showers?”

Needless to say, Itadori never makes it to the bar.

Later, it turns out professional scouts attended the match, and want Itadori to play for a V.League 1 team after graduation.

“Hm, I dunno,” Itadori confides in him. “I got the same offer for other sports too…”

Megumi, who’s reading a book Kugisaki leant him, is stroking Itadori’s knee and humming whenever it seems appropriate. He has absolutely not been listening to his boyfriend, who’s trying to choose his future career.

“What do you think, Fushi?” Itadori asks. Megumi wraps a hand around the other man’s thigh – now that’s something which can hold his attention.

“Hm?” he says.

“What do you prefer, volleyball or basketball?” Itadori cocks his head.

“Volleyball,” he replies immediately. Not only was it the first sport he’d seen Itadori play, but they wore the sexiest uniforms, in his opinion.

“Volleyball it is then,” decides Itadori, standing to make some important phone calls.

Megumi frowns, “Wait, what?”

.

They’re in a graveyard. It’s the anniversary of Itadori Wasuke’s death, and they’ve brought flowers.

Megumi remembers his boyfriend’s grandfather fondly from many visits to the hospital. He’d been a stubborn bastard to the end, both in his attitude and in his refusal to die. He was strong, morally unshakeable, and had a foul temper. Megumi adored his company and felt lucky to spend time with the man that raised the love of his life.

He bumps his shoulder against Itadori’s, “He hates it when you bring him flowers.”

“He doesn’t know anything,” Itadori huffs. “They’re not for him, they’re for the visitors.” He kneels to adjust the bouquet on the grave, muttering light-hearted insults under his breath.

Megumi smiles, enjoying the breeze in his hair.

.

They’re in their shared apartment. Megumi’s desperately trying to get Itadori out the door – it’s Christmas Eve, and they’re going to be late. They’re meant to be staying at his sister’s until Boxing Day. She’d woken from her coma in his penultimate year of university; her recovery had been long and difficult, but it was made easier with Itadori by his side. The two had taken to each other immediately, on account of them being cut from the same cloth (a cloth made of selflessness, magnanimity, and that stubborn attitude).

“Yuuji, babe, we’re going to be late.”

“So you’ve said a million times!” Itadori finishes emptying their wardrobe and starts on a bedside table.

“What are you looking for? We’ve got to leave,” Megumi can’t help it, he’s nervous and exasperated.

“Your Christmas present! I don’t know where it is,” Itadori seems to be nearing hysteria in his attempt to turn their entire place upside down.

“We can look for it later. Please, let’s go.” Megumi’s patience is wearing thin.

“No! It’s important, I need to find it now…”

“Time isn’t real, babe. Give it to me after Christmas.”

“If time isn’t real, why are we in such a rush to leave, babe? Why is time only a social construct when it’s convenient for you, huh?” Itadori sasses him.

Megumi frowns, “Don’t get smart with me.”

“Or what!” Itadori raises his hands in the air, clearly giving up, but there are tears in his eyes.

“Hey, Yuuji,” Megumi says softly, “C’mere.” He gathers his boyfriend into his arms, “What’s wrong?”

Itadori draws in a wet breath, repeating shakily: “I don’t know where it is.”

“It’ll be fine, we’ll find it later, together. I’m sorry for being short with you.”

“No, Gu.” Itadori sniffs, hard. “I need to find it now, I…” Megumi waits, silently asking him to go on. “I was going to propose, dumbass. I can’t find the ring.” Megumi’s so shocked, he laughs. Itadori gives his upper arm a gentle smack, “Don’t laugh! Why the hell are you laughing?”

“Oh my god, you big dork,” he touches their foreheads together; when he pulls back, he’s taken a small box out of his inner pocket. Itadori’s eyes go comically wide.

He’s silent for a second, before, “Um, yes. I’ll marry you.”

“I didn’t even ask yet,” Megumi slides the box back into his pocket.

Itadori makes grabby hands at him, “No! Gimme!”

“Is your ring in this apartment?” he asks, ignoring the other man’s antics.

“Absolutely,” Itadori pouts.

“Okay. Come on. We’re going now, or we’ll be late for the surprises I booked for this evening.”

“Surprises!?” Itadori straightens, “I love surprises! What are the surprises?”

“Well, the big one was me asking you to marry me,” Megumi rolls his eyes, “but that’s blown. I’m not telling you anything else.”

“Aw,” Itadori whines, throwing his coat on and grabbing their bags with lightning efficiency, “tell me now!”

Later, as they watch fireworks from a private boat, Itadori whispers, “Shotgun Gojo as my best man.”

“Joke’s on you, I’ve already got Nobara,” Megumi whispers back, fingers on Itadori’s pulse. “Besides, if you think I’m letting Gojo anywhere near our wedding, you’re in for an early divorce.”

.

They’re in their rural house at the foot of the mountains, Megumi’s tired from a long day at the clinic. He’s greeted at the gate by Kuro, who’d been napping in the afternoon sunshine, waiting for Megumi’s return. Shiro had died a few years earlier, having reached the frankly impressive age of seven.

“You old bastard,” Megumi fondly pets the jade hound. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he murmurs as Kuro tries to get up.

“The fossil’s been waiting for you,” says Itadori, who’s playing with the kittens on their front steps.

“Oh? And what were you doing, then, out here on our porch at this hour?”

“It’s a coincidence,” smiles Itadori, his scars glowing in the late-afternoon light. “The cats took me outside, I couldn’t resist.” The kittens, and the fucking cockatoo, were Itadori’s pets. Megumi himself had amassed a small zoo of animals over the years, adopting and rescuing them, or, as in the snake’s case, receiving them as a gift from his husband.

Megumi loves coming back to Itadori, who mostly works from home these days. Having won several international competitions, including gold at the Olympics, Itadori had retired from volleyball relatively early to set up a Non-Profit. He’d felt his career lacked meaning, so decided to aid disadvantaged young people through sport. Growing fast as an international organisation (helped initially by Itadori’s fame as ‘arguably the greatest athlete to ever live’ – which was the title of an article he wouldn’t let Megumi forget), Itadori was clearly much happier working for his charity than he’d ever been as a professional sportsman.

They go inside, Megumi smelling something delicious from the kitchen.

“What’s crack-a-lackin’, big boy?” The cockatoo calls from his cage, making Itadori ugly snort.

“I swear to fuck, Yuuji, I will feed that goddamn bird to the snake.”

“Aw, don’t be like that! He’s funny! Hey, Gojo, say ‘Who’s a pretty boy?’”

“Who’s a pretty boy,” echoes Gojo, the cockatoo.

“My husband is,” answers Itadori, pulling Megumi in for a messy embrace, barely-there kisses between huffs of laughter. Megumi tries desperately to maintain his frown, but Itadori’s wrapping a strong arm confidently around his waist, using his teeth to tug at an earlobe. His resolve caves when Itadori hoists him up bodily, placing his hands beneath Megumi’s thighs as he carries him, kissing him sweetly on the mouth.

“I swear to fuck, Yuuji,” says the cockatoo, and they break apart, laughing breathlessly.