Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

A long time stretches by without Yuji. Megumi goes to college, lives his own separate life for a while, and enjoys it, though he still misses the good old trio days, felt especially strong when summer comes and Yuji's unable to come home. He wishes he could say the absence helps wean him off his feelings but distance apparently does make the heart grow fonder, because when Gojo says he's bringing Yuji back with him for Thanksgiving break Megumi can’t help but peek out from between the blinds of his bedroom window like a complete and utter creep. He knows this is so prepubescent of him to be this excited over seeing an old crush but it’s Yuji, not just anyone, and he could never really shake off that childish attraction, especially not now when he looks like that. Megumi’s breath genuinely hitches when Yuji steps out of the passenger side of Gojo’s car and onto the sidewalk because what the fuck did he do for the past year and a half, why is he actually so handsome and, oh my God, his hair’s long and slicked back, who taught him that? 

Seriously, aside from the telltale pink hair and scar across his right eyebrow Megumi can’t believe his eyes. He’s seen some pictures of him from Gojo or on Instagram but real life is something else, and Megumi has to do double, triple, quadruple takes before he realizes they’re already walking up the porch steps and Yuji’s waving at him with a giant smile on his face as if Megumi’s not being a total freak checking him out through two slats in his blinds, and Gojo’s laughing his ass off as he enters the house and tells Megumi to come out from his watchtower.

“Holy crap! You look so different now, Fushiguro!” Yuji exclaims as he pulls Megumi in for a giant hug. “What happened to all your hair? And you’re tall now! I think you’re taller than me, jeez.”

“Hi, Itadori,” Megumi says into the muffled confines of Yuji’s egregious chest, “I cut it because it was getting too annoying for grappling.”

“It looks nice like this.” He looks at Megumi’s face a beat longer before moving on to ask about college and Megumi has to use all his energy to focus on his words and not how good he looks. 

“Hey, are you coming to train with us?” Yuji asks while Gojo’s in the bathroom getting ready. “We’re gonna get food after. You should come.”

The thought of seeing Yuji in a compression shirt, rolling around all sweaty and panting makes Megumi want to dry heave.

“No, I’m okay–”

“Yes, he is!” Gojo decides for him as he prances into the living room, “Megumi’s missed you for the past couple years so obviously we’re all going training together, right?” Yuji looks over at Megumi and his smile gets a little wider. “Plus, he’s all grown up. You can actually beat him up now!”

Oh, God. Now there are images of Yuji pinning him to the floor, squeezing his torso to death, and Megumi already can’t breathe.

“Yay! Let’s go then.”

“Quick, before Yaga shows up!” Gojo grins and hauls Megumi up by the collar. “No gi today! Yuji forgot to bring his home, so put on some cute shorts, okay?”

Untangling himself from Gojo’s grip, Megumi scrambles to throw on his reliable black-on-black outfit before grabbing his bag and heading out to the car. 

They catch up a little more on the drive there–Yuji’s sweet and asks Megumi all sorts of questions about dorming, how his last year of high school was, what he spent his eighteenth birthday doing. 

“I had dinner with Gojo.”

“Aw, I wish I could’ve made it.”

Me too, Megumi doesn’t say.

At the gym, Gojo takes his sunglasses off and gives the front desk girl the blue eyes, white eyelashes treatment for a solid ten minutes until she folds and lets them have a mat to themselves, the square in the furthest corner of the floor.

“You’re so good at that,” Yuji says in awe as they shuffle their way past the beginner class.

“You could probably pull it off too. I mean, whatever you’re doing’s obviously working on Megumi–”

“That’s enough,” Megumi sighs as he tugs his sweats and hoodie off and tosses them into his duffle. He feels kind of self conscious, standing there with his quads out in full display and his shirt practically printed onto his skin next to Yuji, but he doesn’t get much time to ruminate on it because Yuji’s stripping too and there’s suddenly a whole lot of chest and a whole lot of leg and a whole lot of Megumi turning the other way so he doesn’t start staring again.

“Who wants to go first?” Gojo asks.

Megumi points at the two of them. “You guys. I need to warm up.”

Yuji shrugs, always game, and steps into the center of the mat, feet hip distance apart. “You ready?”

Gojo mirrors him, and suddenly both of their easygoing attitudes seem to vanish in the wind and Megumi, mid-stretch, is instantly captivated by the now serious atmosphere.

“‘Course.”

Their upper bodies come down, bent at the waist as their arms test each other, a couple experimental reaches, defenses, checks and fake-outs, until Yuji dives in for a behind the knee grab and Gojo starts his counter, somehow still graceful as he balances on one leg and gets himself out of the hold. They go back and forth with upright holds for a couple minutes before Yuji goes for a throw, hoisting Gojo up by the waist and slamming him down onto the mat, but Gojo escapes the followup mount and reverses their positions, the two of them struggling on the floor until Gojo gets him into a rear triangle because he’s a showoff like that, and Yuji taps once Gojo starts squeezing his calves a little too hard.

The intensity on their faces melt back to grins and laughter the moment Gojo rolls off Yuji, who rubs his thick neck and sighs about not being able to get the takedown right.

“Try with Megumi,” Gojo calls him over. 

“Are you done warming up? You don’t have to rush. I don’t want you to get injured.”

Megumi does one last lunge before he readies up in front of Yuji, gathering himself so he can focus on the fight and not on the way Yuji’s hair is starting to look unkempt from exertion, falling irritatingly well at the high parts of his cheekbones. 

“I’m ready.”

“Okay!” Yuji gives him a fist bump before lowering his center of gravity. “I’m ready, too.”

“Don’t hold back!” Gojo shouts from where he’s lazed out on the floor, propped up on one elbow. “Get his ass, Megumi.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Yuji doesn’t laugh so Megumi knows he’s already locked in on their match, and Megumi stays alert as he slaps back stray reaches, not letting himself get distracted by hand fighting. He can tell Yuji’s vying for an opening to throw him so he beats him to it–he goes for a single leg takedown and Yuji makes a surprised noise as Megumi manages to topple him to the ground, but Yuji twists him into a half guard as soon as he hits the floor.

“No, Megumi, get out, get out of there!”

Under his chest Megumi hears Yuji snort once, and his focus almost breaks as he becomes keenly aware of Yuji splitting his legs apart, but he doesn’t want to lose here so he shifts his weight towards his shoulder to try to nail a heavy cross-face but Yuji overpowers him, sweeping onto his side and swinging his legs into a devastating same side Kimura. Megumi knows it’s totally over when Gojo starts giggling on the sidelines, but he can’t really tell what Gojo’s saying because the noise is muffled by Yuji’s fucking crotch buried in his face, and Megumi’s dangerously close to getting a cheekful of Yuji balls and this is not the way he’d dreamt it to happen, no way, so he starts tapping like a maniac so that Yuji can please get the fuck off him before he history repeats itself and he refuses to let that memory ever get rehashed–

“Hey, this reminds me of that one time we sparred in highschool!” Yuji recalls, face full of innocent delight as he unleashes Megumi from his deathgrip and sits cross-legged on the mat. “Remember?”

“Yes,” Megumi croaks. “I do.” Please let us not be thinking about the same thing.

“Hm? Which time?” Gojo settles in next to them before turning to Megumi to add, “Also, Megumi, you should be less hesitant. I think you could’ve gotten that cross-face on him if you went harder.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll try later.”

“I think you’ve gotten a lot better, though,” Yuji nods. “You’re super strong now! Back then I remember us tumbling and I was always really worried about hurting you.”

“Ah, is that what happened?” Gojo asks.

“Oh, no, Fushiguro got hard one time and we had to stop,” Yuji explains like it’s the most mundane, share-with-everyone-you-know story, something to casually drop on a Wednesday afternoon between glugs of electrolyte water, and Megumi chokes on his spit as Gojo laughs it up, hooting and hollering and falling over in stitches until the girl from earlier has to come over and regretfully tell him to shut up and stop being a public nuisance. 

They train for another couple of hours–Megumi actually manages to submit Yuji twice, and then gets put down by Gojo shortly after–and by the end of it they’re a nasty, sweaty mess of matted hair and wet clothes.

“Shower and eat?” Yuji suggests from where he’s starfished out on the mat.

“Yes, please!” Gojo springs up from the floor and pulls Yuji up.

“Are you coming, Fushiguro?” He extends his hand and Megumi takes it, getting up onto his exhausted legs.

“Yeah.” 

By the fated miracle (or curse, Megumi’s still undecided) of broken showerheads, Megumi ends up showering next to Yuji while Gojo’s alone on the other end of hall.

“What do you wanna get for dinner?” Yuji asks as he lathers shampoo through his hair. It drips salaciously down to his deep collarbones and Megumi almost answers you.

“Fried chicken?” he offers instead.

“That sounds good.” Yuji looks over at Megumi, blinks, and says, “Turn around.”

“What?” Megumi blushes.

“You’ve got soap in your hair, let me get it out. I think your showerhead’s weaker than mine.”

Megumi turns away from Yuji and tilts his chin down to his chest and shivers when he feels Yuji’s fingers run against his nape, right where his hairline starts at the base of his neck, and bites back a weird noise when Yuji starts to lightly scratch at the spot.

“Actually, there’s a bunch of soap on you still.” Megumi can’t see but from his tone alone Megumi can tell Yuji’s frowning. “Well, I’m done, so,” he trails off as he tugs Megumi a couple steps backwards by the elbow and Megumi freezes for a second as he leaves his stream of water and then enters Yuji’s. The water pressure’s doubled but that’s not what makes his skin heat up, steaming under the droplets; it’s Yuji, totally naked, damn near pressed up against him, and Megumi has to list off all his dead relatives in order of passing or else he’s going to get incredibly hard incredibly quickly. Yuji’s still carding his fingers through Megumi’s hair and trails down to his shoulders and Megumi has no idea why he’s just standing there and taking it like he doesn’t know how to take rinse some goddamn soap off his body, or why Yuji’s acting like he needs the help, but neither of them say anything until they hear Gojo come whistling down the locker room and Megumi makes a little ah! noise as he shuts the water off and hurries over to grab his towel without sparing a glance at Yuji. He sprints over to the locker he’d thrown his bag in and changes in a hurry, keeping his eyes lowered to the ground, and he hears Yuji doing the same thing behind him, his own locker a few feet away. Gojo walks in with his sweats on, takes one repulsed look at them, and asks where they’re going for dinner.

“Fried chicken. Right, Fushiguro?”

Hesitantly, Megumi looks up from tying his shoelaces and sees Yuji’s somewhat apologetic face. 

“Yup. I can order it now.”

Gojo whines a bit about the smell of oil getting stuck in his car but ultimately agrees, and they’re heading back to the house with two buckets of chicken settled on the floor between Megumi’s feet. As they head in, Gojo rushing ahead so he can choose what to play on the TV as they eat, Yuji pulls Megumi aside on the porch.

“The chicken’s gonna get cold,” Megumi immediately grumbles. He’s kind of starving right now.

“I know, sorry.”

“What is it?”

“Did I do something wrong earlier?”

Between the rumbling in his stomach, the ache of his muscles, and the way his head blanks out at the word shower, Megumi can’t help but giggle at the absurdity of the situation and Yuji’s honest concern over it.

“It’s really nothing, Itadori,” Megumi says as he walks through the front door, Yuji trailing behind him like a kicked puppy, “so don’t worry so much. I just didn’t want Gojo to get the wrong idea.”

“Yeah?” And maybe because Yuji spends too much time with Gojo, he leans forward, teasing, and asks in Megumi’s ear, “What’s the wrong idea?"

It’s the first time in Megumi’s life hearing Yuji act even a bit, he doesn’t even know what to call it, provocative? Flirty? Freaky? And Megumi looks at him in shock.

“What?” Yuji laughs. “You don’t like my Gojo impression?”

“No, I don’t,” Megumi slams the chicken onto the table. “He’s gonna turn you into a freak.”

“I can’t turn him into a freak,” Gojo corrects him from the living room. “I can only bring out the freak that’s already within him.”

The two older guys high-five and Megumi’s both utterly grossed out and deeply satisfied with his life as he chomps into a piece of still crunchy chicken, the sound of bright laughter and another happy memory with Yuji tucked away into his heart.

–

Gojo doesn’t get out of bed Saturday morning, an unusual occurrence for a light sleeper like him. Megumi knocks on his door and hears a groan, a thud, and then a dramatic wail, and he starts to walk away when the door swings open and Gojo whines, “Why didn’t you come in to check on me?”

“I was going to get medicine from the kitchen,” Megumi rolls his eyes. “If you’re sick, stay in bed and away from me, please.” 

“Can you tell Yuji I’m sick?” Gojo hollers down the hall.

“Fine,” Megumi shouts back. 

When he comes back with a couple packs of DayQuil Gojo says, “I bet you’re excited to text him.”

“Shut up, or I’m taking this back.”

“Hehe. You wouldn’t.”

Megumi rolls his eyes, but sets the glass of water and the pills down on Gojo’s desk before leaving.

Hey itadori, gojo got sick, so he’s cancelling tonight’s plans. Sorry about that.

Gojos sick? thats rare!!!!!!!!

Yeah, i know. Sorry again.

Megumi clicks his phone off so he doesn’t stare at the chat log like an idiot, but the screen lights back up when Yuji texts him back right away.

Should i come by still? 

He nearly drops his phone in surprise, but manages to text back Sure, as if it’s the most casual decision he’s ever made.

Okay see u at 8!

“Gojo, is it cool if he still comes over?”

“What?”

“I said,” Megumi starts to yell but gives up, walking back to his room instead to speak normally, “is it cool if he still comes over?”

“To hang out with you?” Gojo peeks at him from under the covers. One eyebrow slowly raises.

“I guess.”

“My my, moving up in the world aren’t we?”

“So is that a yes or no?”

“Yeah, I don’t care,” Gojo laughs. “Just use protection, okay?”

Indignant, Megumi slams the door shut.

–

“Hey!” Yuji pulls him in for a side hug as Megumi opens the front door to him. “I brought stuff.”

Megumi peeks into the two grocery bags Yuji’s set onto the floor–a bunch of chips and cookies in one, and a twelve pack of Smirnoff Ice’s in the other. 

“I know you can’t drink, but it was for Gojo so I brought it anyway.”

“I can,” Megumi corrects him. “I went to a couple parties this semester.”

“You like partying? That’s kind of surprising!”

“Some of the BJJ guys wanted me to, but I didn’t really like it.”

As if to prove a point he tears the cardboard flaps open and pulls out two glass bottles, using one to pop the lid off the other.

“Woah! That was cool,” Yuji laughs, then uses his bottle opener keychain to open his own. “I just use this, usually.”

Megumi feels kind of stupid for showing off now. 

“You wanna play Smash or watch a movie?” Yuji asks. 

“You can choose.”

“Hm, well, I’m not really good at video games, so maybe a movie? Also, which snacks do you want?”

Megumi plops down as casually as he can onto the couch and flicks the TV on, switching over to Netflix.

“The shrimp chips, please.”

“Sure.”

Yuji settles down next to Megumi on the middle cushion and they flip through movies together, chatting about what they’ve watched recently. Yuji’s still got an affinity for weird, extraterrestrial shit, but they settle on rewatching Fast Five because it’s the best one in the franchise and they’ve both watched it on this very TV at least ten times, meaning they can just focus on drinking and eating and chatting while Vin Diesel prattles about the importance of family in the background.

“Freshman year, huh?” Yuji sighs. “That was a fun time for me.”

“It’s kind of hard, though.”

“Really?”

“I didn’t really like meeting so many people.”

“I feel like you’re good at socializing.”

“That’s because you’re comparing me to Gojo, who’s insufferable,” Megumi snorts.

“Mm, I think you both have your charms. You’re a quiet, cool type, and Gojo’s like, hm,” Yuji muses, “confident and bold?”

“And annoying.”

“He doesn’t bother me much.”

“That’s why you’re his only friend.”

“You’ve just never met the other guys,” Yuji laughs. “Do you have a lot of friends?”

Megumi actually thinks about that question. There’s Kugisaki, Inumaki, Maki, and, well, Yuji, sort of. Excluding Gojo, that’s pretty much it.“

“I guess not. I don’t need a lot, though.”

“I agree.”

“You must have tons of friends though?”

“Sort of? I know a lot of people from grappling and stuff but I don’t hang out with them really often. I get tired after training.”

For some reason, that makes Megumi feel special. “Well, thanks for still coming by.”

Yuji nudges him with his elbow. “Duh. I can’t miss out on my day-ones.” 

The movie eventually ends but neither of them really notice, caught up in a conversation by the time the credits roll. Megumi’s a lot chattier with three shots in him and Yuji listens to all his stories, laughs at all his jokes.

“So I kissed him,” Megumi explains how he ended up with a cut lip before their club’s first tournament, “and his fucking overbite tore my mouth up.”

“You kissed him?” Yuji asks, astounded. “Like, on the mouth?”

“Yes?”

“At the party? Really?”

“Yes? What, is that weird?”

“No, I just, uh, didn't really expect that from you. It’s cool, though,” Yuji flashes him a floppy thumbs up. “Go Fushiguro.”

“Do you?”

“Kiss people at parties? Hm, not really.”

“Did you, um,” Megumi takes a sip from his fourth bottle before finishing his question, “date anyone?”

“Nope,” Yuji answers easily. 

“Seriously? But you’re super nice and stuff. No way you couldn’t get a girlfriend.”

“I just wasn’t really interested in anyone.”

“What’s, uh, your type, then?”

Yuji’s eyes flicker over to Megumi, then back to the TV as he shrugs and says, “I don’t really have one.”

It sounds like a lie, and Megumi blushes even though he can’t really piece together why. 

“Oh.”

Megumi finishes the drink and it all begins to hit him at once. He’s kind of a lightweight so he places his head down on the armrest and Yuji looks over at him with concern.

“Are you okay, Fushiguro?”

“Yeah. Can you put on another movie?”

“Hm, how ‘bout Transformers? You liked that one a lot back then.”

“You remember that?” 

“Of course I do.” Yuji switches it on. “I have a lot of great memories with you and Gojo.”

With you, Megumi repeats in his head. 

“Itadori.”

“Yes?”

“Am I your friend?”

Yuji looks over, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Of course.”

“But Gojo.” His mouth feels too uncoordinated to elaborate, but Yuji seems to get it.

“Well I was friends with him first, but I get along with you, too. You’re usually around when we do stuff, right? And it’s always fun.”

Megumi nods. “Yes. It’s always fun.” 

The expression on Yuji’s face is hard to read, an exception from his usual open-book appearance. Megumi doesn’t have enough time to process it before he’s turned back towards the TV, watching the Transformers logo unfold over planet Earth.

“Watch the movie,” Yuji taps Megumi’s thigh, “you’re pretty drunk, so just relax a bit.”

Megumi gets up from the armrest, feels his vision lag behind the rush of his head lifting, and slumps down onto Yuji instead.

“Okay.”

He tries to watch the movie but his eyelids feel heavy and Yuji uses his hand to tug Megumi’s head into the crook of his neck, and it feels so comfortable there, warm and filled with the familiar scent of sweat and something sweet. He takes a deep inhale, feels the way Yuji bristles against him, and exhales, over and over until his breath turns steady.

When he opens his eyes again, Megumi can barely understand what’s happening as he gets hoisted up into the air against a broad, warm wall, except the wall moves and he’s suddenly levitating through space and time itself as the television shuts off without him having to move a single limb.

“Woah, I have telekinesis,” Megumi drawls to the ear next to his face. The hair above it is pink, the shade of artificially colored bubblegum, so Megumi knows it has to be Yuji’s ear, ‘cause he’s the only person in the world with pink hair. The laugh is Yuji’s, too, soft and patchy in a way, and Megumi holds on a little tighter.

“I thought you were more of a time control kid.” They make it down the hallway to Megumi’s room where Yuji twists the knob open and heads in.

“Don’t call me that.” 

“What?”

“Kid,” Megumi states. “Don’t call me kid.”

Gingerly, Yuji drops Megumi onto the bed, unlatching his crossed arms so that he can fall back onto the sheets. He sits down on the floor by Megumi’s head.

“I don’t mean anything by it,” he says, tilting his head back onto the mattress. 

“I’m not a kid anymore,” Megumi insists. “I grew up.”

“I know. You got taller.”

“And you got handsomer."

“Aw, thanks, Fushiguro! You too,” Yuji grins, and ruffles Megumi’s hair. “I like your hair this way.”

Megumi swats the hand away. “Not like that. I mean really. You’re hot,” Megumi emphasizes, and he scoots closer to Yuji, who just looks at him with a sort of befuddled, deer-in-headlights look. He traces a finger along Yuji’s cheekbone, along his carved jawline. “You lost weight and started slicking your hair back.”

“I actually went up a weight class. I’m middle weight, now.”

Yuji’s obtusely dodging his point, and it hurts Megumi’s already pounding head. Scrunching his eyes together, Megumi fights the way the room seems to be tilting this way and that and inches forward until his cheek nearly rests against Yuji’s. 

“Itadori.”

“Uh-huh?”

Megumi wraps his arms around Yuji’s neck and pulls their faces close together. “I want you.”

“What?” Yuji balks but he’s locked in Megumi’s booze-buffed arms. 

“Yeah,” Megumi sighs, “I like you.”

His eyes flutter shut, because the world’s still whirling around him and it hurts too much to look at Yuji’s handsome, gorgeous face, and he does what he’s been aching to do for a while now, leaning forward with his lips lightly pursed. All he can think is finally, finally, finally, and when his mouth makes contact with skin he keeps his head steady there for a second before he takes a peek and sees nothing but the deep lines of a calloused, rough hand.

“Sorry, Fushiguro,” Yuji retracts his hand and there’s an awkward smile on his face as he says, “I can’t.”

Megumi stares at him in shock. He doesn’t understand what’s happening right now. Yuji’s face was right there, and then it wasn’t, and he touches his own lips and then looks at his fingers then at Yuji’s hand and the muddled cogs in his mind churn, albeit slowly, to a slow and humiliating realization.

Acting like the kid Yuji accuses him of being, Megumi asks, “Why?”

“Because you’re too young.” Yuji starts to pry himself out of Megumi’s headlock. “I can’t! You’re not even eighteen yet.”

Huh? There’s something wrong there but the lightbulb’s fading out of Megumi’s brain by the second, the last of its wattage spent on surviving that mortifying defeat. 

“Uh,” Megumi splutters. There’s nothing left to scrap together up there and all he feels is the threatening heat of tears about to spill out so he quickly bites his lip and just turns the other way, face safely out of Yuji’s sight.

“Fushiguro? Hey, don’t–”

“I need to sleep,” Megumi cuts him off. “My head hurts.”

“Hey, c’mon” Yuji tries, but it’s obvious Megumi’s shut off for the night, so Yuji stands up and gives Megumi another pat on the head before he leaves the room, saying goodnight in the doorway before he shuts the light off.

Megumi doesn’t quite have it in him to say it back.

 –

“Hey, why’re you ignoring Yuji?” Gojo asks as he lazes out on the couch, all better from his cold. 

“How’d you know I was doing that?” 

“He told me. Duh.”

“Oh, he noticed?” Megumi sits on the armchair by him. 

“Yeah. He mentioned it when we went to the movies yesterday.”

“Hm.”

“So?” Gojo swings his long legs off the armrest and sits properly, facing Megumi now. “What’s up?”

“I made a mistake the other day.”

“When he came over?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

“I can’t really remember. I drank too much.”

Gojo snorts. “You’re so cute, Megumi.”

“I think I tried to do something–” Megumi does remember what that something was, but he just can’t admit it to Gojo– “and he didn’t like it. I can’t remember what he said to me, though.”

“That’s…” Gojo hums, thinking. “Seems kind of unlikely. But also sounds pretty unfortunate.”

“You don’t know anything about it?”

“Yuji doesn’t talk much about his love life.”

“Probably because you’re too busy talking about yours.”

“Maybe, maybe. Well, maybe you should text him. He’s kind of sad, and you know how it is when he’s sad. It’s all sorts of weird and wrong, and plus, his break’s over in a couple days. Might as well see him and fix it before he disappears again.”

“He was only gone so long last time because he had to go to Japan, right?”

Gojo shrugs. “He might go again this summer. His grandpa’s getting pretty old.”

“Mm.” Megumi knits his eyebrows together. It’s hard not to listen in the rare moments when Gojo uses his giant brain for good. “Okay. I guess so.”

With the fire effectively put out, Gojo starts scrolling through movie titles and muttering nonsense so Megumi whips his phone out to text Yuji. 

Hi, Itadori. Sorry I didn’t join you guys the last few days. 

Yuji replies quickly, as per usual.

Its okay! I was just worried u got sick

If youre fine do you want to hang out

Im going back to school on Sunday

Megumi looks up at Gojo, who’s staring at him.

“Stop. Your eyes look creepy.”

“Is he asking to hang out?”

“What, do you guys share a braincell?”

“Yes, and you should say yes.”

“...Without you?”

“Yup. Go for it. You have my blessings.”

Sure

What do you want to do

Megumi watches the response bubble dance in place for a few seconds.

Wanna go to the zoo?

“He wants to go to the zoo, Gojo.”

“Hah? Seriously?” Gojo crawls off the couch to read the texts over Megumi’s shoulder. “That’s adorable. Say yes.”

“Stop micromanaging me,” Megumi grumbles as he types back, Yeah.

–

“So why the zoo?” Megumi asks as they pay for their tickets with Gojo’s card.

“I remember you said you like animals.”

“You remember that?”

“My memory’s really not that bad,” Yuji laughs. “Plus, that was a memorable day for me.”

“For me, too. Wanna start with the tigers then?”

Yuji nods, happy to let Megumi dictate today’s agenda. Tigers, first, because they’re Yuji–then off to the rest of the big cats, then the wolves, elephants, owls, snakes, and so forth until they’re camped out in the petting zoo, buried in rabbit fluff as they take a break. 

“I feel kinda bad for not inviting Gojo,” Yuji mentions while patting a goat on its back. “This is super fun.”

“He doesn’t like this kind of thing,” Megumi shakes his head. “If he was here he’d be saying ‘It stinks, and these animals are gross!’”

“Woah, Fushiguro, your impression of him sucks!”

“What? I’m literally his brother, I feel like–”

“No, it’s more like, ‘Megumi,’” Yuji drags the ee sound out forever while throwing his head back dramatically “‘why are we here to look at these stupid little creatures? They don’t even know how to talk.’” He concludes with a trademark Gojo whine, and it makes them both combust into laughter.

“Okay, I get it now, so let me try again.”

They spend the next ten minutes in the barn trading Gojo impressions back and forth until Yuji laughs too loud and scares all the rabbits off, so they run away before the worker notices and duck over to the comparatively empty tortoise exhibit.

“Hey, do you still wanna be a zookeeper? There’s probably tons of annoying people like us that visit.” Yuji asks.

“If we’re coworkers, then I don’t think it’d bother me much.”

“Coworkers? You and me? That’d be sick. I think you could rock the hat.”

Megumi giggles again and the good mood never seems to dissipate as they spend the rest of the day together, Yuji driving them back home when the sky starts to darken. Even as his social battery begins to dwindle Yuji doesn’t seem to mind, just turns the music up a little louder and hums along to whatever’s playing. 

When Yuji pulls into their driveway, he doesn’t get out of the car, and neither does Megumi. There’s something unspoken between them that lingers and Megumi’s not sure what to say until Yuji blurts out, “This kind of feels like a date.”

Megumi feels like he’s been caught in one of those freeze-frame panels where lightning strikes like a flash behind his disgruntled face. 

“Okay.”

“Was that weird–”

“So if it feels like a date, why can’t we just call it a date?”

“Because.” Yuji’s brain is steaming with effort, Megumi can literally see it. “Because that wouldn’t be right.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not, well, appropriate.”

“Because I’m Gojo’s little brother?”

“Basically. Yes.”

“Okay, but,” Megumi bristles because this shit’s genuinely getting irritating. Why does Gojo have anything to do with who he dates, who he kisses, who he bones? Why does Gojo even matter right now? God, Megumi’s so annoyed, he could just–actually, why doesn’t he just do it? 

Gritting his teeth, Megumi leans over the console, sticks his face in Yuji’s, and says, “why does it matter?” 

Yuji looks at Megumi’s determined expression, glances at the house, looks back at Megumi, and his eyelids start to flutter shut and Megumi’s about to taste sweet victory on his lips when Yuji suddenly jolts back, spluttering, and says, “Oh my God, no, I can’t.”

“What? What’s wrong with you, Itadori?”

He doesn’t say anything, just claps one hand over his mouth and points out the passenger seat window behind Megumi’s head with the other.

“Hey,” a certain white-haired man says as he tugs the door open. “Don’t mind me. Continue as you were.”

Frustrated beyond repair, Megumi leaps off the seat, pushes past a befuddled Gojo, and rushes into the house.

–

Megumi doesn’t go with Gojo to see Yuji off on Sunday, and he sure as hell doesn’t see Yuji when he comes back for Christmas break, either. This time, Gojo’s words of concern do not change his stance on keeping the distance.

“Not even for your birthday? Come on. He always sings ‘Happy Birthday’ so loud. It won’t be the same without him.”

“He skipped last year’s, so why does it matter if he skips another?”

“Don’t be bitter about that.”

“It was my eighteenth, and I’m not bitter, just stating a fact.”

“It was for–”

“I know what it was for. Like I said, not bitter. Just factual.”

“You’re super pissy today, you know that? Well, whatever. Dinner on the twenty-second then?”

“Yeah.”

“Just the two of us?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve got a solid three days to think about what you want to eat. Go crazy.”

“Thanks,” Megumi grumbles. “Don’t bring up Itadori again, please.”

“Fine, fine.”

–

Megumi puts away the takeout boxes and sets out the birthday cake Gojo had custom ordered, some elaborate thing coated in smooth, white frosting. Gojo jabs two candles–a one and a nine–into the top of it and lights them, snapping a barrage of photos as Megumi sits down at the table. Just as the smoke starts to rise from the wicks, two heavy knocks thud against the front door.

“Eh? Did you invite someone, Megumi?”

“No, did you order something?”

“Not that I can recall,” Gojo hums, “but I don’t think the postman works this late, anyway. A murderer, maybe?”

“Ah, is that my birthday gift?”

Gojo laughs as he walks down the hall, bending down to look through the peephole.

“Oh, different birthday gift. It’s Yuji!”

“What?” 

“Yuji!” Gojo shouts as he swings the door wide open. “What are you doing here? Oh, wait, actually, let me pretend I called you over to surprise Megumi.” Gojo walks him in by the shoulders, directing him straight over to the dining table where Megumi’s birthday candles are threatening to shroud the white frosting in wax. “Hey, surprise!”

Yuji, always compliant, does a little jump in place and waves his hands around.

“Surprise!”

“Why are you here, Itadori?”

“Ouch,” Gojo winces for Yuji, “you’re so mean, Megumi.”

“Hi Fushiguro. Happy birthday!” he exclaims, then moves on when Megumi’s frown doesn’t budge. “I, um, realized I was totally wrong about something.”

“About what, exactly?” Megumi asks, not bothering to conceal the slight bite in his tone.

“You’re not actually eighteen.”

The announcement stuns both Gojo and Megumi. It’s such a rarity for both of them to be shocked into silence that Yuji starts darting his eyes around nervously and going um, guys?

Gojo’s voice is grave when he speaks. “Yuji.” 

“Yeah?” Yuji turns to face him.

“Did you think he was three years younger than us this entire time?”

“Um… no? I mean, I couldn’t have, because I see his birthday candles every year. Look, they’re–oh my God, there’s no candles left!” Yuji yells when he tries to point out the 19 that used to be skewered into the cake, only to be met with a complete pool of already hardening wax that sits like a greasy film over the frosting. 

“Huh?” Megumi’s been so distracted by Yuji’s entrance that he hadn’t noticed the flame continuously running, and he looks down at the inedible mess that was once his birthday cake. 

“My cake, my cake,” Gojo cries like it’s his birthday getting ruined, “my beautiful, lovely, strawberries and whipped cream triple layered cake.”

Yuji rushes to Megumi’s side and begins peeling the wax plaque off, though the frosting’s coming with it and patches of cake, berries, and filling are breaking off and falling onto the tray below, all while Gojo continues to wail in the back. Everything is just so stupid, grotesque, and unnecessary that Megumi starts to laugh, louder and louder until everyone else is laughing with him because it’s just such a them way to celebrate his birthday and he can’t imagine things going any other, more peaceful, more conventional way than this.

“Okay! Okay, let’s just get birthday ice cream instead,” Gojo declares, “and you guys can work it out or whatever while we eat, alright?”

Megumi wipes the tears from the corners of his eyes and says yes, sure, whatever, I don’t care and Yuji still looks slightly apprehensive but goes along with it anyway, the three of them slipping their shoes on and walking out to the car.

When Megumi slides into the passenger seat, Gojo blocks him with a decisive finger to the forehead. “Nuh uh. Go sit in the back with Yuji.”

“It’s my birthday,” Megumi scowls.

“Yes, and that’s why we’re getting ice cream, so don’t waste the whole night arguing with me.”

“Fine.” Megumi shuts the door, then hops into the back where Yuji’s already seated. He doesn’t really expect the most productive conversation to unfold on their way to McDonalds anyway so he just settles in as Gojo starts the engine. As they’re rolling into the plaza parking lot, Yuji turns to face Megumi.

“Fushiguro, I totally thought you were seventeen,” Yuji starts. “Most freshmen are seventeen, right? The ones in my gym are!”

Is this seriously happening right now? Megumi’s eye twitches as Yuji continues his speech in full earnest, terrifyingly indifferent to Gojo’s obvious eavesdropping from the driver’s seat as they pull into the drive-through lane. I don’t want Gojo to hear–ah, fuck, but if I stop him now what he forgets what he was going to say? Megumi takes a meditative inhale and just focuses on whatever Yuji’s saying, blocking out Gojo’s nosiness from his periphery. 

“Yeah, but I’m a year behind because I’m born in December. You literally texted me happy eighteenth birthday.”

“Hey, do you want a McFlurry or a cone?” Gojo twists over the console to ask.

“Cone.”

“Cone for me, too.”

Gojo turns back to the window and starts shouting his order at the drive-through speaker, and Megumi has to crane his head closer to Yuji’s to hear over Gojo’s ear-grating voice.

“I’m sorry, I completely forgot. I’m not good with this kind of stuff,” Yuji shoots Megumi an apologetic smile and it totally works on his pathetically weak heart, “but if I’d known you were eighteen I wouldn’t have stopped you.”

Megumi turns three shades redder as he recalls both the Smirnoff Ice night and their not-date to the zoo.

“It’s, uh, okay. I was being too pushy, anyway.”

“No! I really liked it. I mean, it was really cute seeing you like that. I had a hard time turning you down.”

“Yuji, I got you the strawberry cheesecake McFlurry ‘cause I couldn’t choose between that one and the caramel one.” Gojo announces as they pull up to the next window. “Also, what was Megumi doing that was so cute?”

“Oh, sure. And he was trying to–”

Megumi immediately claps a hand over Yuji’s mouth and retracts it just as quickly. “Please don’t tell him.”

Yuji laughs, but concedes. “Okay, I won’t.”

“And I get it. You were just being careful.”

“Megumi, you gotta tell me if Yuji’s been creeping on you,” Gojo says way too loudly as he grabs the cups and cone from the employee and passes them to the backseat.

“I’m not!” Yuji protests before he accepts the ice cream. “Well. Actually,” he thinks for a moment before continuing, “I guess I’ve always thought you were good-looking. I just didn’t like thinking too much about it because that’d be pervy of me.”

Megumi and Gojo both exclaim really?! at the same time.

Sheepishly, Yuji nods. 

“Gross, man.”

Yuji flicks the back of Gojo’s head as they pull into a parking spot. With a spoon in his mouth, Gojo yanks the e-brake, pulls his lanky legs up to sit cross-legged, and swivels in the seat so he can shamelessly watch Megumi and Yuji’s very much intimate conversation unfold. 

“Anyways. Fushiguro, I like you and if you’re still interested, we should date. I had a lot of fun spending time with you, even without Gojo–” Gojo makes an offended noise but both of them ignore it– “and I don’t want to miss this opportunity to ask you out.”

His confidence is honestly awe-inspiring, and Megumi has to stop himself from being instantly swayed.

“Itadori,” Megumi speaks with an air of diplomacy, “I do have feelings for you.”

“Nice!” Yuji fist-bumps Gojo.

“But I’m worried about dating. I go to school far away and you’re about to graduate. I don’t know what that’ll look like for us.”

Yuji frowns. “Isn’t it better that I’m graduating? I could move closer or drive to you on the weekends.”

"That’s a lot of commitment for someone you’re not even dating yet.”

“I feel like eight years of friendship’s a pretty good commitment,” Gojo offers.

“Yeah! Fushiguro, I’m willing to do that for someone I’ve known that long. Trust me.”

Megumi pauses to think, nursing the spoon in his mouth as he turns the words trust me over in his head. Has there ever been a moment where he hasn’t trusted Fushiguro? He pores over the past, flipping through memories, and can’t help but smile to himself as finds none. There’s only reliability, honesty, and abundant selflessness.

“Okay,” Megumi sighs. “I guess you’re right.”

“Yeah? So we can date?” 

“I’d like that.”

Before the words even get a chance to marinate, Gojo whines, “What? It’s already over? Can’t you guys talk more so I have something to watch while I eat?”

“No.” Megumi chides him while blushing. “Watch YouTube or something if you’re that bored.”

“I only volunteered to drive so I could watch this. Plus, I paid for your ice cream,” Gojo points the spoon accusingly at Megumi, “so you owe me.”

“It’s literally my birthday.”

“So?”

And Yuji, the kind, selfless hero he is, decides to dig himself into a deeper hole to acquiesce Gojo’s demands. 

“I could tell you about when I started to like you, if you want?”

“No–”

“Yes! That’s good, you should do that,” Gojo nods aggressively. “Go on. I’m listening. We’re listening, right, Megumi?”

The cone is melting from the heat emanating off Megumi’s face as he shakes his head no, but that doesn’t deter Yuji from telling that awful story about Megumi popping the world’s most unfortunate boner three years ago.

“It was super flattering.” Yuji laughs. “I started training a lot harder after that. Oops. Harder. Haha.”

For that shitty joke Gojo gives him a high five, then steals the barely touched cup out of his hands and swaps it with his half-eaten one.

“So that’s how you almost beat me at nationals,” Gojo smirks. “Almost.”

“With Fushiguro to encourage me, I’ll probably win next year!” Yuji announces earnestly.

“I’ll train with you.”

“You’ll train with him but you won’t train with me?”

“Because you get so annoying every time you beat me,” Megumi scoffs.

“Which is every single time.”

“Yes. We know.”

Gojo ruffles his hair and grins. “But you’re not bad yourself, Megumi.”

They descend into jiu-jitsu talk as Megumi’s heart finally comes down from its surging high, though it threatens to jump right back into tachycardia when he feels Yuji’s fingers creep along the middle seat until they bump into his, and then their fingers are quietly intertwining, Yuji’s bigger hand firmly over his. On the drive home Yuji rubs his fingers, and Megumi flips his hand over so they’re holding hands, properly now, and all Megumi can think to himself is fucking finally.

“Hey, so, I’m gonna drop you guys off and go pick up some replacement candles so Megumi can still make a birthday wish, okay? Though I think he’s probably already gotten his wish but–”

“Thanks, Gojo,” Megumi says earnestly. He stumbles out onto the sidewalk with Yuji behind him, and then Gojo’s car veers off into the dark as they walk up to the front door.

“Want to come in? It’s cold out.”

“No, I think our first kiss should be on the porch.” 

Megumi melts into a smile, warm despite the December chills. “That’s pretty romantic.”

“I thought about it for a while.”

“Really?” Megumi tugs Yuji close by the collar of his hoodie.

“Yup.” Yuji circles Megumi’s waist, pulls him in, and kisses him, right then and there.