Chapter Text
Megumi is not getting paid enough for this.
Inumaki-senpai is kind enough to give him a salary of ¥2500 per hour, which is quite a bit higher than most florist positions in the area, but not even the generous pay could make up for the painstaking, miserable agony he's currently enduring.
It was a feeling. An uncomfortable type of feeling he had been hoping to avoid for his entire life. A kind of feeling that he would go out of his way to preemptively repel, and under the extremely negligible chance that he does happen to develop the feeling, he would unhesitatingly annihilate it, bury its brutalized carcass in the deepest pits of Hell, and shovel heaps of dirt onto it until it's twelve feet under and ignorable for the rest of his life. Megumi had prided himself on his ability not to develop such a dreaded feeling for all eighteen years of his incredibly long-lived life, and he'd been wonderfully, fantastically successful with it.
Until now.
Because the feeling is certainly there now.
Megumi feels—Megumi feels…
…Infatuated.
He can hardly imagine it. Infatuated. Infatuated, for Eight-Handled Sword Divergent Sila Divine General Mahoraga's sake! Megumi, of all people. God, it's pitiful. It's humiliating. It's pathetic. It isn't even love! Maybe he would have been fine with his utterly ridiculous predicament if it were love, but it isn't love because Megumi doesn't have a conversation with some stupid customer about the meaning behind his favorite flower one time and just fall in love like he's the hopeless romantic protagonist of some horribly written slice of life rom com. He's better than that.
Megumi doesn't even know a single thing about the stranger except that he's Itadori Yuji, an absolute buffoon, and the student of Gojo-san, whom Itadori actually likes, for fuck's sake. Being an avid fan of Gojo is one of the most obvious red flags in the universe! He's better than this. He knows what love is. Love is the warmth of gentle, sunlit weekend mornings, when the world is still quiet and waking, and the smile of someone is so soft and sincere that, just for a fleeting moment, you forget they're going to disappear from your life one day. Love is when someone ruffles your hair with the kind of affection so genuine that you can see the gentle glisten in their eyes and the reflection of your own face smiling back at you. Love is a wholehearted devotion, the kind of precious blessing that Megumi would sacrifice anything in his life to save. Love is the ephemeral touch of peace.
So, there's absolutely no way in hell what he's feeling is love. If anything, whatever the hell was going on was, at most, just a… "crush". Hell, he can't—no, won't—even consider it one, even if Megumi is the least qualified person to define what a crush is in the first place. He doesn't really have romantically charged emotions in Itadori's direction or a desire to enter a relationship with this stranger, so it just isn't a crush. It just so happened that this random customer had a brilliantly warm smile and a deep admiration for passion and an achingly kind heart, and maybe, just maybe, something about him felt like home.
But it isn't a crush, and it most certainly isn't love. Megumi is just…
Infatuated, is all.
How utterly, utterly miserable. Megumi is not going to make it out of here alive. Honestly, he should just quit while he can.
Megumi groans, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. No time for this now. The shop closes up soon; he has to get going. Besides, Inumaki-senpai would tease him about getting wrinkles early with how frequently he furrows his brows in displeasure. Inumaki had said something about Megumi having a "resting bitch face", though he isn't entirely sure what he means by that.
Megumi jolts when he feels a sudden tap on his shoulder. Ah. Speak of the devil. The raven haired boy turns his head to glance (down, given the stark difference in height) at the white haired florist peering at him, the slightest hint of concern swimming in their eyelash laden eyes.
"Good afternoon, Inumaki-senpai," Megumi responds, bowing politely.
His manager gives him a wave and a small smile covered by the high collar of their similarly sage green turtleneck sweater.
"You OK?" he signs, gesturing towards Megumi's exasperated expression with worry. "Someone bother you?" Megumi hesitates—Inumaki's hands are still encased in his thick, chunky garden gloves, so his indistinct signs take a moment longer to register in Megumi's brain.
"Yeah," Megumi sighs inadvertently, nodding in what he hopes to be a reassuring manner and instinctively reaching to scratch at the back of his neck. He glances away to avoid Inumaki's piercing gaze. "I'm alright, though. I'm just thinking."
Inumaki tilts his head slightly, his calculating, snakelike violet eyes carefully trained on him. Megumi begins to sweat. Despite being more than an entire head shorter than him and far leaner in comparison, Inumaki had always been menacing to Megumi. Something about his aura was… intimidating, to put it simply. It was why Megumi held them in such high esteem when he first began working at the flower shop—after all, he did always hold a deep-seated admiration for those who were both committed and bright, and-
Inumaki flicks his forehead, barely knocking Megumi's head back with the halfhearted gesture, his white eyebrows raised in amusement. Megumi blinks, dumbfounded.
"Stop thinking so hard," he signs before pulling down his sweater collar to stick his pierced tongue at Megumi playfully, the snake eye tattoos peeking out on the sides of his mouth. "You're going to get white hair and look even more like Gojo-sensei."
Megumi shoots his snickering senior an unamused look. "You already have white hair," he deadpans. Inumaki ignores him and pulls up a low-quality image of a calm monkey facing a yelling lion, tapping at the lion on the screen and pointing at a mirthless Megumi before tapping at the monkey and smugly gesturing towards themself.
Megumi groans internally, feeling like he's ten years closer to his death day already.
Maybe Inumaki's seemingly serious, composed presence initially caused Megumi to hold him in high regard, but soon, Inumaki's true nature shone through his aloof, icy cold facade. In reality, Inumaki is a moronic clown who beckons Megumi over in the storage room to show him brainless, slop-filled YouTube shorts while doing the idiotic six-seven gesture that Megumi still doesn't understand the meaning of. That day, Megumi lost all admiration for Inumaki, and he knows for a fact that his boss is never getting it back. On particularly bad days, such as the time Inumaki introduced him "Italian Brainrot" and "Skibidi Toilet", much to Megumi's extreme, miserable, and horrific dismay, he was ready to kiss his hourly ¥2500 goodbye and just throttle his employer on the spot. It just isn't worth what little sanity Megumi had left.
To Megumi's further dismay, Inumaki unfortunately still remained attractive, in spite of all their horrifically unattractive traits and utter foolishness. Megumi had witnessed several occasions of customers attempting to court his boss in the short month he started working there, even though Inumaki worked in the back of the store more than half of the time. The white haired man would merely step out from the back door to pass Megumi a bouquet order or bring out a new batch of flowers, and all of a sudden, a line of suitors of all genders would be fighting for his attention. Inumaki always found the customers' advances amusing and occasionally played along, but Megumi was always pissed because it meant he had to spend extra effort fending off the annoying customers so he could do his damn job in peace. According to Inumaki, their ability to attract so many people came from their "Irresistible Bi-Shonen Aura" and "Unbeatable Game". Megumi resists the urge to bash his head into the nearest wall. God. It's always the idiots.
His pitiful trail of thoughts is interrupted when Inumaki sinks their palm into Megumi's sea urchin-esque blotch of hair, ruffling it playfully. The gesture is remarkably similar to Gojo's headpats, and Megumi can't hold back the instinctive scowl that forms on his face in response. Inumaki huffs a breath of laughter at Megumi's hostile expression, gently retracting his hand before signing: "Relax. There's an order I need you to handle."
Inumaki brings out a bouquet of flowers, brimming with pink Narcissus and wrapped with a bright red ribbon. Megumi peers at the fancy, gold patterned tag peeking through the flowers: "Takada Nobuko".
"Must be for a lover," Megumi mumbles offhandedly.
Inumaki snorts, rapidly typing something into their sleek black and violet phone, onigiri charms clinking together. Eyes shining with an impish amusement, he holds his screen up to the other's face. Megumi blinks. It's a Google image of a woman with black haired twintails and golden eyes, blowing a kiss towards the camera. He raises an eyebrow, confused at the relevance of the photo, before he glances at the caption. Takada Nobuko.
Huh? Megumi's eyes narrow; he starts to scroll through the search results as more images of the cheery woman load into view. The pictures are all too professional and crowded with people for the supposed Takada to be any regular person, unless she just so happens to have a surreal amount of friends who specialize in photography. Megumi keeps scrolling until a strange caption captures his attention. "Tall Idol Takada Nobuko Collaborates With A Hit New TV series!"
…
…Really?
Is someone out there actually buying a bouquet of expensive, handpicked, custom-arranged flowers for… a popular idol they've never even had a real interaction with?? Are they even going to give it to her???
Inumaki bursts into a hysterical fit of laughter at Megumi's expression, which is a comical mix of disgust, bafflement, and disappointment—Megumi's three most common emotions.
"Don't laugh," Inumaki signs hypocritically, struggling to keep his hands still with his uncontrollable wheezing. Megumi is anything but laughing, hands in his face like the most miserable minimum wage employee on the planet.
"I want a raise."
Inumaki pats him on the back unsympathetically, snickering with a playful head shake. Megumi groans.
Inumaki scribbles quickly on his onigiri themed whiteboard, flipping it around with a half concealed grin.
The text reads: "Deliver the bouquet to this customer," scrawled above a cartoonish drawing of a man with a scar across an eye and hair pulled into a spider-lily like bun. Megumi sighs and takes the whiteboard to scrutinize the image.
"He's at our university," Inumaki nods sagely. "Didn't leave a location, but you'll probably be able to find him around campus at one of the clubs. It'll be quick and easy."
"What, the parasocial idol worship fanclub?"
His boss snorts. "No, he probably thinks he's too good for a club like that." Inumaki waves him off playfully. "Anyway, just make sure you get the bouquet to him today. Don't complain—I'm letting you off work early. A youtuber I like is about to start streaming."
Megumi gives them a judgemental look. "…The really loud one that sometimes barks like a dog?"
"You talking about the streamer or your type?"
Megumi scowls and flips him off with a unadulterated death stare, and the white haired man starts cackling viciously again. Megumi faceplants onto the counter with a dejected groan. The worst part? Inumaki's probably right.
Yeah, Megumi still isn't getting paid enough for this.
"'It'll be quick', he said. "It'll be easy', he said," Megumi mutters dryly, sighing as he runs his hands through his spiky black bangs. He's overdue for a haircut, but… now that he's an adult, having a shorter hairstyle will just make him look more like Gojo-san... Megumi shudders in horror. Better not.
He doesn't know why he believed Inumaki when they said that it wouldn't take long—Jujutsu tech's Tokyo branch has one of the largest college campuses in Japan. For the last hour or so, Megumi had been visiting every communal building, painfully checking the classroom for possible club activities and asking around for a man with a scar and a stupid looking bun, all to no avail. Even worse, there were several members that kept trying to recruit him into their pointless clubs, which only ate up more of his time. What the fuck is the Cursed Spirit Exorcism club? Why is Megumi even here?
Inumaki may have said they would be letting off Megumi earlier, but with how much time he spent looking for the mysterious individual who apparently needs to sacrifice a bouquet to worship his most beloved idol, they might as well have told Megumi he needs to stay overtime. Megumi doesn't even want to think about the implications of this delusional madman attending the same college as him and being anywhere within his vicinity. Every day he's more convinced that he's surrounded by the most abnormal people in the world.
Megumi sighs, pulling open a door for what had to be the hundredth time today. He's come face to face with a somewhat timid looking man with long black hair that hides half his face and a faded t-shirt with the words "HUMAN EARTHWORM" printed across the fabric. The man's eyes lights up at Megumi's entry, smiling at him enthusiastically and waving him in.
"Ah- hello! Are you here for the horror movie club? Well, we actually do all sorts of movies now, but we started out just doing horror, so it's kind of our specialty. Oh sorry, a lot of our members aren't here today, but welcome in!"
Megumi shakes his head tersely at the invitation. "No, sorry. I'm looking for a man with a large scar on his left eye and a bun. I have to give him this." He gestures towards the bouquet apathetically. "Have you seen him around?"
"Oh," he responds, looking disappointed at Megumi's lack of interest in the club. "Er- that's okay too, I guess. I think I've seen him around sometimes? Maybe check out the idol appreciation club across the hall?"
God fucking damn it, this guy seriously IS in the idol worship club. Megumi must be making an increasingly exasperated expression because the horror movie man is starting to back away from him, wide-eyed with apprehension. Megumi apologizes briefly before thanking him and heading off to find this imbecile once and for all so he can finish the job and go home to his two dogs in peace.
Having finally made it to his destination after a miserable journey, Megumi takes a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for whatever horrors awaits the other side before tentatively opening the door.
The loud chatter dies down immediately as three partially obscured heads turn in his direction, staring at the obvious intrusion in their conversation. A girl with long blue hair and bangs Megumi can't help but feel like she cut specifically to look like an anime character jumps towards him and takes his free hand into hers, holding them excitedly. He blinks, taken aback.
"Oh my gosh hii!! Welcome to the idol club!! This is where we talk about our favorite idols and plan activities like going to idol events! Who's your favorite idol? Are you a casual fan or are you like Todo level devoted?? He's actually obsessed with his kami oshi, I think he genuinely thinks that they're like gonna get married or something, and I think he might have some sort of mental problem but that's just sort of how he is. And besides he's always willing to buy us tickets to see his favorite idol!! I'm pretty sure it's just so he can convert us into fans of her like he is, but like it's still a nice gesture if you think about it."
Megumi's eyes dart back and forth between the bubbly girl and the exit, overwhelmed by her energy. He almost wishes the horror movie guy was back, he was significantly calmer, at the very least. "Uh…"
"Megumi? What are you doing here?"
Huh?
Megumi looks up to see the equally confused face of a girl with short green hair and amber eyes that resemble his own staring back at him.
"Mai?"
"You two know each other??" The short girl squawks, her blonde, broom-like twintails swishing through the air like helicopter blades as she jerks her head up in surprise.
"We're cousins," they respond in sync, neither sounding too pleased about the fact.
Both the blue and the blonde haired girl immediately start swarming Mai with questions, flocking around her like seagulls hungry for more after receiving a single discarded and burnt fry. Mai swats back at them helplessly in a pitiful attempt of defense, to no avail.
"Why didn't you tell us you had a cousin??"
"Of course I have cousins, my family tree is the size of a damn forest! What's the big deal??"
"Yeah, but they don't usually go to the same school as you, do they? The only one we know about is Maki! Why didn't you tell about this Megumi guy, huh??"
"It's not like you asked! And we barely even talk to each other! Am I just supposed to suddenly say 'Hey guys here's this cousin that goes to our school! We haven't interacted in years and you'll all probably never see him again, but that doesn't matter I just HAVE to introduce you to him anyway!' What the hell is the point of that??"
Megumi stares at the scene awkwardly, tempted to just leave so he can go home and take a well deserved nap. He sighs internally before clearing his throat; the three women freeze in the midst of their arguing, arms vaguely tangled with each other as they pause to look at Megumi.
"I'm uh, looking for this guy with who really likes an idol named Takada. The horror movie guy across the hall said I could find him here. I really wish I was surprised by his."
"Oh, Todo!" The blue hair girl exclaims. "Yeah, he was the guy I was talking about to you! I'll go get him, he's probably decorating his Takada shrine with his new merch or something."
Megumi is really starting to want to know what floor they're on.
"Don't bother," the blonde girl huffs with annoyance, attempting to push Megumi forward for three seconds before immediately giving up and wheezing, trying to catch her breath. Megumi doesn't know if he's supposed to feel bad for her or not. "He hates getting interrupted when he's in the middle of anything Takada related. Which is always. Just go to him yourself."
Megumi drags his hands down his face with a groan. Mai snorts and pats his back half sympathetically.
"Yeah, that's how I feel whenever I have to talk to him too. Good luck—and if he asks you any weird questions, just answer with something that won't send you flying into the next building and into the emergency room."
Megumi searches her face for any sign that she might just be joking. She stares back at him, completely serious. Well. Fuck.
"Thanks," he mutters sarcastically.
"You're welcome," she responds, mimicking his tone.
Megumi groans, reaching for the door handle for what he hopes will actually be the final time that day, his own apartment door aside. Megumi sends a quick prayer to the only deity he believes in—Mahoraga—and braces himself to survive the encounter with the genuine nutjob whose name he just learned is Todo and has the lovely pastime of sending people to the hospital for shits and giggles when they disturb his idol worship time, apparently.
The man's head whips around instantly, eyes alight with sheer, burning indignation at the interruption of whatever unearthly fucking ritual he's conducting. He's huge—sporting a massive frame with muscles that make him look like he started lifting the moment he exited the womb and a height that easily rivals Gojo-san. Despite being blocked by a practical human wall, Megumi can still see the corners of bright, colorful posters, figurines, glowsticks, and various other fan merchandise of Takada peeking behind the behemoth of a man. Before Megumi can respond with anything to defend himself from being sent straight to the hospital or really just the pearly gates at this point, Todo recognizes the bouquet in his hand and immediately beams at him, his menacing, death-threatening glare transforming into an eager smile of glee.
"Ah, the bouquet that I ordered for Takada! Narcissus is her favorite flower, you know. She said it during her Christmas FAQ livestream last year. Since she mentioned it during Christmas of all times, it's only natural for a man like me to buy her some as a kind gesture, since I'm sure she would love to receive them. Thank you for the delivery, my friend!"
Megumi exhaled, releasing the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, grip loosening on the bouquet. Finally, he sighed, voice full of relief. I'm free. Megumi wasn't even bothered by the weird idol obsession anymore, he was going home, and that was all he cared about. Right as he began to hand over the flowers, Todo stopped him with a raised palm, shaking his head serenely.
"But first, I must ask you something very important." Todo grips him by his shoulders, and Megumi tries not to think about how his bones would probably shatter in an instant if the man so much as squeezed a little too hard. The man stares at him intently, eyes burning with passion and vigor:
"What kind of woman is your type?"
…Megumi is quitting his fucking job.