Work Text:
“put your hand in mine,
you know that i want to be with you all the time”
— PUBLIC
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Megumi, as it turns out, is nothing short of a fool. Sure, he can be too blunt and come off as rude. Yes, positively expressing himself is not something he tends to do in his spare time and, no, it’s not because he has an attitude problem.
However, he does seem to have an issue when it comes to Itadori—the guy who smiles more than Megumi could ever dream to; the guy who jumps around the crowd, grinning wider than anyone else, and the guy currently five metres away, yelling at the top of his lungs as he hangs upside down from a monkey bar, swinging back and forth until his hoodie rides up, exposing a tiny sliver of his stomach.
Megumi looks away, sitting down on a broken swing set, and lets the wind pass over his skin, carrying laughs and giggles like summer songs to his ears. It’s calming in a way that, usually, he’d prefer—but now is not usually. Now, all Megumi can think about is the way Itadori is chattering on about something that doesn’t even make sense, perfectly happy to fill the silence between them until Megumi slips in with a witty quip, his words bordering more on an insult than anything else.
Itadori beams like a child, sharp teeth shining, and twists, completing a backflip off of the monkey bars before landing boyishly on the ground.
Megumi, unphased, glances at him through tilted eyelashes. He’s leaning his forehead against his hand, which is gripping onto the swing’s metal chain like a lifeline. “You’re going to fucking kill yourself,” he states, and he believes it.
They have only known one another for a few months, but in that time, Megumi had seen Itadori climb enough trees like a squirrel born in the wild, heart as free as a bird and absolutely zero awareness of just how fucking strong he is. It’s unfair, really, that Itadori can get away with the simplest things and not realise the effect he has on everyone around him—whether they are gazing with their jaws touching the ground, screaming like a lunatic in the shape of Kugisaki Nobara, or if they are like Megumi, awed eyes widening for a fraction of a second, and lips parting slightly.
Amusement twinkles in Itadori’s eyes as he skips over, plopping himself down onto the twin swing next to Megumi and kicking off from the ground with more power than any other normal human being.
He shrugs. “You’d save me,” Itadori declares boldly and touches his feet to the sunset.
Five minutes later, Megumi realises he never answered. He’s been too busy staring at pastel pink hair, dark roots starting to leak into them again, dusty cheeks, elated with the rush of falling, falling, falling, and the sweet shape Itadori’s lips make when he turns his head around, egging Megumi to swing with him as if it were a partnered dance.
Megumi rolls his eyes, stands up, and walks out of the park, hands shoved in his pockets as a fond smile tugs at his lips. They both know what Itadori said is true, but Megumi can play pretend anyway.
Itadori yelps, feet skidding over the dirt as he jumps off mid-swing. “Fushiguro!” he yells. “Wait for me!”
As per usual, Megumi does.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
College is hard. Megumi tries his best, but some days, when everything has been going wrong and the sun is shining too bright, Gojo is too loud, and Maki keeps sending him these looks—ones that pierce through the frames of her glasses, silver glints in her eyes as sharp as the ghost of a smirk sitting over her skin—Megumi just wants to fall into a deep, dark hole.
Ever since he was a kid, he’s never been afraid of the shadows. It wasn’t the actual shadows most people were afraid of, it was what lingered inside, unseen, unheard. Silent and invisible to the human eye.
But Megumi isn’t scared. Right now, he wants nothing more than to curl up in his bed, shut the blinds, shut the door, and close the world off from him.
So that’s what he does. He doesn’t bother to make himself dinner, or even change into pyjamas; these are all problems for future Megumi.
It seems like the world can’t give him a break. The second his face hits the pillow and he sighs, muscles relaxing instantly, his front door slams open and he’s tumbling to the ground, racing out into the main room of his apartment with a discarded shoe in his hand, still warm on the inside and stuffed with a sock.
Itadori stares back at him, hazel eyes glowing in the setting sun that glimmers through the window. He blinks, slowly. Once. Twice. And then, his face splits in two, his arms pushing out wide to the ceiling. Suddenly, Megumi is bracing himself for an armful of short, pink hair—happy, joyous, excited Itadori.
Megumi’s heart stops in his throat, his shoe falls to the floor, and they go crumbling down with it, landing in a mess of tangled limbs and bruised noses.
“What the fuck,” Megumi snaps, “are you doing here?” His glare is as dangerous as his hair, about to slice through just about anything.
Itadori remains untouched, immune to everything that could ever harm him. He chuckles, loud and unabashed, and leans in closer. He’s close enough so Megumi can see the slight speckles littering the space under his eyes, so faint that, to most, they would be hidden forever—a secret only privy to those Itadori lets kiss him.
Megumi flickers his eyes down, praying his hair covers the sudden flush overtaking his cheeks, running up his neck like a blooming cherry blossom—all at the idea of a kiss.
A hand slaps over his shoulders, and Itadori’s face is right by his ear, squashing into the space by his clavicle—crushing Megumi in a warm hug and squeezing their chests together. Megumi feels like his heart is going to burst out, exploding between them both and exposing every thought he’s tried to ignore for the past few months.
“Nobara said you had a shit day, so I’m here to give you a hug!” Itadori exclaims like nothing is wrong—like Megumi totally isn’t having a breakdown in his arms, just barely keeping himself together; like there aren’t tears forming in his eyes, threatening to coat his cheeks in liquid salt, threatening to ruin the aloof image he’s spent years carving for himself.
He has had a shit day, and he’s tired.
Megumi’s fingers quiver by Itadori’s sides. All Itadori does is sigh, say: “It’s okay,” and guide them to sit firmly on his waist. Megumi’s fingers aren’t thin, but they feel perfectly at home resting on Itadori’s hoodie, pressing into the skin underneath.
He falls boneless against him, burying black hair into Itadori’s shoulder and clutching his fingers into ruby fabric. Itadori hums a quiet tune, adjusts his legs so they’re sitting around Megumi, and pulls him closer. He doesn’t say anything as the first tear slips down Megumi’s nose, staining his hoodie like a dark blood drop.
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“I want,” Itadori starts, scrunching his face up like a sneezing cat.
He stops, letting his half-sentence die prematurely in the air. When Megumi glances over, removing his tired eyes from boring words scattered over a page—he wasn’t even concentrating, to be honest, too distracted with the way Itadori’s legs pressed against his as they sat together on the sofa. He found himself rereading the same paragraph, again and again, only to reach the end of the page and realise he hadn’t been reading at all.
Megumi purses his lips, leaning back and lowering his book. “What?” he asks, voice dry as a black eyebrow rises.
Itadori puts his phone down, Minion Dash —or whatever other inane game he was playing—sitting on the Paused screen. His cheek moves to the side, his eyebrows furrowing like a bunny. “It’s nothing,” he decides.
Megumi can’t help but sigh. They’ve done this dance often enough by now, but Itadori—stupid, selfless, loving Itadori—still can’t see his own self-worth; how important he is to everyone around him. How important he is to Megumi.
He drags himself off the sofa, heaving in a way that sounds a lot more like a dying grandpa rather than a young twenty-year-old uni student—it’s embarrassing. “Come on,” he says, tugging Itadori’s hoodie until wide eyes look up at him, watching his every movement like he’s trying to memorise every minuscule detail about him.
It makes Megumi feel weird, and he has to look away.
“What are you doing?” Itadori wonders, but he’s not dumb. And neither is Megumi.
Megumi smirks, a move he’d picked up from Gojo. It’s not quite as psychotic as Gojo’s but it does hold a certain kind of devilishness to it—something to make whoever sees it’s stomach twist. He doesn’t smirk often, and Itadori straight-up gapes at him.
“You’re allowed to want things too,” Megumi declares. “So, come on. We’re going to get what you want. If you don’t tell me, I’m telling Nobara you’re the one who stole her high heels and broke them in an attempt to become Japan’s next Top Model.”
“No!” Itadori screams, eyes wide because Nobara is terrifying when angry.
He scrambles to his feet, pale toes sticking out through his worn-out socks, and grabs onto Megumi’s hands, instantly enveloping his cold fingers with warm ones.
“Fine, fine! I’ve been wanting to eat mochi ever since I saw Inomaki have some yesterday at lunch.” He whines, then, dumping his head onto Megumi’s shoulder and looking at him through brown eyelashes. “I have no money,” he admits—a truth every college student could relate to too well.
Megumi rolls his eyes, clutching onto Itadori’s fingers as if he would suddenly let go. He pulls him through to the hall, finding their shoes and jackets before leading him outside into the cool winter air. “You’re paying next time,” he mumbles, but smiles; Itadori hardly ever allows himself small things like this and Megumi’s more than happy to indulge him.
Before, he told himself it was just a friend thing, but the truth was, if Nobara or Gojo or anyone else ask him something like this, he will tell them: “That’s too bad,” and continue on his way. He isn’t going to waste precious money on something so frivolous, but Itadori has long since passed the threshold of just ‘friends’. He’s managed to weasel his way past all of Megumi’s defences and secure a place in his home.
Itadori comes by his apartment all the time—he even has a spare key just for him—and Megumi doesn’t even notice anymore. He’s gotten more used to Itadori being there than him not being there, and that thought is scary. Since when has Megumi fallen in this deep? Since when has Itadori just sitting next to him turned into ‘oh, my God, Itadori is sitting next to me’?
Megumi wants this to stop, but he also wants Itadori to never stop smiling. He wants to press his lips to Itadori’s cheeks, hold his hands, and make strawberry blushes the same colour as Itadori’s hair sprinkle his skin.
It’s embarrassing.
Megumi can’t stop his heart from racing as he taps his phone to the reader, saying goodbye to the cashier, and passing a small bag of all the different kinds of mochi Itadori had looked at with stars in his eyes.
Megumi is falling in love, and he doesn’t even realise it.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
“I love you.”
Megumi can’t stop his eye from twitching. He flips the egg over in the pan with a bit more force than necessary, oil splattering over his skin and burning his bones, but he doesn’t care.
“Holy fuck, thank you so much! I love you! You’re the best person ever!” Itadori’s squeals echo through the apartment, and a second later, he comes barreling into the kitchen, his arms wrapping around Megumi’s waist and burying his face in the space between his shoulder blades.
“Who was that on the phone?” Megumi inquires, voice calm and indifferent.
He flips another egg. More oil splatters over the walls.
“Todo,” Itadori replies, his voice singing with a giddy grin. “He’s giving me his notes since I fell asleep in class the other day and completely missed everything. And apparently, there’s a test coming up too!” He groans, thumping his head against Megumi’s back even more and tightening his grip around his waist.
“You fell asleep in class?” Megumi’s voice is flat.
Itadori wacks him. “Shut up.” Then, like a complete hooligan, he reaches into the frying pan, pulls out a piping hot egg, and downs the entire thing as if it is a cool cucumber.
Megumi is livid, brandishing the spatula he’s holding as if it is a knife. “What. The. Fuck.”
Itadori sucks the oil off his thumb, popping it out of his mouth like a lollipop, and grins, not sheepish at all.
“I’m going to fucking kill you. That wasn’t ready yet!” Megumi yells, and they’re running, racing one another around Megumi’s living room.
Itadori leaps over his sofa like a panther, moving swiftly as if he’s been doing parkour all his life. He whirls around the doorframe, cackling as Megumi trips over the corner of a table and falls flat on his face.
“Get back here, you bastard!” Megumi growls.
He finds Itadori in his bedroom, the tip of a pink tongue sticking out slightly as he tries to figure out his best escape route, but Megumi has him now. He lunges across the bed, arms outstretched, and snatches the front of Itadori’s shirt, pulling him forwards until they both crash together, falling onto his bed.
It’s a precarious position; both of them are unbalanced, long limbs stretching off either side of the bed and the floor is getting closer with every second. Itadori holds onto Megumi’s hair as if it’s a lifeline, eyes wide as he slips further to the floor, no matter how slow that may be. This, however, is only more proof of the vast amount of brain cells Itadori lacks.
“Ow! Ow!” Megumi lets go of Itadori’s shirt, slapping at the hands pulling his hair out.
They both crash to the ground, Itadori taking Megumi down with him, knocking their heads together. When Megumi sits up, he’s balancing on Itadori’s chest, one hand on Itadori’s face, squishing his nose, and the other cradling his head.
“Fuck,” he lets out under his breath. “Why is your head so hard?”
Itadori shoves his hand off of his face so he can breathe. He doesn’t seem to have an issue with Megumi’s weight resting on him, even if Megumi would die if it were the other way around—whether that be his ribs being murdered or his heart.
“It’s to protect my superior genius,” Itadori declares, laughing his head off until tears form in his eyes.
Itadori sits up, pushing Megumi down until he’s sliding into his lap, eyes wide. He shoots a glare at Itadori before grumbling.
“You don’t have anything up here aside from rocks,” he mutters scornfully, tapping his fingers on Itadori’s forehead.
A beep resounds through the air before Itadori can even try to defend himself—not like he can, really.
“Fuck!” they both let out at the same time, smelling the burning of the remaining egg in the frying pan flitting through the apartment.
Itadori stands up, clutching Megumi in his arms as Megumi yells. He runs through to the kitchen, and in a show of an even greater lack of brain cells, he picks the burnt-ass fried egg out of the frying pan and swallows it whole.
“Problem solved!” he claims, pride gleaming across his features, and Megumi actually tries to murder him with the spatula.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
It’s been a year since he met Itadori and Megumi still finds himself sulking as Itadori battles with Nobara and Gojo in Mario Kart, popcorn getting scattered around as the three idiots get a little too into the game.
“Fushiguro!” Itadori calls him over, a spare controller waving around in his hands. “Join the next race!”
“No,” he bites back. “You’re already destroying my apartment. I’m not playing against animals like you.”
Gojo, behind his sunglasses, smirks with his eyes, the blue in them gleaming like diamonds in a way that Megumi hates. He always knows everything, and Megumi doesn’t want to find out what he thinks he knows this time.
“Yeah, Fushiguro,” he says sweetly—too sweet, too saccharine. Megumi hates him. “Come play Mario Kart with us.” He smiles, close-lipped. He looks like a viper.
Nobara looks at him in the exact opposite way, mouth wide and eyes as big as saucers. Her pupils are small pools in a sea of white, getting lost in her general brand of crazy. Megumi thinks that if he joins the next race, he will be eaten alive.
But Itadori pouts, leaps over the sofa arm, and pushes Megumi into it faster than Megumi can say “No” again. He’s squashed between Itadori and the couch edge, but that’s better than Gojo’s and Nobara’s sinister, knowing stares.
“Fine,” he mumbles, giving in as Itadori cheers.
Megumi grew up with a step-sister. He’s known the Zenin family for practically his entire life. He’s not new to Mario Kart and he crushes everyone easily, a smug smile littering his lips quietly once the race is over.
Nobara and Itadori stare at him like dead ghouls. He turns to face them, Itadori feeling so much closer than before.
“Still want me to play?” he sneers, cockiness settling in.
Gojo laughs like a hyena, finding something about this situation way too funny. It leaves a scowl on Megumi’s face as Nobara rages like a bull and Itadori tries to figure him out, unpeel this new side of him that he never expected before. The only reason Megumi doesn’t walk away is because Gojo laughs so hard, he faceplants the floor, shattering his precious sunglasses in the process.
Gojo forces everyone into a solemn funeral before going home.
On the way out, he stops by Megumi’s side, one hand on his shoulder. Out of everyone here, Gojo’s known Megumi the longest, and he thinks he has Megumi all figured out. “I know,” he says, the smug smirk back on his lips, before he waves everyone goodbye, flashing a peace sign.
Nobara’s whispering something to Itadori, sudden glances being sent Megumi’s way every few seconds. He huffs, folding his arms as he stands right next to them.
“What’s going on?”
Itadori’s eyes widen and he shoves Nobara away with a palm to the face, sending her spiralling to the floor, only for her to rise again like an angry, feral chihuahua, face rabid as she plots all the ways to get back at him.
“Nothing!” Itadori exclaims. “Just… Uh…” He flounders, eyes darting around the space until they stop on an old magazine that Gojo brought with him, sporting a woman in a bikini on the front page. “We were talking about our taste in...girls,” he finishes, wincing slightly.
Distantly, somewhere in the background, a loud slap! resonates through the silence—Nobara’s palm against her forehead.
“Um, okay,” Megumi lets out, trying not to deflate on the inside as he looks away. He should’ve guessed Itadori was into girls and not men.
“But I’m pan!” the pink-haired man suddenly yells out. “Like, as in, pansexual. I like boys. And people. People are so hot.” Another slap! fills the space behind them.
Megumi’s heart leaps and his eyes widen. “Cool,” is the only word to leave his lips.
Nobara falls flat on the floor.
“Oh, my God. Kugisaki, are you okay?” Itadori dashes towards her, hauling her to her feet.
Her eyes are monstrous, something only seen in shounen anime, and there’s a large, red circle on her forehead. Megumi doesn’t know what to say.
“I’m fine!” Nobara announces, her expression somewhere between cackling with mad glee and crying.
“Your nose is bleeding,” Megumi points out. It seems he does know what to say.
Her maniacal expression turns on him. “Your brain is bleeding,” she retorts.
“Uh...” Itadori glances between them both. “Maybe we should get you to a doctor, or the bathroom?”
She glares at him and whips out her phone. “Oh, look! Maki is calling me, oops! Got to go!”
She whirls around, sprinting out of the front door. Before she leaves, her eyes spy them once more. “I’m gay,” she states furiously, eyebrows set hard like a nail in a coffin.
Once again, Megumi has no idea what he’s meant to do.
“Gay!” she screams, pointing at each of them, before running out of their sight.
Itadori gulps by his side. He lets out a nervous chuckle, a stray hand coming up behind his head to rub at the hair there. Megumi wishes he could do that instead.
“So…” Itadori drags the word out, worrying at his lip as he dances a little on his feet. “That was interesting. Anyway, thanks for having me over. I got to go now,” he rushes out, already tugging on his beaten sneakers.
He’s just about to leave when Gojo steps in the doorway, blocking the way, Maki flanking him on his right side and a furious, still bleeding Nobara on his left.
“What the actual fuck,” Megumi whispers under his breath.
All their eyes are steel, gleaming like nebulas in the cheap hallway lights.
“Sort your shit out,” Maki threatens, her glasses turning opaque. Creepy.
“Or we will kill you,” Nobara adds.
Gojo giggles, eyes piercing into his soul without the protection of his sunglasses.
Megumi slams the door in their faces, locking him and Itadori inside. He can’t hear any shuffling from the outside, so he’s pretty sure the Trio From Hell is still standing there like complete weirdos.
“Come on,” he says, nodding his head for Itadori to follow him.
They escape to the safety of his bedroom, Itadori wringing his hands in his hair, dragging each Saturn pink strand through his fingers in a way that makes Megumi’s stomach swirl.
“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” he whispers under his breath, his mouth going dry.
“Hey.” Megumi pulls him over, pushing him down to sit on the edge of the bed so he doesn’t suddenly keen over. “Relax. They’re just being really weird right now. I’ll go out and tell them to fuck off.”
“No, wait.” Itadori’s grip on Megumi’s sweater stops him from walking away, and Megumi turns back, dark eyes waiting.
“Yeah?”
“I—” Itadori nibbles on the inside of his cheek, still not letting go of Megumi’s clothing.
A scowl slips over Megumi’s face. “Spit it out.”
Itadori glances up, pretty eyes turning round like the Sun. The pink of his hair clashes softly with the hazel of his eyes, slicing through the hot chocolate ocean like a canopy of sweet leaves. His pupils grow wider.
Megumi can see himself in Itadori’s eyes. He can see his wide glance, slightly parted lips, the pink flush sitting high on his cheekbones matching the pink in Itadori’s hair—the transparent expression that’s clear as day for anyone to see, and yet, only Itadori is here. His hair is covering his forehead, long strips of black sinking into his eyes, but it doesn’t hide anything. Megumi’s emotions are like an open book.
He wonders if he’s been like this the entire time.
The thudding in his chest is so loud; it’s the only sound he hears. Itadori’s lips are moving, sound filling the air, but Megumi can’t hear any of it.
“—all my fault—”
Those words snap him out of his haze and Megumi is pushing Itadori back, pushing them back towards the bed until Itadori can’t go anywhere else—until he can’t do anything but listen.
“No, it’s not your fault. They’re just being really weird—”
Itadori cuts him off with a palm over his lips, sealing his words as if they are a curse. “No!” he cries back. “I know why they’re here, and it is my fault!”
Megumi can’t stop his lungs from taking in a sharp breath, the gasp slicing through everything. Itadori halts, his mouth faltering.
“You know why they’re here?” Megumi whispers against Itadori’s fingers.
He doesn’t know why he’s so shocked, so afraid. Things that scare other children have never scared him, and yet, he’s frozen, heart in his throat and almost in the palms of the person he loves the most.
He shouldn’t be surprised, but his eyebrows are quivering over his eyes as he searches Itadori for every slight twinge in expression, every slight shift in his gaze. Itadori keeps his eyes on him, and once again, Megumi can see how fucking transparent he is in his reflection. He’s like a thin sheet of plastic.
Itadori knows why his three fools of friends are outside his door like creeps, stopping Itadori from leaving until Megumi spills his guts out.
He wonders why Itadori hasn’t ever confronted him about anything if he’s been so obvious for an entire year. Maybe Itadori doesn’t like him and ignoring it was easier than dealing with it.
Megumi doesn’t want to lose his best friend, and he’s afraid that will happen now.
“I like you,” Itadori finally says, and Megumi’s heart falls apart.
It falls, sinking lower and lower into his favourite shadows, getting consumed by the never-ending dark and hopelessness. It pushes past the boundaries, past the domains that keep him in check, and he’s spiralling.
Itadori’s trying to let him down easy, but it still hurts worse than anything Megumi’s ever felt before.
“I like you,” Itadori says again, and he stops, the words getting choked in his throat.
When Megumi looks back at him, not realising he looked away in the first place, Itadori’s lips are a squiggly line, half-swallowed as he tries to hide the way he’s shaking. Hot, salty tears fall fat from the sides of his eyes, dribbling down his face and splashing onto Megumi’s bedsheets.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Megumi mumbles, fingers shooting out to wipe them away, letting his thumbs come away wet as Itadori takes in a huge, shuddering breath through his nose.
“I’m sorry!” he yells, face crumpling like squashed origami. He folds in on himself, hands hiding his eyes as he curls into a little ball. “I’m sorry I like you! I don’t want to ruin anything but I like you so much, Fushiguro! I tried to stop liking you, but you’re funny and sweet and nice and every time I came over, you let me hug you.
And then—” Another gasp. “—there were all the little things! Like the way you laugh and the stupid way you like your toast!” Itadori grabs Megumi’s face in his hands, squishing his cheeks until he feels like a puckered fish. “That’s not toast, Fushiguro! That’s just—warm bread! Warm, floppy bread! It’s not even hard!”
Megumi can’t help but snort, splattering spit between them which he desperately tries to catch, but either Itadori is too into his mini-rant, or he doesn’t care.
“And!” he continues, now sounding a little breathless, his mind running faster than his lungs. “Your coffee is the worst thing I’ve ever tasted. It’s so bitter and bland and you don’t even put anything in it! It’s just...black coffee! Pure black coffee! I know you have that whole ‘I’m aloof and everyone can die’ vibe but, dude! It’s black coffee! It’s fucking gross! It’s—”
Megumi crashes his lips against Itadori’s, falling forward and letting his muscles relax into the bed. His arms snake to Itadori’s waist, holding on as Itadori moves his fingers so he’s cradling Megumi’s cheeks. It’s slower than Megumi thought his first kiss with Itadori would be, but when they pull away, they are both gasping for air, chests heaving against one another.
Itadori’s face is bright, eyes sparkling. When Megumi looks at his own expression in honey eyes, he sees the same thing reflected on Itadori. Pushing a strand of pink away, Megumi wonders if Itadori has been as transparent as he is right now the whole time—has he been missing all the signs too?
“I like you too,” Megumi says, a smile pushing his lips up, and then their lips are clashing again, swallowing one another whole as hands move over the sheets and under t-shirts.
A camera flash goes off. Someone wolf whistles. Megumi and Itadori freeze, breaking apart as fast as a lightning bolt.
Gojo stands with Maki and Nobara, smirking with a phone between his fingers. Nobara’s ugly pig giggles fill the room and Maki stares blankly at them, blinking slowly like an unimpressed parent.
“Told you it’d work,” Gojo suddenly announces, and Megumi frowns.
“What the fuck did you do?”
“Get a room!” Nobara calls, cupping her hands around her mouth as she leans forward, despite the fact that they did have a room and they were the ones being interrupted.
“You’re pining was insufferable,” Maki explains, and then smiles warmly.
Megumi squints, remembering he locked the front door. The only person who had a spare key was Itadori, who is still next to him. “Did you break into my apartment?” His eyes fly wide open. “Holy shit, did you break my fucking door down?”
Gojo blows him a kiss. “Nah, just picked the lock.”
And then, all three of them are running out of the room, screaming as Megumi curses them from behind.
Itadori closes his eyes, leaning back in pillows he’s leaned back in before, and grins. He can’t remember when he fell in love with Megumi, either.