Chapter Text
Like everything that has gone wrong in his sixteen years of life, Megumi blames it all on his deadbeat dad, Fushiguro Toji. He’s not being dramatic. He can back up his claims with actual facts about Fushiguro ‘I don’t give a fuck’ Toji.
Fact one. Toji left when Megumi was too young to even spell the word ‘abandonment’. Just didn’t come home one day. Left his wife and step-daughter and his own flesh and blood the same way old furniture was left behind when one moved houses. Needless to say, Megumii’s step-mom was not thrilled. She never outright hit him but she made it clear she was just putting up with him for decency’s sake. On the bright side, she treated her own daughter pretty much the same which meant that Megumi at least had one other person who was in the same storm-tossed, leaking boat as him.
Misery loves company.
Fact two. Fushiguro Toji came back.
As soon as Tsumiki’s mom found something better (in the form of a wealthy, middle aged divorcee) - she left. Megumi didn’t blame her. She aspired for more and she went for it. Nothing was going to stand in her way, not even her children. He respected that. Tsumiki did not.
But before she threw her children into the sea of life unaided, she decided to perform one more act to assuage her guilty conscience. She contacted Fushiguro Toji.
Fact three. Fushiguro Toji had the nerve to turn up several years too late and take the reins of Yuuji’s and Tsumiki’s life like they were a pair of startled horses that just needed a heavy hand to steer them straight. Megumi was having none of it. But Tsumiki took the proffered hand because she wanted to go study overseas and marry some dumbass white guy. Suddenly, he had lost his one and only companion on this sinking ship.
“That is not why I’m going, Megumi. You know I always wanted to get out of Japan. It doesn’t mean I won’t be coming back,” Tsumiki had said.
“Whatever,” Megumi said. “Your English sucks anyway. Those white guys will never understand a word you’re saying.”
She had thrown a dictionary at him with alarming accuracy. He still has the scar hidden under his bangs, a little indent where the corner of the dictionary had dug into this skin.
And so at the start of the year, Tsumiki would be going to the good ol’ U S of A for university while Megumi had no choice but to move in with Toji in Tokyo. Things wouldn’t have been so bad if Megumi had started the semester with all his peers during orientation week. After all, lots of kids changed schools after middle school and made new friends in highschool. But Toji, deadbeat scum of the earth that he is, had been so busy getting Tsumiki ready for her big migration, he’d registered Megumi late. By the time they settled into their new residence, Megumi had missed the first week of the new semester. To top it all off, Toji had been called into work for an emergency at the last minute and couldn’t send him to school so Megumi had to take his trusty (make that rusty) bike instead.
There was no way anyone will ever convince him that Fushiguro Toji wasn’t a demon sent by Satan himself to torment Megumi for the rest of his life.
That leaves him with fact four.
Fushiguro Toji is always - always - the one to blame.
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There’s fifteen minutes left to the bell and Junpei isn’t in class yet.
That spells trouble. Yuuji looks out the window, trying to see if trouble is just outside the school gates or around the school grounds. No such luck. Junpei is the most punctual person Yuuji knows. He likes to be early for everything, especially movies so he can watch all the ads before the movie plays. The complete cinema experience.
If he isn’t here in the next five minutes, Yuuji is going out to look for him. He waits, leg bouncing under the desk, unable to pay attention to the casual chatter around him. Five… four… three… two -
“Ah, Itadori! Where are you going? Class is about to start!” someone calls after him but Yuuji is already sprinting down the hallway, taking the stairs two steps at a time. He doesn’t know where Junpei is exactly but his guts takes him to the gate at the back entrance of the school, a prime spot for sneaking in if you’re late. Or beating someone up. Ito and his gang seem to have it our for Junpei for some reason. Yuuji doesn’t understand why some people get their rocks off causing others pain but he does believe in people tasting their own medicine, or preferably, the power of a good solid punch in the face.
Just outside the gates he can make out several figures, a few of them slumped on the floor. Junpei is back up against a wall, his bag held in front of him like a shield while the other boy, someone Yuuji has never seen before, looms over him.
“Hey!” Yuuji snarls, smashing through the gate. The boy whips around, his arms raised in a defensive block but not fast enough. Yuuji’s kick smashes directly into his chest and sends his tumbling onto the pavement.
“Oh my god!” Junpei yells. “Yuuji! What th --”
The boy launches himself off the ground in a neat kip up that would have been impressive if he wasn’t immediately throwing a punch at Yuuji. He blocks it - barely - and the shock of it travels all the way up his arm to his shoulder. Yuuji tries to sweep his feet but the boy twists away, grabbing his arm in a judo move that doesn’t follow through only because Yuuji brings all his weight to bear while attempting to knee the guy in the stomach.
“Stop it!” Junpei yells shrilly. “Yuuji, fucking stop!”
Yuuji stops and gets a punch in the face for it.
“Ow!” he groans, reflexively clutching his cheek. The punch had left him a little dazed. He isn’t given any time to recover before he finds himself being hauled up by the front of his hoodie, two furious green eyes and a snarling mouth shouts, “Are you fucking crazy? Who the hell dropkicks someone like that? Do you see what you have done to my shirt?” Nice eyes, Yuuji thinks. Nice.eyelashes. The guy shakes Yuuji like a ragdoll. “Say something, asshole!”
“Let him go. He didn’t know,” Junpei says, voice shaky. He turns to Yuuji, close to tears. “Ito jumped me just as I was coming in. And this guy just happened by and he saved me. He saved me, Yuuji. He beat them all into a pulp.”
Only then does Yuujii notice the slumped figures are Ito and his band of merry monkeys. “Oh.” Shit, he’s such an idiot. “Sorry.”
The guy shoves him away. “Damn right you are.” There’s a footprint from Yuuji’s sneaker on his once pristine white shirt.
“I mean it. I’m really sorry,” Yuuji tries again. Not knowing what else to say he adds, “Thank you for helping, Junpei. I’ll pay you back. For the shirt.”
The guy doesn’t even bother sparing Yuuji a glance. He picks up his bag, his bike and elbows Yuuji out of the way, looking positively venomous. Yuuji tries to snag his arm. “Hey -”
“Don’t fucking tou -”
“What’s this?” a voice barks and they both freeze. Yuuji turns slowly, already knowing and dreading the squat, paunchy sight of Miyamoto-sensei, discipline teacher and man with the most obvious toupee in history. He peers over them and spots the prone form of Ito. “Oh my!” he gasps in horror. “Ito-kun! That’s Ito-kun! Unbelievable. Itadori and -” His beady eyes can’t make out who the new guy is either but his tone brooks no argument. “You, there! Come here at once. We are going to see the principal. Now.”
Somehow he doesn't notice Junpei at all.