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Megumi pulls out a bowl and the box of cornflakes from the cabinet next to the sink and lets the door fall shut, wincing as the sound reverberates in the quiet of the house. He spares a glance at the stairs, dimly lit from the light of the kitchen, to make sure no one was woken up by the noise.
Thankfully, he doesn’t see anyone descending the stairs or hear any footsteps from above. He’s usually the only one who’s awake this late into the night anyway.
He sets the bowl down on the wooden table and walks over to the fridge to grab the bottle of milk, frowning when he sees no more soymilk. Begrudgingly, he settles for the bottle of whole milk stored in the back of the fridge. It’s still sealed shut, a testament to how much they all dislike it.
He’ll have to remind Gojo to go out and get more soymilk. Or maybe, if their mission goes well and they’re not too tired when they get back, he’ll be able to rope Itadori or Kugisaki into going to the market with him tomorrow.
He fixes himself a bowl and is able to polish off half of it before a loud creak interrupts him. He flinches, his spoon clanging against the bowl as he turns his head to the source.
He’s met with the sight of Itadori’s silhouette outlined at the foot of the staircase.
“Fushiguro?” he mumbles, voice scratchy with sleep.
Megumi swallows the bite of cereal that was in his mouth. “Sorry, did I wake you up?”
Itadori shakes his head and approaches the table. Now that he’s in the light, Megumi can make out his features better.
His hair is mussed, parts of it flattened by his pillow and other parts sticking up at awkward angles. There are indents on his cheek from the creases in his sheets and the white shirt he wears is a couple sizes too big, the collar slipping down to reveal the sharp jut of his collarbone. His eyes are half closed as he takes a seat on the chair across from Megumi.
He spreads his arm across the table and lays his head on it, looking up at Megumi through lidded eyes. “Hey,” he mumbles.
“Hey,” Megumi says just as quietly. “Did I wake you?” he asks again.
Itadori shakes his head the best he can from where it rests on his arm. “Couldn’t sleep. You?”
Megumi motions to the bowl of cereal. “Got hungry.”
Itadori hums, letting his eyes fall shut. Megumi continues eating, his chewing and Itadori’s soft breaths the only sounds in the otherwise silent kitchen. He watches the steady rise and fall of Itadori’s chest, listens as his even breathing fills his ears. Somehow, the sound brings him more comfort than it should.
After a minute, Itadori lifts his head off his arm and frowns. “I didn’t see you at dinner earlier.”
Megumi shrugs and takes another bite of his cereal. “I wasn’t hungry.”
Itadori studies him in silence, his tired eyes following the movement of Megumi’s hand as he dips the spoon into the bowl to scoop up more cereal and brings it up to his lips. “Is this the first thing you’ve eaten today?”
Megumi hums around the food in his mouth. Itadori watches him for another minute before he pushes his chair back and gets up from the table. Megumi expects him to go back upstairs and try to get a couple more hours of sleep before their mission in the morning, but instead, he walks over to the oven and pulls out a pan from the lower compartment. Megumi furrows a brow.
“What are you doing?”
“Making pancakes,” Itadori answers without turning around. Megumi watches as he pulls a steel bowl and a box of pancake mix out of the cabinet.
“Why?”
“You should eat a real meal. Cereal isn’t enough.”
Megumi frowns and looks down at his bowl, pushing the now soggy bits of cereal around with his spoon. He likes cereal. It could constitute as a real meal.
“Pancakes aren’t a real meal either.”
“Some people could argue that it’s breakfast time right now.”
Megumi squints his eyes to make out the numbers on the digital clock on the oven and sees that it’s nearly four a.m.
“I didn’t realize it was so late.”
“Me neither. Not until I heard you down here.”
Megumi frowns. “So I did wake you up.”
“No. I told you I was already awake.” Itadori smiles at him as he opens the fridge to grab the milk. Megumi’s eyes widen a fraction when he sees the bottle.
“We have more soymilk?”
Itadori nods. “I know this is the only type of milk you like to drink so I hid it for you on the second shelf so no one else would drink it.”
Megumi’s chest tightens at the thoughtful gesture, and tightens further at the easy way Itadori says the words, like ensuring Megumi’s comfort and happiness is a given for him.
“Thank you,” is all he’s able to say. He doesn’t mention the fact that he already drank a bowl of whole milk with his cereal and that he can still taste the flatness of it on his tongue.
Megumi watches as Itadori mixes the pancake batter then carefully scoops small portions onto the hot pan. The kitchen is quiet as he fills the plate with pancakes, and Megumi allows himself to relax as he listens to the quiet sounds of Itadori’s shuffling and the scraping of the spatula against the pan.
He’s slumped against the table when Itadori finally sets the plate of pancakes in front of him. To his surprise, he sets down two forks next to it.
“You’re hungry, too?” Itadori is usually asleep the earliest out of all of them, so seeing him eat so late at night is a bit jarring.
Itadori shrugs, the side of his lips turning up into a smile as he takes a seat. “I can’t turn down pancakes.”
Megumi grabs the syrup that Itadori brought over and drizzles it over the pancakes. They eat off the same plate, silent save for the scratch of their forks and the faint ticking of the clock in the living room. Itadori breaks off a piece of the pancakes with his fork and pushes it to Megumi’s side of the plate, silently encouraging him to eat more. They continue like this until Megumi has finished his half of the pancakes as well as half of Itadori’s.
When they’re done eating and the plate is empty, Itadori pushes it away and lays his head back on his arm, letting his eyes fall shut again. Megumi watches him, takes in the slight furrow to his brow, the way his cheek is smushed against his arm. It makes his bottom lip jut out into a pout and Megumi fights the urge to reach a hand out and poke a finger at it.
Instead, he continues to study Itadori, taking in the lines of his face, the bruise on his cheekbone, the dark circles under his eyes. More than anything, it looks like he desperately needs sleep.
“Why were you really awake?” Megumi asks quietly.
Itadori cracks an eye open. “I wasn’t awake the whole night. I was sleeping earlier.”
Megumi waits for him to continue but when he doesn’t, he nudges his foot against Itadori’s, prompting him to finish. “And?”
Itadori lifts his left shoulder up into a small shrug. “You know. Stuff.”
Megumi doesn’t question him further because he does know. None of them are strangers to nightmares. This, he knows all too well.
He studies Itadori for another minute. “You should try to get some more sleep before the morning. You don’t want to be tired on the mission tomorrow.”
Itadori hums. “I will. You should, too.”
Megumi doesn’t say anything. He continues to watch Itadori in silence.
A patch of his hair still sticks out on one side of his head, and without thinking, Megumi reaches a hand out to flatten it. When he realizes what he’s done, he doesn’t pull his hand back.
Instead, the tentative touch becomes more solid, and Itadori pushes his head into Megumi’s hand, chasing the warmth. Megumi abides. After all that Itadori has been through, how could he ever deny him such a small comfort?
With careful fingers, he strokes through Itadori’s hair, carding through the soft strands. He scratches lightly at his scalp and Itadori seems to relax at the touch. Megumi watches as he burrows deeper into his own elbow, the furrow in his brow disappearing the longer Megumi strokes his hair.
“Fushiguro?” Itadori’s voice breaks through the quiet of the kitchen.
“Hm?”
“D’you know why I came down here?”
Megumi shakes his head even though Itadori can’t see him.
“It wasn’t ‘cause you woke me up.” He cracks an eye open, meets Megumi’s gaze. “It’s because, when I had that nightmare and woke up, you were the only person I wanted to see.”
Megumi’s hand freezes from where it’s tangled in Itadori’s hair. He doesn’t know how to tell him that when he wakes up in a cold sweat, heart pounding and hands shaking, Itadori is also the only person he wants to see, if only to confirm that he’s alive and well. He doesn’t know how to say that most nights, he lies awake, picturing Itadori’s lifeless body, a gaping hole in his chest where his heart should be. His beautiful, beautiful heart.
He settles for an apology.
“I’m sorry.”
Itadori’s brow pulls into a furrow and Megumi fights the urge to smooth it over with his thumb. “For what?”
He shrugs, stares at a spot on the tablecloth. “For the way things are. For the things you’ve had to go through.”
“For the things we’ve had to go through,” Itadori corrects.
Megumi nods. “Yeah, that.”
Itadori is quiet for a moment. He nudges his head into Megumi’s palm again, and Megumi is finally able to resume his motions. He continues to stroke through his hair, carding through the pink strands and watching as they fall over his fingers. It’s another minute before Itadori is speaking up again.
“For all that we’ve been through, though, sometimes I think it’s all worth it because I got to meet you.”
He says it like it’s a fact, like there’s not a shadow of a doubt in his mind that meeting Megumi and getting sucked into his world wasn’t a mistake.
Megumi snorts and tries to ignore the stinging in his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”
“Why?” Itadori tries to sound offended but it’s ruined by the smile that spreads across his face, soft and syrupy slow.
His eyes are less swollen now, wider and more alert as he stares up at him. There’s still traces of sleep in them, and when he smiles at Megumi, soft and languid, the markings on his cheekbones scrunch up and his eyes turn into little crescents.
In the dim light of the kitchen, Megumi thinks Itadori is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“You died, Yuuji,” he whispers. He tucks a piece of hair behind Itadori’s ear, softly traces the shell with his thumb. “There’s still a chance that you can die. Am I really worth your life?”
“You’re worth everything,” Itadori whispers back, eyes shining as he looks up at Megumi.
Megumi swallows down the lump in his throat and leans forward, bumping his forehead against Itadori’s temple. He rests it there for a minute, letting the warmth of Itadori’s skin seep into his own. Itadori wraps an arm around the back of Megumi’s neck, and when Megumi tries to pull away, he tightens his grip, pulling him closer.
“You’re worth everything,” he says again, a murmur against Megumi’s skin. “I would die for you a hundred times and that still wouldn’t be enough.”
Megumi untangles his fingers from Itadori’s hair and brings both arms up to wrap around him, resting his chin on top of his head. Itadori’s grip tightens around him, his fingers stroking through the soft strands at the back of Megumi’s head. He doesn’t know how long they sit there, holding each other at the dining table.
The position is awkward and uncomfortable, and tomorrow they’ll have to fight for their lives again and there’s a chance that they’ll both get hurt, but here and now, in Itadori’s arms, he feels safer than he has been anywhere in his life.
So he tries to memorize the feeling of Itadori’s body against his, to sear the picture of his bright eyes and soft smile into his brain, to immortalize the smell of pancakes and fresh linen and sleep and Yuuji into a candle and burn it for as long as he lives.
Because he doesn’t know how long they’ll get this, how long they’ll be able to stay like this. He thinks, when they both wake in the middle of the night and are too scared to seek comfort in the other, this is the moment they’ll come back to.
He thinks, when he doesn’t have Itadori any longer and is left with nothing but memories, this is the moment he’ll come back to. For now, this is the best they can do.
For now, this is enough.