Work Text:
In his scant few years of existence, Megumi has encountered several obstacles in his mission to have a peaceful and uninterrupted life.
Some of these obstacles, he admittedly sought out himself, but only because they had been very annoying and Megumi didn't need them buzzing away on the sidelines to distract him. To remedy this, he confronted them pre-emptively, and made them obsolete.
In the long run, this has made things easier.
Most of the obstacles are quick to deal with: they corner him around the back of the school and do little else but make lots of noise when they lie together in misshapen lumps of human bodies. A couple others need repeated reminders. The remainder, the final portion, are the worst. They are troublesome enough to have their own names.
"Your brothers are kind of brats," Megumi tells Itadori on the way to school, when they are blissfully alone. "Are you sure you're all related?"
"Well, nah Fushiguro. Did you forget? I love 'em, but we're not blood brothers," Itadori replies cheerily, waving at a bird perched on a wall and pouting when he scares it off. "They're adopted, remember?"
Megumi wrinkles his nose. “Why’d you take all three of them, then? Wasn’t one enough?”
“They’ve been together their whole lives, so it would be cruel to separate them,” Itadori says. “Plus, my grandpa didn’t want me to be lonely. I could ask how you and Tsumiki-san are related, too, you know.”
Megumi squints. “What does that mean?”
“Tsumiki-san's a lot nicer than you," Itadori ribs at him playfully. "Come on. Lighten up! They’re not that bad!” He shakes his head in an amiable dismissal and shrugs his school bag higher up on his shoulder, and it's positively grating.
There are four members of the Itadori household:
The oldest brother, Choso. He has two blood-related siblings, Eso, the second-youngest, and Kechizu, their infant brother. The three of them are close-knit and adoring of each other, a bundle of dark hair and dark eyes wrapped up in whispers and over-protective, possessive tendencies.
And then, there is Itadori Yuuji.
He looks out of place amongst them. The fact remains, though, that they love him, and will cling onto him at any given moment, plastered to his side like giant limpets with black mascara.
Just this morning, when Megumi came by the household to pick Itadori up from school, Kechizu toddled up and slapped a sticky hand onto his pant leg, and the last time that the kid smeared something onto his uniform, it took three rounds in the washing machine to even rinse it off. The stain remains. And so does the stank face.
Eso, too, is constantly a brat. He edges around the tiny house with his back to the wall whenever Megumi visits, and he screams like a murdered child at even the suggestion of Megumi's gaze directed towards him.
Inevitably, every time he screams, Choso strides over to usher him to his side. The older boy presses his brother to his chest and cards his fingers through the tuft of black hair, glares at Megumi, and whispers into Itadori's ear, so loud that Megumi can hear where he is standing just an arm's length away, 'Yuuji. He's scaring Eso. Would you ask him to leave?'
“No,” says Megumi to Itadori, who is now waving at one of the housewives on their morning route. “They definitely are. They are that bad."
"Hm," says Itadori. "If you say so, dude."
///
Megumi's greatest rival is undoubtedly Choso. The older boy says this, almost blatantly, himself.
"Yuuji is better than you. He is so much kinder," says Choso. "You are not worthy of my little brother."
Megumi scoffs. "And you are? Are you worthy of his kindness?"
Choso narrows his eyes. "I am."
///
Painfully enough, Itadori is oblivious. This is not the best case scenario, but it is, however, the most likely, and entirely expected. Megumi can readily recall a dozen scenarios depicting Itadori's infuriating unawareness of his own suitors.
These include, but are certainly not limited to Gojo-senpai's cheesy, luridly worded proposition to bang behind the gymnasium after school, Geto-senpai's five 'anonymously' delivered gift baskets, Junpei's increasingly desperate movie nights, and this one sweet girl who wrote Itadori a confession letter and never asked for the Itadori Appreciation Club to ritually steal it, and set it aflame at their weekly Itadori Appreciation Club meeting.
So far, Megumi has remained unfazed. There is little for him to worry about when every morning, Itadori greets him with the sunniest smile and a friendly jab to his ribcage. There is little to worry about when instead, Megumi can think about what if might feel like for Itadori's hand to slip in between the slots of his bones to delve into the warmth of his torso, the heat of his chest, where he might then join the memories of himself that are stored beside Megumi's heart.
So little to worry about.
But then, there is Choso.
The worst thing about Choso is not his terrible personality, though that certainly exacerbates the issue, and neither is it his stupidly spiky hairstyle, though that also is a reason to hate him. Rather, it is the fact that every afternoon, Itadori returns to a house that has Choso in it.
This is a point of contention between them. Where Megumi has a monopoly on Itadori's attention outside of the house, Choso's domain is the living room, the kitchen, the bedroom in which Itadori lives, where he wakes up blearily from sleep, and where he smiles softly, without the natural guard he puts up around his friends.
Megumi imagines the taunt. He will never show you who he is when he is vulnerable. Choso casts him a dull, self-assured look. He will never let you into his head, nor his heart. You are not worthy of my brother.
Megumi's solution, if he were to ask, say, Kugisaki, is not the best solution for dealing with jealousy. Kugisaki's solution, actually, would be to punch it out.
But Itadori would never want his best friend and his beloved older brother (Megumi scoffs in his head) to beat each other up, no matter the reason, and especially not on his behalf, so Megumi reigns in his temper and relegates it instead to managing the delinquent activity that has been brewing in the west wing of the school.
While planning this all out, Megumi does happen to find himself standing outside Itadori's window, gazing up silently at the glass. He brings his phone up to his ear.
Mmmm? Fushiguro? Wassup?
Itadori's voice is rough and low, half-awake. The sound of it makes Megumi blink.
Hi. says Megumi. I'm outside your house.
Itadori goes quiet for a second. Two. Three-four-five-six-seven; a whole minute goes past, followed by another, and then another, and then another.
Itadori?
Sorry, what? says Itadori, sounding much, much more awake. Fushiguro, what the fuck? It's four in the morning?
Yeah. It is. says Megumi. I was walking my dog.
///
Itadori usually wakes up at 7am. He makes breakfast for the rest of his siblings, and then gets ready for school. Megumi knows this because at 7:30 sharp each morning, he arrives to pick him up. This also involves dodging Kechizu's sticky hands, and levelling both Eso and Choso with a cool, apathetic look and impartial greeting, and receiving, in return, expressions of barely disguised disgust.
Today, Itadori wakes up at 4am. He makes breakfast for his siblings, and for Megumi too, and also for Megumi's dog, Gyokuken, who wags his tail furiously and sits adoringly at Itadori's feet.
"Is it alright if I give him chicken?" Itadori worries aloud. "We don't have any dog food."
"He can have treats sometimes," Megumi reassures him.
He watches Itadori stand at his kitchen counter, pink apron around his waist. He hums as he tears cooked chicken breast into small strips for Gyokuken, and Megumi sits quietly and lets his eyes track the sunlight creeping slowly through the blinds of the window as the sky gradually brightens, lets his eyes follow the path the light travels over Itadori's sleep-softened face.
Itadori sings as he cooks. He has a nice voice, Megumi knows. He's never been ashamed to show it off during karaoke, and he hits all the notes, singing smooth and warm and perfect.
Itadori's voice in the early morning is not perfect. Instead, it is hoarse and uneven.
His voice cracks when he sings too high, or too low, and sometimes, he clears his throat in the midst of a lyric, or he laughs at a comment that Megumi murmurs under his breath, or he pauses to coo at Gyokuken nudging at his thigh.
Somehow, he sounds even warmer like this.
It's peaceful. Megumi wishes that the moment would last forever. Upsettingly, though, they soon have company.
"Yuuji?"
Someone calls from the small hallway outside, their footsteps thumping steadily against the floor. Choso appears in the doorway.
His hair has been loosened from his normal hairstyle, and it is clear he has just woken up. He is wearing the shirt that Yuuji wore to their movie night with Junpei last week. The shirt is too small to button up, and it seems that he has elected to walk around with the front of it gaping open. It seems that he did not expect Megumi.
"...Fushiguro," says Choso.
"Choso-san," acknowledges Megumi reluctantly. "Good morning."
"Oh, Aniki!" chirps Itadori. "You're awake!"
Choso takes his seat at the table stiffly, facing across from Megumi. He looks immensely constipated.
"I thought I would join you for breakfast today," says Megumi. "Itadori let me in. I hope you don't mind."
"Of course not," says Choso, sounding like he minds very much. His face is straight and blank, but he is digging small trenches into the kitchen table with his nails. "If Yuuji let you in, it's fine." He looks at Yuuji. "It was nice of you, Yuuji."
Yuuji hums amiably in response. He's holding a steaming frying pan with his left hand and scraping a heap of golden, aromatic rice into a very wide, shallow dish, and if Megumi was not so occupied, he would be startled, actually, at the sheer amount. How much does this family eat, what the fuck. There is so much excess. Even Gyokuken, who is normally a glutton, has elected to leave leftovers of his meal. Megumi is filled with envy.
"It was nice of Yuuji," he agrees out loud.
Choso nods.
"The weather is nice today," says Megumi. "I'm looking forward to walking to school."
What Megumi really means is that he is looking forward to a sweet, sunlit morning alone with Itadori. They'll have to drop Gyokuken off at Megumi's house first, so they'll have to take a detour, and the trip will be longer, and really, isn't that ideal? Itadori will appreciate the adventure. He always does. He likes spicing up their route to school, and wandering around in the morning, the little buzz of the world waking up—"Just like my siblings!" says Itadori, but that doesn't really matter in this situation, honestly—and Megumi's fully willing to walk with him.
He smiles at the older boy. Choso twitches, and draws Yuuji's shirt tighter around his own shoulders.
///
"You should seriously stop picking fights with my brother, Fushiguro," Itadori says to him with a lot of exasperation the next day at lunchtime. He sits down beside him, and Megumi takes the opportunity to quietly pass him the bento box he spent a whole night putting together. Itadori says thank you and places it on top of the stack next to him. It had wobbled precariously when he first put it down, and it wobbles again as another block is added to the tower.
"I don't understand why you guys don't get along," the other boy groans. He rubs a hand over his face and slams his fluffy pink head into the meat of Megumi's shoulder, and Megumi is suddenly hit by a ferocious bloom of heat. He blinks the dizziness out of his eyes.
"Your brother's shitty," Megumi says.
"Choso?"
"Yeah."
Itadori laughs. "Choso's not shitty! He's an angel! I can't believe you think Choso's horrible—you should see my cousin Sukuna. He's actually the worst. He made Kechizu cry, you know?"
Privately, Megumi thinks that wouldn't be so bad.
"Just, can't you try to get along?" says Itadori plaintively. "I know you guys have been wrestling, or fighting, or whatever behind the gym. I'm not stupid, and you both always come to me to patch you up."
"We're sparring," says Megumi.
"You're not sparring," Itadori retorts. "You're beating each other black and blue. You're also giving me more food than I can even eat. What am I supposed to do with five boxes of food, Fushiguro? Start a cafeteria? Should I open a soup kitchen? I could feed our whole grade with all the omelettes you and Choso keep making me."
Megumi holds back a sneer at the thought of Choso's omelettes—there's no way he is making them better than Megumi.
Megumi's domain is the super fluffy omelette, perfectly seasoned and delightfully puffed up, a delicious golden brown. They are lovely and full-bodied. On the other hand, Choso's omelettes are limp and pale, and completely unworthy to even touch the tip of Itadori's tongue. Much like something else of his.
"Don't feed the whole grade," says Megumi. Itadori tilts his head.
"...it's for you to eat."
"Ah. Thanks."