Chapter Text
“Shit.”
Fushiguro missed the very last train of the evening. With a loud huff, he sinks down onto the dingy floor of the station, resting his back on the pillar behind him. For all the usual hustle and bustle of the city, the world is empty and tranquil, save for the few cars still on the road and the notification signaling Fushiguro’s phone has died.
It’s on a whim that Fushiguro came to Shibuya Station. His apartment is too stifling right now, the rowdy voices and the smell of beer and hotpot a little too much for him to handle. While he and his friends have become too old for college parties and throwing up in back alleys, they do enjoy the occasional reminder that they’re still in their twenties and deserve to have some fun.
Well, as much fun as their busy schedules can allow.
As much as he cherishes the time he spends with his friends, loud and rambunctious as they may be, Fushiguro really just has to be alone right now. His original plan was to take the train and let it run its course, grounding himself with the low rumble of the wheels and the overhead speakers playing the monthly Top 100.
Tonight, however, both Nobara and the ticket machine put up a good fight, and Fushiguro stepped onto the platform just as the train rolled away.
It’s not all too bad. The autumn evenings bring a chill that isn’t unbearable just yet, the breeze enough to have his hair flowing slightly behind him, like he’s in a movie or a music video. Fushiguro closes his eyes, enjoying whatever he can before he walks back to his home.
He hears the distant complaints of fellow commuters who are just a hair too unlucky tonight and he laughs to himself. He listens to their conversations as he catches his breath. They're saying something about going to all-nighter izakaya, the name of which makes Fushiguro perk up slightly--he's had a fair share of college experiences there, and he shudders.
Someone else, Fushiguro assumes he isn't part of the same group, joins in, agreeing that the location is a great one. Fushiguro scrunches his eyebrows at the jovial intonation of the stranger bidding goodbye to the group, and as he opens his eyes, he feels footsteps coming up towards him.
He doesn't have much time to react before the same voice breaks the silence that has fallen over the station.
“Fushiguro Megumi?”
Oh, he hasn't heard his name spoken like that in years.
And of course. Of all days, of all places. It had to be here and now. A chance encounter of two seemingly distant strangers connected by strings they thought were already cut.
Everything connects in that moment. Fushiguro knows that voice all too well.
Sure enough, when he looks up at the person addressing him, he’s met with one Itadori Yuuji, slightly older, more tired-looking. He’s got the same scars from years of dedication to baseball, the same bright eyes. He dresses the same as he always has in autumn, and Fushiguro is almost a hundred percent sure he still uses the same damn box dye for his pastel pink hair. It’s longer now, though, and from where Fushiguro is sitting, it seems like he’s ditched the undercut and embraced the full bubblegum head life.
“Hey,” Fushiguro croaks out, cringing at his lame greeting.
Four years of lost connection. Four years since their last goodbye. Four years since the time capsule was sealed by two souls who thought the last time they’d be walking away from the memories would be the last time they ever do.
“Long time no see.” Four years, and that’s all Fushiguro seems to be able to say.
If he thinks it’s pathetic, Itadori doesn’t let it show. “Yeah, for sure.”
Silence.
It’s painful. If anyone were to walk by, they’d think Itadori and Fushiguro were strangers. In a way, they wouldn’t be wrong.
Figuring they’re in the same place at the same time for a reason, Fushiguro eventually gestures to the empty floor as an invitation for Itadori to sit. He obliges, settling down cross legged at a distance reserved for an empty train in between rush hours, when commuters are uninterested in physical contact with those around them.
“Are you still in contact with everyone?” Itadori asks, breaking the silence, “Y’know, after graduation. And everything.”
Fushiguro nods curtly. “Yeah. Nobara, Maki, Yuuta, and Inumaki are still in Tokyo with me. They’re all at my place right now, actually.”
“And you ditched them?”
“They’re grown adults. They’ll be fine.”
“Wow,” Itadori chuckles, “what changed?”
Fushiguro can’t help but feel something else lurking behind that question. Not wanting to face whatever it could be, he shrugs instead. “We grew up.”
Itadori doesn’t seem convinced, and frankly, knowing his friends, neither is Fushiguro. “And it’ll be a problem for my future self.” he adds.
Itadori smiles. “We did grow up,” he affirms, “I live with Todo in Kyoto, and he’s actually mellowed out a little bit now. He even cooks for us.”
“No way. The same Todo that burned down your kitchen and my final thesis?”
They both laugh lightly at the memory. Fushiguro saw red that night and it may have been the one time Todo actually feared for his life.
“Yeah. I uh, I finally got a cat. But the asshole likes Todo more than me, so now he actually has to take care of it. It’s quite funny, seeing him clean up the litter box when Sukuna shits his brains out.”
Fushiguro hums. He remembers that Itadori has always wanted a cat. He remembers a lot of things about Itadori, stuff he hasn’t actively thought about in years. He remembers the meatballs Itadori taught him how to cook, the smell of Despa when he busted Fushiguro’s lip, the box dye Itadori used on his hair religiously, the moon that stared back whenever they looked up at the sky together...
Fushiguro doesn’t realize he’s gone silent again.
Itadori fiddles with his coat before speaking. “So, what brings you here, considering you’ve got company at home?”
Fushiguro turns to look straight ahead. “I just… I just needed to go somewhere. Anywhere…” he trails off. From the corner of his eye, he sees Itadori’s face shift slightly in recognition.
“Just like always, huh?”
Brown eyes are studying Fushiguro, picking apart everything that's changed and everything that’s stayed the same.
Unlike Itadori, Fushiguro has opted for a shorter hairstyle. Working hands-on with animals has made him realize the beauty of not having to tie his hair back to do his job. The bags under his eyes are a product of late night studying, long shifts at clinics, and the way stress ages someone in the many ways it knows how.
He still sports the same bored expression when he isn’t focused on anything in particular, though. His cheeks still turn a light shade of pink when it’s cold enough, he still bounces his leg when he’s nervous.
“Yeah. Just like always.”
And yes, he still rides the train when he just needs to go somewhere, anywhere, just like always.
It’s become a ritual that has sustained Fushiguro for longer than he’s stayed in contact with Itadori. His friends told him that he should try to shed the things that remind him of Itadori to avoid the same cycle from repeating itself, but this… he couldn’t let go of this.
Now he’s wondering if it’s because he’s subconsciously been waiting for the right moment to unearth their time capsule, for the moment when he’s finally ready.
At least he wouldn’t be doing it alone tonight.
Fushiguro doesn’t know how to even begin uncovering everything, but he does know where. Shibuya Station holds the memories of a love in transit, unsure of where to go and when to stop. It’s where they begin and end, and now, four years later, it’s where paths meet again. The universe is funny like that, Fushiguro thinks, if not downright cruel.
The finer details of their beginning are blurry. Fushiguro doesn’t remember where he meant to go, but he remembers the warmth of the weather just breaking away from summer and the pink-haired commuter standing right next to him, gesticulating rather wildly at his friend with no spatial awareness whatsoever.
—
This is where, I began to care, where I was befriended. - Lang Leav
Fushiguro is restless. His foul mood from the heat and the irritability that comes naturally to him whenever he’s in a train station have been compounded by the unnaturally packed platform at 2pm on a Wednesday. A Wednesday. Smack in the middle of the work week, smack in the middle of someone’s 9-5. It’s ridiculous.
It doesn’t help that he has to avoid the limbs of the stranger next to him. His long, strong, toned arms, and his muscles flexing with every animated moveme–
SMACK.
Fushiguro gets a mouthful of bicep when the stranger miscalculates his step backwards and makes a gesture Fushiguro can only describe as “injured bird trying to stay airborne”. He clearly underestimates his own strength because Fushiguro is launched back towards the unfortunate commuters behind him, and he’s pretty sure it’s metal that he tastes on his tongue.
The stranger whips around and sees Fushiguro mid-fall, reaching out with the same arm that just attempted murder. It’s not enough though, because the sleeve of Fushiguro’s shirt ends up slipping from Pinky’s grip, and he keeps falling. Pinky’s friend appears beside him, and at this point Fushiguro has developed a fear of burly men with beefy arms.
“Oh my god!” Fushiguro hears just as he hits the ground. “I’m so sorry! I was talking to my friend and I didn’t realize you were there!” Pinky waves his arms some more before helping Fushiguro up.
When Fushiguro wipes his mouth with his arm, he’s not surprised to see red. Groaning, he wipes his mouth some more and tries not to throw up from the taste of his own blood.
Pinky is still standing in front of him with a guilty look on his face. “I’m really sorry, man. Let me make it up to you!”
“It’s fine.” Megumi heaves as Pinky helps him to his feet.
“Please! I have some gauze to stop the bleeding.” Pinky starts ruffling through his backpack, and only then does Fushiguro notice that people are starting to file into the train that’s just arrived.
“Just leave it be!” Fushiguro snaps, “I said I’m fine!”
His emphasis on the last word makes blood splatter almost comically out of his mouth and onto the ground between them.
When he looks up, Pinky is trying hard not to laugh. “Stubborn and refuses to ask for help, I see.”
“Don’t psychoanalyze me while I’m bleeding.”
“Let me stop the bleeding, then.”
Fushiguro considers saving his pride and telling Pinky to drop it for the charmed third time just so he can go to where he needs to go, but before he even opens his bloody mouth, Pinky is talking again.
“I’m in sports medicine. And I’ve got muscle brain teammates who know nothing of self-preservation. I promise you I know what I’m doing.”
“Hm, it seems they rubbed off on you, huh,” Fushiguro grumbles under his breath.
Pinky scratches his head sheepishly, but shows no signs of relenting, so Fushiguro sighs. He recognizes a losing battle when he sees one. “Fine.” Pinky lights up, his smile as warm as the afternoon sun shining on his face. Fushiguro supposes there are worse people to be stuck in this situation with.
When they move away from the edge of the platform, Fushiguro remembers Pinky’s tall friend and starts looking around for him. Eventually, he assumes he already hopped on the train.
That could’ve been Fushiguro too.
They find a place to sit, and Pinky–Fushiguro should probably ask for his name–whips out a full first aid kit.
“Muscle brain friends,” Pinky explains with a laugh when he catches Fushiguro’s surprise, “They worry me too much, and they take advantage of that.”
He hands Fushiguro a pack of gauze and a cold bottle of water for him to rinse the wound. “I have Despa too, if you think it’s gonna become a sore later.” Pinky also hands him a small tube. “Thanks.”
Filling in the silence as best he can with gauze putting pressure his lip, Fushiguro asks, “What’s your name?”
“Itadori! Itadori Yuuji. You?”
Fushiguro hums, “Fushiguro Megumi.”
“Mmmh, Fushiguro,” Pinky–Itadori–tries the name out on his lips, “I assume you go to Todai?” He gestures to Fushiguro’s sweater, the yellow and blue logo of the University of Tokyo embroidered in the middle.
“Yeah. Pre-vet.”
Itadori smiles and shows him his ID, hanging on a Todai lanyard. “Nice! Me too!” What a small world , Fushiguro thinks.
“You mentioned teammates. You play a sport?”
“I do! I’m part of the varsity baseball team. Our team is plenty good, we’ve been going up to nationals since my first year!”
Itadori puffs his chest with pride, but Fushiguro doesn’t even register the latter half of what he is saying. The second Itadori says varsity baseball team , Fushiguro curses the world for being way, way too small.
“-iguro? Are you okay?” Fushiguro snaps out of the shock he’s in, and Itadori watches him in concern, “You kinda just froze while I was talking.”
“Uh.” Nice going, Fushiguro. Way to make this awkward. “Baseball?”
“Yeah!”
“Varsity baseball? The team that Gojo Satoru coaches?”
Itadori looks like he doesn’t know where this conversation is going, so he answers slowly, “Um, yeah. You know our coach?”
It’s all falling into place for Fushiguro, and he’s brought back to one particularly embarrassing conversation with Gojo Satoru from a while ago.
“Megumi-chan! Are you available?”
Fushiguro sighed. He long since realized that it was pointless to wish for peace and quiet in Gojo’s office, with his long fingers waving right in front of Fushiguro’s face, where they were unwanted.
“No. I have midterms. And a lot of homework.” To prove his point, Fushiguro made a show of flipping through his anatomy textbook.
Gojo proceeded to pinch his nose, “Not like that! I mean emotionally available. Y’know, single, uncuffed, maybe ready for a good dicking down--”
Fushiguro sputtered, standing up and shoving his thick textbook at Gojo with no remorse. Because of his ungodly reflexes, Gojo simply caught the book, smug grin still intact.
“Well, I guess I’ve got my answer! It’s okay, Gumi! No shame in being a little desperate.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Oh, you’ll thank me later, my dear. I have a kid on my team, a star player. He’s got pink hair, he’s really strong, really hot, and really dorky. He’s your type, and your age.” Gojo winked.
Fushiguro couldn’t believe he was having this conversation with him. He gave Gojo a disgusted look and turned his attention back to his book.
“Isn’t it weird for you to talk about your players like that?”
“I’m not the one blushing though.”
“Fuck you.”
Fushiguro shudders at the memory. Leave it to Gojo to find new and disturbing ways to be a menace to him. “He’s my dad,” Fushiguro says flatly, “Well, adoptive dad.”
Itadori considers this for a second, and it seems to have brought up a connection to him. “Oh! You’re the son he’s been talking about!”
Fushiguro freezes at that. “Woah, woah, woah. He talks about me?”
Itadori stops himself from saying whatever he was going to say, but Fushiguro refuses to be kept in the dark. “What is that old geezer saying about me?”
“Ah,” Itadori coughs, “he once said he ‘has a tall and handsome son’. Claims he passed down the good looks.”
Fushiguro rolls his eyes. “Tch. Well, I hate to disappoint. And you might want to look for a new coach by the time I see him on campus again.”
Itadori laughs, “Oh man, I wouldn’t appreciate that. He’s a good coach, you know?” He pauses, like he’s contemplating his next words. “Guess I’ll have to keep his tall and handsome son close by so I can thwart the murder plans if I need to.”
The cheeky grin on Itadori’s face smacks Fushiguro harder than his arm ever could.
Is he flirting with me? Oh God.
Fushiguro takes a moment to really look at Itadori, with his boyish smile and the way his muscles flex ever so slightly with every movement he makes. Yeah. Gojo was right. But he doesn’t need to know that. He tries not to blush as he chokes out an answer, trying not to think about the situation too much. “Yeah. Sure.” Lame.
In an attempt to cover up his sorry excuse for banter, Fushiguro diverts the attention from himself. “Gojo’s mentioned you to me, too, now that I think about it. Not by name, just the pink hair.” And the fact that you’re hot , but he doesn’t say that.
Itadori blushes with embarrassment. “What did he say?”
“Not much. Just that you’re a star player,” Fushiguro says simply.
“Aw shucks.”
Fushiguro pulls out the gauze. The bleeding seems to have slowed down, so he folds the bloody material and keeps it on his lip a little longer for good measure.
“Say, since you’re Gojo-sensei’s kid, do you know the rest of the team?”
“Hm, not really. I know the guys that I met outside of being the coach’s son, though I think they really only hang out with me because I get dragged by my best friend to events.”
“Aw, I’m sure they enjoy your company!” Fushiguro blushes, but doesn’t respond. “Who’s your best friend?”
“Nobara Kugisaki?”
Itadori taps his chin thoughtfully. “Short, ginger, can kill a dozen men with the right motivation?”
Fushiguro snickers. That sounds like Nobara. “That’s the one.”
“I remember her absolutely destroying Todo, the friend I was with today, in beer pong at a party once. Inumaki Toge-senpai’s birthday a couple months ago. She defeated me too, but I put up a pretty good fight.”
Nobara is nothing if not fiercely competitive and stubborn beyond belief, so Fushiguro believes the scenario. Fushiguro is, as well, and that’s probably why they’re such good friends. The only time Fushiguro has ever gone black-out drunk was when he and Nobara played shots and ladders at Inumaki’s–
Wait.
“You were at that party?”
Itadori sputters when he realizes what Fushiguro said. “ You were there?!” They stare at each other, blinking dumbly as they process the dwindling degrees of separation between them.
What were the chances of Fushiguro meeting this random person who’s apparently been so close to him this whole time? And for him to feel this comfortable in the presence of a stranger, Fushiguro can’t help but wonder if the universe is planning something for him. Or against him.
“Wow. I swear I would’ve recognized you today if I remembered seeing you at the party.” Itadori says.
“Well, if I see you again, the pink hair will be impossible to miss.”
“ Will I see you again?” Itadori looks hopeful. Fushiguro doesn’t quite get it, because he’s been kind of dry and uninteresting as far as first impressions go. He can’t imagine what it is about him that Itadori is excited to see again.
When Fushiguro doesn’t immediately respond, Itadori schools his expression a little bit. “Sorry, I’m just a little mind-blown that we didn’t meet earlier, and it would be nice to see you again sometime.”
He looks shy about it, but Fushiguro can’t deny that there’s something about Itadori that pulls him in.
“Are you going to Panda’s party this weekend?”
Woah, slow down Fushiguro.
“Oh, yeah! Wouldn’t miss it for the world!”
You? Going to the party, Fushiguro?
“Great. I’ll see you there.”
Don’t make empty promises.
“Really?”
Fushiguro nods despite himself. “I’m gonna see for myself how you fare at beer pong against Nobara.”
Itadori laughs at the challenge. “Maybe with an audience like you, I’ll actually win.”
Not trusting his mouth to say something decent, Fushiguro only shakes his head. He takes out the gauze and is relieved to see little to no blood. He throws it into a nearby trash can and takes the tube of Despa from Itadori. Muttering a quick thank you, he starts gently applying the cream onto the wound, feeling Itadori’s eyes on him the entire time. When Fushiguro meets his eyes for a second, Itadori jumps slightly and turns away.
When the Despa is handed back to him, Itadori says, “D’you wanna go get ice cream or something? It’s a little warm today, and you should put something cold on your lip.”
“I already told you, it’s fine.”
“C’mon. We’ve both already missed whatever it is we’re supposed to do today.”
Itadori pouts. It’s not fair, because he probably doesn’t even know that his face is a powerful weapon, even against someone like Fushiguro.
Defeated for the second time today, Fushiguro whacks Itadori lightly in the head with his pack of gauze. “Alright, alright. Fine.”
There are many things Fushiguro doesn’t do.
He refuses to acknowledge Gojo on campus unless he wants to be embarrassed in public. He doesn’t double dip his fries in his ketchup, even if he’s the only one eating it. He doesn’t take the train unless he absolutely needs to–if he can walk to his destination, he will. He doesn’t eat ice cream very often, because he’s lactose intolerant enough for it to be somewhat of a nuisance later in the day.
He also doesn’t go out into the city with people he just met, but since today feels like Opposite Day anyway, Fushiguro figures a little bit of ice cream won’t hurt.
“Thoughts on mint chip?” Itadori asks while they wait in line at a creamery Fushiguro’s never been to.
“It’s refreshing. I don’t understand the slander for it.”
Itadori nods, satisfied.
The ice cream is delicious. They both go for mint chip because it's far better than a lot of people like to say it is, and the heat becomes little more than a small nuisance in the background as they walk around Shibuya.
The more they talk, the more Fushiguro appreciates the ease with which conversation with Itadori flows. He’s very easy to listen to, the fondness in his voice and the genuine glint of joy and amusement in his eyes as he shares anecdotes about his friends making it clear that Itadori has a lot of love to give to the people around him.
It makes Fushiguro comfortable and safe, and so he supplies some stories of his own, too. He doesn’t talk in the colorful and bright way Itadori does, but Itadori still listens intently. Fushiguro feels paid attention to, and it gives him the confidence to open up.
As the sun slowly sets, they end up eating more than just the promised ice cream. They now smell of the sun and street food and the city, and Fushiguro can’t complain. He hasn’t been able to explore Tokyo like this before. The pressures of university don’t allow him such luxury.
“The sky looks beautiful,” Itadori says with a mouthful of takoyaki, “I never get to appreciate it like this.”
It’s been a while since Fushiguro has enjoyed the sunset. In fact, he can’t remember the last time he didn’t actively avoid this time of day like the plague.
They make it back to Shibuya Station, packed as usual with the rush hour crowd. Fushiguro’s throat tightens and his step falters.
Itadori seems to notice Fushiguro falling behind next to him, so he places his hand on his shoulder. “Promise I won’t smack you in the face this time.”
It reassures Fushiguro a little bit; more so the simple gesture rather than the promise of his face’s safety, although that is quite comforting, too. When they board the train, the crowd leaves them no choice but to stand by the door.
Neither of them speak, and Fushiguro tries to control his breathing as the train starts leaving the station. The heat of Itadori’s chest against his back is a welcome distraction, a grounding presence that admittedly increases Fushiguro’s heart rate for different reasons. Eventually, his muscles relax and he finds it a little easier to breathe.
The jam-packed train has never felt this spacious before.
Once they get to their campus, it’s already dark and students are either out getting dinner or making their way back to their homes. Fushiguro finds himself struggling to say goodbye to Itadori, who looks like he feels the same way.
“I’ll admit, I had more fun today than I expected.” Fushiguro says.
Itadori gives him a smile. “I’m glad. I’m really sorry again for the lip.”
“I feel like if I had a yen for every single time you’ve apologized today, I’d be able to get myself a cup of tea at a cafe.”
Itadori laughs. As the afternoon went on, Fushiguro got more comfortable with engaging in banter with Itadori, and it eased his mind; he was a little scared that maybe Fushiguro was only going along with him because he had no choice.
“You can cash that in now, if you want?”
“What?”
“D’you want to come to my apartment and I’ll make you some tea?”
Itadori holds his breath. Did he go too far? Is it weird to invite someone he just met to his house? It doesn’t take very long to figure out that Fushiguro isn’t normally an extroverted person. He’s kind of shy, maybe a little closed off. Itadori could see it in the hesitation Fushiguro had at telling him he’d come to this weekend’s party.
The way Fushiguro warmed up to him gives him hope, though. So Itadori figures it’s worth a shot to invite him over and potentially get to know him a little bit more.
Fushiguro contemplates the invitation for a moment. He opens his mouth, seemingly having made up his mind.
Before he gets a word in, Fushiguro’s phone rings. He checks the caller ID and looks back at Itadori, a little apologetic and… disappointed? “I’m sorry. This is Nobara, she’s probably looking for me. I should head back home.”
Itadori waves his hands in front of him. “Hey, don’t sweat it! Just don’t be a stranger.”
Fushiguro nods as the call goes to voicemail. “I won’t.”
They stand there awkwardly, not knowing how to end the conversation and go their separate ways.
Itadori is the first one to speak. With a laugh, he bows his head a little and gives Fushiguro a small salute. “I’ll see you on Saturday, Fushiguro Megumi.”
Fushiguro smiles. Nobara’s name shows up on his phone screen again, and he sighs. Bowing his head too, he gives Itadori a small wave and sends her to voicemail a second time. “Right. See you.”
Itadori waves to Fushiguro’s retreating back. He finds himself getting more excited about the party now that he knows Fushiguro will be there.
He would’ve liked to hang out with Fushiguro more, but maybe it’s for the best. If they go to Itadori’s apartment, the chances of random baseball players being there are more than zero. It’s normal for Itadori, but he doesn’t want to make Fushiguro uncomfortable.
Itadori walks back home with a pep in his step. He’s replaying all the events from the afternoon, and he still can’t believe how small their world is. Of all days, of all places, what were the chances that two strangers with more strings connecting them together than they thought they did would end up in the station at the exact same moment?
I guess I have to thank whatever story I was telling Todo for that…
“I’m back!” Itadori hangs his coat on the wooden rack by the doorway. The two extra jackets hanging on the hooks confirm his guess that people who do not live in his apartment are here, possibly purging the only refrigerator in their friend group that has anything more substantial than eggs and protein powder.
Not that protein powder actually even belongs in a fridge, but Itadori gave that fight up a long, long time ago.
His and Junpei’s apartment is simple, much like the rest of the suites on campus, but they’ve managed to make it cozy. Neither of them really have an eye for interior design, so their throw pillows are mismatched and the most random posters are scattered around the common area; framed, of course, because they’re adults now.
“Took you a while, huh.” Todo appears from the bathroom, “That boy you smacked in the face this afternoon was pretty cute.”
Inumaki and Junpei perk up from their seats at the counter, suddenly intrigued by Todo’s words. “Boy?” they ask simultaneously.
Itadori scratches his head, sheepishly. “Ah, yeah. He is kinda cute. But that’s not the point! We actually clicked pretty well and ended up spending the entire afternoon together. I had a lot of fun.”
Inumaki eyes him critically. “You’re blushing.”
“What? No I’m not.”
“You’re getting defensive, too,” Junpei tag-teams.
“My brother!” Todo materializes next to Itadori and slaps his back, “When are we gonna meet your mystery boy?”
“Okay,” Itadori shakes Todo off him, “Let’s all slow down here. I just met him! Who says I’m gonna date him?” He peers over to Inumaki, who is listening intently. “And I learned that he isn’t much of a mystery to some of us.”
Inumaki tilts his head. “Who is it?”
“Fushiguro Megumi.”
“Oh!” Todo suddenly exclaims. “He’s the one with the-”
One glare from Inumaki has him stopping his statement immediately.
“One with the-” Itadori shifts his gaze from Inumaki to Todo. “One with the what?”
“Nothing, nothing,” Inumaki dismisses, “He’s just a quiet guy. I’m surprised you got him to hang out with you just like that.”
Itadori isn’t fully convinced that it’s nothing, but he doesn’t want to press. He makes his way to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water. “How do you know him?”
“Megumi and I went to high school together. It was a small school, and Yuuta, Panda, and I hung out with him a lot. Maki is actually his cousin, that’s how we met him.”
“Maki-san? Really?”
“Yeah. He’s a good guy, very smart. Him and Yuuta are closer, but I do enjoy talking to him whenever I see him.”
Itadori can agree with that. Fushiguro talks in a way that makes Itadori want to listen.
“It’s pretty cool that his dad is our coach, that’s how I found out how he knows you guys.”
“Oh yeah, Gojo-sensei actually got me and Panda into baseball when we were in high school, and he was really happy when we decided to go to Todai and play under his team.”
Gojo has always been passionate about the sport, and he does really love his players. It’s not a surprise that he was the one who influenced Inumaki and Panda, two incredibly talented players and vital members of their team.
When Itadori thinks the conversation is over, Inumaki smirks. “So, Megumi’s cute, huh?”
“Oh come on!” Itadori throws his hands in the air.
“You said it!”
“I mean, I have eyes! I can tell he’s cute. But you guys are making a big deal over nothing.”
“Brother, you haven’t had a partner in ages! We just want to see you happy!”
“I’m perfectly happy, thank you very much.”
“Did you find his extensive knowledge of useless animal facts really sexy?” Inumaki pipes in, the instigator that he is.
“He’s pre-vet! I’m sure they aren’t useless to him.”
“Oh, so you two talked about your majors, huh? My brother’s wormed his way into second base!”
“Oh my god!” Itadori exclaims, “I can’t tell if you’re mocking me or Fushiguro.”
“Oh, I’m mocking you completely,” Inumaki clarifies a little too quickly. “You look so smitten after only a few hours.”
Itadori rolls his eyes and snatches the onigiri in Inumaki’s hand and takes a bite out of it, much to Inumaki’s chagrin.
“I would listen to his useless animal facts,” he mumbles. Inumaki coughs out a laugh, looking at Itadori as though to say And you have the audacity to deny my claims?
“He actually saved me in my physics midterm once because he showed me the Wikipedia article for triboelectric charging,” Junpei adds. “There was a photo of packing peanuts clinging to a cat’s fur in the article.”
“That’s… really cute, actually.” Itadori laughs. Inumaki gives him the same face.
Itadori clicks his tongue and grabs his bag from the entryway, making for his room. “Whatever. You guys give me a headache.”
“G’night, loverboy!”
Once Itadori gets away from his friends’ incessant teasing, which at this point he should be used to already, he lays in bed, the exhaustion of the day finally getting to him. He takes out the matcha roll cake that Fushiguro bought him at his favorite cafe. Smiling to himself, he takes a bite.
It’s really good. He makes a noise of approval.
His friends can tease him all they want, but Itadori really just wants to get closer to Fushiguro. It feels like a friendship that’s long overdue, and if something happens beyond that… well. Itadori won’t complain. He at least wants to make good on his promise of tea. That’s a good start.
Oh, and the party. Itadori needs to make sure he’s in his prime beer pong shape so as not to embarrass himself in front of Fushiguro.
When he finishes his food, Itadori pulls out his phone, ready to share with Fushiguro his stellar review of the roll cake.
No results come up when Itadori types Fushiguro’s name in his contact list, and he suddenly realizes.
Shit!
He forgot to ask for Fushiguro’s number.