Work Text:
“Kugisaki! I love your new uniform!”
Megumi listened to Yuuji’s words carefully. He mulled them over in his mind, tossing them on their side and upside-down in an attempt to convince himself he was hearing something wrong.
Love.
It was a word that frequented Yuuji’s tongue, used freely and openly and, what Megumi would consider, carelessly.
For Megumi could not think of a time when he felt the urge to love anything enough to say it, he could not imagine throwing the word around to describe a liking of something. He had never told someone he loved them, or truly felt that he needed to — until he met Yuuji Itadori.
“Gojo-sensei! I love your new glasses!”
Love. Again.
When Megumi thought of love, he thought of pink hair and broad shoulders, of a scarred face and swallowed fingers. He thought of easily-expressed emotions and an unmistakable connection that ran deeper than the valves of his heart could even comprehend.
He didn’t picture materialistic or nonchalant things, trivial newnesses or the use of love as a compliment. Love was something buried deep within his lungs, scratching at the tissue almost painfully in a desperate attempt to free itself in each exhale. It twisted his heart and balled up his fists, heated his cheeks and pulled at the corners of his mouth.
Love lingered on his lips each time he thought of Yuuji.
“I love your shikigami, Fushiguro. They’re so cool!”
But what about me? Megumi couldn’t help but wonder.
Does Yuuji love me?
Something bitter began to bite at the back of his throat like bile each time he heard Yuuji use the word in passing. It tasted like jealousy, a stupid, immature jealousy that made him want to knock sense into himself. He reasoned that Yuuji didn’t need to love him, he had no real purpose for doing so — but Megumi still wished he would anyway.
He wished to hear the word traverse Yuuji’s lips, followed up with the direction of its intent being toward Megumi himself. It was childish, foolish, and entirely unlike him to feel this way in the first place. But Megumi also found himself wishing to tell Yuuji that he loved him, too.
“Fushiguro, I love spending time with you.” Yuuji sleepily sighed, sprawled across Megumi’s bed with comfort and content. Megumi sat next to him, a small smile threatening to widen as his heart thrummed with the idea of seizing this opportunity. It was nerve-wracking, and entirely spontaneous, but something about it felt right all the same.
“I love you.” The words rolled off his tongue casually, and his chest lightened with the relief of release. It was easier to say than he assumed it would be, like a natural instinct that told him he knew how to love Yuuji better than he knew how to breathe.
And, equally as easily, his ears and heart and mind accepted the breathy response that came within an instant. “I love you, too.”