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Being that they met as children, the details were hazy to them both. They were 5, it was at a Gojo-Geto family lemonade stand the first week Yuuji had moved into the neighborhood— that much they could agree on. But, that was where their stories began to diverge. If you asked Yuuji to tell the story, he would say that Megumi didn’t say a word to him for the first month he knew him. He always said that Megumi ran and hid from him that first day, too scared to introduce himself. He would claim it took weeks of hard work for Yuuji to gain his trust, for Megumi to truly consider him a friend, more than a next door nuisance.
If you asked Megumi, he would say Yuuji had talked so much when they first met that he hardly needed to say a word, even if he could have gotten one in. He would say, though he was timid, he was excited to have a friend that wasn’t a cousin or sister. He was excited to share his things with someone who always always asked before taking. He would say he was attached to Yuuji before he ever finished his first cup of lemonade, that he never shied away from Yuuji. Not once.
The truth of the encounter was, of course, a bit different than either one’s account.
“This is my grandson, Yuuji.” Grandpa said, patting Yuuji’s head.
“Hi’ I’m Yuuji Itadori and I’m 5, and I play soccer and karate and I just moved here with my grandpa and I really like your hair,” Yuuji beamed, trying to pull and flatten a piece of his hair to mimic Geto’s loose bang.
“It is such a pleasure to meet you, Yuuji Itadori,” Geto chuckled, holding his hand out for the boy to shake. “Wow, good strong grip!” Geto praised when the boy took his hand enthusiastically.
“Yanno, our son is actually 5 years old, too. Would you like to meet him?” The man asked. Yuuji, wide eyed at the prospect of a friend, nodded. “Megumi!” Geto called, waving over to a little boy drawing with chalk on the driveway. Slowly, timidly, Megumi wandered over to Suguru, though he stayed firmly behind his left leg, peeking.
“Megumi, this is Yuuji. He just moved in down the street and you two are the same age! Can you say hello?” The boy waved minutely, but it was enough for Yuuji.
*
Yuuji loved his grandpa, he really truly did, but he spent so much time at Megumi’s house that one might have wondered what he was running from. The better question was what was he running towards, and the answer was chaos.
At home, things were quiet. It was just Grandpa and Yuuji. But, at Megumi’s it was Megumi, his step sisters, Tsumiki, Mimako, Nanako, and his cousins Maki and Mai. They all lived together under one, big roof, with two dads who had far more energy than Yuuji’s poor grandpa could dream of.
Dinners were loud, messy, and rarely organized. Play time lasted forever, since there was never difficulty finding a playmate. Even their days seemed longer, the natural consequence of a household that woke up early and went to bed late. And, perhaps best of all, was the backyard.
Megumi’s backyard was one of the biggest in the neighborhood, as it budded up to the creek. There was a big deck with a grill for barbecues, a large garden for Geto, a swing set, several trees, and the creek itself. Though always warned about going in, Yuuji could hardly help his curiosity. He regularly could be found laying in the soggy grass catching frogs and other small, aquatic critters. It was a wonderland for a kid with as much imagination and energy as Yuuji.
For a period of time, the boys’ favorite activity was climbing trees. They’d compete over who could get the highest the fastest, then they’d just sit in there for hours. Their adults thought they’d lost them on more than one occasion because of how long they stayed hidden amongst the leaves.
They’d sit and watch clouds. Yuuji always found a story to tell in them, while Megumi said he was just making it up (not that he minded). They would pretend to be undercover spies as they watched their neighbors in their own backyards, taking faux observation notes on a leaf notepad. They watched the progression of baby birds in their nests.
One day, Yuuji carved his name into a branch with the key to his house. Years later, after their fondness grew and stretched and metamorphosed, Megumi would go back and add his name alongside. Yuuji + Megumi, carved into bark for everyone to see (if they could climb high enough).
*
It took a while for Yuuji to find out the ins and outs of Megumi’s family. It wasn’t until one night, under a makeshift pillow fort at 9 years old, where boys played truth or dare, did Yuuji get the nerve to ask. Megumi always picked truth, Yuuji always picked dare.
“What happened to your real parents, Megumi?” Yuuji asked, tongue fiddling with his loose bottom tooth. The static from the blankets around them made Megumi’s hair stand on end, a dark halo to match his darkened expression.
“They’re gone,” he said simply.
Yuuji’s face illuminated with recognition. “Yours too? Oh, I’m sorry Megumi!” He shouted while he scrambled across the bed to throw his arms around his friend. “It sucks doesn’t it,” Yuuji lamented, face squished into Megumi’s shoulder. The frizzy haired boy squirmed away, pushing his friend away harshly.
“No, Yuuji! They didn’t die, they left.”
Yuuji stared, slighted and bewildered and confused.
“Your parents died. Mine didn’t want me anymore. You’re lucky ,” Megumi spit, his words all venom. Yuuji bit his lip to stop it from quivering, but Megumi noticed nonetheless. Just as fast as his vitriol had taken over, it disappeared, and his lip quivered the same. He sniffled loudly, and Yuuji was already bridging the gap between them.
Before he could even get a word in, he was wrapped tightly in Yuuji’s arms once again while he circled him in return. They cried and cried and Megumi apologized and apologized.
“I’m sorry Yuuji, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it.”
“I know, I know, it’s okay.”
And it was true, Megumi hadn’t truly meant it. But he would have been lying if he didn’t feel that way sometimes, and he told Yuuji as much. And even at only 9, Yuuji understood. Megumi didn’t need to explain how deep the wound ran, how it informed practically every decision he made and every philosophy he held for Yuuji to know the way that particular kind of abandonment branded his bones. If Yuuji was more vocal about his feelings, more deliberate in his actions to show love, from then on, who could have blamed him?
*
Perhaps the strangest sight for a young Yuuji to see was Megumi, pillow clutched to his chest, standing on his porch, Gojo and Geto standing behind. The scene was so so wrong that even grandpa sounded rattled when he asked What happened?
“His father is…” Gojo started, but never finished. It was enough, as it was.
Megumi was a quiet boy, a bored boy, even a detached boy. But the Megumi standing in front of Yuuji on his own porch looked small and scared and subdued. It was wrong wrong wrong.
So, Yuuji took action. He grabbed his friend’s hand and yanked him into the house. He dragged him to the kitchen for snacks before going to the basement to build a fort.
Megumi played along; he didn’t fight any of what Itadori insisted on, and the wrongness didn’t escape Yuuji (Fushiguro was nothing if not resistant). For a while it didn’t seem to help, but Yuuji figured distraction was better than nothing, anyways. Then, miraculously, he watched as the dark haired boy’s shoulders relaxed a little and a smile would flick across his face occasionally. With each flash of it, Yuuji felt like he was winning a lottery, over and over again.
Later, tucked into their sleeping bags as the George Lopez theme song lulled them to sleep, Megumi spoke up.
“Thanks for distracting me.”
Yuuji nodded, firm and serious. He wanted so badly to ask about it. To ask what happened. Did he talk to him? Did he see his car roll up? Was the knowledge that he was in his home enough to make Megumi shrink into himself like he was? But, though it took all of the willpower he could store in his small body, he bit his tongue.
Megumi didn’t, though. Spoken so quietly it was almost drowned out, almost lost to the falling sands of sleep, he said,
“I just wish he’d stay away.”
Yuuji sat up instantly. He pulled himself closer. He listened as Megumi talked for an hour about his father, about everything wrong and how much he hated him. He listened until they fell asleep in a pile of limbs, Megumi’s head rested on Yuuji’s arm.
*
“You’ve raised a good boy. He’s so kind, and incredibly patient,” Suguru said. Grandpa barked out a laugh.
“Yuuji? My Yuuji? Patient?” He threw his head back, chuckling to himself while Suguru joined. “Kind, certainly. But patient? He must be using it all up at your house.”
“Perhaps,” Geto nodded. He watched as the kids chased each other around the yard. Maki outran Mai easily, and Mai threw herself down on the ground, pouting. Yuuji laughed at her dramatics, telling her to get back up and join the rest of them. Megumi chased after Nanako, but he took a spill, skidding down on both knees. Yuuji’s laughter stopped abruptly while he ran to Megumi, shouting his name. By the time he arrived, Megumi was already standing back up, dusting the grass from his knees, but Yuuji checked him all over as if he’d fallen from a roof, nonetheless.
“Or, he just uses his patience selectively.” Geto mused.
“I think you’re onto something there, Suguru,” Grandpa said, eyes fixated on the same scene in the distance.
Years later, when the boys were in middle school, Gojo and Geto would tell Grandpa how good for Megumi Yuuji has been.
“None of these kids have had an easy go of it—“ Geto said.
“—Of course not—,” Gojo cut in.
“But Megumi…”
“It’s all been the hardest on him.”
By that time, all of the unfairness in his life caught up to him, and Megumi was firmly in his “problem child” phase. He picked fights with anyone and was cold to everyone. Everyone, except Yuuji, of course. He would leave school late from detention, knuckles still bloody, and walk home with Yuuji (he always waited for Megumi— always. No matter how many times he had detention). They’d talk and talk the whole way home, pretending like nothing wrong at all had happened. When they arrived home, Yuuji would grab a first aid kit and Megumi would allow him to soothe the split skin, no questions asked. Gojo and Geto had tried, once, to do the same, but it only resulted in slammed doors. For that little while, Yuuji really was the only person Megumi would let in.
That being said, it was easy for an outsider to assume their relationship was more about Yuuji’s impact on Megumi than anything else. But, that simply wasn’t true. The boys were pillars propped against one another— move one, and the other would surely fall.
Yuuji was a boy who felt everything deeply. He was also a boy whose sunshine demeanor, though natural, could easily be utilized as a weapon of concealment and self preservation. Megumi, on the other hand, was a discerning and observant boy. Only Megumi could tell the way the slightest tick of a lip marked the difference between a real or fake smile.
Yuuji always retreated to the weeping willow pressed up against the creek in Megumi’s backyard. It was where their most elaborate games of pretend came to life. It was their stage, a world of their own making.
Time and time again, Megumi found him there, knees curled to his chest. When Yuuji laid careful brick after careful brick to keep all concerned eyes away, Megumi parted the cracks like the branches of the willow tree. When he’d lock green eyes with brown in the shade, Yuuji didn’t bother with his facade anymore. He’d break, crumble and crack, and Fushiguro would hold the pieces while he listened. He’d put them back together with careful fingers. Under that willow, it was a world of their own making in more way than one. A world that was as kind and patient as the real world would never be. There, Megumi and Yuuji saw the deepest, darkest, hurt parts of one another and decided that was who they loved. They decided this long before either ever had the words to explain it.
*
One year, just a few after they’d met, they’d spent all day together. Nothing unusual, entirely typical. But, just as Megumi drifted off tucked into the trundle bed Yuuji’s room, he heard a mumble from the bed above him.
“Hey, Megumi?”
“Mm?”
“Thanks for hanging out with me today.” He was quiet, shy sounding, shaky.
Megumi racked his brain for understanding. After all, they spent half their days this exact way, so why was today special enough to warrant a thank you? He thought and thought until he remembered— it was Yuuji’s father’s deathaiversary.
So, maybe the first time, it was a happy accident. But, every year following, it was distinctly on purpose that Yuuji received Megumi’s undivided attention every February the 23rd. He vowed to himself that Yuuji would never need to weather that anniversary alone as long as he was around.
Some years, when the grief hit worse than others, Yuuji wouldn’t even leave his bedroom, but he always let Megumi in. When Megumi would question this, Yuuji would tell him it’s because Fushiguro was the only person he didn’t feel guilty being sad around.
Well over a decade later, long after their first kiss and the introduction of a label, Megumi looked down at a sleeping Yuuji. Head in Megumi’s lap, body curled tight into itself. Delicately, he carded his fingers through Yuuji’s hair and watched as his muscles relaxed. Megumi sighed, feeling incredibly, immeasurably lucky, that Yuuji had trusted him all these years, to take care of him when he needed it most.
*
The hardest part of growing up was the ugliness. Megumi’s mouth never forgot that first taste of venom he spit at Yuuji, no matter how hard he tried.
The thing about Yuuji was, for all his hidden hurt, life still came easy for him and, sometimes, on particularly bad days, it drove Megumi mad.
After one particularly bad fight and bad detention, Megumi’s lip busted to match his knuckles, he found Yuuji waiting for him, as always.
“Ready to go, Megumi?” Yuuji had asked upon first sight of him. But he didn’t answer. He blew past, not bothering to even look in Yuuji’s direction. He heard him scrambling behind him, fumbling to gather his bag and catch up.
“Hey! Megumi?! Wait up!”
It was hardly a second before he did catch up, that damn natural athleticism never failing him. Megumi hated him for it.
“What gives?!” Yuuji asked, yanking Fushiguro’s shoulder back to spin him around to face him. He was flushed, frustrated, flustered, but his voice maintained the patience and kindness that Megumi had come to learn was reserved for him alone. It made him ache. Why did he bother with kindness, when he was acting like the child he was? Why didn’t Yuuji crave to draw blood and taste iron the way he did? Why did he waste his time waiting for a fuck up like him when he could be off, doing something fun with someone else? Why was Yuuji so much better and why did he still concern himself with him?
“You don’t need to wait for me every single day, Yuuji. Can't you just leave me alone?” He spit.
“I— what? We walk home together …?” Yuuji said, bewildered.
We walk home together . Said like a fact, an inevitable truth.
“Why don’t you walk home with your football friends?”
“What?! What do they have to do with this? Did something happen…” He cut himself off upon noticing the gash in Megumi’s lip.
“Oh— are you okay? That looks pretty bad. Let me see if I—“
Megumi took a step back before Yuuji could get closer to examine the cut. What part of leave me alone wasn’t getting through to him? It’s not like Yuuji needed him. He had other friends, so so many of them.
“Just fuck off! I don’t need your pity!”
“Megumi— ugh! Stop being such an ass!” Yuuji shouted, hands in the air. “I don’t know what your problem is right now, but cut it out. This isn’t pity , and you know that. I’m waiting for you, I’m going with you. You can’t stop me, no matter how mean about it you are.”
And that was that. Simple, certain. Something turned over in Megumi, hearing it. He held it close, used it to smooth his rough edges. It was proof enough of everything. He didn’t argue anymore, and tomorrow at lunch, he’d give Yuuji his snack-pack in apology.
*
“What are you gonna draw, Gumi?” Yuuji asked, looking over his friend’s shoulder.
“I don’t know.” Megumi admitted, tapping his pencil against his new sketchbook.
“You should draw me,” Yuuji laughed, coming around to flop on the couch.
“Okay.”
“Huh?”
“I’ll draw you. Turn towards me.”
“Wow, your first ever portrait. Make sure to sign it, so I can sell it when you’re famous.” Yuuji laughed, turning forward. Megumi’s lips quirked into a tentative smile.
From that very first sketch pad Megumi received for his 10th birthday, Yuuji would be a favorite subject. It wasn’t uncommon for Yuuji to flip through the pages and find doodles and sketches of himself littering the pages. It was convenient for Megumi, since he was always around. Then, as friendship morphed into something stronger, drawing Yuuji was convenient because he was always staring at him, anyways. On many, many occasions, he used it as a cover up when Yuuji caught him in a staring spell.
Then, one day in middle school, during the springtime of the love between the two of them, Megumi signed up for a proper art class. After the first week of classes, Yuuji excitedly snatched Megumi’s sketchbook at lunch to see what he’d been working on.
The very first page he flipped to was a portrait of a girl he’d never seen before. The second, a boy he’d never seen. Then, another picture of the girl. Yuuji felt his heart sinking with every page he turned.
“What is it?” Megumi asked, startling Yuuji from his thoughts. He hadn’t realized Megumi had been watching and waiting for his reaction.
Quickly, Yuuji contorted his face into something more pleasant. “These are great, dude! Seriously.” He handed the sketchbook back. Megumi thanked him, but his eyes stayed narrowed and skeptical.
The next day, Yuuji called out of school. His stomach hurt too bad to leave bed and he slept all day long, despite having no other symptoms whatsoever.
After school, Megumi came over unannounced.
“Megumi? What are you—“
“Those people in my sketchbook are just my table mates.” Fushiguro blurted. Yuuji blinked.
“What?”
Megumi took a deep breath and sat himself on the corner of Yuuji’s bed. “The sketches you saw yesterday. The assignment was to draw your table mates, so, I did. That’s all.”
Itadori opened and closed his mouth, no sound coming out. The silence was loud and long until he finally settled on what to say.
“Okay. Did you… come all the way here to tell me that?”
“No I uh, I have your homework,” he muttered, rifling through his backpack. As he handed a folder over to Yuuji, he added, “I just thought you’d want to know. About the drawings.”
“Thanks. For the homework. And uh, for—“
“You’re welcome.”
The silence grew once more, though there was less discomfort in the air, now.
“Are you feeling better?” Megumi asked.
Yuuji checked himself for signs of his mysterious illness and came up empty. “Yeah,” he smiled.
“Good.” Megumi said, shifting between his feet nervously. He lingered, as if there was more he wanted to say, but all he could muster was an awkward wave before speed walking out of the home.
*
It was around the same time as the sketch pad incident that Yuuji decided to dye his hair. He saw it in some magazine and hadn’t shut up about it since. He was hellbent.
Grandpa didn’t know the first thing about hair or dye or hair dying. He hoped that would put an end to this fixation, but unfortunately for Grandpa, when he tried to tell Yuuji as much, Gojo interjected.
“Oh! I can help! I think we’ve still got some bleach and everything downstairs, actually, from when Maki dyed hers.”
And, with the way Yuuji’s face lit up, no one could blame Grandpa for caving immediately.
“Isn’t this so exciting?!” Yuuji squealed as Tsumiki wrapped a towel around his neck.
“I love this color you picked. Isn’t it just perfect, Nanako?” Mimako asked from her spot watching in the bathtub.
“It’s perfect. He’s going to look so good, won’t he, Megumi?”
Megumi startled upon hearing his name, a deer in headlights. He’d been watching from the doorway, hesitant to go inside the already crowded bathroom. He nodded in agreement. Yuuji would look good. Ever since one day ago when he’d first gotten the idea, Megumi had been picturing Yuuji with bubblegum hair and feeling palpitations because of it. Yes, certainly best to stay at a distance. If he got any closer, his siblings would surely hear his heart speeding up.
The reveal was everything Megumi had expected it to be. The dye job was a little worse than how he’d been picturing; splotches of uneven color and accidental bleach blonde strands amongst the bubblegum, but somehow that made it even cuter. Megumi clenched his teeth against the growing butterflies, thankful for his family’s commotion to sink into.
But, later, after the excitement died down, Yuuji asked,
“Do you like it?”
Once again, Megumi startled, more at the tone of Yuuji’s voice than anything. He sounded insecure, but covered it by a thin veneer of nonchalance, to avoid sounding too expectant. Megumi couldn’t understand why he felt the need to lie like that.
“Yeah, I do.” He said. And then, just because Yuuji was still looking at him in a funny way, he added, “You look cool.”
Inwardly, he scoffed at cool when what he wanted to say was cute or amazing or something else entirely too honest, but it seemed to be enough for Yuuji, anyways. He watched as the tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding fell from Itadori’s shoulders. His face brightened, reddened.
“Thanks,” he said, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. He stared at his shoes, lingering but saying nothing, before Mai whisked him away to play Wii.
*
As they grew, their homes felt shrunken and stifling. They often retreated to the playgrounds of the elementary school they used to call their own in search of any semblance of privacy from their families. They would sit next to one another, backs against the brick wall, nestled between where the odd shaped building jutted out to form an alcove perfectly fit for them. One ear bud in each ear, always playing a song of Yuuji’s choosing.
This was how their first kiss began. The same as so many other days that came before and a million more to come after.
They were shoulder to shoulder, legs bumping against one another. Then, Yuuji grabbed his hand. It wasn’t the first time; holding hands was something they’d been doing since the first day they met. When it gained a new meaning, neither could pin point for sure, but by then it was certainly its own, fully fledged thing. One that left the hairs on Megumi’s neck standing on end.
Yuuji hummed softly along to Keane’s Somewhere Only We Know (it had been his favorite song for forever). He dropped his head back against the concrete, closing his eyes. Megumi risked a glance in his direction, where he mapped the lines of Yuuji’s face that he knew like the back of his hand. His own chest rose and fell laboriously; it took all of Megumi’s effort to not press himself closer.
Before he could look away, Yuuji caught him staring. He smiled like he was pleased to have done so before he squeezed Megumi’s hand. Gently, his fingers avoiding the split skin on Megumi’s knuckles.
The squeeze may as well have been a push off a cliff because it was hardly a moment later before Megumi leaned forward to capture his lips with his own. He moved too fast, their teeth clinking together, but Yuuji’s free hand rose to Megumi’s face just as quickly, giving him leverage to lean forward into it.
It was a sweet, brief thing. When their lips parted, Megumi raised his other shaky hand to press Yuuji’s firmer against his cheek. He sighed into the warmth, reveling in how unbelievably good this kind of closeness felt and marveling at how he’d gone so long without it.
Yuuji stroked Megumi’s cheekbone with his thumb as his name ghosted his lips. But, before it could be a fully formed thing, before it could be the flint in another fire between them, they were startled by an approaching skateboarder. They jumped apart, as if what they’d been doing had been wrong instead of so, so right. As the sound of the wheels against concrete faded into the distance again, Yuuji began to laugh. The sound bubbled in Megumi’s chest, forcing out a laugh of his own, until the two were falling over one another again, overcome with a laughter of pure relief.
Later, Yuuji would express his surprise that Megumi had kissed him first. Megumi didn’t understand why. In his mind, it was an inevitability. For all of yuujis eccentricity and impulsivity, Yuuji was thoughtful. Selfless. Good qualities, amazing even, central to Megumi’s love for him, but Megumi was aware of how they held him back. He wouldn’t move first without asking, without being sure of what Megumi had wanted. But, for all of his methodological planning, Fushiguro was selfish. He was overcome with the need to be closer and he gave in so quickly. Yuuji was the one and only exception to Megumi’s careful nature. So, of course he kissed him first. Because Megumi was helpless to Yuuji and he wasn’t selfless enough to fight it.
*
It wasn’t until they were 18 that Grandpa’s health really began to decline. Yuuji spent nearly every afternoon and evening in the hospital with him, and Megumi (along with his family) would join as often as they could.
One afternoon, when the end was nearing rapidly, Yuuji left to go track down a nurse, leaving Megumi alone with the old man. Though he’d known him nearly his whole life, Megumi could count the number of times he’d been alone with the man on one hand. Quietly, Megumi fidgeted with the threads of his sweater.
“Megumi?” Grandpa called.
“Yes, sir. What can I get you?”
Grandpa sighed. “13 years and you still won’t call me Grandpa, or at least my name. Just, come here.”
As Megumi pulled his chair close, he laughed inwardly at the way this old man insisted on scolding him, even on his deathbed.
“I was never afraid of death. Never once, until, I got Yuuji. Because I was afraid of what would happen to him, when I died. I thought I’d be leaving him alone, after all.” The old man paused, turning his steely gaze to Megumi before continuing. “But now I know, that’s not true.”
Megumi had to focus on his breathing as the weight of the words settled over him. “No, never.” He agreed.
Grandpa nodded. He stifled a cough, so Megumi brought him his water, holding the straw to his lips as he drank. Secretly, he was thankful for the temporary distraction. He was feeling so incredibly out of his depth with all of this; with death, with whatever last rights shotgun conversation this was.
Grandpa settled back into his pillows, but caught Megumi’s hand before it got too far. Where before his eyes were hard and stern, there was something far rarer there, now. For lack of a better word, Megumi would always think he saw fear in Grandpa’s eyes, in spite of everything he’d just said.
“He needs you as bad as you need him, Megumi.”
“I know.” He replied quietly, placing his other hand on top.
“Good.”
The two sat in silence for a few beats before something urgent had Megumi saying, “I want to thank you, by the way.”
Grandpa looked up, surprised. Megumi gathered his conviction to continue, “For raising him. For bringing him into my life. I’ll be— forever indebted to you, for that.”
Grandpa softened, just a fraction of a degree, and shook his head.
“Just take care of him. Debt forgiven.”
Megumi thought back on all of the deathiversarys. Of how good and easy it was to hold him and let him cling and to give him everything he had, even long long before he would label any of these feelings love. He thought back to Yuuji yelling at him, telling him he wasn’t leaving, and the relief immediately following. He thought back to their willow tree and every secret they traded under the security of her leaves and of each other's arms. It was so clear to Megumi that loving Yuuji was the most natural, inevitable thing in his world.
“Easiest debt I’ve ever paid.” Fushiguro said.
