Chapter Text
This is a realisation that Megumi has in the first week that he moves into his new apartment building:
1. The night concierge is quite possibly the biggest asshole this side of the city.
And this is the second realisation, too quick on the heels of the first:
2. The night concierge is fucking hot.
Yuuji, bless his golden retriever heart, shows up outside of Megumi’s apartment door on the first day with a plate of homemade cookies, still warm from the oven.
“Hi!” he chirps when Megumi cracks the door open. “2702 here, it’s been ages since I’ve had a new neighbour!”
Megumi looks at Yuuji (smiling wide, genuinely happy to be here).
Looks at the plate (raisin oatmeal, like a psychopath).
And gradually opens the door a little wider as he decides, right there, that Yuuji is probably safe enough to let in.
Probably.
Nobara he meets in the gym, though at that point, she’s not really Nobara yet. Just a terrifying woman who keeps shooting him dirty looks as he idles around while waiting for her to finish on the rowing machine.
“Are you a creep or something?” she demands when she catches Megumi stealing a surreptitious glance at her in the mirror. “Fuck off.”
Well, maybe it wasn’t a very surreptitious glance after all.
Megumi holds his hands up in mock defeat and fucks off to the treadmills that day and every day after that for a while.
He’s just going to call this one a work in progress.
Sukuna he encounters on a bleary Saturday morning, Megumi limping back home after some unexpected overtime and too many rounds at the bar with his other sad bastard co-workers who don’t have families to go home to. The lobby lights are too bright when he finally manages to keycard himself in and god, Megumi is way, way too drunk.
“Don’t throw up on the floor,” the night concierge says in warning after having watched Megumi drop his keycard no less than four times during his attempt to get in. He hadn’t even offered to help once. Bastard. “Also, you’re new.”
He says it like a statement, not a question, which means Megumi doesn’t have to answer immediately. Instead, he focuses on the man’s face and reluctantly upgrades him to handsome bastard.
Which means he now needs to look at the little sign on the counter that conveniently says who’s on duty right now, too, without making it too obvious. Given how pissed he is, that also means it’s probably really fucking obvious.
“I live here,” Megumi finally manages out to Sukuna (yes!) without slurring too much. It’s a…non-sector. Non-squeaker. Non-sequitur, fuck, whatever that even is. He’s too drunk, Sukuna’s too handsome, and he’s too far gone to care right now.
“I know.”
Sukuna sounds like he finds the mere idea distasteful, but you know what? That’s fine. That’s A-okay by Megumi, because Sukuna wears disdain really well at 2:32 am.
Stupid handsome face. Stupid aching head. Stupid sad coworkers and stupid cheap beer.
“I’m…going to go now,” Megumi declares, wobbly. Keeps wobbling past Sukuna towards the elevators, just in time to hear him heave a long-suffering sigh.
“Don’t throw up in the elevator either,” he calls after Megumi’s retreating back and Megumi flashes him a messy thumbs up before he spends six minutes waiting for an elevator that really shouldn’t be taking this long.
“You usually have to press the button,” Sukuna calls again from his desk at the seventh minute and god, yeah, he really is an asshole. The elevator dings, and Megumi has two seconds to take one last look at Sukuna’s side profile.
God, he’s so hot.
ANNOUNCEMENT
Dear residents,
The recycling bins on each floor have been provided for a reason.
Please do not dispose of general waste in the recycling bins.
To determine whether your trash can be recycled, please check the signs posted above the bins.
Thank you.
Because he and Yuuji are apparently friends now, Megumi meets him for brunch at the shitty, over-priced cafe across the street at too-early o’clock and spends a good long while trying not to faceplant into his eggs benedict.
“Rough night?” Yuuji looks like he got up on the right side of the bed this morning, went for a run, and managed to clean his apartment all before 9am. Megumi hates him right now. Just hates him. “Also, should you be drinking that mimosa?”
Really hates him.
“There’s juice in it, so it’s a breakfast food. And if not, hair of the dog or something,” Megumi counters half-heartedly. He’s glad he brought his shades today, because fuck, is it always this bright? “I met Sukuna last night, by the way.”
“Very rough then.” Yuuji tops Megumi’s glass up with more bad decisions and Megumi decides he likes him again. “Tell me you didn’t throw up, he hates that.”
“I didn’t,” Megumi confirms with pride. It’s important to acknowledge the small wins. “He hates people in general though, right?”
“I mean, yeah, but that’s the default setting.”
“Just like how hot he is?”
A pause, before Yuuji looks at him with what Megumi correctly identifies as sympathy, and slowly, pointedly, takes Megumi’s glass away.
Sukuna’s shift is apparently from 11pm to 7am, which is the most ungodly thing that Megumi has ever had the displeasure to hear of. It also makes actually meeting the man when not inebriated really bloody hard, Megumi resorting to going on early morning runs just to catch a glimpse of Sukuna in the last hour of his shift.
The first morning he makes it downstairs, he does The Nod at Sukuna, who thankfully does it back after a beat.
By the fourth morning, he graduates to what he hopes is very a casual and very normal, very not weird at all “Morning, Sukuna,” on the way out.
There’s a surprised look, before he’s given The Nod in return.
Progress? Progress.
At some point, they end up passing each other through the front doors. Megumi, trying not to look like he’s been hating every second of every minute he’s spent dragging his sorry body around the neighbourhood. Sukuna, standing aside so that Megumi can walk in first, his motorcycle helmet tucked under one arm.
Wait.
Motorcycle?
“After you,” Sukuna says and to Megumi’s credit, at least he doesn’t do something stupid like try to keycard his way in when the door’s already wide open.
“Thanks,” he says as he passes. And because his brain’s overheating or something to that effect after five kilometres: “See you tomorrow?”
Shit. The moment it leaves his mouth, Megumi thinks he could kick himself for the rising inflection, because what is that even? God, he’s such a loser with his stupid activewear and stupid crush.
But Sukuna just smiles (smiles!).
Says, amused, in that deep, sexy voice of his: “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”
There are multiple tomorrows and multiple runs, multiple smiles even, until Megumi grows a pair and troops down to the concierge counter at 11:30pm on a Friday. For what, exactly, he doesn’t really know, but he’s sure he’ll figure it out when he gets there. Maybe he’ll ask for a fake parcel and strike up a conversation? See whether Sukuna’s up for a friendly chat?
The elevator dings open and Megumi walks out into the lobby, puffed with confidence. Certainty.
Only to find Sukuna tearing into a handful of terrified Airbnb guests.
“Does this look like a fucking check-in counter to you?” he growls at them. “Does this look like a hotel reception?”
One of them squeaks out a “No, sir, it doesn’t.”
Megumi would slink back upstairs, but it’s already too late. Sukuna has seen him.
“Go rate this building one star or some shit, I’m busy,” he snaps at the group in clear dismissal and turns expectantly to Megumi.
“I…uh.” Panic. Panic! Fuck! “I think I have a parcel waiting?”
And maybe it’s wishful thinking, but Megumi is sure that the thoroughly annoyed expression on Sukuna’s face has softened just a little. Maybe. Possibly.
Hopefully.
“Apartment number?”
“2701,” Megumi forces out because there really is no other option now, is there? “I got the delivery notification, but if it’s not–”
“I’ll go check, don’t you worry your pretty head about it.”
And then he’s gone. Pushed back from the desk behind the counter and stalked off into the backroom for Megumi’s non-existent parcel that in retrospect, he really, really shouldn’t have lied about. Which now just leaves Megumi to:
Contemplate the fact that, taking everything at face value, Sukuna thinks he’s pretty (!) and avoid the gaggle of Airbnb patrons who all seem more than a little mystified at Sukuna’s ability to actually not yell at someone.
“He lives here,” one of the group says in a loud whisper to someone else and yes, yes he does.
Megumi just gives them a sheepish smile.
There’s no parcel. Of course there isn’t, because Megumi’s an idiot and a liar, and Sukuna is going to rip him a new one any moment now. Going to come out absolutely furious and–
“Sorry, 2701. Nothing for you there.” Sukuna’s back out sans made-up parcel, rolling some stiffness out of one shoulder as he walks back to the counter. “Might want to check that shipping notification of yours again.”
Oh, god.
“I, uh. That’s okay, that’s fine. Thanks for looking.” Megumi knows he’s stammering like a schoolgirl who’s out on her first date. Knows that he should be embarrassed of himself, too.
Just as well he’s currently too preoccupied with the flex of Sukuna’s muscles under his shirt. Slightly too-tight white shirt. Wow. Are those tattoos?
“They fuck it up sometimes, you know.”
“Eh?”
Sukuna sits back down on his chair which protests a little at the sheer heft of him. He swivels round to face Megumi. “The post,” he says. “They get confused sometimes, send stuff next door instead. Want me to check?”
“Ah,” Megumi says intelligently. “No, that’s fine, really, you know how some of the shipping companies can be with deliveries.”
“Just as well. Mahito’s dumber than a bag of bricks.” A scoff, Sukuna leaning back into his seat. The chair protests just that much more. “If you do go over to check though, I’d recommend you try and catch the morning guy if you need to. He’s a lot better.”
Megumi still has idiot mode on, so he laughs. Says, “Do you think they say the opposite here?”
A pause as they both digest what just came out of Megumi’s mouth.
Well, shit.
The moment passes though, Sukuna crossing his arms over his (broad, so very broad) chest and laughing out loud at the idea.
“Fuck,” he says, amused. “You’d hope so, won’t you?”
“Well, I think so at least.” Megumi, evidently intent on digging himself a deeper hole with this stupid crush. “If that counts for anything.”
“Don’t let Jogo hear you say that.”
“I’ve been told he can’t hear much anyway.”
Another laugh from Sukuna and wow, this is actually going great? Good job, Megumi!
Of course, an Airbnb asshole clears their throat then, Sukuna sighing loudly in the wake of it.
“Anything else I can help you with tonight, 2701?
Megumi shakes his head. “No, I’m fine,” he says, contrary to how he’s decidedly not very fine at all. Someone’s dumped a whole zoo’s worth of butterflies in his stomach. “Thanks again anyway.”
“All good. And just one more thing.” A pause, a smile that Megumi so desperately wants to believe is genuine. “It does count, coming from the likes of you.”
Oh.
Megumi is so, so fucked.
ANNOUNCEMENT
Dear residents,
This is a reminder to not dispose of general waste in the recycling bins.
Thank you.
To no one’s surprise, the idiot setting lasts more than 48 hours, so of course Megumi ends up spraining something important during a run later that week. The muscle along the side of his upper thigh twinges something awful with each agonising step, which means Megumi needs to limp back the rest of the way.
Do the walk of shame past Sukuna who’s just starting to pack his things up at the end of his shift.
“Damn,” Sukuna says, glancing over at Megumi dragging himself in. He follows it with a low whistle. “You alright there, 2701?”
“Yeah.” Megumi winces. Yet another one of his filthy lies. “Just too old for this shit, I think.”
“But not too old for Friday night benders, clearly.”
Another wince, and Megumi has to lean against the counter for a moment. “I was hoping you’d forgotten that,” he says. “That…really was not my finest moment there.”
Sukuna can only smirk back at him. “So you’re telling me it actually improves?”
Megumi’s brave enough to give Sukuna the two-fingered salute, only belatedly realising that if Sukuna comes round the front to beat his ass for it, he won’t be able to run away.
At least Sukuna just laughs at him and flips him off right back. Tells him, almost fond (fond?) to take it easy, please.
And right there, right then, Megumi knows he’s fucked twice over.
It’s shameful to hobble out for a morning walk at 6am like a goddamned geriatric, but Megumi is determined. Megumi has purpose. Megumi is a man on a mission.
The mission? Seeing Sukuna.
“You know we have a gym, right?” Sukuna asks after Megumi comes back miserable on the third day. It’s high summer at this point and already too humid, even in the early mornings. “You also know we have these things called treadmills that let you do this indoors, right?”
Megumi can only shrug, all while thinking about how it’ll likely be a bit inappropriate to tell Sukuna about the terrifying woman on the rowing machine who accused him of being a creep.
“It’s…a force of habit?” he finally settles on. Sukuna just rolls his eyes.
“10th floor,” Sukuna says. “Don’t be stupid.”
Because Megumi is stupid, he shows up the next morning at the lobby and Sukuna actually, honest to god, gets up. Marches him back to the lifts and watches as Megumi meekly keycards the both of them for Level 10.
The scary woman on the rowing machine is already there, rowing like she has a vendetta against gym equipment. She throws them a surprised glance, but at least the treadmills are free, so Megumi gingerly gets on one.
“You want the air-conditioning on?”
It’s a bit warm in here, even with the doors that lead to the little outdoor open space wide open.
“Yeah,” Megumi agrees after a thought. “Yeah that’d be good, thanks.”
Sukuna just nods in return and snarks at him not to fall off before leaving him to it, the hum of the air-conditioning unit kicking in not a moment later. It’s all very civilised and Megumi has to admit, this really is a lot better than being outside.
He’s in the midst of stabbing at the treadmill settings almost in a half-daze when he slowly gets the feeling that he’s…being watched?
The rowing machine woman. Fuck.
“Can…I help you?” he tries, even as the treadmill below shudders to life.
She gets up.
Oh no.
And this is how Megumi meets Nobara properly: when she walks up to him and demands to know who he is, and what the fuck he’s done to Sukuna.
“I…what?” He’s trying to walk and process. Regrettably, it’s not going very well.
“I’ve lived here five fucking years, do you know how many times he’s come up here and offered to turn the air-conditioning on?”
“Um.”
“None,” she says flatly. “Absolutely none. Not even when it’s 32°c outside, the mean bastard. What's your name by the way?"
It’s a work in progress, helped along by the fact that Nobara insists he needs to be at the gym every morning now, or risk his new friend dying of heatstroke.
Sukuna must be watching for Megumi’s arrival from the CCTV in the corner of the gym because there he is, every weekday morning, no more than five minutes after Megumi shows up. Winking (winking!) at Megumi and blessing them with sweet, sweet air-conditioning (Nobara’s words), as well as his sweet, sweet hot bod (Megumi’s words, to Nobara’s utter disgust).
“You need to fuck him,” Nobara eventually says in the second week, completely apropos of nothing.
It’s a testament to Megumi’s inner strength that he doesn’t simply fall off the treadmill. Sukuna isn’t here yet, thank god.
“You know he’s sweet on you, right?” She gestures at his open water bottle in the holder and after a moment, Megumi caps it. It’s a bad habit, he knows.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
Nobara looks at him like Megumi is stupid. Hell, maybe he is at this point. Who even knows. He’s the fittest he’s ever been, harbouring this stupid massive crush, and still nowhere close to getting dicked down by Sukuna.
“It has to do with everything, dumbass.”
Right. So he is, then.
“Thanks for elaborating?”
She rolls her eyes at him in the gym mirror and because Megumi is very mature, he sticks his tongue out at her in return. Punches in some numbers to get the wretched treadmill moving underneath him.
“Sukuna hasn’t even yelled at you once for what’s probably Rule Two, Clause Five in the gym’s terms of use.” Nobara huffs and sits down at the rowing machine. “Hell,” she says after a beat. “I’ve seen him ban people for less.”
“So the logical conclusion from that is I need to fuck him?. Also–" The treadmill beeps as Megumi forces it into a steeper incline. "What terms of use?”
It’s not quite a screech that Nobara makes, but it’s pretty damned close to one. “I fucking…” She has to take a steadying breath before she fixes a glare on him. “I bet no one even made you sign a bloody release form.”
Blank stare in return.
“Sit through an induction?”
Megumi shakes his head at this, too, and Nobara regards him with something that’s half frustration, half affection.
“Megumi,” she says pointedly. “Think for one moment."
“I can’t, I’m exercising. Go away.”
“Oh my god.” She throws her hands up in the air and groans, loud. “Fine. Fine! You don’t need to fuck him then, you just need him to fuck you. Happy now?"
Megumi just makes a face that indicates he's anything but. Says, "If you're not done with making these leaps in logic, I'm going to tell Sukuna that you’re being a nuisance and get you thrown–"
Speak of the devil.
"2701."
"Morning, Sukuna."
Megumi can feel it, Sukuna's gaze travelling from him to his bottle and okay, maybe Nobara has a point about that one because Sukuna actually does a small nod at its capped state, clearly pleased.
Nobara gets The Nod, then, and when he's gone, Nobara has to pause her workout. Yell, clearly agonised, from across the floor:
"Oh my god, you fucking loser, he doesn't even know your name!"
ANNOUNCEMENT
Dear residents,
We have observed a number of people still placing their trash in the wrong bins.
This can be remedied by reading the signs.
If you have difficulty with this, please contact the Concierge desk and the team will assist.
Thank you.
"You know what the problem is?"
It's the weekend and Megumi is having brunch with Yuuji again, but with Nobara in tow this time, because when Nobara invites herself, you just let it happen if you know what's good for you.
Megumi groans into his acai bowl.
"What?" he grinds out.
"You." Yuuji looks at Nobara for confirmation and gets it immediately. "You're the problem."
Not for the first time, Megumi actively regrets moving here.
"Fascinating," he says drily and continues to eat his $17 over-glorified smoothie. The banana slices on top of it have definitely seen some better days, but he’s one mimosa deep and the fruit should help offset the alcohol, surely. "Sorry, I missed the part where you've been speaking to my father."
"Oh he has daddy issues now too?" Nobara, in a loud stage whisper to Yuuji. Being an utter menace as usual.
"Look at him, of course he does." Yuuji, suddenly so much meaner now that he has backup.
Megumi just sighs and orders another mimosa. It's the good kind of day drinking if it's during a weekend brunch, right?
Either way, it's still cheaper than therapy.
The exact problem, as Yuuji and Nobara both eventually conclude, is that Megumi has no metaphorical balls.
“I’m sure you’ve fucked,” Nobara says, crass in the way that she is. “If not recently, then in some distant past, at least.”
“It was just last year, but thanks.”
“Not a compliment in July, Fushiguro. But come on, you should know how this works. Tell him, Yuuji. You can’t just pine at him.”
"You can't just pine at him," parrots Yuuji obediently.
Megumi sits up a bit straighter at this, more than a little riled up now.
“I am not pining,” he says, indignant. “I do not… pine.”
The other two share a Look just as Megumi’s second mimosa arrives.
“I mean…” Yuuji says slowly. He does a wave to encompass their little huddle. The alcohol in front of Megumi.
Megumi in general.
Okay, so. Fine. Fine. Maybe Megumi is pining a little. Maybe he gets this stupid little smile on his face when Sukuna calls him 2701 (“You sad little loser,” Nobara says loudly) and seeing Sukuna first thing in the morning helps with the rest of his day (“Oh my god,” groans Yuuji).
“Just ask him out,” Nobara finally says when Megumi stops embarrassing himself in public. She slams her fist on the table, confident. As if anyone has ever said no to her. “God, Fushiguro.”
“And if he says no?” Megumi takes a long drink, too much and too fast. “I live in the goddamned building, Nobara.”
“Then you don’t go out between 11pm and 7am.”
“Yeah,” Yuuji agrees. “The worst outcome is a curfew, that’s not too bad right?”
“Your definition of bad needs revisiting. Also,” Megumi aggressively spoons more acai into his mouth. Maybe the inevitable brainfreeze will clear his head of the idiocy that the other two are feeding him. “What is this, World War Two? A curfew? Really?”
“I mean, they do say that love is a battlefield..."
“Oh fuck off."
ANNOUNCEMENT
Hello
The Pool Is CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE
Thank you
A stalemate, then. Stupid Sukuna with his stupid easy smiles and stupid deep voice, his stupid handsome face and stupid sexy body decidedly not against Megumi’s. Or even…inside Megumi's, if he's feeling particularly spicy that day.
Either way, if Megumi could just trip and fall on Sukuna’s cock or something, that would be just grand. Just fucking peachy, thanks. Megumi can finally get this crush out of his system and be a normal, functioning adult living a normal, functioning life in a very normal, admittedly quite nice apartment building.
Can't say much about the other residents, but hey, win some, lose some.
And then.
Just like he’s left the idiot setting on High.
Just like the B-grade movie that is his life.
Megumi comes back from dinner with a client at the truly unreasonable time of 10:47pm on a Thursday night only to find that he’s left his keys in his apartment. Went and locked himself out of both his apartment and the actual building, like the dumbass that he is.
Megumi’s desperately trying to wave at Jogo through the automatic doors to let him in, but of course Jogo doesn’t give a fuck. Jogo’s pulling a double today and is going to be out of here in the next 10 minutes or less.
Which just leaves:
“Well well well.” Megumi jumps at the sound, startled. “Did someone forget their keys?"
An arm reaches past him to keycard him in and Megumi is suddenly much too aware of how close Sukuna is to him. Just mere inches between Sukuna’s front & his back. Close enough for Megumi to feel actual (oh god!) body heat & (oh god!!) smell the citrus spice of his aftershave. And is that the bloody motorcycle helmet again?
Is that a goddamned leather jacket that Sukuna's wearing?
The doors open and Megumi practically stumbles in, Sukuna sauntering coolly after like he hasn’t just rocked Megumi’s entire world just by coming to work.
“Jogo.”
“Sukuna.”
And with that, Jogo's shuffling out with his messenger bag slung over his shoulder, without even a second look at Megumi.
Not that there’s much to see at this point. Megumi knows he’s barely in a presentable state, shirt a bit wrinkled and clearly coming off a too long day with his brain now stuck in what feels like an infinite boot loop.
He’s gone from irritated and exhausted to keyed up (ha!) and turned the fuck on in under 5 seconds. Whiplash doesn’t even cut it, and it shows.
God, is this what living feels like for people over 25?
“Before you ask,” Sukuna says right off the bat. “I can’t let you into your apartment.”
Megumi takes a moment to think about this, but it’s evidently too long because Sukuna is already lowering himself into his chair. Readjusting it, muttering about Jogo’s stupid fucking preferences and the lack of ergonomics on this thing.
When he notices that Megumi still hasn’t responded, Sukuna looks up at him.
“The master key?” he prompts. Gets only a confused look in return. “Wow,” he says, “You’ve really never lived in an apartment building before, have you?”
Megumi can only shrug, Sukuna making an amused hmph sound at his response.
“There’s a master key that lets building management access any door in the building,” he finally says, taking pity on Megumi’s overtired brain. “Strictly for emergencies only, though.”
Fuck, of course. Fuck. He must think Megumi’s stupid when in truth, Megumi's stupid and exhausted.
“Right, sorry.” Why is he even apologising? Fucking fuck all of this. “No, of course. It’s been a long day, I just processed all of that.”
“I know, I was there when you started it this morning.”
Bizarrely, the very thought of this makes something warm bloom inside of Megumi. It’s not a sex thing, though. Or at least he doesn’t think it is? He thinks he’d know if it was a sex thing. Hell, given where he’s standing, Sukuna would know if it was a sex thing.
“So,” Sukuna continues blithely, still unaware that Megumi is still in the process of short-circuiting less than 1.5 metres away. He reaches for Jogo’s hand-over notes. Pool’s fucked again, turns out. “Want me to call the locksmith that everyone usually uses?”
“I guess?” Megumi finally sighs. Forces himself to go over to the bland, uncomfortable lobby furniture and take a seat there instead. “Though all I’m hearing from that is I shouldn’t try to convince you that me needing a shower and some sleep isn’t an actual emergency.”
Sukuna has the audacity to laugh at this.
“Many have tried,” he says. “And yet, none have succeeded. Sorry, 2701. Unless you have a kid upstairs who’s set themselves on fire or something, I can’t help you. Though–” Sukuna leans back, hands behind his head. “I’m sure you can be very persuasive if you want to be.”
What is that supposed to even mean? Megumi tries not to gawk, all while thanking an entire pantheon of gods that he’s already sitting down because he’s sure his legs would have given out otherwise.
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” he manages out, rallying at the last minute. And because he’s already here, he might as well throw caution to the wind as well. Fuck it. “Also, it’s Megumi.”
There’s a brief look of surprise on Sukuna’s face – there and gone, in under a split second.
“Megumi,” he repeats slowly after a while. Sukuna has a smile on his face now, too. “Huh. And here I was thinking I was going to have to look up a parcel for 2701 at some point.”
“Went and saved you the trouble, didn’t I?” Megumi realises that he’s unclenched a little, which is nice. This is good. Yeah. He can do this. “2701 works just as well though, honestly. No one else calls me that.”
“Like feeling special, do we?” The smile has edged into a smirk and oh, well, two can play that game. Even more so when Megumi’s tired and not thinking straight.
“The most special of them all, thanks,” he retorts.
It’s nice, this easy slip into banter. Easier than he expected, too, just like he’s out with Yuuji and Nobara, shooting the shit together over stupidly-priced brunch food. And maybe it’s just his 14-hour workday talking, but it sounds like Sukuna just might be enjoying this dumb back and forth as well. He’s not going to overthink it.
“Is that a line that works on all the girls, 2701?”
Megumi lifts his head at this.
Ah, fuck it. In for a penny.
“All the boys,” he corrects and waits for a reaction. It’d be an absolute riot if Sukuna got up to beat his face in for this, but hey, at least it’d also solve the crush, right?
“Well it’s not working on this one so far, but keep trying, you might get there.”
Smooth. Not missing a beat at all.
And wow, okay, what does that even mean as well? Megumi’s taking it back about the overthinking thing. He’s going to overthink the shit out of this.
“So that’s still a no then, to letting me into my apartment?”
Sukuna barks a laugh and just leans further back into his chair.
“Tell you what,” he says. “I’ll call Gojo for you and maybe, just maybe, he won’t charge you a fortune on the after-hours fee. Fucker makes enough money from this building anyway. Deal?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Well you can sleep out here tonight and call your rental agency for spare keys in the morning if you want.”
Tempting. Very tempting, actually. But alas, sanity has to prevail. He needs a shower. He needs to sleep. He needs to go to work in the morning like a goddamned adult.
“Yeah okay, fine.” Megumi lets his head thump against the back of the seat, closing his eyes for a moment. Why couldn’t this have been a Friday instead, fuck. “Call Gojo, please.”
Megumi doesn’t even notice that Sukuna’s gone into the backroom to call this Gojo person until he realises it’s been a bit too quiet for a bit too long.
Huh.
Eyes now wide open, he thinks that if he strains (and okay, if he also inches a bit further up the weird modular couch lining the lobby wall) he can just about hear Sukuna's one-sided conversation on the phone.
There's his name, there's his apartment number, and bizarrely, there's an exasperated sigh, followed by "Yes that's how numbering works, 2702 is right next door."
A pause.
Followed by a terse "No, absolutely not, it's going to be almost fucking midnight by the time you're done, what do you think?"
Another pause.
"Okay, fine. I don’t like it, but I’ll allow it.”
Pause.
“No, not Jogo, me. Me, so I hope you like late nights, buddy.”
“Do I sound like I give a shit?”
“Of course I don’t fucking trust you.”
Yet another pause, longer than the others this time. Weird locksmith, Megumi decides. But then again, who is he to judge, really, given Sukuna.
"I don't know why you care, but yes," Sukuna eventually says. He sounds a bit…strained, which honestly isn’t what Megumi expected for a phone call with a locksmith of all people. "Yes he is. Very.”
Another sigh from Sukuna. “If you're done with the interrogation,” he says with some finality, “I'll see you in half an hour.”
Sukuna walks out of the back room then, mobile held loosely between his fingers.
“He’ll be here by 11:30,” Sukuna says by way of explanation. As if Megumi hasn’t been eavesdropping like a little creep. “Go take a power nap or something if you want.”
And lose this opportunity to talk to Sukuna? Megumi doesn’t fucking think so.
“I’m fine.” Megumi sits up a bit straighter, suddenly aware of how he now has the seemingly insurmountable task of making conversation with Sukuna for the next 30 minutes. Shit. “Don’t uh, mind me. Go do what you need to do,” he says a bit awkwardly. Takes his phone out of his pocket for good measure. “And thanks, by the way.”
“Don’t worry about it 2701, but don’t thank me just yet.” Sukuna sits back down at his desk and from the side, Megumi can see him bringing up the building management team’s generic email. Someone wants to know whether a toaster oven is considered recyclable. “You haven’t met Gojo.”
“That bad, huh?”
“You have no idea.” A scoff. “But he’s the nearest to us and gets the job done, so it’s good enough.”
The next few moments pass in what Megumi thinks is a comfortable enough silence. Sukuna, tap-tap-tapping at the keyboard to reply whatever other inane questions and requests that have been sent in. Megumi, pretending to be really interested in his news app.
“You know,” Sukuna says conversationally after a while. He must have run out of emails, Megumi only hearing him click around lately. Not that he was actively listening or anything like that. Because that would be creepy. Creepy and inappropriate. Yeah. “Some of the other residents leave their spare keys with the concierge team.”
Megumi looks up from where he’s not actually reading about yet another interest rate rise. Speaking of creepy and inappropriate…
“They do?”
“Yeah, if you have a spare, just put it in a sealed envelope and give it to us.” Megumi’s face must be an open book, because Sukuna just laughs at the look on it. Cocks his head to the side in a sharp motion, a clear invite to come behind the counter. “No, really. Come have a look if you don’t believe me.”
It’s like being invited backstage, but for people who have to file tax returns and also have crushes on their concierges.
Megumi is people.
Megumi is positively giddy with excitement.
Sukuna stands again and Megumi tries not to make it seem like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin, following a few steps behind Sukuna as he returns to the backroom.
He’s only ever seen glimpses of this place and it’s…exactly what he expects.
Deep, wide shelves lining two walls, filled a little haphazardly with small clusters of still uncollected parcels. A mini-fridge and tidy kitchenette in one corner. Filing cabinets. A worn, but comfortable looking couch shoved against another wall. Square table and chairs.
It’s the most boring thing he’s ever seen, and yet also the most wonderful place in the whole wide world.
Sukuna pulls one of the filing cabinet drawers open for Megumi to have a look and–
“Huh,” Megumi says as he peers inside. “No shit.” There they all are, an assortment of envelopes with other people’s apartment numbers scrawled on them. Nobara’s is in there too, an elegant 2310 looped on the front.
“No shit,” agrees Sukuna. He pushes the drawer back in. “And no funny business either. Just ask and we’ll pass your keys back to you.”
But what if I want the funny business, Megumi wants to say. Because Sukuna’s welcome to funny business with him in his apartment anytime, anyday.
Contrary to popular belief though, he does still have some dignity left, so Megumi just makes an interested “Hmm,” sound. Follows it with a thoughtful enough “You know what, I just might.”
“Join the club. Gojo’ll lose another client, but fuck him. We’ve got enough suckers in the building to keep him occupied.”
“I take it this is not a widely advertised thing, then?”
A shrug, noncommittal. “Let’s just say I’m not printing out flyers about it to put in the elevators.”
“Unlike the warnings.”
Sukuna has to smile at this, which makes something in Megumi’s stomach do something warm and funny. Goddammit. “Unlike the announcements,” he corrects pointedly. “But if the lot of you actually behaved, I wouldn’t have to do them.”
“Ouch,” Megumi says, a dramatic hand over his heart. “That hurt, getting lumped in with the unwashed masses like that.”
“Sorry, I forgot I was speaking to Mr. Likes to Feel Special here.”
Because Megumi is trying to be a brave, brave boy and less of a ‘fucking loser’ as Nobara so kindly put it, he chances a wink at Sukuna. “And don’t you forget it,” he says.
And because Megumi is also actually a bit of a wuss at heart, he sticks his hands in his pockets and turns away before he can see the look on Sukuna’s face. Pretends that he’s extremely interested in the backroom.
“So this is where the magic happens, hey?”
He can hear Sukuna walking around behind him, messing around in the kitchenette. The eventual gush of a tap and an electric kettle being put on.
"Mm-hmm." Sukuna's rummaging for a mug when Megumi deems it safe to turn back. "Or where the misery does, depending on the day. I keep asking the owners corporation to let us put a coffee machine in here, but they’re stingy bastards so we’re stuck with this shit for now.” He holds a thing of instant coffee granules up. “Also, I’d offer you some but it’d be rude after what I just said.”
Megumi shakes his head. “That’s practically suicide this close to midnight,” he says. “But it’s the thought that counts, so thanks anyway.”
“That’s me, thoughtful as always.”
Sukuna’s leaning against the kitchenette counter as he waits for the water to boil, Megumi trying not to look too out of place in the meantime. Should he…leave? Would that be weird? That’d be weird. No, don’t do that.
But surely it’d be weirder to stay and stand in silence, right?
Fuck.
Look around the room, Fushiguro. Be cool. Be cool. If only Sukuna had offered him a shot instead. No, he doesn’t have a drinking problem.
By the grace of god, Megumi’s gaze eventually lands on Sukuna’s jacket draped over the back of one of the chairs, which makes him think of the motorcycle helmet, which in turn makes his stomach do a weird flip. This is bad.
This is so bad.
But also…good, because Megumi can now gesture at the jacket and go, casual as anything: “So, I couldn’t help noticing. You ride often?”
This actually makes Sukuna break into a wide smile, and oh god, there’s that warm feeling again. This is bad again. Megumi doesn’t know how he’s going to survive until Gojo gets here.
“When the weather’s nice, yeah. Night time’s good too, with the empty roads.”
“And I bet it beats getting on the bus.”
“Bloody walking beats getting on the bus, let’s be real.” The kettle clicks, water finally boiled, and Sukuna turns to tend to his mug. Leaves Megumi to sit (stand?) with his thoughts about Sukuna straddling his bike, leaning into each corner, leather jacket stretched across his shoulders.
This is so, so bad, and Megumi knows he’s about to make it worse.
“I bet you get this a lot, but–”
“It’s an S 1000 R,” Sukuna says without turning around, preoccupied with making his shitty coffee.
“Wow, so you really do get it a lot.” Megumi has his phone out and so sue him, he’s already Googling the model because he’s a horny little bastard who likes visuals. “Also…wow.”
He looks up just in time to see Sukuna’s shoulders shake a little from the huff of laughter that escapes him, an amused heh that’s almost swallowed up by the clink of his spoon in his mug.
“If you’re Googling it,” he says as he starts to walk over to where Megumi is lingering semi-awkwardly near the table, “Don’t bother. I can show you instead if you’d like. I usually park next door because they actually have bike parking.” Sukuna fixes Megumi with a smirk. “It’s also how I know Mahito’s an idiot.”
And oh, Megumi would love to be shown. Would sell his own soul for it, even, and is about to say as much to Sukuna when Sukuna’s mobile starts to buzz. In that moment, Megumi hates the world and the circumstances that led to mobile fucking phones being invented at all.
The sentiment seems shared to an extent, because Sukuna just groans at the sound. Sets his coffee down on the table, grumbling all the while. “It’s always after you make it,” he sighs in Megumi’s general direction before taking the call.
“What?” he snaps in lieu of any actual greeting. “What do you mean you’re early?”
Ah, right. That. The reason why Megumi’s even here to begin with.
“Fine, fine,” Sukuna is saying, even as he glances at the clock on the wall and picks his coffee back up. Uses it to gesture for Megumi to follow him out.
Sure enough, there’s Gojo already waiting outside the automatic doors, waving madly at them. Megumi isn’t sure who or what he was expecting, but it certainly…wasn’t this? Whatever…this is.
Sukuna sighs as he slams the button to let the doors slide open, admitting a tall, strangely stylishly dressed man into the building.
“Sukuna!”
“You’re early,” Sukuna says again, flat.
“Is that not a good thing?”
Without even waiting for a reply, Gojo turns to Megumi, who tries not to take a step backward at the sudden intensity in Gojo’s startlingly blue eyes. Even if the dark shades perched on top of his head at 11:20pm are a bit Much, it strangely suits him.
Megumi can’t seem to pin a vibe though. He’s classically handsome, yes, but almost…suspiciously frivolous. Like there’s something that much sharper lurking underneath.
“And you must be the little Megumi in need of rescuing,” Gojo purrs. He sidles up close. “Satoru Gojo, at your service.”
Ah. There it is.
Sex pest. The vibe is sex pest.
“Gojo,” Sukuna says in warning. “Don’t patronise.”
“Spoilsport.”
Gojo sticks his hand out to Megumi then, and because Megumi has manners despite Toji’s best attempts, he takes it.
“Megumi,” he says, a bit pointlessly. “Thanks for coming out on such short notice.”
The handshake is vigorous, mostly on Gojo’s part, and Megumi can’t shake the feeling of being evaluated. Maybe he is. Maybe Gojo is sizing him up to determine how much he should charge for a late night emergency call.
Fuck, he hadn’t even thought to ask Sukuna to ballpark a rate for him.
“You know how I hate to admit you’re right,” Gojo says lightly when he finally lets go of Megumi’s hand and turns back to Sukuna, “But for once, you’re right. He really is very–”
“Stop,” Sukuna all but growls. “Just stop. Level 27, now.”
“All business and no play?” Gojo smirks. “How very like you, Sukuna.”
“Move, Gojo.”
And off they go, Sukuna herding Gojo towards the elevators, coffee still in hand.
Megumi stares after them for a hot second before he’s following too, baffled.