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Describing people as places, experiences, sensations, concepts, rather than physical traits and the way they generally and simply are, is a tool (weapon) for poets and songwriters and just people with a sort of inferiority complex. Even comparing their muses to extremely precious and significant beings such as the very sun, or even more specific situations that make a person feel an even more niche feeling. Maybe this is why the radio on missions were so– not insufferable per se, but listening to an audiobook of an ‘interesting enough to click on’ novel or news from around the area was much more appealing.
Megumi was the only one that found it as such, though. If he even got close to suggesting something to put on while in a car, Nobara or Itadori shushed him or hit him. So when he was actually asking if they could turn on the AC, he was left verbally or physically abused and the AC still turned off.
Itadori was loud and giddy. His whole body expressed and articulated this. The way he talked, ate, sat down, fought. Selfless was the way his bones and brain were wired to be. But he wasn’t the first person to be that way. So there is no reason to look into his persona, assign a constellation to him, describe him like he’s the sun and that he burns like fire– He’s just a boy and his name is Itadori and he’s charming.
There’s a language that isn't spoken in words, and that was that. It could be read and understood, interpreted like the poetry of a self, but was simply a person being. It was simply Nobara putting her hands on her hips in a star-like posture, simply Gojo tilting his head up when he cackled, crossing his legs at the same time. It was Itadori’s feet lunging him forward when he ran, farther than anyone Megumi had ever known.
And Megumi was always decent at language subjects. It wasn’t enjoyable, just doable, for school. Subtext and hidden meanings embedded in phrases and book titles were not inherently easy, but clues are scattered and feelings are general, so what gives.
Honestly, what gives.
Because he hadn’t exchanged more than a few glances and words at him, and Itadori was about to get eaten by a curse (then he didn’t), and his collapsed, unmoving face and the question Gojo asked him gave him a chance to take a good, good look at him. One look that would determine whether or not to let the, all offense intended, stupid boy that had just eaten a cursed finger, lived or not.
Maybe– no, it definitely was the way he fought, saved his friend, and did everything in his power to get her to safety. He swore heavily under his breath when he swallowed the finger, cursed him, cursed him, cursed him. Then asked Gojo to keep him alive.
Any other less compassionate sorcerer would have looked at him, sighed, and refused to let him live, most probably. Or maybe his nature is truly that compelling, or something. So, that became Itadori. Watching him fight, then cursing him for his stubbornness, bickering about his ‘self-centeredness’ then, just wanting to surpass him, admiring him in a distant way, and fearing as slightly and almost not at all but still there was a fear, like a tip-toe, as a scurrying mouse in the night, as a phantom sensation you can’t describe–
Like some stupid song, he groaned at the thought, like a punch to the gut.
In the time he spent listening to the radio beside Itadori and Kugisaki, all through missions or simple outings, rolling the car window down to drown his ears with the sound of wind instead of the all-too-warm lyrics, a part of his mind was working hard into somehow falling down a hole of even more all-too-warm things.
More specifically, feelings. The songs had now crossed the line of “Well, they’re not insufferable, so put whatever you want, Kugisaki.” To simply just him bringing his own earphones to not hear a thing. The melodies were sticky and the more he listened, the more he wished he wasn’t able to understand any of the words they said.
The sensation was not so unbearable. Sure, it was heavy on his chest. But that didn’t stop him from not being as normal as he ever was to Itadori. Megumi looked at him more deeply, yes, and maybe sometimes, when their shoulders brushed, he got startled easily. What was so unimaginably unbearable was the way Itadori acted now. Like he always did, except now, after many near self-sacrifices and deaths, the time was as worse as it could ever be.
Going on about how Sukuna had plans with him, and “It’s safer this way,” and that ended up with Megumi blowing off at him and lots of bickering.
Megumi had already talked to himself to sleep about the possibilities (of loss). One of those nights at Shibuya is when he realized. He tried for his expression to remain indifferent so Itadori wouldn’t notice the pang he felt as he simply thought:
Itadori really is a stupid light in the dark. He’s whatever the fuck those literature assigment books were going on about permanence and loss and body and soul. He’s his ground and Itadori is a concept and those idiotic songs were unfairly mostly right.
Megumi rolled to the side. He didn’t know what to do with this new-found information. It was clear to him he’d fallen a little too in l-word with the guy beside him, and wasn’t sure what to do. Normally, he wouldn’t have been searching for anything to do, but now it was evident one of them was going to die in this mission (now that everything had been going to shit since Gojo was sealed), and that just struck him in all the wrong ways. Mostly in his lungs, and in the blood-pumping, constantly beating organ that he won’t name.
In those lies his feelings of forthcoming regret: or the regret he will feel if he doesn’t do something, and in his breath as it stopped, with the ideas of death crossing his mind.
“Fushiguro?” Like a genuine, very slightly alarmed question. Maybe Itadori had thought he was asleep.
“You should be sleeping, Itadori.”
“Well, you too, so we’re even.” He says, and Megumi could feel the grin in his words.
He turned around again to face him. Itadori was in a sitting position, while Megumi’s head rested on concrete, still.
“You said we could rest just for fifty minutes, or something. Might as well just keep moving.”
“I need you awake and ready, so just try to rest your head or something.”
His scars shifted with his expression. He stared at them, the one across his eyebrow, and the one at the right end of his mouth.
Itadori sighed and laid back, but Megumi kept looking.
They’ll go back to walking and fighting their way to their next destination, probably won’t get rest again for a long time, and then get separated (either by towns or different realms, with how their luck was doing).
A song played in the back of his mind, embarrassingly, as he looked at the boy beside him.
“Let’s talk to sleep.”
He says abruptly, with a clear smile. Now facing him, too. Megumi was still fixated on his face the whole time, but Itadori didn’t seem to mind anytime he did it. He thought it was his way to dissect, communicate, understand, show interest, but a cold and hard one just like the concrete they were laying on. It should’ve been a bit creepy, though, because of the darkness surrounding them, the only source of light being some burning cloth at their feet.
“That doesn’t work on you.” Megumi said. Ignoring that completely, Itadori asked what was on his mind.
He thought out loud, and murmured, unintentionally: “What isn’t?”
He immediately tried to act like that was a normal thing to say when you’d just been staring at someone for at least the past eight minutes, so he looked at the fire, averting Itadori’s eyes.
“Okay? now you have to talk, I can’t read your mind.” He said that as he sat back up, which was what Megumi didn’t want. The boy couldn’t even rest his eyes for a full minute.
Itadori waited for Megumi to sit up and face him too, so with a groan and a complaining body, he sat back up. He felt Itadori would’ve just kept bothering if he didn’t.
They were ‘facing’ each other (Megumi still wasn’t looking at Itadori), like sitting across in a diner on a day off, like a normal Saturday would’ve been like a few weeks ago. And to the core, that was what occupied his mind so– inexplicably. Like, and again with the comparisons, music sounding far, far away, and never going away. Staying there, and the more it goes, the more he questions: What if? What if? What if he loses?
“This is stupid.” He spits out.
“Fine, I’ll talk, then you.”
Megumi rested his face on his palm and got ready to listen, silently agreeing, but not locking eyes again.
“I have…hm.” He loses his train of thought, probably, then goes to organize his words again.
“I’ve been thinking about– about the first time we met, about Nobara, near– ahem, near-death experiences, mostly, and… well, you.”
“I think we’ve talked about this before.” He says it that way, because of course stupid Itadori would be thinking about these things. All the self-sacrifice involved in his mind tears Megumi apart to a sigh. But letting the words sit, he begins to look at him again, in his weirdly kind of intense way. Itadori is thinking about him, solely, and that stirs his stomach up, like when he broke Gojo’s glasses when he was little, more closer to nausea than butterflies on an amusement park ride. The situation didn’t add up at all, but the feeling was close enough.
“We have,” Itadori says.
“But it gets intense, it’s getting more intense. Remember when I first met you? I– I just start thinking about it all of a sudden. And we’ve been through it, and you already told me you’d do it again, but I keep going back to me. Like, what I could have made better or changed.”
Megumi knew he thought about this often. Even when Itadori didn’t tell, when the ambient between them was silent, he could only imagine all the thoughts that crossed his mind.
He took a few moments to answer. “Although it may not seem like it, things started to twist long before you became cursed by Sukuna.”
“Gojo sometimes tells me about it, like how bits and pieces of how the sorcerer world had worked for the longest time started to crumble. In his own dumb words, of course, ‘cause that man is no good at words.”
Itadori shifted slightly more comfortably, anticipating what Megumi would say next.
“So I should stop being so self-centered?”
“More like, I want you to stop thinking you can lose me that easily, but yes.”
That kept him thinking quietly for a few moments, as Megumi lowered his eyes down to Itadori’s hands.
“Is it so bad to be worried?” He finally said.
Megumi’s hands shifted a tiny bit closer to Itadori’s scarred ones. Then he looked up. “No,” he almost whispered, “But I can’t afford you being worried like this now.”
If Megumi held Itadori’s hands right now, he knew it’d be hard not to do something stupid. Even brushing them seemed like too much, but Itadori simply stared at them, back slouched and comfortable, though his shoulders became stiff as Megumi drew closer.
After some thought, he finally reached Itadori.
“Because?”
“Because I’ll really– really regret just not having you close. Where I can’t–”
It was rare for him to trip over his words. Most of his thoughts were filtered and chosen before uttering, except from when rage took over his mind and got a little cocky. It was a first time struggle, unknown and hesitant, but he tried to continue. Megumi’s hands wrapped around Itadori’s, his thumb ever so slightly caressing his knuckles, hesitant. Fearful. Itadori’s hands didn’t pull even half a centimeter back, though. His hands simply let themselves be taken. However, his face told a different story:
Itadori became more stunned and widened his eyes even slightly more. If you inched closer and examined his eyes, you’d see he was fearful too.
“Where I can’t feel you around.” Megumi said, surprisingly still having composure, aside from a twist in his gut, telling him the words were all-too-raw and uncovered. Itadori gaped.
“I– Fushiguro, that’s– how do I even…” Itadori was growing more tense and flushed even more with each stutter.
“You don’t need to say anything,” Megumi began,
“Just– I’m just,” (scared, he couldn’t say it) “Your self sacrifice is annoying. Let me be.”
“Don’t you think we’ll regret this?” Itadori insisted. And maybe Megumi spoke too rushed for his liking, then. “I’ll regret more not doing this now.”
Itadori groaned, like it was all making his head hurt, and then started laughing.
“I don’t really get– this.” He gestured at everything with his eyes. He meant them, this, this whole story. They’d been tip-toeing around this, not naming this, ignoring this. Now that Megumi had stated his case, worded their whole situation and spit out whatever this was all for Itadori to hear, for both of them to not ignore, it was slightly terrifying.
This was not only ‘I’ll regret it later,’ it was already regret. Memories of summer and outings where they rested just a little too close beside each other on trains, laid eyes on bare skin long enough to notice, staring, glancing, hitting, fighting, admiring, on repeat. Never checking symptoms for something greater. If one wondered about school days long enough now, it’d feel like regret.
If you ignore symptoms, you get sick.
And after doing it for a while, it seemed the sickness was getting stronger rather than fading away. Following this theory, it would get worse. So they started with looking each other in the eye and starting to name the issue.
“This,” Megumi started. He gestured at everything, just like Itadori. At them.
“This is me sealing my words.” His voice shook, and Megumi hoped he still sounded like himself.
His hands still wrapped around Itadori’s hands, and just as he finished talking they slid to his wrists, and leaned impossibly closer to the boy in front of him (They were still apart.)
Itadori, although usually irritatingly dense and hard-headed, understood. Maybe he did understand ever since they met. It could have been a trick of the dim light, but Itadori may have tilted forward, too. The light in his eyes somehow grew stronger as he managed to look at Megumi again.
“What if this isn’t the right thing, you know? Like, I’ll just, at least I’ll just get my hopes up, and then, I’m sure something will happen to either one of us. Fushiguro, I really, really, really don’t want that to happen.”
“But is there a right thing anymore? Are there options that will hurt less than–”
He stumbled again.
“–Than not admitting it? If I get hurt or die, not telling you I liked you is one of the things I’ll regret the most. Not seeing you, or being with– fuck.”
The hurt in his voice was overwhelming. His words never sounded like that, never faltered so much he acknowledged it in the same sentence with a curse. He had to release one of Itadori’s hands just to cover his flushed face.
Itadori giggled. “Damn.”
Megumi’s brows furrowed indignantly.
“I just confessed serious feelings to you and this is your response?”
But on closer look, Itadori had watery eyes and an equally flushed face as Megumi. Upon seeing this, he immediately straightened up and reached for the other’s face.
With brows slightly knitted with worry, Megumi carefully slid his palms at the sides of Itadori’s face. Itadori was laughing at this, while tears were being swept as quickly as they came.
“This is really bad for my image.”
“Imagine how I feel, dumbass. What do you mean, ‘damn’?”
Itadori made an annoyed noise, but it wasn’t angry. His laugh still shined through.
“In the sense that, like, ‘Damn, the guy I like likes me back, and his voice is breaking and I can’t handle it either’.”
He laughed through sniffles again, but Megumi couldn’t help but relax. His mouth curved upward slightly, and finally, he smiled with his eyes too, squinting ever so softly. It was embarrassing how much a few words could make all of his body seem lighter.
“And that– in a few minutes, we’re gonna continue heading to where we need to go, and we’re going to have to leave this right here.” Megumi’s fingers slid down to his jaw, then pulled him in to give him a very friendly headbutt.
“We can stay like this for longer. Just a little.”
“Is that enough?” Itadori rubbed his face harshly, as to maintain some sort of composure. His back straightened, like a person finding out something alarming, or remembering things that would’ve stayed better forgotten.
“I don’t think it’ll ever be enough time.”
Itadori nodded. He reached for Megumi’s hands himself, finally, but only to push them back. It didn’t seem like a rejecting action, on the contrary, his face seemed hurt, scrunched up.
Megumi pulled back as gently as Itadori pushed him. As a feather.
“Then won’t it be better if we just– don’t do this?”
“Don’t do what?”
Megumi asked, probably just to keep Itadori looking at him, so as to not lose sight of him. To give him some sort of ground to stand on, as well as himself. But the question was laughable, because it was obvious what they were doing. Trading time, proximity, life, with what they felt. How they will feel when the other one is the one the universe fucks over and now there’s an even bigger void they have to carry because of that stupid feeling. Because they traded feelings with impossible odds.
Megumi had often thought which of them would go first. He could feel it in Itadori too.
“Let’s leave.” Itadori faced the sky.
“Itadori–”
Megumi realized what he was doing when he tried to push himself up. He held on.
“--I already told you I’m not leaving, you moron.”
This set off a familiar flame, whenever they discussed parting ways. Which hadn’t happened before they came to the hell that was Shibuya, so only very few times. Of course, what started as dismissing ‘self-centered’ behavior and almost humorous bickering, ended up now being as if the ground was made of flaming rock and Itadori was water in his hands.
“God, Fushiguro, just– I– it’ll hurt more, I think, if we go further down this rabbit hole. Liking you isn’t going easy on me in this situation.”
He of course stated the obvious, but in a way that squeezed his insides and tore up his throat. Mostly because of the hurt in Itadori’s voice, and the contrast of wet with cries but genuine laughs to distance. Megumi made a pained expression again.
“It’s a really twisted game,” Megumi said. He let Itadori’s hand slide off, making the other boy look at him. His eyes were wide, like a little kid witnessing something spectacular, but that obviously wasn’t the case.
“You’re too damn fixated on what hasn’t happened yet. I’m still telling you that you’re not getting rid of me that easily, so stop it.”
His words seemed like the angry kind, but his gaze had the reassurance of a deity.
“Everything about this plan is a gamble, our lives as sorcerers have been since we became ones,” (And he said it as if they became sorcerers at the same time, but it wasn’t so.) “So what’s different?”
Itadori pouted. “You say it like we have re-tries.”
“We don’t.”
“Yeah, that’s what–” Itadori groaned. “Ugh… you, you’re… I hate you so much.” Megumi might’ve cracked a smile at that, then spoke again.
“I don’t want regrets, neither do you.”
“I think they’re different.”
“They are, but I think we’ll regret it more if we go on without saying a word about this.”
Megumi continued, stepping closer and closer, closer than he ever did, than he ever thought he would, to the other boy. “So, Itadori, please let me. Let me stay by your side.” And Megumi never started the physical touches. Not to reassure, calm down, or soothe. It was mostly Itadori who patted their backs, hugged, rested hands on shoulders.
So it was sort of awkward being the one starting it, two times in a row.
Itadori laughed slightly at Megumi’s arms wrapping slowly around him, like his touch tickled.
“You’re trapping me, so what else can I really do?”
He tightened the embrace, less unsure than his previous actions. “Nothing.” It seemed Itadori expected that answer.
“I really like you.” He finally said. Megumi tried not to shiver. He sighed instead,
“Unfortunately, me too.” Was all he could muster.
“I still wanna talk before we go.”
“We can talk.”
–
They slid down and were back to sitting cross legged on the concrete. Itadori put some more fuel to the fire so their only light wouldn’t die out, and then, just then, did Megumi’s insides begin to detangle once more. He felt he could sleep a day with his head resting on stone from the amount of stress he’d just dropped.
“How long?” Itadori questioned. His smirk proved he wanted to be a little shit and get a dumb reaction out of Megumi. He paid no mind.
“It dawned on me pretty early on. You?”
“Oh, it’s embarrassing…”
“Don’t be a dick, I just told you.”
Itadori flushed just a tiny bit.
“I mean, aside from you telling me you had to kill me that night, I thought you were really– uhm, really pretty. Then I found out you told Gojo to keep me from getting executed, and it all went fwoosh from there!”
“Hm.”
“...”
“You remember Kugisaki put on her music every time we went on outings?”
The mention of her definitely left a bittersweet expression on both of them, but Megumi continued still.
“Yeah, really cheesy love songs. But it was that or your novels.” He smirked, and Megumi huffed.
“I told you both once that I listened to audiobooks and this is the treatment I get? Never once did I try to touch a car radio.”
“We were messing with you,” Itadori laughed. Megumi continued, only a bit annoyed. “I started hating the songs when I realized I liked you.”
His smile turned into a gape with widened eyes.
“Oh.”
“Ohhh, shit! When you started bringing your earphones, right?”
A laughing fit from the boy ensued.
Megumi looked at him, tried to be annoyed, but a smile creeped up his mouth, and had to hide it with his hand. Itadori was laughing, and it felt like time rewinded to when these laughs were daily occurrences, and Megumi didn’t have to note them anytime he did.
Itadori’s cackling then stopped just for him to take a breath. “Oh my god, Fushiguro! You’re– Ha!”
“Yeah, I get it, shut up.”
“Like, okay, I kind of get it, but– like, explain!”
Itadori’s face told he knew why, and it was terribly obvious. Love songs, disgusting lyrics, just embarrassing. Itadori contained a million laughs that were ready to be let out, and it was really hard to explain without Megumi taking pauses to try and think of less embarrassing words to use.
“I– Just, I didn’t really understand them before, but when I got the gist it was– You know what? I’m not explaining this to you.” It was bad. Megumi was blushing.
Itadori struggled. “What? Fushiguro, wait, I’m–”
Megumi groaned. When he got the gist? When he got the idea of what the songs were talking about? Like they were some outer-worldly concepts? It was increasingly more noticeable that Itadori was collecting his thoughts while talking, because his ears were turning redder and redder, and his smirk became a toothed, child-like smile.
And then he whispered like a secret beneath bedsheets and a flashlight: “Am I your first?”
Megumi tilted back. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Fushiguro Megumi.”
“That’s my name.”
“I– So, huh? What? Am I your first?”
“First what?” Megumi was taking the opportunity to embarrass the other boy now, although it would never be enough to compensate for this whole night.
“You piece of shit. Your first– You like me! You like me and you didn’t know what the songs were talking about until you started liking me!”
“Guess so.”
Itadori still wore his dumb smile, though his cheeks finally had more color than Megumi.
“Am I your first crush?” He finally asked.
“You could say that.”
“Ugh, I prefer your simple answers from before.”
“What answers?” From before?
“Yes and no.” That seemed familiar. He guessed Itadori meant how cold he talked the first few days of meeting each other.
“You are. But it was just such a battle with myself that I can’t leave you with a simple yes.”
It was Itadori’s turn to huff now. “You’re so selfish.”
“That’s my line,” Megumi said. He felt time pass, so he slid his hands back to Itadori’s wrists and picked them up. Itadori didn’t protest, but there was still the hesitance in everything he did. Megumi looked at the other’s hands closely, brushing them with his fingers, tracing lines on his palms, and his nails. “What happened to your knuckles?”
“I hit some guy with a helicopter head. Could’ve slashed me up worse.”
Megumi let out a quiet laugh. That sudden relief, that moment where his guard was let down, brought Megumi’s lips to Itadori’s knuckles. Slowly went to every single finger, like a blessing for each one. Megumi couldn’t see his face, but he did hear his heartbeat from a distance. Or maybe it was his own, as it was racing and getting louder with each thump.
He ran his fingers up to sleeves. “Can I?” Itadori didn’t nod or shake his head at first, instead froze up, and Megumi understood why. He called again. “Itadori,”
“I just,” He responded.
“I still feel like we shouldn’t.”
“Itadori, it’s completely fine if you don’t want to, but if it’s that excuse that you’ll regret it, then I won’t take that.”
“I can’t go on living without knowing how you feel this close.”
And there was surprise on his face. It was annoying how surprised he was. Like his body and mind weren’t something to be admired and yearned for, like what Megumi was saying was a shock. “Let me, ” He tried again.
“Or tell me to forget about it and I’ll forget.”
Itadori snorted. “You’re so stupid, thinking I’ll say that. You can. You can. I’ll stay. I was just,”
He tried to finish his sentence, but couldn’t. “Alright.”
Megumi reached for the other hand and caressed it, took care of it. He brought his nose to the back of the hand, then kissed every single knuckle again. Finally, he slid his hands back to the sleeve and rolled it over the elbow. Itadori grimaced at the tiny scars and unrinsed blood.
“I’m full of grime. And sweat.”
“Not your fault.”
Megumi tried to take in as much as possible, pressing kisses on any scars he could find. He felt the other boy grow more accustomed each time he did. After his forearm, Megumi led his hands across Itadori’s chest and closer to his jacket button. Delicately, Megumi pulled at it and slid it off. Only his red sweater remained from bare skin.
The fire had lowered, dimming the sound of crackling. Most of the noise was their hearts beating in their ears.
Itadori thought Megumi wanted to reach his chest unclothed, and while that was a perfectly rational guess, he had to put his hands back on the ground for support before he slid off his sweater too, because Megumi had leaned in on his chest, ear pressed tight on where his heart would be.
“Megumi?”
The boy might have been hypnotized by the rhythmic beating, because his only response was a hum. The sounds of Itadori’s working, living body seemed like an orchestra, music Megumi would never get tired of. Each thump grounded him even more to earth, calmed him down, reassured him.
“Is it beating really fast?”
“No. It’s surprisingly calm now.”
“I thought you’d take my sweater and shirt off.”
Megumi snorted. “After.” Itadori responded by pushing him.
He had done this before, except there was no rise and fall on his chest, not even a single sign that Itadori may have been alive. Not even the warmth of his clothes could veil the cool feeling of his dead body.
Megumi was accustomed to death, even before Itadori’s heart was ripped out. Megumi had placed his head ear-first to the other’s chest, much less affectionately, much more guarded, just because Itadori seemed to be asleep, and Megumi just wanted to see if his eyes hadn’t fooled him. That maybe his heart would be in between his ribs, that it actually hadn’t been ripped out by Sukuna. Obviously, he was met with no sound or movement. It felt as dead as cold and blinding in Shoko’s clinic.
Now, Itadori was more than warm and alive, shooting snarky and teasing remarks anytime he could. Radiating even just a little of that old light he had plenty of just a few days ago. Most importantly, with a working heart that brought sound to his chest.
Megumi finally slid off the red sweater along with his shirt and revealed a bare chest. He was always surprised at Itadori’s physique, he caught glimpses of exposed muscles with some lingering scars in the shared shower rooms. He ran his fingers on every single scratch, both scarred and fresh; Then kissed it impossibly tender. In shoulders, the collarbone, chest, everywhere. It didn’t even have to be on a cut or bruise, it could’ve been simply to feel Itadori bare. And at all times, he had his arms wrapped around his waist. Itadori eventually did, too, deepening proximity even more desperately.
But his kisses weren’t rushed, they took time and provided care.
Then, Megumi finally pulled back and got to see Itadori’s expression. His face was red as Megumi began tracing his fingers on the scars of his face. He leaned in and bumped their noses together. Itadori huffed a laugh at this, then slowly reached out and rested his hands on the other boy’s neck. Megumi pulled Itadori in to place a long kiss on Itadori’s scar near his brow. After a moment of that, he pulled back and looked into Itadori’s eyes once more. Their breaths became even. His cheeks no longer had the same deep color. Megumi’s eyes went down to Itadori’s lips, slightly parted.
The only scar that was left untouched was the one right on the side of his mouth. He caressed it, then brought his lips to it. It still wasn’t a proper kiss, as the intention wasn’t right on the mouth, but it could be counted as one. It sure felt like it, because Itadori completely tensed up, clutching Megumi’s clothes. He called his name.
Megumi withdrew. Itadori did, too, only to take his hands to Megumi’s cheeks and bring him right in. Not to his scars, bruises, or any physical remains of previous battles. It was right into his own lips, delivered hastily, probably thought of for a while just to do it rapidly, as to not even feel it. Megumi stayed wide-eyed, too shocked to respond.
It landed harsh, their teeth clanging even with the flesh of their lips. The kiss didn’t last more than a few seconds until Itadori sucked in a breath, making the smallest rift in their touch. “Sorry.”
Megumi took a while to register the apology, being too fixated in Itadori’s eyes, and touching his own lips like they’d just been stolen.
“Don’t apologize.”
“No, it was really sudden, Fushiguro. I should’ve warned you.”
“I don’t mind. It’s fine, you’re fine. I was kissing you all over.”
Itadori groaned at this. “And that was my first kiss. That’s so– I can’t believe it.”
And he said it so nonchalantly Megumi thought it was a joke. But when Itadori turned to him, expectant, Megumi couldn’t help but be smug. “First kiss? Are you kidding? With a boy or just–”
“First kiss! Ugh!”
“How does that even happen… Why? Didn’t girls confess to you?”
“Yeah, but I never got a girlfriend.” Megumi clasped onto this like life itself. Of course he wouldn’t have kissed any girl if they weren’t in a relationship. He could see it happen right in front of him. “Finally beat you at something.” The other boy sighed in disbelief. “I can’t believe it. You were a delinquent.”
Megumi hummed, and got closer again, with eyes closed and a smile. “It didn’t mean anything.” Their love was harsh and boyish, filled with meant and not-so-meant insults, but it was also as raw and tender as it could get. Their noses brushed gently, and Itadori brought his hands to the sides of Megumi’s neck again, downing him in with every push and pull of the kiss. Megumi’s hands were more occupied, searching and running through Itadori’s jaw and the back of his head. He pulled at his hair in a particularly fast movement, which made Itadori make a muffled little sound that made Megumi put some distance so he could breathe.
The next kiss was much more desperate on both ends. Their mouths parted and went back in, Itadori had his hands pulling Megumi closer on his back, then down on his waist, then down again to his hips. They clashed, turned, and tried to breathe as quickly as possible in between trying to deepen the kiss further. Megumi was the one getting the most carried away, though, holding Itadori’s back of his neck and jaw, overlapping with biting his bottom lip, hard.
Itadori pulled back quickly, and it was this movement that made Megumi think about how hard he was clasping Itadori by the hair.
“Hold on, this is kinda uncomfortable,”
They’d been kneel-sitting and cramping from it for a while now, so Itadori tried to shift into a better position, but didn’t quite get it, and exhaled.
“Sit a second.”
Megumi stood up and settled on Itadori’s lap, looking down at him with arms already sitting on the back of his head and playing with pink hair. Itadori gaped up at him, then rested his hands on Megumi’s waist once more.
“Is this better?” Megumi leaned in, almost whispering the question. Itadori hummed in response.
“Better.”
After their previous rough kiss, this next one was a nice contrast. It was a slower pace, as they’d figured out that it could be deep without it being desperate and crashing in like stormy ocean waves. This one slid off better. Itadori had to look up a tiny bit, but Megumi helped by tilting his head and holding his head nicely so he could reach in all he wanted.
Megumi’s hands slid to Itadori’s chest and muscles. Itadori’s went back to the other’s hips.
“Did I tell you,”
“Hmm?”
“That I love you?” Megumi finished saying, and tried to catch his breath.
“You told me you liked me. Not the other l-word.”
“I started loving you when– When you came back. I started appreciating everything and anything you did.”
“And why did you start hating the songs?”
“...I felt stupid. The songs were describing you, and it was just weird.”
“You are so weird.” Itadori said in between laughs.
“Itadori.” The boy looked up at Megumi again. Megumi pressed his palms at the sides of Itadori’s face, squishing him, making Itadori do a weird face.
“Yuuji Itadori, I love you.”
The word didn’t fit right in his usual vocabulary, but this felt serious, true. Strangely right, desperate, longing.
Itadori’s expression said it all. The smile painted on his face didn’t fit his knitted brows of worry. But there was no other way of saying it without it feeling like a curse. Without the fear of the future washing in his warm heart with cool water, waking him up from a short escapade.
Still, he didn’t mention it. “Isn’t it weird I’m the only one half naked?”
Megumi forced back a smile and sighed. “Asshole. Put on your sweater, we’ll have to get going either way.”
The dismissal of those words was probably for the best, anyways.
“Weren’t we kissing just now? Just take your jacket and shirt off and we’re even!” He teased. but Megumi threw his clothes to his face and shut him up.
The feeling of Megumi sitting on his lap, caressing and kissing his scars, pulling him closer, loving him, telling him everything he thought he’d never say, will haunt him for the rest of his days.
-
Itadori stretched his joints, making cracking noises from his spine and neck, to which Megumi made a face.
“We didn’t even get to rest, I’m tired.”
“Wonder whose fault is that.”
“Yeah,”
They put out the fire and locked eyes with the sunrise. It was blue and beautiful. They said nothing about it.
They walked forward, and while the sun still didn’t reach their eyes, Itadori brushed Megumi’s hair that sat on his neck out of the way and kissed him right there, where his lips could feel Megumi’s pulse. His still life.
Megumi pushed him away while Itadori laughed.
After that, they walked side by side, their destiny fogged, but the trail of blood in the streets of Shibuya was probably a warning of what came next. This would be the best time to say that Itadori did in fact love him back, but amidst everything, he left it at that, making the walk silent.