Chapter Text
After roping Nobara into movie night on a lazy afternoon, Yūji strolled towards Megumi’s room with the same purpose. Nobara, having offered to ask the senpai to join, was busy tapping away at her phone and followed a few steps behind. Megumi had been sick with a cold since the day before and the two wanted to lift his spirits. Hurt or ill, Megumi had a tendency to hole up in his room and endure alone.
Yūji was ten strides from their classmate’s door when it opened and a feminine figure slipped out. All he saw was the back of a girl—a plain white T, black bell-bottom jeans—as she pulled on a black jacket and slung a froggy backpack over her shoulder. Her hair was up in two little buns and Yūji watched them get farther and farther as he stood, stunned.
Nobara bumped into him, but he spoke before she could get out a complaint. “Am I crazy or did a girl just come out of Fushiguro’s room?”
Nobara got on the tips of her toes and peered down the hallway over his shoulder. “Oh, you mean his mysterious girlfriend.”
“His what?”
“Yeah, I got the scoop a while back but he won’t budge at all.”
“You’ve known this for how long?” Yūji asked, turning to look at her in disbelief.
“Hey, I would’ve shared, but he keeps it super private.” She shrugged. “I dunno, maybe she’s shy or he doesn’t wanna get teased—either way, his lips are sealed.”
“I’m still trying to process this.”
Nobara clenched her fist. “I can’t believe he got a partner before me.” And crossed her arms, sulking. “I bet you they met in the library or something cliché like that.”
She was not far off.
Megumi wasn’t the outgoing sort, but when he needed a break from the classrooms, the dorms, and the hospital, all that was left was a café, a library, a park, or something of the kind. He sought out what was least crowded, opting for a park depending on the weather, but on drizzly days his choices were reduced to indoor venues. Of those, he’d tried out a number of diners, coffee shops, and study rooms, but only returned to one odd café tucked away in a side street near a train station.
It was a place on the first and second floor of a tall, skinny building. Patrons entered through a glass door and were greeted by one of the owners—an elderly couple who trudged about with slow smiles and hand-made and brewed every single thing on the menu, despite their age—who would call out to them from the little reception hub. From there one would turn right into the sitting area—a spacious, airy room with clusters of odd, mismatched furniture scattered about. There were sofas, wooden chairs, armchairs by a cozy little fireplace, and bar stools at the counter from which the waitress collected orders to distribute and which continued as a display glass case of sweet and salty offerings. On either side of the fireplace were tall bookshelves and at the elbow of most seated persons was either an end table or a stool to put drinks on.
A spiral staircase led to the modern upper floor with tables for families or groups of friends and a chest of drawers filled with board games, card games, and chargers, by which was also the lost and found—a section of forgotten umbrellas, abandoned scarves, and the occasional glove or student card.
The café was pet-friendly and housed the owners’ very own feline companion-- Colonel Fluffers—and a lively parrot—Carrot—who liked to whistle, dance, and ask every passer-by one of its favorite questions. How is your day? Would you like sugar with that? Is this to-go? Are you a pretty bird?
Megumi’s favorite was the lonesome green armchair by a wide window with the view of a little garden where stray cats gathered to enjoy the catnip and a free meal the elderly couple put out every morning. The back of the chair was turned to the fireplace, a tall, round-top table off to the side for his order. Sitting there, he faced the rest of the room on an angle that allowed him to cut it off from his mind and feel as though he was alone and undisturbed in a comfortable little bubble. The café was not very busy—mostly visited by friends and family of the owners, a few stressed salarymen who worked on projects during lunch breaks, and more elderly citizens who milled about and read books, the bulk of which was donated by them or had been in the owners’ family for decades.
When he needed to de-stress, Megumi went there, ordered a black coffee, picked up a non-fiction book or brought along his own, and spent hours in peace. It became his regular spot, his regular chair, and regular order.
He didn’t particularly notice the waitress at first. She was a part-timer, his age, undistinguished by anything except the warmth of her voice and a smile that looked too natural to have been faked. Megumi would’ve paid her no mind, but she had acknowledged him as the new regular. And it was her mission to know every regular’s name. Apparently.
“Mr Fushiguro, right?” she asked one day, setting down his coffee.
Megumi cleared his throat. “Yes.”
“No first name?” she inquired and, had her features not been so disarmingly open and benign, he might’ve rebuffed her.
Averting his eye, he said, “Megumi.”
“Nice! Welcome to the family.”
Just as she would’ve crossed a line in his book, she turned and skipped away, stopping briefly to call over her shoulder. “Thank you for your patronage!” And give her name.
Before Megumi could decide whether a response was expected, the parrot flew over and perched on her shoulder. “Are you a pretty bird?” it cooed.
She giggled—it was a sweet sound, in the way apples were sweet—and said, “You’re the pretty bird!”
And then they were off—girl and parrot—to pick up more orders. Megumi’s stay that day was marked by tension, a dread of overfamiliarity and more personal questions. He’d come to read, not make friends and hear life stories, but she never gave him a second glance. Whether she sensed his apprehension or was simply too busy to address him again, she jogged and strolled back and forth, chatting with the other regulars—How’s your hip? Still hurts when it rains? and Isn’t it your granddaughter’s birthday tomorrow? and I read that book you recommended! It was exactly my taste.—without putting the spotlight on him a second time.
That night he deliberated whether to go back or search for another place, but the comforts he’d gotten used to overwhelmed the dislike of being bothered. He went again and the attack of questions he’d expected never came. The old man greeted him at the door, his wife brewed his coffee, the waitress brought it with a smile and left him in peace.
She respected his bubble and that was the beginning and end of their involvement, Megumi thought.
He was wrong.
It was the parrot’s fault. The flapping of wings announced it, but it had no courage to land on Megumi. It settled on the windowsill instead and tilted its head at him.
“Would you like sugar with that?” it asked and bounced up and down energetically. “Are you a pretty bird?”
Megumi squinted at it in discomfort. Was he supposed to entertain the questions? Was it too rude to ignore it? Its wings were vibrant like Nue’s. It seemed amiable.
“No, silly,” said a gentle voice from behind Megumi. “That’s Megumi.” The sound of his name from her lips drew him to attention the way the chiming of a bell did. “C’mere, you troublemaker.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Megumi watched her offer a finger. The parrot hopped onto it.
“What do we do when people read?” she asked.
“Read in peace!”
“That’s right, read in peace.” She stroked its wing. “Good job, smarty bird.”
“Smarty bird!” it echoed. “Smarty bird! Kisses.” The parrot leaned into her and made kissing noises.
She grinned, pure love in her smile-creased eyes. “Thank you for the kisses, Carrot. Let’s go out front and greet people, okay? We don’t bother Megumi.” With an apologetic smile to Megumi she left, a bird on a finger and a tray under an arm.
The impromptu scene gave him relief from suspicions of being pulled into unbidden intimacy but also left him feeling . . . odd. She said his name weird. Squeeze-your-chest weird. That was odd. He wasn’t too happy about it—it ruined his leisure time, a consideration of no importance that impeded his ability to focus on the words of the book, and when he wasn’t focused on the book, he was present. Enough to realize she walked by often, looking peppy and motivated, and that no pet on the premises was excluded from the affection she’d bestowed on Carrot the parrot.
Retiree regulars came with their elderly dogs and she had a treat for each one in the pocket of her blue apron. When the old man yelled at her to take a break already, she shimmied to the nearest dog, cat, lizard—one of the regulars was the couple’s best man who came to drink tea with a bearded dragon sunbathing on his flat cap—and snuggled up to them. She was open and honest the way Itadori was, perceptive and intelligent the way Kugisaki was, tactful the way Megumi could be. It was an unusual mix in one person and, though he didn’t want to take note of that and spare time and thoughts for her, Megumi didn’t have much of a choice.
The dictionary incident was the turning point.
Megumi had finished a psychologist’s account of a murder trial during which she’d acted as an expert witness and had gone to the bookshelf he’d picked the book out from—the bookshelf by the staircase—to return it. She was there, on the tips of her toes, groping from spine to spine in search of something.
He could’ve turned heel and taken the book back after paying or even the next day—the owners were trustful with customers—but he didn’t. He lingered, knowing he had the height to solve her problem but not knowing how or if to offer his help. She’d been kind and mindful of him to a degree that did make him feel somewhat indebted—seeing how cozy and chummy she was with other regulars, yet how strictly she stuck to being only as forward with him as he would, on a given day, tolerate.
Before he could come to a decision, the heavy tome she was inching out of its slot by her nails toppled over. A dictionary as thick as a wrist, tilting off the edge straight towards her head. Megumi was at her side in a heartbeat. He regretted that his intervention nudged her into the bookcase—his chest bumping her back—but found relief in the fact that he’d contained the dangerous book before it had the chance to bruise her skull.
With a soft gasp, she looked over her shoulder and up at him who stood over her, holding the book up with one hand, his body caging in hers. As the reality of the situation and what it could look like to anyone walking by set in, Megumi simultaneously lost his voice and wanted urgently to form words to explain his reasoning for getting so suddenly and roughly into her personal space. She was quicker with a response and it was not one he was expecting.
“Oh wait, I’ve read that book!”
Megumi blinked. Looked up at the dictionary, then down at the book in his other hand.
“Murder trial, right?” she said, her attention fully diverted to a non-priority. She twisted her torso to face him and picked a book from a shelf to the left of her hip, saying as she lifted her head, “Boss said you gravitate towards non-fiction so I was going to recommend this o—" When her eye paused on the dictionary he was still holding up, she snapped back to the matter at hand and Megumi did too.
He put distance between them—an arm’s length—and held the dictionary out for her to take.
“Sheesh, that could’ve been bad. Sorry, I got distracted and started babbling,” she said and shot him a sheepish smile before accepting the book. “Thank you for the save, Megumi.”
Again she said his name weird. That girlish name. It sounded different from her mouth.
“It’s . . . It’s fine,” he mumbled and awkwardly pushed his book into place by her head.
“Shoot!” She darted to the side. “Sorry, I’m in the way.”
Megumi straightened, unsure of what to say or do to exit the situation in a polite manner.
She picked up on it and gave a laugh that brushed off the awkwardness that had hovered between them. “Thanks again.” She went to put the book she’d recommended back.
“I’ll take it,” Megumi blurted out.
“Um—”
“The recommendation,” he clarified, turning his head as heat seeped into his cheeks.
She lit up as if nothing could delight her more than him giving time to her choice of a book, and extended it to him. “Here. I hope it’s to your taste.”
Megumi thought it just might be.
I'm sick and cramped, so I've snapped and decided to start posting this one, even though I've only edited it once and I swing from liking it to hating it often, but I'm forcing myself to post something and write more this year.
I'm thinking I might say fuck it and start posting my Childe x Reader genshin fic as well.
Happy February, hope you're doing well this year.