Work Text:
Megumi hasn’t met anyone quite like himself before. Perhaps it’s the conservative society he lives in. Not Japan as a nation, but jujutsu society. Such a strict adherence to binaries that Megumi respects as a rule, but not quite naturally, and he’s always loved doing whatever the fuck he wants. It’s even harder to abide when Gojo (who should be the pinnacle of these old traditions and ideas that say put some [one] on top, most below, and draws several vertical lines between, some arbitrary like Wanted Criminal and others less grounded in political self-preservation like Grade 1 and Grade 2 sorcerers) has had a firm hand on Megumi’s shoulder his whole life, the other flipping off the elders and even regular sorcerers who still think of him in all the wrong ways. Zenin, for one. A girl, second.
Or perhaps, he just doesn’t have friends. Sisters and manchildren who have legal custody over him don’t count.
That all changes when he gets to high school. He meets Yuji first- bubbly, earnest Yuji who gives Megumi a headache like he’s eaten too much cake. He’s like Gojo but less infuriating and more, for lack of better word, dumb. Then he meets Nobara- assertive, unbothered Nobara who leaves Megumi well enough alone at first. He prefers it that way. With Yuji rooming right next to him, treating their proximity as an open invitation to pester Megumi, any and all quiet is sought after. He listens for when Gojo collects Yuji and goes off to crash-course him about jujutsu as he’s done for the past couple of days, heavy footsteps and loud chatter, and slips out once the coast is clear.
Sports bra subbing for his binder for a much-needed break and reading a boring novel on the couch in the common room, Megumi almost forgets that he’s not alone in the dorms. Nobara is much like Megumi for all the stupidity she indulges in with Yuji. Quieter, for one, and more like a cat walking around than a clumsy puppy. Silent on her feet. Megumi almost doesn’t notice her when she stops in front of him with a wicked grin on her face.
“I fucking knew it,” she says, awfully smug.
He quickly realizes his bra straps must be peeking out at the neck of his black sweatshirt.
Megumi’s fingers curl tight around his shrimp chips, mentally taking note of the page he’s on for later. He knows that sneer. Arrogant, jeering. It’s been a while since he’s beaten up playground bullies. He’s almost itching for an excuse. It’s easier than addressing all the pathetic flip-flopping his stomach does at the realisation.
“Excuse me?”
He’s all but waiting for her to double down. Instead, Nobara points at Megumi with her index finger and then at herself with her thumb. Megumi looks closely at her warm, brown eyes and realises she’s not mocking him as others have in the past. Repeatedly. Megumi was always quick to knock a few teeth out and bloody their noses until everyone left him well enough alone except for the few masochists who began idolising him and begging him to be their little ringleader.
Rather, she’s giddy. “I’m trans, too!”
Megumi blinks at her stupidly. It takes him four seconds to digest everything- her genuine, contagious excitement, her bright smile, her use of the word too.
“You… you’re…?”
Megumi can’t say it as brazenly as Nobara does. Even with all the support from his family, his gender has always been a personal thing. Something not discussed. He realises he’s never really said the word aloud, not that being trans is bad, but that he’s always been iffy about saying it aloud. It’s more like a swear word than any real swear word has been to him given his tendency to disregard rules. All the rules he disregarded were rules that were out of touch. Don’t hurt people- human beings don’t say nasty things for fun, so Megumi had every right. Things like Don’t flaunt your cursed energy to regular people- were practical, it made perfect sense. Don’t talk about what’s in your pants- was unspoken yet infinitely more ingrained into his mind, the intersection of propriety and gender norms and shame congealing into a nasty clog in his throat.
“Mhm,” she affirms easily, flopping onto the couch beside Megumi. Nobara doesn’t seem half as cold as she did that first day. When she puts her legs on Megumi’s lap as if they’ve been friends their whole life, Megumi is strangely reminded of Tsumiki. The two couldn’t be more different in personality, but they both leave Megumi’s chest tight with a warm fuzziness like a plush blanket.
“Gimme,” Nobara huffs, sticking her hand out while she scrolls on her phone. Megumi frowns but carefully shakes a few chips onto her outstretched palm. Nobara pops it into her mouth with a satisfied hum. Not even four seconds later, she snatches the bag from him. Megumi can’t even bring himself to be annoyed.
Family.
Yuji goes from a write-off to deeply disconcerting in record time. He’s a dumb teenage boy who has pin-up posters in his dorm room but the sweetest, widest smile as he begs Megumi to run to the dumpling spot nearby for second-dinner because he’s a bottomless pit. Megumi isn’t quite sure how he feels about that yet, just that it makes him want to smile back, and then immediately smack himself upside the head for even thinking it. He’s having one of those moments where his brain lags around Yuji’s syrupy smile and tone when he finally processes what’s being asked of him. A follow-up from the Sister School Exchange, something Megumi thought he wouldn’t have to deal with again.
His type. In women.
Megumi hasn’t paid much mind to like-liking. He’s been too busy losing his mind over his own body to pay attention to women’s bodies. Does he even like women? Megumi thinks of a relationship and can easily imagine every combination possible. Megumi thinks of marriage and his first and most notable thought is a man and a woman. This scenario already feels icky, like he has to mutilate himself to fit. He can’t imagine a man loving him . What man would want a woman who doesn’t look or act like a woman? Even that line of thinking grosses him out more. He knows there’s no correct way to be any gender other than the most comfortable expression for each individual. But Megumi knows how love works, how men impose ideas and women bend and buckle and break under the burden. Nobara routinely cuddles up to his side when they chill and nothing has ever stirred in his heart.
But Yuji so much as looks at Megumi fondly while he waits for an answer and Megumi can’t do anything but give an unintelligent, “The way someone looks doesn’t really matter. Just that they’re true to themselves.”
“Unshakeable character and all that?” Yuji asks slowly, rolling over to lay on his stomach. He’s on Megumi’s bed. His self-invites have progressed into a routine. Megumi even expects it now, almost looks forward to Yuji lazing around on his bed all groggy after training, yammering away about anything and everything.
Megumi nods.
Yuji then snorts. “You’re so corny, man.”
“Shut up ,” he says quickly, harshly. Completely and utterly embarrassed. He remembers Yuji’s type. The pin-up posters. He knows he’s dumb for even starting to like-like Yuji. “It’s better than objectifying-”
“-No one’s objectifying anyone! It’s just… nice, you know? Reeeeal nice,” Yuji says, that dopey smile on his face again.
Yuji is gross. So proudly a gross, dumb teenage boy that Megumi’s head spins with the sheer simplicity of it. He thinks of his idea of marriage again, of a man loving someone so deeply that his partner’s life is made easy. Love and loved in return. Megumi still doesn’t know if that’s even what he’s feeling. He just thinks Yuji is gross. A kind of grossness that he wouldn’t mind rolling around in, like a pig in mud. Yuji makes him act like a pig. A glutton for being treated like he’s someone important to Yuji despite the mere months they’ve shared. A glutton for the ease with which Yuji slings an arm around Megumi as they walk back from karaoke, teasing him for his lean build but not thinking twice about why Megumi hasn’t developed the same muscle mass as Yuji despite their identical training regiments. A glutton for the way Yuji hasn’t thought twice about his horribly feminine first name that Megumi hates but doesn’t hate-hate when Gojo and Tsumiki call him it so affectionately. His name, his his his. Megumi, blessing, you’re beloved.
Could Yuji call him Megumi one day, too?
“Get out,” he snaps, shoving a dazed Yuji off his bed. He’s rather gentle about it, making sure Yuji doesn’t hit his head. But he needs Yuji out of sight so he doesn’t keep having these gross thoughts about an even grosser boy.
“Okay, okay, sorry! Jeez, that hurt,” Yuji mumbles, rubbing the hip he landed on as he limps out of the room, throwing Megumi almost-effective puppy eyes over his shoulder. Megumi has seen Yuji cleave a brick wall with a mere punch while outputting next to no cursed energy. Dramatic , gross, dumb boy, he amends.
Periods still suck ass even now when he's accepted them as a part of his life. His lumbar feels like it’s being ripped in two, his uterus expanding and imploding simultaneously and incessantly. Megumi is graciously spared from cramps but he still feels like shit. Even with Steggie (smuggled into JJT at the bottom of his suitcase to spare himself Gojo’s teasing) cuddled to his stomach, Megumi writhes on his bed, curling tighter into himself. No real physical pain, no. Just crippling dysphoria.
When he doesn’t show up for morning classes, he hears a knock at his door around lunchtime, and then Yuji’s voice. “Fushiguro? You slept in!”
Megumi doesn’t respond. Yuji will assume he’s still asleep and leave him alone, hopefully. But then he hears another voice and all hope is dashed.
“The hell are you knocking for, dumbass?”
Nobara’s voice comes loud and clear followed by the sound of a shove. Megumi hears Yuji yelp and then his door swings open. They’re not allowed locks on their dorm doors for some stupid safety reasons, only their personal bathrooms. Megumi glares at Nobara as she dives under Megumi’s covers, Yuji standing stiffly by the bed. He’s holding Steggie tight underneath the covers, prepared to give them both an earful should Steggie be discovered. Nobara has already met Steggie. Yuji hasn’t. Yuji thinks he’s a regular teenage boy, and regular teenage boys don’t have comfort stuffies. Megumi doesn’t mind Nobara being here, even now, but Yuji?
Megumi’s eyes flit to Yuji as he shuffles closer, Nobara curling into his side. It’s easy to put an arm around her back in spite of his mounting anxiety at Yuji. He feels Nobara’s cheek nuzzle into his shoulder as Yuji tilts his head like a puppy. His lips curl into the smallest frown as he reaches a hand for Megumi’s forehead, pushing up his bangs and parsing. His hand is warm and soft and a little sweaty. He’s pouting , Megumi realises, as Yuji opens his mouth to speak. “You got sick from yesterday?”
Yesterday, when they were coming back from a mission out in Kanagawa. Sukuna had tried to subvert Yuji’s control and left Yuji passed out from the strain of it all, leaving Megumi to haul both their asses back to safety while dead tired himself. Then it started raining, too. Exhausted, soaked, freezing, hungry, and bleeding. Not the best combination. When Yuji woke up on the examination table, Dr. Ieiri nearby, he was horribly distraught, asking Megumi over and over again if Sukuna hurt anyone. If he hurt anyone. The guilt etched into Yuji’s ghastly face is engraved into Megumi’s mind.
“I’m fine,” he says firmly, swatting Yuji’s hand away.
“Then why’re you here?”
Megumi frowns. Yuji does too, though with more concern and less prickliness than Megumi. Why does Yuji keep pressing this? Maybe the way Nobara’s clinging to him like a koala is odd. After all, to Yuji’s (limited) knowledge, Megumi is straight and both his friends are cis.
“ Tired . What’s it to you?” he asks defensively, fingers curling tighter around Steggie.
He doesn’t miss the way Yuji’s eyes dart down to Nobara and then back up to him. Megumi thinks he might throw up if this goes on any longer. He wishes Yuji would just say something mildly insulting, or even make a lame joke about how they’re cuddling, give Megumi an excuse to be angry. He wants to be angry.
But then Yuji just shrugs. Megumi falters.
“Nothing, nothing. I’m glad you’re not sick,” he says simply, smiling at Megumi. Megumi’s lips open to no sound. He closes them, frown dissolving only to come back harder. Not sharp and scared and preemptive, but soft and embarrassed as Yuji climbs into bed with him and Nobara. Yuji is bigger than him. Not by much, not visibly, but the difference is clear when he feels Yuji’s arm settle over his waist just below Nobara’s arm, warm and big and comforting. Their combined heat keeps him as warm outside as it does inside.
(Later that afternoon, Gojo stands at the front of an empty classroom with his hands on his hips. Using the vast cursed energy emanating from Yuji as a focal point, he eventually finds them all squeezed into Megumi’s bed, the poor boy squished between his two friends. Gojo smiles and shuts the light off before leaving to enjoy his impromptu day off.)