Work Text:
The first time it happens, Megumi surprises himself.
They’re on the couch in the basement—it was Kugisaki’s turn to pick a movie, so they’re watching some Hollywood film. Legally Blonde, Megumi thinks Kugisaki called it. It’s different from the movies Kugisaki typically makes them watch, so although the English gets annoying to constantly translate in his head thanks to the lack of subtitles, Megumi hasn’t fallen asleep yet. Neither has Kugisaki, sitting on the floor and leaning in to stare intently at the screen. Next to Megumi on the couch, though, when he glances over to check, Itadori’s head is drooping, his eyelids half slid shut. Megumi wonders if he should nudge the boy more fully awake, if only to avoid Kugisaki’s inevitable wrath if she catches him dozing, but before he can think too hard on it, Itadori’s head lolls to the side, almost as if about to use Megumi’s shoulder, of all things, as a pillow—
—Megumi flinches away.
Itadori’s head jerks back at the same time, and after a few rapid blinks, he’s staring at Megumi, eyes wide with confusion. There’s no drowsiness left lingering in his gaze, but Megumi doesn’t know how to answer the question in his eyes—he can’t understand his own reaction, how could he possibly explain it to the person who seemingly caused it? Megumi tears his eyes away, pretending that the increased distance between them on the couch doesn’t bother him, even as his skin prickles with an unexplainable discomfort.
The couch feels a lot colder for the rest of the movie.
Once would have been random chance, twice would have been coincidence, but when Megumi inexplicably twists away from a casual high five from Itadori—the third such instance of him avoiding Itadori’s touch for no discernible reason in a week—Megumi realizes coincidence is far too kind a word to employ.
He’s not the only one that realizes something’s wrong. Itadori’s face twists, it does every time, when Megumi falters before Itadori’s raised hand, and he quietly drops his hand. Kugisaki stares at the both of them, her own hands still outstretched from where Megumi and Yuuji had individually given her high-fives after a long day of training.
“What’s wrong with you guys?” she asks bluntly, and Megumi winces.
“I’m fine,” he says at the same time as Itadori mumbles out a “nothing.”
They share a quick glance before darting their gazes away from each other again. Kugisaki’s eyes dart between them, clearly unconvinced.
“You’ve been acting weird. Both of you.” She shakes her head. “Can’t believe I’d miss Itadori always draping himself over you,” she mutters, only loud enough for Megumi to hear. Megumi bites the inside of his cheek. “I ought to lock you two in a closet or something.” She pauses. Her eyes narrow. “Wait,” she starts, but Megumi thinks he’s heard enough.
“Bye,” he says quickly, turning on his heel to retreat to his room so he can hibernate for the rest of the day under his covers with a manga volume that doesn’t belong to him. But he’s not quite quick enough, and so his wrist is soon caught in an iron grip.
When he turns, Kugisaki bares her teeth at him in a sharp grin. “Not so fast,” she coos, and Megumi’s face pales.
“You can’t be serious—”
Kugisaki’s already dragging Megumi forward, and Itadori, too, Megumi realizes when he glances to the side to find Yuuji similarly trapped in Kugisaki’s vice grip. Megumi struggles against the hold a bit, but he’s not really putting his heart into it, and when he glances over again, he doesn’t find Itadori even putting up a fight. Megumi’s lips press into a thin line.
“Where are the damn closets?” Kugisaki grumbles to herself. “Ah!” she crows triumphantly when she spots one.
She drags them to a halt in front of it, then glares at the door as if she can open it through sheer will. She makes a move with the hand still wrapped around Megumi’s wrist towards the door, and Megumi has a fleeting vision of freedom, but Kugisaki catches on before he can take advantage of the loosened grip. Her grip tightens just as he begins to pull away, and he receives a thundering glare as retribution.
“You,” Kugisaki says with a nod in Megumi’s direction. “Open the door.”
Megumi frowns. “No.”
Undeterred, Kugisaki turns to Itadori. “Open the door.”
Itadori glances at Megumi, the first time he’s met Megumi’s eyes since the high-five rejection. Megumi shakes his head minutely. Itadori looks away. Megumi’s flabbergasted when he sees Itadori’s hand move, not to try and pry his wrist out of Kugisaki’s grasp like Megumi would expect, but instead towards the closet—what, does he want to be locked in a closet with Megumi?
The closet door swings open easily under Itadori’s grasp. Kugisaki promptly pushes them both inside, and before Megumi can even right himself in the cramped space, the door swings closed. Instinctively, he tries the handle, and although it moves, the door doesn’t budge when he pushes against it. Kugisaki must have stuck a broom or other object across the door to keep it from opening. Megumi lets go of the handle with a sigh.
“I’ll let you guys out in an hour,” are Kugisaki’s parting words, and shortly after, Megumi can make out her footsteps disappearing down the hall.
“Great,” Megumi murmurs, rubbing at his wrist where Kugisaki’s phantom grip still lingers. Itadori still hasn’t said a word, and it’s with no small amount of frustration that Megumi spins around to face him. It’s dark, though, and Megumi can’t quite make out his expression. “You got us here. What now?”
Itadori’s silent for a beat longer. “Fushiguro, I…”
Megumi closes his eyes. When he opens them, there’s still not much he can see, but he fumbles around long enough to find an overturned bucket to sit on. Wordlessly, he passes a second overturned bucket to Itadori. There’s a slight clatter as Itadori sits down.
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” Megumi asks wearily.
“...I don’t know.”
“Then don’t say sorry.”
“But it’s my fault, isn’t it?”
Megumi squints at him in the dark. “Huh?”
“You don’t… touch me anymore.”
“Huh?”
“Not—” Megumi can hear Itadori’s bucket shake. “Not like that! Like… this.” He moves a hand ever so slowly towards Megumi’s, but Megumi pulls back on reflex. Itadori’s hand stills before it drops. “See?”
Megumi’s hand twitches. “So?”
“So?” Itadori repeats. “I… must have done something, right?”
Megumi pinches the bridge of his nose. “You didn’t do anything. I’m fine.” He sounds a bit like he’s trying to convince himself.
“Then… did Sukuna do something?”
Megumi stills. Itadori must take his silence for affirmation, because he immediately shuffles further back.
“I knew it,” he murmurs miserably. “I knew it,” he repeats louder. “I’m—sorry. I’m sorry, Fushiguro, I shouldn’t have let him take control like that—I shouldn’t have—”
“Shut it,” Megumi interrupts weakly. “It wasn’t you. I know that.” Does my skin know that? Megumi wonders, and Nobara’s phantom grip on his wrist shifts into something sharper, into nails digging in and piercing his skin, into debris flying in his mouth, face, eyes, into a sharp grin, all wrong, something’s wrong, this isn’t right—
He slaps himself on the wrist.
“Fushiguro?” Itadori asks, bewildered.
“Fuck,” Megumi mutters into his hand. “He messed with me more than I thought.”
“Sukuna?” Itadori guesses, and Megumi nods before realizing the other can’t see him.
“Yeah.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. It’s not you, Itadori, I just—it’s… instinct.”
Itadori’s silent for a moment that stretches into forever. “How can I fix it?” he asks quietly, and Megumi can only shrug helplessly.
“I don’t know.”
Another stretch of silence. “Can I hold your hand?”
“What?”
“Can I hold your hand?”
Megumi stares at his hands, his own fingers barely distinguishable in the dark. He lets out a short exhale.
“...yeah.”
Itadori shuffles closer. Even without the lighting, Megumi can feel his fingers hesitating above his. Slowly, Itadori brings his hand down, and although Megumi’s hand twitches, he manages to avoid pulling away completely. Itadori’s touch is feather-light, and just like before, Megumi’s skin prickles with invisible pins, but the longer Itadori’s fingers stay on the skin on the palm of his hands, the more the pinpricks fade, until Megumi’s skin is finally and blissfully quiet.
“Is this fine?”
“Yeah.”
Itadori’s fingers move until their palms are completely pressed together. It’s the most skin contact Megumi’s had in a week, and the next breath he takes is shuddering, but he manages to keep his hand perfectly still. Slowly, Itadori’s fingers slide, then fold over in the spaces between Megumi’s fingers. Even more slowly, Megumi’s fingers do the same, until their hands are completely linked.
“You’ve got pretty hands,” Itadori murmurs.
Megumi chokes out a laugh. “You can’t even see them.”
“I don’t have to.”
Itadori’s thumb rubs circles on the back of Megumi’s hand. Megumi swallows. The silence, all of a sudden, becomes too much.
“Yuuji?” he blurts out, and Itadori nearly startles at that—Megumi can tell from the way his fingers twitch against his own, although they relax just as fast.
“Yeah?”
“This is… you, right?” Megumi feels foolish for even asking. Of course it’s Itadori—he can feel it where their every nerve meets, but still, still, he has the desperate need to make sure, and he’s sure Itadori will laugh himself silly at the question, at Megumi for needing to ask, but Itadori doesn’t laugh, and while Megumi can feel the smile in his skin, he knows it’s a gentle thing, nothing like the pointed grin that lurks in the of his most tumultuous nights—
“Yeah,” Yuuji murmurs. “It’s me.”
Megumi’s skin settles. It’s Yuuji, and that’s enough.
(It could be anywhere from an hour to five when Kugisaki finally lets them out. Her face creases into her typical scowl when she slams the door open without fanfare to find Megumi and Yuuji sitting on overturned buckets with their hands in each other’s.
“Glad to see you’re back to normal, weirdos,” she says with her typical scoff, disdain written plain on her face.
Megumi knows better. Kugisaki is content now, and Megumi is, too.)