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They never really tell you much about soulmates.
Well, there’s the basics. If you eat something your soulmate cooked or baked, you’ll—allegedly—feel the emotions the soulmate had while creating it within the food as if it was simply another ingredient in the recipe. Yuuji’s heard a ton of stories—some people can directly hear their soulmate’s thoughts as they had them while cooking, some people can visualize their soulmate’s entire baking experience with a single bite, and some people can only taste the emotion. Whatever that means.
Yuuji’s not sure which category he falls into, because he hasn’t met his soulmate yet. He’s not too bothered by any of the prospects, though. He’ll find his soulmate when it’s time. That doesn’t mean he’s not excited, though—unlike Gojo, who’s been awfully reticent about his soulmate in the short time Yuuji’s known him, Yuuji can’t wait to show off his soulmate to the whole world. There’s something awfully poetic, Yuuji thinks, about having a single person out there meant to be his, in whatever way they choose. Platonically, romantically, something in between—in whatever sense his soulmate wants him, Yuuji is ready to share.
He’s spent so long daydreaming different fantasies of meeting his soulmate—taking a bite of food and being awash with an indescribable feeling—that when it actually happens, it takes a while to register.
First, because his soulmate ends up being the singular person Yuuji was most hoping it would be. Second, because it fucking hurts.
They’re making meatballs when it happens. Yuuji had been surprised when Fushiguro had come up to him, an awkward hand on his neck, with the request to teach him how to make them. Yuuji, who had been more than excited at the prospect of cooking (and potentially tasting!) food with Fushiguro, was only ecstatic to oblige. He’d been unbelievably nervous to finally taste the finished product, and based on the frown marring Fushiguro’s expression, Yuuji could only guess the other felt similarly. They had tapped their meatballs together in the semblance of a toast, before carefully taking a bite—
—which leads them to now, with Yuuji on one side of the kitchen, head slumped on the counter, and Fushiguro on the other side of the kitchen, both hands covering his ears.
“What the fuck,” Fushiguro begins to ask when the horrible static dissipates, “was that.”
Yuuji finally lifts his head from the counter and shakes it quickly, trying to dispel the remnants of the ear-splitting noise. “Maybe something in the hallway?” he offers half-heartedly, but even as he says it, he knows he’s wrong. He hadn’t heard the noise coming from the hallway—he had heard the noise from, oddly enough, the recesses of his own mind.
Fushiguro frowns at the meatball that remains in his hand. Slowly, he takes another bite, only to promptly reel back with a wince. It’s only after he swallows that Yuuji dares to do the same with his own meatball—as he feared (hoped?), the crackling static roars in his ears again with a fierce vengeance.
“Uh,” Yuuji says weakly when the sound finally stops echoing in his ears. “Hey, Fushiguro?”
“...yeah?”
“Do you think… we might be soulmates…?”
“Oh, god.”
They end up asking Gojo about it, because, well, what else are they supposed to do?
“Sounds like static?” Gojo hums, rubbing his chin in contemplation. “Yeah, I remember that. It was when Su—” He breaks himself off with a cough. “It was when my soulmate and I tried baking together.” He shudders. “We quit that pretty fast.” He tilts his head to the side. “Turns out if you make something with your soulmate and try to eat it, all you hear is a chaotic overlapping of voices. It’s pretty annoying, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Fushiguro mutters.
Gojo grins. “Don’t worry, my darling Megumi-chan! You guys can still cook together as long as you’re using separate ingredients, if you wanted to try again!” He frowns. “S—my soulmate refused to let me in the kitchen after that first incident, so…” He trails off with a shrug before clapping Fushiguro and Yuuji on the shoulder. “Not to worry. I’m sure you both are better at cooking than I am.”
“This coming from the guy who’s supposed to be good at everything,” Fushiguro says under his breath, and Yuuji hides his subsequent laugh with a cough.
“What’s that, Megumi-chan?” Gojo asks, overly sweet.
“Nothing,” Fushiguro replies blandly. “Thanks, I guess.”
“You’re most dearly welcome. The two of you are soulmates, then, right?” Gojo asks abruptly, and Yuuji watches Fushiguro stiffen.
“Yeah,” Yuuji offers when Fushiguro stays quiet. “I guess so.” He wants to be more excited about the prospect, but something about Fushiguro’s stance and silence make Yuuji nervous.
A strange expression flickers on Gojo’s face, but it’s gone before Yuuji can categorize it. “Hm,” is all he says in an odd tone of voice, before clapping his hands together, his typical grin back in place. “Well, you two have fun, then!”
With that, he’s gone. In the space left behind, Yuuji glances at Fushiguro.
“So. Soulmates?”
Fushiguro looks away. “Actually, I have something to do. Sorry.”
With that, he’s gone. In the space left behind, Yuuji stares at his hands and wonders if Gojo and Fushiguro’s tendencies to disappear in a moment’s instance is genetic.
Yuuji would like to tell himself that he doesn’t think much of it, but he would be lying. Although he never brings up the topic of soulmates to Fushiguro again verbally, there’s little he can do to stop the topic from infiltrating his mind so often.
Fushiguro, of all people, being his soulmate, is… unexpected, but most definitely not disliked—at least by Yuuji. He tries not to think too hard about if the same is true on Fushiguro’s end.
Actually, Yuuji’s been nursing what could hypothetically, potentially, possibly be classified as a crush on the spiky-haired sorcerer. It was hard not to, given Fushiguro’s… well, everything. Hypothetically, potentially, possibly, this was Yuuji’s best case scenario… or it would be, if Fushiguro wasn’t so reluctant to discuss the topic.
But Yuuji could take a hint. If Fushiguro despised the idea of soulmates so much, there was no other option but to remain platonic soulmates, and Yuuji was fine with that. Really. He was fine with taking his grandiose plans of taking Fushiguro out to the movies on a date and locking it away in a never-to-be-discovered chest, he was fine with erasing all his wishes to plant a sweet kiss on Fushiguro’s lips to catch him by surprise, he was fine with letting go of the embers building in his chest and surrendering to the wind. Really.
Still, Yuuji doesn’t realize how bad it really is until, of all things, a picnic. It’s Gojo’s idea at first, but it only really manifests once the second years begin showing enthusiasm for it, too. Kugisaki and Fushiguro are reluctant to warm up to the idea, Yuuji can tell, but as for himself, he’s only too eager to roll up his sleeves and make something for his friends and classmates. Returning to the kitchen after avoiding it like the plague for so long is about as refreshing as Yuuji expects it to be, and so it’s with a wide grin that he bounds up the hill to the large tree that the first and second years congregate under. There’s already a mat out, a few snacks spread out, a few people talking, a few people snacking—it’s a conversation between Kugisaki and Fushiguro that Yuuji interrupts when he announces his presence.
“I brought takoyaki!”
Maki gives him an approving nod. “I’ll take one,” she says, and Yuuji dramatically uncovers the platter in his hands and basks in the oohs that follow. Never mind the fact that there’s one conspicuously missing.
“I’ll take one, too,” Panda says.
“Okaka,” Inumaki says.
“Fine. If you insist,” Kugisaki sniffs when Yuuji turns to her expectantly. Despite her verbal indifference, she’s quick to snatch one from the plate. With all the second-years grabbing ones, too, there’s only a few left.
Yuuji almost feels like he’s holding his breath when he turns to Fushiguro. He doesn’t remember what he was thinking when he was making the snack—hopefully nothing too incriminating as to his poorly concealed despair given Fushiguro’s reaction to their soulmate status.
“Do you want—”
“Sorry,” Fushiguro interrupts before Yuuji can even finish asking. “I’m… not hungry.”
Yuuji stares at the half-eaten onigiri in Fushiguro’s hand. “Right,” he says slowly. Fushiguro notices Yuuji’s gaze and quickly shoves the onigiri into his pocket. Yuuji pulls his eyes away. “I’ll leave the rest here, then!” he says quickly, setting the plate down on an empty spot on the picnic blanket without meeting anyone’s eyes. “I, uh, think I left something in the… sink…” His weak excuse trails off. He coughs before turning sharply on his heel and walking—not sprinting, just walking—away from the group. He’s starting to develop a headache behind his eyes, and he’s pretty sure he can’t blame it on soulmate interference this time.
(Maybe, though, he can blame it on his soulmate.)
He walks aimlessly for a bit, and before he realizes it, he’s made it back to the kitchen. His ingredients and tools are still out, and mindlessly, Yuuji goes back to cooking. For the next segment of time that passes, however long it is, Yuuji keeps his hands occupied and his mind as blank as he possibly can. He’s not quite successful with the latter, but he ignores any lingering threads of heartbreak to push through.
He’s nearly finished making an entire second set by the time Fushiguro walks in the kitchen.
“...Itadori?” he says when he enters, quiet, but not quiet enough not to make Yuuji startle.
“Oh… oh, hi,” Yuuji says awkwardly, glancing quickly at the other before his eyes dart back to the pan. “Did you need something?”
“I wanted to talk.”
Yuuji swallows. “About what?”
“...soulmates.”
“Ah, yeah?” Yuuji asks weakly. “What about them?”
“Itadori.”
“Hm?”
“Yuuji.”
At that, Yuuji pulls his eyes up from the pan. There’s something carefully guarded in Megumi’s eyes that stops him from looking away again.
“I’m not…” Megumi takes a deep breath before starting again. “I’m not good at this type of stuff.”
“You don’t have to be,” Yuuji murmurs.
“I want to be. Let me try to be.” Yuuji falls silent, watching as Megumi mindlessly taps his fingers against the counter. “You might have noticed… that I, uh, don’t really like talking about this… soulmates business.”
Yuuji laughs lightly. “Yeah.”
Megumi’s lips twist. “It’s not that I don’t… like you. Quite the opposite actually,” he murmurs to himself, but before Yuuji can think too much about it, he continues. “I’m just… scared.”
“Scared?” Yuuji echoes. “Of what?”
“Of everything being and having a soulmate entails,” is Megumi’s quiet response. “Do you know what it means to be someone’s person, Yuuji? Do you know what it means to give yourself entirely to another person?” His voice drops in volume even more. “Do you know what it means to lose that person?”
“You haven’t lost me,” Yuuji says simply. “I’m right here.”
Megumi’s lips twitch. “For how long?”
“As long as you’ll have me.”
Something flickers in Megumi’s eyes. “Don’t lie to me, Yuuji. We both know that’s out of your control.”
“Maybe,” Yuuji concedes. “But why give up so early? In this moment of time, I’m right here. Isn’t that enough?”
Megumi swallows. “You don’t understand,” he says hoarsely. When he falls silent, Yuuji turns back to the pan to lift out the skewers. The takoyaki is a bit burnt now, but he sets it out on a paper towel to dry regardless. He can feel Megumi’s eyes on his back. “Of course it’s enough,” Megumi continues, but his voice sounds distant, and when Yuuji turns again, his gaze is distant, too. “You’re more than enough, Yuuji, but—”
“Try one,” Yuuji interrupts, sliding a takoyaki over to Megumi. At his panicked stare, Yuuji nudges it closer. “Just try it.”
Megumi’s jaw is set like he’s poised to say no, but he picks up the snack. Ever so slowly, he takes a bite. He closes his eyes when he chews, and it’s only when he’s finished that he opens his eyes.
“You love me.”
“And I think you love me, too,” Yuuji says simply, and when Megumi doesn’t refute his statement, he moves around the corner of the counter to stand closer to the other boy. “For now, can’t that be enough?”
Surprisingly, it’s Megumi that reaches out to tangle his fingers with Yuuji. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I think we can be enough.” He hesitates. “I’m not… going to be good at this. Not at first.”
“That’s okay,” Yuuji says, brushing his lips against Megumi’s forehead. “We have all the time in the world.”
(In this moment, they both ignore the lie tangled in his words. In this moment, they are Yuuji and Megumi, in love.)