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In retrospect, this is entirely Megumi’s fault. This is the only time he regrets not taking stupid Gojo fucking Satoru’s help. One time.
Megumi leads a busy life. Between classes and extracurriculars and his part-time job, he’s got so much going on. He hardly remembers to take his allergy meds sometimes; thank god antihistamines are relatively cheap. He will admit that maybe he just stresses himself out too much—Yuuji often tells him off with a flick to the forehead—but that aside, he will admit that it’s his fault when he forgets to get a refill on T.
Now, he doesn’t panic at first when he realizes he’s running low. He figures he’ll just get to his doctor on a workday and leaves it at that. He forgets to do that for a whole week, when he’s running seriously low (Nobara finds out and yells at him for that).
There lies the real problem: his doctor is on leave. For at least a year, because she’s having a whole-ass kid.
Yuuji is next to him when he makes the call and tries very hard to soothe a very stressed-out Megumi. He asks if Megumi can’t just find another one, and Megumi reminds him that gender specialists are difficult to find, and it’s not so easy to just go up to a whole stranger when he’s had the same one since he was thirteen. Yuuji accepts that and says that he’ll help Megumi in whatever way he can.
Not that there’s much he can do besides run his hands through Megumi’s hair and comfort him as his nerves fray more and more with each unsuccessful call.
As the weeks go by, Megumi learns to deal with that stress, too. Realistically, it’s not like not taking the hormones can undo what it already has done to his body. He cringes at the thought of his body going back to producing estrogen again, but again, there’s nothing to be done about it.
Yuuji, being Yuuji, lets the whole thing slip to Gojo. The older man is understandably concerned as he’s been witness to Megumi’s gender-dysphoria-induced breakdowns plenty of times and offers to help, but Megumi waves him off, says that he’ll be able to find one soon, probably. He’s been talking to Nanako, one of Gojo’s husband’s daughters, and she’d said her gender specialist might be able to clear out a slot for him if he called.
But before he can do that, he wakes up one morning hours before class, nearly a month later, with a dull ache in his lower back. He shuffles to the bathroom and promptly punches the wall with a stifled scream when he sees dark, dark red. He’s not sure if this should be concerning or not. He definitely needs a checkup, at least.
Now, Megumi is not someone who lets crises get in the way. No, he simply cleans up, pops an anxiety pill, and makes sure his bed is safe (it is) before he decides he can stand to do the laundry a day early. He cleans the blood off his clothes and throws them into the wash along with the rest of his laundry basket, and then sits down to get some reading for class done.
He winces at how he can actually feel the blood dripping. Megumi much prefers tampons or cups because they feel less messy, but the only thing he has on hand are pads and by god do they make him feel gross. Still, again, there’s not much to be done, so he massages his lower back and tries to finish the reading. It’s not bad, interesting enough that it captures his attention, and the distinct sound of the laundry finishing startles him.
Let it be known that Fushiguro Megumi is not one to succumb to his circumstances.
Or so he tells himself all throughout the first day. He goes to classes, meets up with Yuuji and Nobara; they express concern over his lack of an appetite, but he waves them off; he ends up going home early to get changed out of his already-soaked pad and his stomach heaves at the fucking smell, but he works quickly. He’d bought what he needed on the way back so that’s a bonus.
The second day opens with Megumi wanting to tear his uterus off with his bare hands. Unfortunately, that’d also end up with him dead, so he resolves himself to exerting just the right amount of energy to get up and go through the motions of changing before he collapses face-first back into bed. Clumsily, with one hand, he sends an email to his professors explaining that he’s not feeling well today. If they dock points off his assignments, then whatever.
Okay, so Megumi can act flippant all he wants, but he cannot deny that the pain is just about incapacitating him. He tries to remember what he used to do about cramps as a kid, but nothing immediately comes to mind.
His mind is just a loop of it hurts it hurts it hurts god I feel gross and a sudden, desperate desire to crunch on chocolate. Megumi doesn’t even like sweet things, normally. Gojo and his sweets have somewhat gotten him used to it, but this is just awful.
He isn’t sure how long he lies there, half-out of it, lying face-down with his hands pressed into his stomach in an attempt to alleviate the pain with sheer force. It sort of helps, but every once in a while, a sharp sting of pain will jolt him awake and he’ll groan weakly into his pillow.
Distantly, he realizes he hasn’t actually eaten yet, and it’s nearly one in the afternoon. He doesn’t bother trying because he’s fairly certain he’ll throw up if he does eat. He can imagine Gojo nearly burning down the kitchen in an attempt to cook something for him, funnily enough.
As if on cue, his phone vibrates with an incoming call. Gojo Satoru, the call reads. Megumi groans, muting the call. Two minutes later, Gojo calls again. “Fuck you,” Megumi grumbles, not even sure who he’s directing that at. He accepts the call.
“A little birdie told me you weren’t in class today,” Gojo singsongs as soon as Megumi picks up.
“If it’s Nobara or Yuuji, I’m going to strangle them.”
“It was Yuuta-kun, actually,” Gojo says cheerfully. Megumi groans. There’s no way he can get mad at Okkotsu for that, especially since he has been acting PMS-y and weird for a few days now, especially yesterday. He and Gojo are close, so it makes sense he’d ask Gojo where his ‘kid’ was if he didn’t get answers out of Yuuji and Nobara. “What’s up, Megumi? Why do you sound halfway to death?”
“Period,” he admits, too tired to deny it. “Yesterday. I feel like death.”
“I figured,” Gojo says, teasing dropping for a minute to replace itself with concern. “This is why I said I could help you, Megumi. I’m going to place that call now, whether you like it or not.”
“Gojo-san!” he protests. He kind of misses the days when he’d call Gojo Gojo-sensei regardless of if they lived in the same apartment or not. There’s no reason to address him with an honorific at all, to be honest, just that he and Tsumiki are stubborn that way. He’ll always be the weird-as-hell physics teacher who took care of them when no one else would. “That’s not necessary.” His head throbs horribly. He needs his ovaries to disappear.
“No protests. I understand you’re independent, Megumi, but sometimes you’ve just gotta accept help.” Megumi wants to snark back and ask if Gojo ever accepted anyone’s help when he came out and had to fight his family to just be himself, but whatever; he’s possibly even more obstinate. It’s literally the pot calling the kettle black.
He has no willpower to fight this. “Okay. Fine. But I have been intending to call someone—Nanako’s specialist. If you’d do that for me…”
Gojo’s voice softens. “Poor kid, you’re exhausted, aren’t you?” Megumi grumbles unintelligibly. “I get it, Megumi. I’ll be sending Yuuji-kun your way. He should be done around now, right?”
“Ugh. In an hour, maybe.” He winces when a cramp hits again.
“Hang in there, kiddo. You’ll make it through this.”
Famous last words, Megumi thinks as he shuts his eyes, deciding he’ll just catch a quick nap before Yuuji stops by. He dreams of nothing at all.
And that is how Megumi wakes up to the feeling of Yuuji carding his fingers through Megumi’s hair, helping him roll over onto his back and placing something warm on his stomach. It helps a lot.
He mostly grits and full-body locks up when the pain hits, but his stupid boyfriend seems to understand.
“I know, Megumi,” Yuuji says, sound sad and reassuring all at once. He smooths Megumi’s bangs away from his face. “It’ll get better soon. Just hang on tight, yeah?”
“Fuck my life,” he groans, deciding to do away with pretenses. “Can I take my uterus out.”
“I don’t think we can do that on our own,” Yuuji says with a light laugh. “You’re still saving up for the surgery, remember?”
Megumi frowns, but he doesn’t say much more on the topic. He doesn’t want to articulate that he feels gross and sticky and stupidly horny while simultaneously feeling like shit. He doesn’t want to articulate that he hates being in his body and he just wishes he’d been born with a dick like a normal man.
He doesn’t dare say that Yuuji would have so much of an easier time with a normal boyfriend instead of one who bleeds like this and needs so much stupid attention because he can’t handle getting up off the bed by himself to feed himself, because he knows it’d upset Yuuji, who loves so genuinely and wholly. Megumi hates this, hates himself. At the moment, he doesn’t feel very loveable.
The pain isn’t even the most awful thing. Sure, it’s bad enough to incapacitate him; there was that one time he had to go to the hospital and be sedated, Tsumiki in tears the entire time, Gojo’s jaw tense and set, though he doesn’t remember much and suspects it had to do with the shit mental state he was in then. Less pain and more panic. He remembers he’d been crying a lot.
No, the most awful thing is that the heavy fog over his brain won’t recede. It settles over him, making him heavy-limbed and weighted; he’s stuck to the bed and Yuuji’s just sitting next to him, stroking his hair, and Megumi tries to focus on that, a nice sensation amidst so many other bad ones.
He cries out, softly, when the pain hits his abdomen again. Fuck, he should probably change the cup already. He’s always bled so heavily. It makes him sick.
“What can I do to make it better, Megumi?” Yuuji asks softly, gently. Megumi shakes his head. I don’t know. “Let me go replace the hot water bottle, then. Okay?”
“Okay,” he whispers. It’s one thing that seems to help.
Time is strange, because one second, Yuuji is gone and Megumi is about to cry, but then in the next, he’s back and places it gently over Megumi’s stomach, letting Megumi guide it to where it hurts the most. He sits back down and resumes his ministrations, even though he could easily just. Move to the living room and watch a movie, or something.
Instead, he chooses to sit by Megumi’s side and use one hand to massage his aching, cottony head while he scrolls through his phone with his other hand, the sound switched to mute and the brightness all the way down, because the blackout curtains are drawn and Megumi’s head hurts. He’s not sure if he deserves a boyfriend like Yuuji.
“Megumi,” Yuuji says, “let’s eat something now.”
He groans into the pillow at the thought. “No, I’ll throw up,” he protests.
“I’ll make some miso soup, or something,” Yuuji presses, encouraging, gentle. “C’mon, Megumi. Something light will help with nausea. Half of your misery is just because you haven’t eaten yet.”
Megumi knows Yuuji has a very good point. He also doesn’t want to move from where he is, but when Yuuji gets up and pokes his cheek, he also knows that he’s losing this battle very rapidly. So, he sighs and accepts Yuuji’s hand up with a wince, sending him off to the kitchen while he half-limps to the bathroom.
He mentally sends a prayer up to the heavens, hoping the rest of the day will be easier on him.
To his long list of credits, Yuuji happens to be a great cook. He makes a really good miso soup and doesn’t make any comments on Megumi’s new shirt and pants, or the sheets he carries to the washing machine before he sits down eat, or the slowness of his progress.
He simply sits next Megumi, snickering at the texts coming in to his phone. Megumi glances at the screen; it’s the group chat, which he has pitifully not had the strength to open. Inumaki demands to know why Yuuji isn’t online to game today, to which Itadori replies with ‘megumi isn’t feeling well today :((( keeping an eye on him!!’ and Megumi snorts, knocking his shoulder against Yuuji’s.
“I’m not an invalid,” he says, “you can game if you want to.”
“Yeah, but you wouldn’t like the noise we make,” Yuuji protests, which…fair. Megumi should be a good boyfriend and say he doesn’t mind, but he’s in the mood to just be self-indulgent, sue him. He simply accepts it, watching as more texts roll in.
yuuta
hope fushiguro-kun feels better soon!!
can u tell him im sorry for telling gojo-sensei??
i was just worried
yuuji
megumi doesn’t mind !
or, if he does, he’ll have to deal with it
“You dick,” Megumi hisses at him. Yuuji simply grins, finding it cute rather than menacing. A fifteen-year-old Yuuji would’ve winced away from those glaring eyes and apologized, all while being dramatic, but genuinely seeking forgiveness. These days, he knows that Megumi is just embarrassed.
It takes another fifteen minutes for Megumi to finish the now-lukewarm soup, but Yuuji takes the dish away and places it in the sink without a single complaint. Megumi slumps against the wall, watching him do the dishes from his cooking with contentment. He sort of likes this kind of domesticity, no matter how much he protests that he doesn’t.
It’s simply comforting, nice, to have a boyfriend who could probably do with a little more situational awareness. He’s been tricked more than once—what would he do without Megumi around? He’s so simply sweet and giving, ready to fight for his loved ones at a moment’s notice. Trigger-happy, emphasis on happy. Megumi will admit that being around Yuuji did wonders for his teenaged self, perpetually stuck in angst and anger in a depressing loop.
“Megumi, is there anything you need?” Yuuji asks a few minutes later, drying his hands on a paper towel. “There’s a pharmacy nearby but it closes soon, so I could get you something, if you want? I’ll have to shower first, though.” Megumi’s fault for being a sensitive baby and not wanting the air-conditioning on.
“Probably Panadol,” he admits, grimacing again when the cramps hit again. He doubles over slightly, draping himself on the table. “I don’t think I’ll get through this day without one. Feel free to shower.”
“You’ve been doing really well so far,” Yuuji says, raising his arms to peel off his oversized shirt, and—oh. Megumi feels his ears heat up as Yuuji’s biceps come into view. Somehow, he always forgets about Yuuji steadily bulking up lately and it’s not doing him favors. Suddenly, he remembers the other reason he despises periods. Going on T definitely upped his libido, but period hormones throw his brain out of whack and it’s—
“Megumi?” Yuuji’s noticed his strangled-looking expression, pausing as he folds his shirt over his arm. His undershirt, thin and sleeveless, sticks to his body in places. Holy shit. Megumi squirms as heat floods between his legs and lord he’s not willing to deal with this today. “Are you okay?”
“Go put some clothes on!” he snaps, thinking that he should really look away, but that’d make it weirder.
“I am wearing clothes, though…?” Yuuji blinks, tilting his head. “Wait, are you actually—”
“Shut up! Period hormones don’t listen to reason or logic!” Megumi barks, face steadily growing warmer. Do not think about Yuuji’s arms. Or his thighs. Do not. Do not.
“But you’re into the fact I’m bulking up, though,” Yuuji grins, properly amused. “Megumi, are you actually turned on by my arms right now? Or—” he moves his arm away from his midsection, “—my abs? Pecs? Hm?”
“It’s not like I want to be,” Megumi growls. “Seriously, Yuuji. I don’t want to be turned on. It’s just a reflex action, or something.”
Yuuji softens at that. “You know I wouldn’t mind helping you out, if you want to get off, right? It doesn’t have to penetrative, or anything, just touching. Like when you’re feeling too overwhelmed?”
“I know,” Megumi sighs, “but it’s…it’s gross. I’m bleeding, for fuck’s sake. And the smell is…ugh.”
“It’s not gross if I don’t make it so,” Yuuji says, crossing the room to stand before him, eyes kind and understanding. “We can work it out, Megumi. I want to help you. I won’t even look, if you don’t want to.”
The heat intensifies at how Yuuji leans forward, taking this so seriously, and Megumi so very badly wants Yuuji’s mouth between his legs right now, but the unsettled tension in his limbs that won’t go away, the sheer discomfort of having blood leaking out of him, it’s too much. He’s not sure how to explain that yeah, he’s horny, but he just wants the rest of it to stop.
“No,” Megumi shakes his head. “My sex drive is just wacky right now. I’m not…comfortable with. Doing anything, when I’m like this.” He does think that maybe over the clothes stimulation would be okay, but not today. He’s too tired and worn out to consider that, even if his horny caveman brain apparently adores the idea. “It’s just. Uncomfortable. Sorry, Yuuji.”
“Don’t apologize,” Yuuji frowns. “I’m not turned on if you’re not into it.”
“Thank you,” Megumi says quietly, closing his eyes when Yuuji’s hand slips into his hair again. “For that. And for the cooking. You’re better than I deserve.”
“Darling,” Yuuji chuckles, “I think you’ve got a warped definition of what you deserve, ‘cause I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”
“Great,” Megumi mumbles, too brain-fried to respond properly. “That’s simply wonderful.”
“How about you go catch some sleep?” Yuuji suggests. “I’ll just hop in the shower quick and then go grab your meds. That fine with you?”
“Peachy.” Megumi rises to his feet, giving Yuuji a quick kiss before he makes his way to the bedroom, collapsing easily into its soft embrace. Sleep doesn’t immediately take him, but he’s loose-limbed and jelly-like, overwhelmed by the amount of sensations flooding his body. Horny. Relieved. Miserable. Pain.
But Yuuji does have a point about sleep, so he closes his eyes, and this time, he dreams of pink hair and sparkling brown eyes, leading him on a chase to capture him properly, kissing him so sweetly his head spins with the rush. He dreams of a crooked smile that overtakes his entire face, holding his hand as he struggles through the journey that is being himself.
I thought your type was tall girls with big asses, Megumi had said in an attempt to stall for time when Yuuji had dropped the confession on him.
Girls. I think my type in boys in more…you.
Now, pray tell, what was Megumi supposed to do other than yank Yuuji close by the collar and kiss him as hard as he could? Not a lot.
When he opens his eyes next, the room is much darker, no light peeking through the curtains.
He sits up, swallowing back a cry of pain, because his body fucking hates him and won’t let him have more than two hours of peace, to fumble for his phone. 07:18 P.M. There’s a glass of water and a card of Panadol lying on the chest of drawers next to his bed, with a quick note scrawled in Yuuji’s barely-legible writing: just headed home to grab my textbooks and stuff!! be back soon, with a pair of horrible lips drawn at the end.
Megumi has to laugh at that. His boyfriend is so ridiculous. It’s horribly endearing, too, that he means the kiss at the end, unlike Gojo, who regularly draws kissy lips and dicks on the notes he leaves his husband, Geto, just to be annoying. Also because he knows that Geto is forever amused, probably.
He decides that any more sleep will be too much for him, so he gets up to use the bathroom, and then he clicks on his nightlight before climbing back into bed, though not without quickly swallowing down a Panadol before he forgets. Then, he rootles around his bag for a book he’d borrowed from the library, an account of a World War II survivor that he started two days ago before everything went to shit, and then opens his Spotify playlist specifically for bad gender days.
He’s up to the part where she’s being transported to the concentration camp when the door opens and Yuuji pops in, hoodie flipped up. Megumi glances up and frowns at the water droplets rapidly soaking into the material. “Is it raining?” he asks, pausing his music, realizing he can hear the wind howling. Oops. He’d put on the music too loud again.
“Just a few minutes ago,” Yuuji says, quickly peeling off his hoodie and placing it on the back of Megumi’s study chair. “Wanna cuddle?”
“Sure,” Megumi scoots over, stiffening for a few seconds when yet another cramp hits, but it’s definitely much milder now. Yuuji kisses the side of his head as he climbs under the covers, surprisingly warm despite the rainy weather outside. “Why do you run so hot?” he wonders out loud.
“First time I’ve heard you admit I’m hot outside of sex,” Yuuji teases. Megumi whacks his thigh. “Ow!”
“Athletes do run hot, I’ve heard,” Megumi continues as if nothing happened. “Your body temperature is just higher than the rest of us normies.”
“Perfect for cuddling,” Yuuji declares, pulling Megumi close by the waist, and irritated as he is by the sudden maneuver, he’s just grateful for Yuuji’s body heat, soothing the lingering ache in his body for sleeping all curled up in a ball. Yuuji is a good cuddler.
He lays his head against Yuuji’s chest, continuing to read while Yuuji falls asleep, face resting in Megumi’s hair. His hand rubs Megumi’s stomach in circular motions, applying just enough pressure that the occasional wave of hurt doesn’t feel so bad. In fact, Megumi begins to feel the most normal he’s been all day.
Yuuji’s breathing grows softer and more spaced-out, his tummy-rubbing becoming slower and slower until they stop altogether and he’s snoring softly into Megumi’s hair. He stifles a snort, though he’s more endeared than anything (a perpetual state of being when you learn about Itadori Yuuji’s little quirks).
At least, he thinks, turning a page, they feel safe in each other’s embrace like this. That’s about all anyone can wish for, really—at least, all Megumi can wish for.