Chapter Text
The stars weren’t especially bright over Tokyo, but they were enough for Yuji.
He lay back against the dorm rooftop’s cold concrete, hoodie bunched behind his head, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. It was nearing midnight, but the city never really slept, its noise distant but ever-present. Up here, though, above the hum, it felt like time paused. Like the world held its breath.
Next to him, Megumi sat with his arms wrapped tightly around his knees. He hadn’t said much when Yuji texted "u up? rooftop?"—just showed up ten minutes later with his hood up and his usual scowl half-formed. But the scowl had dropped by the time he sat down. And now, Yuji glanced sideways at him and saw something quieter in its place.
“You okay?” he asked, voice low in the dark.
Megumi didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed ahead—somewhere past the skyline, past the blinking red lights on cranes and towers. Past everything.
Then he said, “Do you ever feel like your body doesn’t fit?”
Yuji blinked.
“I mean,” Megumi continued, not quite meeting his gaze, “like you’re wearing someone else’s face, and everyone just assumes it’s yours.”
Yuji sat up slightly, leaning back on his hands. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I think… I’ve felt like that before.”
Megumi turned to him then, and in the low light, his face was bare. No guarded tilt of the eyes. No sharp quip on his tongue. Just a question he’d never asked out loud before.
“Really?”
Yuji nodded. “Not the same way as you, probably. But… I spent a long time thinking I had to be a certain version of myself. That I could only be one thing. That if I liked girls, I couldn’t like guys too. Or if I did, it meant something was wrong with me.”
A pause.
“I kept waiting to grow out of it. To settle into something ‘normal.’ But I didn’t. And eventually I realized… I don’t have to.”
Megumi looked away again, but the furrow between his brows had eased.
Yuji hesitated, then added, “You're not broken, Megumi.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was thick with breath and thought, but not tension. Megumi didn’t reply, but his shoulders slowly uncurled. His grip on his knees loosened. Yuji watched the way he breathed in, held it, then let it out like it cost him something.
“Sometimes,” Megumi said finally, “I get scared that people only see what they want to see. That if I let someone in, they’ll stop seeing me.”
Yuji shifted closer, their knees brushing.
“Well…” he said gently. “I see you.”
Megumi’s eyes flicked to him again, and this time he didn’t look away.
“I see how you show up every day even when it’s hard. I see how you listen even when no one else does. I see how you hold the world together with your own two hands and don’t ask for thanks. And I see you. Not who people expect you to be.”
Megumi didn’t say anything. But he didn’t move away either.
So Yuji inched even closer, their shoulders now fully touching. The warmth between them was subtle but steady, like a quiet promise.
After a long moment, Megumi let his head tip just slightly toward Yuji’s.
Just enough to say: I trust you.
Yuji didn’t know how long they stayed like that—maybe ten minutes, maybe thirty. Time bent differently when things felt delicate. When you didn’t want to move too fast and risk the moment disappearing.
Eventually, Megumi broke the silence. “I used to bind too tight,” he said, voice nearly a whisper. “Back when I was younger. I didn’t know what I was doing. Got bruises. Could barely breathe some days.”
Yuji swallowed. “That sounds rough.”
“It was.” A faint smirk ghosted across Megumi’s face. “Still better than the alternative.”
Yuji tilted his head. “You still bind?”
Megumi nodded. “Yeah. But I take breaks now. Try to be careful.”
He pulled at his sleeves, revealing the faded edge of a compression top beneath his hoodie. Yuji didn’t stare—just looked and then looked away, the same way you glance at a scar someone trusted you enough to show.
“I’m sorry,” Yuji said, quietly.
“For what?”
“I don’t know. That you had to go through all of that. Alone.”
Megumi gave a small shrug, but it wasn’t dismissive. “I wasn’t completely alone. I had Gojo. Sort of. He tried, in his own ridiculous way. And eventually, Shoko helped. Got me connected to people who understood.”
Yuji smiled. “Figures. Shoko’s the real one in this school.”
Megumi huffed a soft laugh. “Yeah.”
There was a long pause. Then Yuji said, “I’m really glad you told me.”
Megumi blinked. “Why?”
“Because it means you trust me.”
Megumi’s gaze fell, lips pressed into a thin line. “I do.”
Yuji felt his chest pull tight in a way he couldn’t explain. Something heavy and light all at once.
“I trust you too,” he said.
Their eyes met again.
This time, neither of them looked away.
The city lights dimmed at some point—not in brightness, but in presence. Like they’d stopped mattering. Like the world had folded in on itself until it was just the two of them.
Yuji hadn’t meant to fall asleep.
He’d just closed his eyes for a second, head tipped back, Megumi’s shoulder still pressed to his. The concrete was cold beneath him, but the warmth at his side made it bearable. And then—
Sleep took him.
Not the heavy, post-training kind. Not the crash-and-burn kind either. This was the soft, slow kind. The kind where you let your guard down not because you’re tired, but because you feel safe.
He didn’t know how long he’d been out when he blinked awake.
His neck ached from the angle. His hoodie had slipped halfway up his back. And the stars had started to fade into the graying dawn.
Megumi was asleep beside him, head fallen gently against Yuji’s shoulder.
His breathing was slow, even. One hand had slipped from his hoodie pocket and was curled loosely between them, fingers relaxed.
Yuji held still, barely daring to breathe.
Megumi… looked peaceful.
There was always something tense about him—something coiled, like he was constantly bracing for impact. Even in rest, Megumi didn’t usually soften. But now, with his eyes closed and lips parted slightly, he looked younger. Softer. Like maybe—for once—he wasn’t waiting to be hurt.
Yuji’s chest ached.
Carefully, he adjusted his arm to wrap around Megumi’s back. The motion stirred him a little—his nose scrunched, brows twitching—but he didn’t wake. Just let out a tiny sigh and leaned further in.
Yuji’s face burned. But he didn’t pull away.
Instead, he whispered, “Hey… ‘Gumi. I’m gonna carry you, okay?”
No answer. Just slow breathing, and the faintest pressure of Megumi nuzzling closer.
Yuji smiled, so soft it hurt. “Alright. Guess I’m on my own.”
He shifted, tucking one arm under Megumi’s knees and the other behind his back, and lifted him in one slow, careful motion.
Megumi stirred again, head falling against Yuji’s chest. His breath tickled Yuji’s collarbone.
Yuji had carried people before—civilians, injured sorcerers, even Panda once (which he still regretted). But this was different.
Megumi wasn’t hurt. He wasn’t dead weight, unconscious from a fight.
He was just asleep.
And Yuji was carrying him because he wanted him to wake up warm. Safe. Not with a crick in his neck and dew soaking through his hoodie.
Yuji made his way down the dorm stairs quietly, heart thudding at every creak in the floor. The building was silent—no Gojo busting down walls, no Nobara yelling about hair conditioner, no Panda eating cereal at 3 A.M. Just Yuji, barefoot and soft, holding the boy he liked too much in his arms.
When he reached his room, he nudged the door open with his foot and slipped inside. The bed wasn’t made—his usual mess of blankets, pillow askew, half a hoodie shoved under the comforter. He kicked it straight enough to set Megumi down gently.
Megumi let out a breath as he touched the mattress, fingers twitching slightly before curling into the fabric. Yuji crouched next to him for a moment, watching. Just watching.
Something about seeing Megumi here—in his room, in his bed—hit him harder than he expected.
Because it wasn’t about the bed. It was about trust.
About Megumi, who hated being vulnerable, letting himself be carried. Letting himself be seen.
Yuji reached out, hesitated, then brushed a strand of hair from Megumi’s face.
“You’re not a ghost,” he whispered. “You’re not something people have to squint to see. You’re here. You’re real. And I see you.”
Megumi didn’t stir.
But Yuji liked to think he heard him anyway.
Megumi woke to the faint scent of laundry detergent and something warm draped over him.
His first thought was where the hell am I—until his eyes adjusted to the dim morning light filtering through the half-closed blinds. The walls weren’t his. Neither were the mess of blankets or the hoodie he was wearing (definitely not his; it smelled like Yuji).
Yuji.
Memories filtered in slowly—the rooftop, the stars, Yuji’s shoulder warm against his own, the way sleep had crept in despite his best efforts to stay alert.
And now, here he was.
In Yuji’s bed.
Megumi froze.
He sat up too fast, heart punching into his throat—and immediately winced when the blanket slipped down and cold air hit his skin. The compression top beneath the hoodie was slightly twisted from sleep, the fabric biting at his ribs. He shifted, tugging the hoodie closed tighter.
Then he saw him.
Yuji, curled up on the floor beside the bed.
He’d taken the spare pillow—lumpy and clearly too small—and stretched out across a thin blanket, arms folded under his head. His mouth was slightly open, hair a mess, and one leg hung off the edge of the makeshift "bed" like he’d just slumped down there and passed out.
Megumi stared.
For a long, long moment, he didn’t move. Just sat there, hoodie sleeves bunched over his hands, heartbeat slowing from panic to… something else. Something softer.
Yuji had carried him here. That much was obvious.
And then he’d given up his bed without a word.
Megumi rubbed his eyes, the beginnings of a headache settling behind his temples. Not from discomfort. From the sheer weight of it all.
No one had ever done something like that for him before. Not without expectations. Not without asking for something in return.
Yuji had just… let him rest.
A small sound escaped his throat—almost a laugh, almost a sigh. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and crouched next to Yuji’s sleeping form, nudging his shoulder gently.
Yuji stirred, blinking blearily. “…Megumi?”
“Idiot,” Megumi murmured, voice hoarse. “You could’ve just kicked me out.”
Yuji yawned, rubbing his eyes. “Nah. You looked comfortable. And I’m fine with the floor.”
“You’re gonna throw out your back sleeping like that.”
Yuji gave a lazy grin. “Worth it.”
Megumi stared at him, unsure if he wanted to punch him or kiss him.
Instead, he muttered, “You’re too good sometimes.”
Yuji blinked. “Huh?”
“Nothing.”
Silence stretched between them again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just charged. Buzzing.
Then Yuji sat up, blanket slipping off his shoulders. “You feeling okay?”
Megumi hesitated. Then: “Yeah. I think I am.”
It was strange, saying it and meaning it. Stranger still was the way Yuji’s whole face lit up in response, like hearing that one sentence had made his whole morning.
“You can stay longer, y’know,” Yuji said quickly. “If you’re still tired. Or if, um, you want breakfast or something.”
Megumi looked away to hide the way his ears flushed. “I should go back to my room. But…”
Yuji waited.
“…Thanks. For last night. And for—this.” He gestured vaguely at the bed. The blanket. Him.
Yuji scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “You don’t have to thank me. I wanted to.”
Megumi nodded. He didn’t say anything else.
But as he stood and made his way to the door, he paused—just long enough to glance back at Yuji, still seated on the floor, hair mussed, smile still sleepy and crooked.
“I see you too, you know,” Megumi said quietly.
Then he slipped out the door before Yuji could respond.
But he heard the quiet “yeah” echo after him anyway.