Archive of Our Own

Megumi doesn’t know what to think of Gojo Satoru. He’s tall and stupid and, like, very annoying but without him, Megumi probably wouldn’t get to eat, so he doesn’t tell him those things.

Gojo is always loud. Outside.

Outside Gojo is always loud, but sometimes Megumi will hunt him down and find him in the common room or his dorm and Gojo just sits like he’s waiting for something, like he doesn’t really know what to do, like suddenly he’s missing something he used to make time for.

He doesn’t seem to mind if Megumi sits between his legs, leans on him while he reads or plays on the DS that Gojo gave him. Megumi doesn’t really know how to use it yet but it looks beat up and well-loved, S.G. written neatly on the case.

Once Megumi asked, What are you even doing? And Gojo just pushed his glasses into his face and said, Thinking, which is possibly the stupidest answer, in Megumi’s opinion.

“Why, are you bored? I can find something for us to do.”

“No,” Megumi slumps farther into his arm, “You’ stupid when you talk, go back to no talking.”

Gojo had laughed, but it wasn’t like his loud outside laugh, so sitting and thinking became their thing.

Megumi gets a little older, he get a little angrier, he doesn’t know what to do with the itchy feelings he gets when it’s to damn hot and his collar scratches him so he just screams. He shouts stupid things and doesn’t listen to anyone, not Tsumiki and especially not Gojo.

Sometimes Gojo shouts back, he’ll curse in a way most people probably wouldn’t around a child and Megumi always loses, storming off to his room in the apartment, screaming empty hurtful things, then throws himself into his bed and cries, which agitates him more if anything.

He never sits there alone, because Gojo will come and sit on his floor, shove his chin into his hand, just sit cross-legged and glare. So they sit quietly and glare daggers and Megumi always falls asleep no matter how much he tries not to.

Gojo becomes someone he can shout at. Which is good, it doesn’t sound good when Megumi thinks it, but it is good.

Gojo is someone he can shout at and he knows he’s not in any real danger. Maybe in danger of vacuuming floors and wiping windows while Gojo mocks him until his face runs red—once he actually got so pissed off his nose bled—but Gojo won’t hurt him or leave him or any one of a hundred and forty eight other reactions.

Gojo becomes someone safe, but Megumi doesn’t tell him that. He does start telling him other things.

“Got detention.” He mumbles during their quiet time on the couch. “It was stupid this time though.”

Gojo just hums for him to continue, and plucks the chapter book he’s not really reading out of Megumi’s hands.

“This idiot pus’ed someone over on the concrete, so I pus’ed him over with my fist.” Megumi clicks his tongue, “‘parently it was unfair.”

Gojo snorts at him, “I’m supposed to tell you punching people is bad.”

“Was it bad?” He knocks his forehead into his shoulder.

“I think as long as you’re protecting people it’s okay.” Gojo flips the cover and reads the back, “You gotta know when to give up. Fight until you win not until your done.”

“Tsumiki doe’n’t say that.”

“Tsumiki is, like, straight out of heaven.” He counters with a smiles. “That doesn’t count.”

“Are you good?” He takes his book back, holding his page, “do you fink?”

“I try to be, I’m not always good.” Gojo leans back. “That’s fine, not everyone is all good.”

“E’cept Tsumiki.”

“Yeah, except ‘Miki.”

Megumi is royally pissed off, or some other word that he doesn’t know, like, a whole new brand of frustrated, which isn’t really anyone’s fault. Still, Gojo pays the price when Megumi slams the front door and he tells him he shouldn’t do that so Megumi tells him to go fuck himself. Apparently Gojo had a bad day too because then he tells Megumi to stop being a fuckwit and now they’re just shouting at each other.

They stand their ground and glare and it’s annoying how he’s still barely as tall as Gojo’s shoulders.

“Okay, timeout.” Gojo claps his hands together with a deep breath, “Eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You are, you hangry motherfucker, eat something.” He swipes an apple and chucks it across the kitchen island, Megumi catches it.

He eats it and glares. Gojo makes him a proper sandwich, so he eats that and they glare and suddenly Megumi isn’t so pissed off which pisses him off.

“Okay, I was hungry.”

“You’re so welcome.” He says with a sarcastic grin, but lately his face has sunk with fatigue so Megumi doesn’t try to get the last word in.

He stares deep into his empty coffee cup and looks like he’s about to leave, then Megumi gives him this look, he doesn’t mean to, but Gojo stops because he saw the look, and he knows the look, which is already making Megumi’s skin crawl. Gojo just patiently waits for him to speak.

He stares at his hands on the island, flicks the crumbs on his empty plate and hopes maybe Gojo will just give up. He doesn’t. So Megumi groans into his hand and considers swearing at him again.

“What does faggot mean?”

He’s never seen Gojo surprised before, not like, real unhappy surprised, but that’s what he’d call this face. He’s about to back out, this suddenly feels like a question he should’ve googled at school and not spoken into the air.

“...you’re twelve.” He says like there’s another conversation happening in his head and he’s forgetting the part where he has to say it out loud.

“Okay? You’re, like, thirty.”

“I’m twenty-four,” he chides, “Where are kids hearing these things?”

“You’re making this weird.” He gets up and Gojo grabs his wrist before he can move, and like, within the context Megumi knew it was an insult, so he just punched the prick square in the nose, but he didn’t know exactly how much he deserved it. “What?” Maybe he should’ve hit the kid twice.

“It’s a slur,” Gojo lets him go when he sit down again, “For gay people. Or anyone LGBT, I guess.” He stares down at his cup, tapping the bench with a scowl, “Slurs are a lot worse than swears, Megumi, swear words are impolite, they can be funny sometimes, not slurs.” He steels his eyes when he looks up, “Slurs are supposed to hurt people, don’t ever use them.”

“I won’t.” Megumi wants to glare back, “I’m not the one who said it.” He feels the need to clarify.

Gojo doesn’t look surprised really, still frowning, actually he looks kind of nauseous.

“Did someone call you that?”

“Yeah, but I kicked the shit out of him.” Megumi says it almost proudly, it still doesn’t seem to make Gojo any happier about it. He flicks his crumbs again, letting the silence drag on for way too long, like, unreasonably, then a few minutes more. “Would it matter?” Megumi only says half the question.

He doesn’t look up, in fact, he wants to look every direction that isn’t up for the rest of his life. He feels itchy, he sort of wants to cry, which is fucking stupid, he doesn’t even have a real reason for it.

“No,” his answers as calm as it is short, “Not to me. Would it matter to you?”

Megumi looks up, he feels disproportionately stingy in his throat and behind his eyes so he burns holes in the bench instead. He should probably say something like, I’m not homophobic you dipshit, but that’s not really what Gojo’s asking. He could say that, Gojo wouldn’t even press. He could say any non-committal answer and Gojo would be all like, Go do your homework and reflect on how you can hit a bigot harder. He tries to spin some kind of pathetic insult together to spit at him but he just sobs.

“Oh, oh, Megumi.” He’s around the island in like a second flat, wrapping himself around Megumi’s shoulders where he sits.

It’s not even sad crying, it’s just, like, there’s a lot fucking happening in my head and I don’t know what to do about that crying.

“It’s okay, Goomi.” He strokes Megumi’s hair back when he sinks into his chest, he doesn’t even know what to do, but Gojo is safe, so he holds on to that.

“I don’- it’s- like,” He swears with a distressed sound and shoves himself farther into his shirt, slipping off the stool so he can get a proper hug, he sobs a loud sound, it’s pissing him off, “Why the fuck ‘m I crying!?” He shouts into Gojo’s shirt and large hands rub his shoulders and brush his hair.

“C’mere Megumi.” He picks him up like he’s still six, and he doesn’t really know what else to do but hold on.

Even when Gojo sits on the couch Megumi choses to stay in his arms, leaning his head into his shoulder while he sobs angry sounds.

They sit in their quiet time while Megumi rubs his eyes raw and Gojo gently peels his fingers away to give him a tissue, something that won’t scratch red into his cheeks.

Megumi sits in the crook of his elbow slowly letting exhaustion take over, scrunching his little finger into his shirt.

“Do you want to talk about that?” Gojo asks quietly, leaning his chin on top of his hair.

“No.” He doesn’t snap it like he usually would.

“Okay,” he runs his fingers through Megumi’s hair, “It doesn’t matter to me,” he repeats, “I’ll love you no matter who you are, Goomi, even if you’re annoying.”

Megumi snorts, it catches on his wet voice.

“Seriously, you’re a little shit.” He pokes him in the ticklish spot under his ribs and Megumi yells and writhes away.

“Not fair, you’re not ticklis’.” He stands up on his shaky knees, still not out of arms reach and Gojo goes for his sides again, only relenting when Megumi starts gasping through his fits of giggles, “Okay, enough, fuck.”

“Hey, no swearing.” He pokes him again, chastising like they don’t cuss each other out every month or so. “Okay, up.” He pulls at his arm lightly, ruffling his hair, “Go shower, do your homework, all that.”

“Mm,” he peels himself off the floor and swipes his hair out of his face as he goes, he pauses at the door, because he should probably say thank you or something but that would also be a really embarrassing thing to say so Megumi doesn’t really want to but he also kind of does, so he just stands there and stares.

The way Gojo smiles at him tells him he doesn’t really have to say it for him to know, so he just nods and runs down the hall.

Weirdly enough, the time he felt most comfortable wasn’t even about him, like, even remotely. It was just a single word that Gojo said.

Tsumiki had come home from school the week before Valentines Day all spacey and she just shouted, “Satoru-san, I need you to teach me to make chocolate!”

He teased her about it for several hours then spent the whole afternoon trying to figure out how to even do it.

The morning of the 14th, he fully locked them in the car poking her red cheeks, “C’mon ‘Miki, what’s their name? You gotta tell me their name!”

And Megumi just had a moment like, Oh, cool, like even though Tsumiki has literally never expressed any interest in girls Gojo just included them in his teasing like it didn’t even matter, like he didn’t think about it at all, like the possibility of Tsumiki’s crush being a girl is the most normal thing ever.

Which is kind of wild that a second hand conversation made him feel safer than having a deadass breakdown in the kitchen, but he supposes there’s no real rhyme to this whole feelings shit.

And when she finally handed over the card so he could read the name he just became impossibly more annoying.

He still fixed her ponytail and wished her luck, and she ran into the school with a wave.

Megumi stayed, he’s doing that thing where he wants to say something but he doesn’t actually know what it is, so he just looks at Gojo in the mirror until he understands.

He spins around in his seat, “Aw, does Megumi have a crush too?”

“Ew, no, gross.” He scowls and Gojo laughs at him, but he still gives him one of those quiet-time smiles and Megumi just nods again.

Megumi is aware of what bisexuality is. He’s not an idiot, he has ears and a brain and all that. That doesn’t change his complete infatuation when he’s exposed to the absolute hurricane form of pure bi-disaster known as Maki Zen’in. She’s one of Gojo’s new students, coincidentally also his aunt, so they met.

Gojo had set them loose in the city while he headed out for an exorcism and they ended up watching some movie that was a little too slow for Megumi’s taste, though he’s never been one for movies anyway.

She spent their entire trip around the mall after complaining about the ending, “Like, Tsumiki, you get this right? There are so many fish in the sea, some of them are women, some of them are hot, like seriously fucking attractive, some of them are actually pleasant to be around, some of them are, I reiterate; women, and this bitch—oh my god—she chose an eel!” Maki has to pull her glasses off to rub her eyes, “All the options in the world, and she chose an eel she fished out of a creek with a stick.” Tsumiki just laughs into her hand, “That man has a fucking ecosystem growing in his room, I just know it.”

Then not even two minutes later they were both gushing about how sad it was that Howl didn’t exist, then they spent nearly an hour trying to decide what type of fish Howl would be (Pinoy pterophyllum scalare was Tsumiki’s suggestion).

When Gojo had picked them up in the evening she told him he looked like he was trying too hard to be a millennial, which isn’t relevant to Megumi’s current sexuality crisis, he just thinks about it every time they go out now, thought it deserved a notable mention.

In the late evening he’d quietly asked her about liking girls.

“Man, I fucking love women, capital L.” She said with a dramatic inflection.

“And you like boys too?” He feels like his skin might fall off, yet Maki’s here like it’s as easy as breathing.

“Unfortunately.” She simply said. He wonders if that enthusiasm phenomenon is a bisexual thing or a Maki thing.

“Cool.” It felt like he was hearing his own voice in the distance.

“Do you?” Her tone takes on a gentle edge.

He just sat on the common room floor for a long moment, unsure if he even has the answer to that.

“Does gender even matter?” He settles on.

“Not really, gender is a social construct.” Confident, like its a fact they should all know.

“Yeah.” He rolls his legs splayed out on the floor, knocking his toes together, “I think I’d be okay with liking boys.” He stares down at the red spots over his ankle bones from clicking them together, “I kinda already knew that, for, like, ages, probably.”

“Cool,” she knocks her foot into his. “Is that the first time you’ve said it?”

“Yeah.”

“Does it feel good?”

“Yeah.” He smiles.

He can see her move out of the corner of his eye, like she’s going to say something else, but Gojo waltzes in with a loud, Me—gumi! And he clears his throat so he can scowl at him.

“Megumi.” Tsumiki swings herself around his doorframe, “You’re not ready?”

He lays face down in his bed with a groan that almost sounds like, not going.

The bed beside him dips and the weight is too much to be Tsumiki so he’s expecting the hand when it meets his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, “It’ll be fun, Shoko and Maki are meeting us there and-”

“Are you doing this for me?” He cuts Gojo off rolling so he can look at him.

He only blinks a few times before guessing, “No?” Like he’s not sure what answer Megumi wants, Megumi’s not sure what answer Megumi wants.

He levels him with a look that says he doesn’t really believe him.

“I wanna go too.” Gojo settles on, “Come on, you’ll like it when you get there.” He all but drags him onto the floor, throwing a clean shirt at him.

So Megumi sits in the back seat of the car while they drive down to Tokyo’s annual pride festival, he feels oddly bitter about it.

He actually does like it. He usually hates crowds, but people here seem to actually be apologising when they bump into each other. It doesn’t stop him from using Gojo as a human buffer to slowly plow through the people.

“Thoughts?” He happily asks over his shoulder.

Tsumiki says colourful the same time Megumi says loud. He laughs and holds tight on to her hand so she doesn’t get lost.

“Okay, Shoko’s meeting us up in the Plaza in an hour, don’t get kidnapped and all that.” He lets her go and she waves them off, walking straight to a line of stalls. Megumi just sticks with Gojo, he never really knows what to do at big places like this.

“Hungry?”

“Nah.” He actually feels kind of nauseous in the heat, or maybe he’s just, like, freaking out, cause he’s probably something-percent gay and being here feels a bit to real for that.

So they walk down a long line of stalls, covered in flags and prints and other things, local businesses and advertising for weekly coffee groups and connections. The person behind one of the stands hands him a flier with a small smile and some words Megumi can’t really hear, he feels like he’s been blatantly caught, so he just stutters which is fucking embarrassing and it’s pissing him off. Gojo takes it for him with thanks and pulls him along in his spacey state, ruffling his hair as he does.

“These are cool,” Gojo finds a stand with handmade bracelets, Megumi assumes the colours are all intentional, he doesn’t know what they all mean. “Want one?” Asked like it’s not the complicated fuck off question it really is.

“No,” he mumbles, falling into his side when Gojo tugs his shoulder, and he picks up one in the same colours as Maki’s keychain anyway, “I said no.”

“This is for me, Megumi.” He laughs, pulling a few notes out of his wallet and telling them to keep whatever change.

Megumi kind of feels like a fucking idiot for some reason.

“For you?”

“Yeah,” he ties the band on his wrist, “Bi since ‘89.” He singsongs it and throws his arm over his shoulders again, “Well, actually, like, 2005, but we don’t have time for that.”

Megumi pulls on his arm to look at it better.

“Every fish in the sea, and still completely bitchless.” He chuckles sardonically, “How sad.”

Gojo actually cackles at him, genuinely, it’s sort of a rare sound despite how loud he makes himself.

“Remember how I always say I love you no matter what?” He starts like he’s about to get all sappy and shit, “I lied, prick.”

Megumi snorts, staring hard at the other bands.

“What do all the colours mean?”

Gojo unwinds himself from his shoulders and just patiently explains each one, he gets stuck on a couple and has to ask the two people behind the table.

Megumi runs his thumb from blue to yellow to pink.

“What’s this one called again?”

“Pansexual.” He sits a hand in Megumi’s hair, both comforting and encouraging.

He wants it, he knows if he stares at it long enough Gojo will probably just buy it, some part of him wants to ask, so it’s a real thing he gets to say out loud and not just mull over while he doesn’t sleep.

“Can I have it?” He clicks his tongue when his voice barely cracks a whisper.

Gojo’s already pulling out more cash, waving as the person he hands it to gives him a few fast bows trying to give him change.

Megumi digs his teeth into his lip when he can’t tie it on for his shaky fingers. He sighs a frustrated sound and Gojo moves to tie it for him. He stares at the simple band for a long minute, it feels good to wear it.

“I like it.” They start walking again, “Cool,” because he feels like he should probably say something else, “Thanks.” He flicks his eyes up, bringing them back to his hand repeatedly, like he doesn’t want to miss the sight of it. “How’d you know?” He glances up at Gojo. “About you?” Then he cringes a little, because Gojo’s never mentioned his sexuality before, “Is that a weird thing to ask?”

“Not to me.” He looks out at the crowded walkway again, or maybe he’s looking somewhere further than the physical plane entirely, “It’s boring,” he starts, “I fell in love with a boy and that’s it.”

“That’s it?” Megumi asks like he doesn’t believe him, he doesn’t. Everything he’s felt has been confusing and messy and he could barely keep up with his own brain. “That simple?” Satoru Gojo even gets sexuality right the first time.

“I wouldn’t say simple,” he drags him over to a couple of food stalls that look unreasonably sweet, “But it was never complicated because we were boys.”

“What was he like?” Megumi flicks his eyes over the cabinets looking for something that won’t make his teeth ache.

“Had all these annoying manners,” he laughs, still refusing to make eye contact, “He’s strong, real strong. He makes- He made me feel like I wasn’t a thing. It’s complicated.” He repeats, “He wanted to help people.”

“Did he?”

“No.” Gojo slides money over for a crepe, “I think there’s savoury things over there.” And it’s like Satoru sinks right back into Gojo’s shell.

Megumi starts to wonder if the entire decade he’s known Gojo has been the real him or if it’s only the parts he wanted to show. Maybe in all of his volume and arrogance, quiet time is where the real Gojo stays.

He doesn’t get an opportunity to ask again, it sort of feels like he shouldn’t, so he doesn’t and Gojo gives him yakitori and the conversation is buried.

Megumi’s keeps a tight grip on Gojo’s jacket through the crowd as they slowly head to the central plaza. Gojo stops them every few minutes to look at stuff, he buys a hand made lighter case in a black and green gradient, an ace of spades painted on it. Megumi thinks that probably means something, maybe he should already know all these things.

“‘Miki!” Gojo waves over the crowd, between the height and the hair, he sticks out like a sore thumb. She waves them over, already waiting with Shoko and Maki.

“Oh, sick.” Shoko catches the case when he throws it, “Condoning my bad habits, Satoru?”

He gives her an exaggerated kiss on the cheek and she fake gags with a smile.

Being crowded by so many queer people who not only seem okay, but also seem to enjoy being queer makes Megumi feel like maybe being something-percent gay isn’t as big of a deal as he once thought. He spins his bracelet around.

Some time in November Gojo comes home late and flops straight into the living room couch. Megumi looks up from his switch on the floor, stares, ignores.

He groans into the pillow. Megumi ignores him. He whines louder.

“What?” He snaps, purely so Gojo will shut up.

“Never fall in love Goomi,” he turns his head to look at him, face smushed into the pillow with a scowl, “Men are terrible, horrible creatures, only pain and misery.” He crinkles his nose, “‘specially the attractive ones,” he hold a finger up to make a point, “Annoying, bragging motherfuckers, with all their war declarations and ugly ass hair cuts.”

He doesn’t know what that means but Megumi was kind of about to use their quiet time to be all like, so I have a crush on this boy in my class, that’s, like, fine, right? But that plan immediately gets sent straight to the ninth circle of hell apparently.

“Sounds like you just have shit taste.” He sips his soda and Gojo tells him not to drink soda on the carpet and Megumi says get fucked, but it’s funny so Gojo laughs.

“Careful, it’s hereditary.” He jabs his finger at him.

“I do not have shit taste in men.” And Megumi, like, chokes. “Or any taste in men,” he laughs, dryly, pathetic dead bush in the centre of the Sahara kind of dry, “But that’s fine if I did.” He drains his drink and considers slamming his head through the glass coffee table, the fizzy backfire makes the word come out weakly, “Yeah?”

Gojo squints at him, “Why are you anxious?” Like Megumi’s missed an incredibly important detail somewhere, “I have kissed so many men. Like, two. And a half. Doesn’t matter. I do not care a lick about your sexuality. Unless you want-” Gojo actually stops his sentence to yawn, which okay, this was turning into a deep conversation, but go on, express how boring that is. “-want me to. Is this an internalised homophobia thing? I can find someone to talk you through that if you want.” He always says serious shit like that, like he’s talking about a funny looking cloud, or the shape of a particularly smooth spoon.

He glares, “No, I’m not homophobic, are you stupid?”

“That’s not what that means.” He rolls until his legs fall onto the floor and he can swing around to sit properly in front of Megumi. “It’s like- hang on.” And he whips his phone out. “I needa google how to explain this.”

“I’m not gay.” He says for absolutely no reason, that didn’t sound believable and Megumi knows that, and Gojo knows that, so they stare. “I’m not.” He scowls, clarifying, because apparently he feels he needs to do that.

“You don’t feel homophobic for other people?” Gojo asks, periodically glancing down at whatever article he’s looking at.

“No.” He snaps, because he’s pretty sure he’s made that abundantly fucking clear.

“But, like, imagine, hypothetically,” he stresses the word, “You were gay, how do you fuck with that idea?”

“Whatever,” he shrugs, “I’m not.”

“This is a hypothetical, say you are.”

And Megumi really doesn’t fucking want to?

“Make believe.” Gojo reiterates. “So?”

“So.” He repeats, sharper. “Hypothetically, I’m..” feeling weird shit in my stomach, what the fuck does that mean? “Stop it.”

Gojo stops talking, but he doesn’t really stop because he’s got that look like he knows, which makes Megumi’s skin itch.

“What’re you feeling?”

“Itchy.” Megumi curls over himself a little.

“Shame?” He sounds sad.

“No.” But actually, yeah, that might be it, “Maybe.” He lifts his head to snap something, instead he jolts back into the coffee table, his shoulder is definitely going to bruise and Gojo is right in front of him, “Your eyes are creepy.”

“My eyes are awesome.” He loudly sticks his tongue out and sits beside Megumi, pulling him in by the shoulder. Megumi just lets it happen, somehow Gojo has always known when Megumi needs a hug and he just hands them over like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “I never had this struggle,” he gestures vaguely, “So I don’t know how to fix it, but I can find someone who can for you.”

“I don’t need therapy.” He snaps, if a tricoloured bracelet is enough to make him weirdly emotional and shit, therapy is the worst idea he could think of. Feeling things so a stranger gets to tell him about all the shit he doesn’t want spoken into the world? No, the fuck, thank you.

“You’ve had panic attacks about this, Megumi.”

The reminder is sort of making him have one, so he breathes the way Gojo told him too, which pisses him off because it only proves his point.

“I like someone.” He nervously scratches at his eyebrow, “In my class.”

“Yeah?” Gojo asks in a very un-Gojo-like manner, gently.

“Yeah.” Megumi thunks his head against Gojo’s collar, pulling his legs in a little farther, “He’s, like, really good at basketball.” He immediately wants to yank his hair out. Maybe Gojo did that weird psychic Six Eyes thing and knew that because he’s burying his hand in Megumi’s hair, rubbing circles in it while he waits for him to talk. “He’s an idiot though, always forgets his pencils.” He tugs at his socks, “So?” He adds to the unspoken question.

“Well, as your self-proclaimed father, I have a moral obligation to embarrass you about having a crush.” He starts and Megumi’s already regretting opening his dumb fucking mouth.

“Never mind.” He shoves his hands into his face and Gojo pries them away to poke at his cheek.

“Aw, c’mon Megumi, what’s his name?”

And good lord, Megumi has never regretted answering a question so much in his life. For weeks every time Gojo dropped him off or picked him up from school, every time Megumi so much as breathed or blinked, he would go, So, was Eiji-chan there? Say hi to Eiji! How was Eiji-chan today? Remember an extra pencil for Eiji! Did Eiji kick your butt in basketball again? And every single time it’s less funny.

Every single time it makes him feel like it’s entirely normal to have a crush on a boy who’s really good a basketball.

“Is that Nanami?” Megumi plucks the photo off Ieiri’s board, “What happened to his hair?”

She chuckles into her folder, “Satoru cut it in his sleep once, begged me to let him hide in the morgue.”

“Did you?”

“No way.” She slaps it down and sinks into her chair. “Way too much entertainment value to pass up.”

“Who’re the others?”

She hums into her desk drawer, “Short one’s Yu Haibara, he died when he was about your age. Surprisingly dark sense of humour, probably would’ve been a comedian if he wasn’t a sorcerer.”

Megumi feels a little guilty for asking but Ieiri’s smiling, he assumes it’s an old story.

“The other’s Suguru.” She says like he’s supposed to already know that.

He stares down at it, his face doesn’t ring any bells, not even his name.

“Who?”

Ieiri looks up from her drawer, shutting it with her knee. “Suguru Getou?” She clicks a pen, “You’re wearing his shoes.” They blink at each other, Megumi stares at the hand-me-downs Gojo had just magically summoned when his last shoes ripped right before a game. “Huh.” She shakes her head and goes back to her papers. She stares intently at her book for a long moment, glances up like she’s going to say something, then looks down again, “Maybe, don’t ask Satoru about that.”

Megumi doesn’t really know what to do with the information. He stares at Suguru in the photo, he has weird bangs. He stares at Gojo, the smile on his face is an unfamiliar one, even in the poor quality and the age of the photo Megumi can see it reach all the way from his eyes to his ears.

“2006.” He reads off the back, “He didn’t help people?” Megumi doesn’t get an answer, “Gojo keeps a lot of secrets.”

“Not secrets,” she spins on her chair to look at him, “He keeps all his feelings in.”

Megumi clicks his tongue, “He doesn’t let me do that.”

“He shouldn’t.” She laughs, “You two are so similar.”

“I am nothing like Gojo.”

“Oh, yes you are.” She emphasises with her pen, “Exactly the same, save the volume.” Megumi scowls, “That, that right there. Sarcastic, stubborn and emotionally constipated.” Ieiri leans back in her chair with a smirk.

“I am not emotionally constipated.”

“Are we about to talk about your little boy-crush on Itadori or is it too soon for that?” She wiggles her eyebrows.

“I literally hate you,” he spins around and snaps the photo back onto her board, “I do not have a crush on anyone, idiot.” He slaps the door shut on the way out and pointedly ignores her laughter.

Gojo periodically looks up from whatever work he’s probably not doing properly as Megumi mopes around his office. The quiet time substitute now that Megumi lives at the school.

Once Megumi put his hands on the edge of the desk like he was actually going to say something, Gojo looked at him like he was actually going to listen and he chickened out, like, so fast.

“Can you put this stupid thing on?” He flicks the blindfold at him.

And Gojo just does, wrapping it under his hair and over his eyes, he always just does the things Megumi needs without fighting, even if Megumi is adamant about pissing him off the whole time he does it.

“Stop looking at me.”

“I can’t not.” Gojo points out but still swings his chair around so he’s not facing him, and Megumi proceeds to not talk, shuffling his feet and swinging himself around wide when he turns in his pacing.

“So.” He kicks the carpet, “I have a crush on Itadori.” Gojo swings around with that annoying smile, “No, this is bad.” Megumi jabs his finger at him, “This is, like, the worst idea I’ve ever had.”

“This is hilarious.”

“No. No, no.” Megumi crosses his arms, “He’s got a literal demon in his ass, I cannot be doing shit like having feelings.”

Gojo ignores him and claps his hands together, “Any day now Yuji will be asking my blessing!” And he fucking wipes an imaginary tear away, “They grow up so fast.”

“They’re gonna kill him!” Megumi states like that should’ve been the first thing Gojo even thought about.

“No, they won’t.” And he slides his chin into his palm, smile undeterred.

“You can’t just stop executions when you feel like it.”

“I stopped Yuta’s.” And that’s actually, like, a really good point. “You’re fifteen,” he throws paper that probably shouldn’t be screwed up at him, “Stop worrying about all that, it’s my thing to fix.”

He almost points out that dying classmates is something he absolutely should be worried about, case and point: Itadori already died once.

“You’re a dickhead for lying about him being dead by the way.” They’ve already had that argument, several times actually, he’ll probably be able to guilt a pity pass out of him for several years because of it. “Side note.” He squints. “That’s not what I wanted to say anyway.” He clicks his tongue, because Itadori just seemed like an easy place to start, mostly because if Ieiri knew then Gojo definitely already knew.

So they stare, Gojo waits, and Megumi scowls, kicking his feet into the carpet.

“Should I ask?” He absentmindedly tugs the fabric.

“No.” He snaps and turns, rubbing the back of his neck, scratching his eyebrow, “I have, like,” he spins around, dropping his hands in front of him to gesture, “A sexuality.” Which is highkey a dumb thing to say, because nearly fucking everyone has a sexuality. “Okay, look-” he groans into his hand, and can’t find any more words to yank out of his brain. He doesn’t have the dexterity to untangle all that.

“You don’t have to tell me, Megumi, don’t force yourself.” Gojo sits up, like he’s ready to sweep Megumi into a hug the second he silently asks for it.

“I don’t?” And that did not really occur to him, “But you—” You’re my dad, “—you used to do my homework, and-” He cringes, why the fuck is this words thing so hard?

Gojo laughs, “You don’t owe me shit because I taught you how to ride a bike, Goomi.” But even through the blindfold, he feels one of his quiet time looks like he knows what Megumi is trying to say. “Only tell me if you want to.”

“I want to.” He crosses his arms like this is an argument, he doesn’t know how to have any other kind of deep conversation. This whole time the end goal of his sexuality crisis has always been, Find a true sentence to tell Gojo. “So,” he grips the front of his shirt, smooths it out, rubbing his sternum hard enough that it aches, “I’m pansexual.”

“I’m very proud of you, Megumi.”

Which is stupid and cheesy and every bout of corporate pride he’s ever swallowed should have probably made him immune to stupid cheesy phases like that, still, it makes him feel a lot in his head.

He doesn’t even have to ask, he just glares daggers at the floor and holds his arms out until he can cling to Gojo’s middle.

“Thank you.” Megumi shoves his face as far away from the world and all of its overwhelming qualities as he can, “Thanks, Dad.”

The harsh itch of embarrassment immediately rips through his body, but Gojo hugs him a little tighter and sets his chin on top of his head; It feels like maybe he needs something to hold just as much as Megumi.

“I hope you know coming out isn’t going to make me forget your little crush.” And the moment is sucked right into Gojo’s annoying tone.

Megumi groans but he doesn’t release the white knuckle grip on his jacket.