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Fushiguro is very stubborn.
He had been like that since early childhood: always with an indifferent gaze, a complicated personality, his own principles and beliefs.
Back then, no one but his sister really mattered to Fushiguro. Now, things have changed, though not too much, but still.
Fushiguro often placed others’ needs above his own, neglecting his health. Itadori and Nobara frequently pointed this out, but he just waved them off, as if it was a trivial matter, not worth attention. Fushiguro didn’t want unnecessary concern - it seemed like he simply didn’t know how to take care of himself, although he wouldn’t admit that. And now, sitting at the table, Megumi was buried in his phone.
Outside, a hollow wind blew, rustling the leaves of the trees. The bright sun had hidden behind the azure clouds - the weather hinted at colder days. Nothing unusual.
“Yo, Megumi!” The door creaked open as their teacher stepped into the room. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing.” The reply came in a monotone as he continued swiping across the screen.
“So much cold in that voice,” the teacher said theatrically, stepping closer and leaning over the boy’s head.
The brunette stayed silent, choosing not to respond. It was Gojo Satoru, after all, what was there to be surprised about? A light breeze, slipping in from the slightly open window, quickly brushed against his skin, making him shiver. Reflexively, he covered the spot with his hand. An annoyed glare immediately shifted toward the surprised teacher standing behind him.
“Did you catch a cold?” Gojo leaned back, briefly pondering the boy’s reaction.
“I didn’t catch anything. Why would you even think that?” The irritation practically seeped through his words. The young sorcerer stood up from the table, slipping the device into his pocket.
“I can see that,” the teacher smiled casually and turned his back to the boy, only to suddenly turn back again with a little exclamation. “Oh, almost forgot,” he said, handing him a small paper bag with something inside, something Fushiguro hadn’t noticed before. “They were selling these at one of the festivals. I recommend giving them a try!” Megumi barely managed to glance at his teacher - he was already gone.
Night had cast its web of shadows and fog over Japan, painted by the blurred light of street lamps. It was a cold night. The trees broke the silence with the constant rustling of yellowed fallen leaves. A sharp wind stirred his skin, slipping under his school uniform. Dry branches cracked dully underfoot. Every night, Fushiguro walked outside, aimlessly wandering along deserted paths, alone with the sounds of nature.
The raven was observant.
Passing over the same cracked asphalt for the fifty-third time, he studied every detail, each fissure caused by time or weather, every small dent left by the wheels of some heavy machine. Not many people cared about such things, but Megumi didn’t care about what others thought.
He returned to the dorm late at night. The clock read midnight. Lately, he’d been coming back this late more often, soon, he’d probably fall out of his usual sleep schedule. Then again, who cares, really, if he can still get up early in the morning?
The next morning, he realized he had forgotten to close the window. In a hazy half-sleep, the messy-haired boy blinked open his eyes and slowly sat up on the bed, staring blankly at the cracks between the worn wooden floorboards. The sheer curtains danced in the wind, brushing against each other as if on purpose. Fushiguro was pulled from his daze by what he later recognized as his phone’s ringtone. The screen lit up with a familiar name, and the boy, accepting the call, brought the phone to his ear.
“Hello?”
“Fushiguro? Where are you?” came the cheerful voice of his friend from the other side.
“At the dorms. Why?”
“We’ve got a mission! Hurry to the tech school’s main gate!”
“Alright,” he replied, ending the call.
Stretching lightly, the boy got up and headed for the closet, getting ready without rushing.
...
“Oh, Fushiguro! You got here fast!” Itadori waved energetically in greeting.
“Could’ve been faster,” added Nobara, standing nearby with a tap of her polished shoes.
“What’s the mission?”
“Just a couple of curses to exorcise. Thank god it’s not anything high-grade!” Itadori sighed in relief, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
“Where’s Gojo-sensei?”
“He’s got some unfinished business, but he said he’d stop by!” Itadori looked up at the sky with a thoughtful gaze, pretending to be a goof (not that he needed to pretend).
“As usual,” Fushiguro’s skeptical tone betrayed no emotion.
No one was surprised anymore that Satoru was often late. How ironic.
“Head to Rainbow Bridge. You’ll get details on the curses there. Ichiji will keep an eye on you,” a low male voice said from behind. It was Principal Yaga.
“Sir, yes sir!” Itadori shouted, saluting for no clear reason.
The others nodded.
Soon after, they were already seated in the car, discussing the mission in more detail.
“Rainbow Bridge? That far out?” Nobara complained. “What if my new shoes get scuffed?”
“Buy new ones,” Fushiguro replied casually, earning a deadly glare from the girl.
“Don’t worry about it, Nobara,” Yuji reassured her. “It’s not like we’re going there to swim. We’re not, right?”
“No, but we might have to fight underneath the bridge,” Megumi noted, eyes glued to his tablet.
“They say the curses drive people to suicide?”
“Almost. There have been car crashes. Third time this month, same exact spot.”
“And how is that ‘almost’?” Itadori muttered in confusion.
“Idiot! Try reading properly for once!” Nobara snapped back, finally snapping out of her silence, pointing at him.
“I can read!” Yuji protested.
“Guys, please calm down. We’re here,” Ichiji asked, hopeful, as he pulled into the parking lot.
It worked. Nobara and Yuji exchanged one last glance and then turned away from each other with a mutual scoff, suddenly finding the windshield’s faint scratches incredibly fascinating. Fushiguro ignored the childish argument. As he stepped out of the car, he briefly noted a throbbing headache.
Great. Just great.
The group split up for better intel gathering, each heading in a different direction: Nobara toward the city, Itadori under the bridge. They agreed to meet in the middle of the bridge, so if anyone didn’t come back, they'd be visible from there. They spent the whole morning questioning passersby about the bridge and rumors. It was past noon now.
Fushiguro wandered close to the bridge, watching the pitch-black shadows flicker wherever light existed. The thought struck him, this “recon” felt eerily similar to his nightly walks.
Evening was setting in fast. The clear sky was slowly being covered by a dark veil, scattered with the tiniest snowflake-like stars. The sunlight faded, and with it, the warmth, slowly wrapping Japan in a shimmering silk of lanterns.
Suddenly, a hoarse gurgling sound came from somewhere, either rustling bushes or behind a tree, accompanied by something else unintelligible. The boy tensed and turned toward the source. Without waiting, the creature leapt out with a shriek, landing just a meter away. With a heavy swing of its arm, the monster tried to swat Fushiguro away, but he dodged and struck back with the help of his shikigami - if one could call it a strike - knocking the beast back, making it growl and retreat into the shadows and dense trees. The cold hit sharply, like a winter morning.
Fushiguro stood still, listening to the silence, arms raised in defense. Somewhere nearby, the curse gurgled. He had to stay focused and figure out its next move. But the uncomfortable heaviness in his body hadn’t gone, and the headache was getting worse, pounding relentlessly.
Damn it. Couldn’t this have picked a better time?
Clicking his tongue, he rubbed his temple, trying to ease the pain, only to realize with growing horror that he could no longer stand straight. His legs buckled, and he had to brace himself against a tree. Clutching the collar of his uniform, he tried to steady his breathing and focus. Now wasn’t the time to lose control. The curse could attack at any moment. Taking a deep breath, Megumi pulled himself together, pushed off the tree, and returned to a combat stance. Then, suddenly, bright, colorful lights flared nearby, reaching all the way to him. The Rainbow Bridge must’ve activated.
Only… this was the worst possible timing. The beams sparkled like sunlight, refracting and dazzling his eyes, disorienting him. No. He told himself this wouldn’t stop him from exorcising the curse still lurking nearby. But he delayed too long.
His legs gave out again, and this time he couldn’t stay upright. Fatigue washed over him like a wave, and he collapsed, slipping into unconsciousness. The last things he remembered were muffled sounds and worried voices, but trying to understand them was useless, like hearing through deep water.
...
Megumi woke up in his room, in bed. His entire body felt like it was filled with lead, and his head felt like it had been split in half, nothing made sense. Was this what a hangover felt like? He hadn’t even drunk anything… right? Wait, what even happened yesterday?
Outside, it was late at night, dark as coal, stars barely visible. The window was slightly ajar, and the room was lit only by a small lamp resting on the edge of the oak desk.
“You’re awake?” A calm male voice spoke nearby, and only then did Fushiguro realize he wasn’t alone.
“Gojo-sensei?” he asked, blinking in confusion at the teacher seated casually in front of him, arms folded across his chest. “What happened yesterday…” he began, only to shut his eyes tightly as pain slammed into his skull again.
“You don’t remember?”
“It’s all a blur…” the dark-haired boy murmured, glancing at his own hand for no apparent reason.
“You were on some kind of mission, I didn’t ask the details. I had unfinished business, so I came late,” Gojo spoke with his usual cheer, like reciting a tongue-twister. “You were the first one I found—closest to the bridge. I show up, and boom! You’re collapsing right in front of me!”
“What?”
“Yeah, really! Wanna see a photo?” Gojo immediately pulled out his phone and pointed at it with the other hand. Fushiguro clicked his tongue in annoyance. “But seriously,” the teacher’s tone shifted quickly to something more thoughtful, “you really surprised me. You didn’t even get injured, but just dropped, no warning at all.”
“I’m not...” the boy began to say, but the words vanished instantly, like they were never there. Memories of yesterday’s “incident” hit him like a wave, and he clicked his tongue, involuntarily crumpling part of the blanket under him. “Damn it…”
“Something wrong, Megumi?” Gojo asked, surprised. “Did something come back to you?”
“Yeah,” Megumi replied reluctantly, staring straight ahead.
But giving himself a mental smack didn’t work, just as he gathered the will, another sharp jolt of pain broke his train of thought, and the boy clutched his head. The ache suddenly disappeared from his skull, but his whole body flared up with heat. Fushiguro had no idea what was happening to him. The abrupt fatigue returned with new force, clouding his mind, and he slumped back against the pillow propped on the headboard.
“Megumi, are you okay?” Of course, the teacher noticed something was off and moved to sit on his bed.
“Hot...” was all the boy could mutter, gripping the collar of his home sweatshirt.
When did they even change his clothes...?
Suddenly, the raven felt something on his forehead. Something warm, slightly damp, and nearly weightless. He slowly opened his eyes to find Gojo-sensei indecently close. Megumi couldn’t see his face, it was above his line of sight, and he had no intention of lifting his head. A moment later, the albino leaned back and frowned at him.
“Oh, you've got a fever,” he muttered, pulling away and peering into the boy’s eyes. “Roaming around too much?”
Fushiguro stayed silent. There was nothing to say, and even if there was, he couldn’t think of it, he had no strength to argue, let alone hold a conversation.
...
Fushiguro woke up with a start, like after a nightmare, and was surprised to realize he’d slept through half the day. Outside, it was surprisingly bright and almost warm. The window, cracked open for ventilation, let in a soft breeze that played with the curtains. Looking around, he spotted a bag placed recently on the table. Gojo-sensei must have already been here. Honestly, he didn’t feel like getting up, but Megumi wasn’t one to wait until his stomach started growling.
On unsteady legs, he walked over to the table and began examining the bag’s contents, pulling them out one by one. Inside were basic things: juice, a couple of mandarins with apples, some chocolate, a water bottle, and a few pills. After taking the last item, he sat back on the bed and checked his phone: a couple of missed calls from Itadori and Ichiji-senpai. He’d have to call back.
“Hello?”
“Fushiguro!” came the loud, cheerful voice of his friend on the other end.
So loud, in fact, he had to move the phone away from his ear.
“What? Don’t scream like a banshee.”
“Oh, sorry! How are you? We saw Gojo-sensei carrying you yesterday, you were unconscious! We freaked out!” For some reason, the beginning of that last sentence made him flustered.
Remembering the events of yesterday, Megumi flushed, though he was pretty sure he'd been red like that since last night.
“I’m fine, just tired.”
“You’re sick? Gojo-sensei said you won’t be able to go on missions for a couple days.”
“Yeah. Just a regular cold,” he muttered. The teacher sure spread the word quickly.
“Well, get better soon! Call if you need anything!”
“Yeah,” he replied weakly and ended the call.
A headache struck the back of his skull, accompanied by his usual irritability, and Megumi grimaced again, pulling the blanket tighter around him. How he hated being sick.
The second day came and went just as quietly as the first ended. Fushiguro had slept through the rest of the previous day and barely eaten, but he didn’t regret it. He had no appetite anyway. Good thing Itadori and Nobara didn’t know, or they’d wage war on his stomach. After waking up again at noon, Megumi turned over and went back to sleep until evening. He usually preferred to sleep through sickness - made it pass faster - but this time, he wasn’t allowed the luxury. Suddenly, he realized he was freezing, even under a reasonably thick blanket.
He decided to distract himself by reading. Scientific literature always helped him pass slow, drowsy days, and time would melt away in the yellowing pages. But the cold, which hadn’t gone away despite his efforts, was getting truly annoying. He hated that feeling, because you can’t escape it. Worst of all, neither a blanket nor warm clothes helped anymore. Fushiguro sighed. All of a sudden, the door clicked softly, drawing the attention of the half-conscious boy.
“Yo, Megumi!” Gojo appeared in the doorway, wearing a dark long-sleeved shirt and smiling warmly. “Slept the whole day again?”
“Mhm,” the boy answered gruffly, wrapping himself even tighter in the blanket as if trying to merge with it.
“Why are you shivering like that?” The teacher stepped closer, instinctively pulling a chair beside the bed and sitting down.
“Cold...” the boy murmured so quietly, it barely registered, though he didn’t really want the words to reach him anyway.
But this wasn’t just anyone, it was Gojo Satoru. Of course, he heard.
“Wow, you’re freezing,” the teacher leaned over suddenly, reaching out to touch the boy’s forehead, his brows furrowing.
One hand braced against the chair's back, he was about to pull away when he noticed something - Megumi didn’t let go. He’d gripped Satoru’s hand tightly, pressing it to his forehead and sighing with relief. The teacher wasn’t surprised, but still pulled a face for show. “Is it really that bad?”
The raven didn’t reply, not that he could, with his head spinning and his hands trembling. His tongue might’ve started slurring next. Satoru smiled gently, stood up, and sat down on the bed instead. He looked at his student: Megumi was burning up, red as a tomato, with glassy eyes and clammy hands. It was funny, honestly - he was still trying to read, even though it was clearly a struggle. He didn’t seem to plan on letting go of Gojo’s hand either - he just pulled it closer, moving it to his neck. With an unfocused gaze, Megumi leaned over the book, trying to keep the letters from dancing. But he leaned so low, it looked like he couldn’t even see what he was reading. The whole situation was getting absurdly funny. Gojo chuckled, thinking he probably shouldn’t have let the boy sneak out last night.
With a single motion, the teacher plucked the book from his student’s hands and used his technique to place it on the table. No need to torture a sick brain, or strain his eyes. The surprise nearly made Fushiguro nose-dive into his knees. His thoughts were fuzzy, consciousness slipping away. Suddenly, the room dimmed, and he felt the bed sink under another person’s weight. Before he could react, Gojo-sensei lay down beside him, gently wrapping his arms around him. A wave of sharp, almost scalding heat enveloped him. His head spun from the sudden change in temperature.
“Better?”
“Mm,” Megumi nodded, scooting closer.
The cold gradually retreated, replaced by a soothing warmth that spread through his whole body. Megumi could think about what just happened, sure, but why? It felt too good. He’d think about it later.
...
Fushiguro woke up in the middle of the night for no reason, and god knows why couldn’t fall back asleep.
He felt like crap, but way better than earlier. Nothing was swimming in front of his eyes, and the headache had dulled. The chill was gone. His vision cleared, and now he could look around without squinting. Remembering how he fell asleep, Megumi flushed hard and looked around for the teacher.
Nuzzled into someone’s chest, he finally found him, and was surprised he hadn’t noticed sooner.
Lifting himself slightly, the boy leaned in to get a better look. Gojo-sensei was peacefully asleep, looking dignified even in his dreams, almost special. For some reason, Megumi felt an urge to watch him for a long time, which embarrassed him. Moonlight fell on Gojo, casting a unique glow on his features. Only by looking closely could Fushiguro see the smooth, snow-white skin - so pale, so bright. His hair, soft and shining like milk, glistened faintly. His fluffy lashes, as white as snow, trembled slightly in sleep. A slightly sharp, yet somehow straight-looking nose; neat, thin, even brows; pale, yet seemingly soft cheeks and sharp, smooth cheekbones that completed the image.
His gaze lingered on Gojo’s lips - plump, slightly pink. The whole sight felt like a spell - devious and deceptive, yet so tempting, so luring. Like a painting: rough, yet soft; elegant, yet vivid. The moonlight added to the masterpiece, scattering over it like millions of shimmering flecks. Indecently beautiful. No words could capture it.
Oops. He’d really been staring.
But tearing his gaze away turns out to be quite difficult. Casting another glance at Gojo, Megumi once again fixates on his hair. And a fleeting thought that flits through his mind stirs a sudden impulse to act. He absentmindedly runs his fingers through Gojo's long, soft strands, feeling an overwhelming urge to keep touching him again and again. And the hair is so soft, silky, how is he supposed to stop thinking about that?
Everything about the man opposite him stirred a storm of emotions and drew him in with invisible force.
And damn it, Megumi quickly shoved that thought away, blushing furiously once again. What the hell is wrong with him? What bit him... This fever is definitely not doing him any favors.
The raven tosses and turns, unable to sleep, right up until a hand wraps around his waist and pulls him close. Then he feels a chin resting gently against the back of his head, and his already flushed cheeks manage to grow even redder (though he didn’t think it was possible). Slowly but surely, he begins to drift off, inching closer.
...
The clear sky had already pushed away the star-covered blanket from the town, replacing it with the rising sun and its first golden rays.
Megumi slowly blinked open his eyes and rubbed them with a yawn. He couldn’t get up, not just from exhaustion, but also because of the weight beside him. Next to him lay a still-snoring Gojo, one hand on the pillow, the other loosely wrapped around Megumi. His still-sleepy brain remained in "off" mode, with only his stomach managing to wake up. Megumi could’ve slept more, but a mix of surprise and joy from feeling better jolted him out of his haze. And then came the shame, hitting him like a tidal wave alongside a heavy blush. Once it registered that he wasn’t alone in the room - much less the bed - his brain suddenly flipped to "on," and his face met both palms. When, what, and... what?
Pulled from his storm of thoughts by a yawn from the man beside him, Megumi suddenly realized Gojo had been awake for some time and was now calmly watching him.
"Good morning," Satoru murmured, his sleep-rough voice so unexpectedly low it nearly knocked Megumi over.
"G-good morning..."
"How are you feeling?" The man leaned on his hand, scanning the raven with sharp eyes.
"Better," Megumi replied, and a heavy awkwardness filled the silence, or maybe it just felt that way to him.
"Are you hungry?" The casual question made his stomach growl, answering for him, and his teacher smiled.
Having breakfast in a relaxed café with Nobara and Itadori, Fushiguro couldn’t help but feel like a long time had passed, though in truth, it hadn’t at all. The albino sat beside him, acting like nothing had happened, which somehow made it worse. Was Gojo really that unfazed? Maybe he was just overthinking? Probably best not to dwell on it. "Yeah, definitely don’t", he told himself, brushing the thoughts aside.
A few days had passed since then. Megumi was gradually recovering and getting back to normal. But now, he had a new problem. And this problem had a name Gojo Satoru. He kept visiting his sick student, bringing food and medicine now and then. Not that the young sorcerer minded. Not at all. It’s just... this weird feeling he got when Gojo-sensei was around, he couldn’t explain it, and it completely threw him off.
Whenever Gojo-sensei came to check his temperature, Megumi remembered that one fuzzy incident and would glance at him sideways. But at the same time, his heart would pound so hard, if it were a person, he could’ve sent it to a boxing match. At first, it freaked him out, hopelessly scrambled his thoughts. And every damn time he froze at every "Yo, Megumi!", "How you feelin', Megumi?", "Megumi, you hungry?" It rattled him so much, he wandered around irritable and snappy all day, and after each visit, he was on edge. Then the irritation turned into distraction. Everything slipped from his hands, his focus faded, and he flinched whenever someone called his name.
"Fushiguro, are you sure you’re okay?" Itadori asked, glancing at him with concern.
"Did you fall in love or something?" Nobara chimed in from behind.
Was it that obvious that even she was concerned?
"I’m fine," Fushiguro muttered stiffly, inwardly cringing.
No, that’s nonsense. He’d sooner believe he was allergic to Gojo.
That evening, Megumi started shivering again, as if the damn virus was taunting him. Reading was impossible, his hands were shaking like he was having a seizure. Megumi had always been weak when it came to illness, and he suffered through it miserably. God, it was infuriating.
"Shivering again?" Megumi jumped. He still wasn’t used to how Gojo Satoru could suddenly materialize out of nowhere. "Want a blanket?"
"It’s not helping," he blurted out, barely catching his breath. If this is arrhythmia, he’s not sure how much longer he’s got.
"Alright," the man sighed and approached the bed, holding out a hand. "Come here."
Megumi hesitated, but when he touched the warm hand, he blinked in surprise. Satoru had always seemed so cold to him, sometimes too cold. But now, with just a touch - he felt so warm, like he hadn’t just come in from -20° outside. And to a trembling Megumi, he felt downright hot. Without thinking, he tugged his teacher closer and buried his face in his chest. Gojo chuckled, and it sounded like he smiled. With one smooth motion, he flipped Megumi over with him, pulling the boy on top. He propped himself up on the pillow and held Megumi close, wrapping the blanket around them both. The stark difference in body temperature hit Megumi like a jolt, sending shockwaves through his nerves. He pressed in closer. He didn’t care what was happening anymore. What mattered was that he felt unbelievably warm and safe.
When he finally woke up, who knew how much time had passed. Outside, the evening air drifted in through the window. The stars weren’t out yet, but it was definitely too late for morning. The clock read three in the afternoon. If there were a global contest for "Who Can Sleep the Longest?", he’d be a serious contender. But the sudden awareness of someone else's warmth beneath him sobered him instantly. The sleep vanished like it’d never existed.
He glanced down and barely managed to stifle a squeaky noise when he realized he was lying on Gojo’s chest. His cheeks turned pink harder than ever, to the point they felt like they might actually hurt, or maybe burn a hole right through. Satoru, apparently, was fast asleep, gently hugging him with one arm. Thank god Megumi woke up "on time", any later and this situation would’ve been ten times more awkward. How is anyone supposed to act right in this kind of moment? Lying on top of him like that,
Megumi once again felt that uncontrollable urge to reach out - that strange, magnetic pull toward the man beneath him. What was it about him that made Megumi’s brain spiral into chaos? His looks? His charisma? That dumb humor, or his whole personality? Or maybe... all of it? Maybe him, just him? The whole thing left Megumi flustered beyond reason, his thoughts swirling far away.
So he gave in, inching closer - hovering right over his face - and just stared for a moment. Then, without realizing it, Megumi leaned down, gently pressing his lips to Gojo’s... and quickly pulled away, cheeks blazing, afraid of getting caught. The first thing his fever-addled brain noticed was the softness. Satoru’s lips were unbelievably soft, slightly chapped, but warm.
Before he could think more, a quiet chuckle came from below him, and Megumi almost jumped out of his skin, stopped only by the hand holding him in place.
“Why so jumpy?” the teacher chuckled, calmly watching him from his seat.
“It’s nothing.” Fushiguro burned with embarrassment for what he’d done. And, god, someone kill him now if the man had been awake this whole time.
“For a while now,” Gojo replied gently, interrupting him with a soft smirk. His bright blue eyes mercilessly scanned the face before him.
Well, now someone definitely kill him.
“Got it,” Megumi huffed, internally bracing for his own funeral.
Gojo looked back at him carefully, as if scanning right through him, then shifted, rolling them both onto their sides. His hand remained at the boy’s waist as he leaned in close, so close that Megumi had to press back against the wall and tilt his head up, their noses nearly touching.
“You’re burning up. I thought you were getting better.” the man’s cool palm gently brushed against his forehead.
The raven shivered. He couldn’t hold back anymore, couldn’t keep denying the want that had silently taken root in his subconscious long ago. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Gojo’s, a jolt sparking down his spine. The teacher didn’t pull away, instead, he kissed him back just as fiercely. Megumi didn’t know why he did it, what made him act on it - he only knew that he had to. That he needed to feel those lips, to close the space between them, because it was suddenly unbearable not to. And god, it felt so good, so dizzying, and not from a fever.
In that moment, time stood still. Megumi couldn’t even remember how to breathe.
When he finally pulled away, breathless and dazed, his vision was blurry. His cheeks were on fire, and euphoria mixed with madness in his chest. It took him a second to realize Gojo was still there, getting up, it seemed. Fushiguro weakly grabbed his hand, his blurry eyes wide with panic. He blinked at him, startled.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, crouching beside the bed again and gently taking the hand that had grabbed him. “I’m not going anywhere. Not when you’re sick.”
Fushiguro, now realizing what he’d just done, loosened his grip and turned away with what he thought was a casual snort. “That’s not it.”
“Then what?” Gojo raised an eyebrow.
“I’m hungry,” Megumi blurted the first thing that popped into his head. A terrible idea...
The man only laughed and ruffled his hair. “Alright. Get ready.”
...
Megumi hadn’t expected to feel this embarrassed, sitting across from Gojo at the table, sipping broth (he still wasn’t allowed anything heavy). His teacher watched him with a warm smile, and Megumi just couldn’t calm his burning cheeks.
...
Before leaving, Gojo cornered him, not doing anything, really, just pressing his lips lightly against his ear. He smirked as he felt Megumi shiver and whispered, warm breath brushing against skin:
“You’re so cute when you’re flustered.” Then he pulled back, smiling as if it meant nothing.
Fushiguro huffed in protest, slapping a hand over his now-sensitive ear. Gojo grinned wider, the damn bastard enjoying it too much. But then, without warning, he pulled Megumi into a long, soft, tender kiss, one that gradually grew deeper. His tongue boldly slid inside, curling around Megumi’s, no hesitation at all. Satoru bit his lips, pale and tempting, and ran his tongue over them. Megumi didn’t even think, just responded, trembling and smiling into the kiss.
...
“Congratulations, Megumi!” Itadori and Nobara burst into the room, well, mostly just Itadori.
“We’re so happy you’re feeling better!”
“Yeah, me too.”
“You should’ve seen Nobara while you were sick - she talked about you nonstop! I was shocked!”
“Don’t listen to him, this idiot has no idea what he’s saying,” Nobara muttered, covering his mouth with her hand. “He’s the one who wouldn’t shut up about you.”
“What’s up with you, Nobara? You sick too?” Itadori squinted at her suspiciously.
“People like me don’t catch idiocy.”
“Can you two not fight in my room?” Megumi said calmly and smiled. “And thanks for visiting.”
Seeing the raven smile, both Itadori and Nobara froze, turning their full attention on him.
“Fushiguro, are you sure you’re okay?” Nobara stared at him, still holding Itadori’s hand.
“Yeah, why?”
“Fushiguro just smiled,” Yuji said like he was in a trance. “Must be a flying pig somewhere!” And then he and Nobara took off, running in circles and laughing like lunatics.
“Get a grip, you two! Have you lost your minds?” Megumi scowled, silently blaming Gojo for being a terrible influence.
Once they’d calmed down, the friends sat and chatted for a bit, left a bag of snacks and goodies, then suddenly remembered other plans: Nobara had to meet up with Maki, and Itadori remembered that Todo was probably hunting him down. So, in the name of efficiency, he tried to escape through the window, only to be scolded immediately by Megumi.
In the end, they scattered in different directions.
...
“How are you feeling?” Gojo entered the room, leaning casually against the table with a smile.
“Good. Thank you for taking care of me.”
“No need to thank me. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“I’m not okay,” Megumi replied, standing up and walking over to him.
“Oh? And what do you mean by that?” Gojo locked his hands behind the boy’s back.
“Can I stop using formal speech?” Megumi asked, resting his hands on Satoru’s shoulders.
“You can.”
“You’re the fever in my blood,” he said seriously, bunching up the fabric of Gojo’s uniform between his fingers.
“In that case,” The man smiled warmly, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, “Even I can’t cure you.”
Megumi was too stubborn to even think about getting rid of the "sickness".
They both knew it.