Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

That one note, a simple one. It could be in any song, but I heard it from your headphones. You were listening to it. Why were you listening to such a song—a song so unfitting to your appearance, I might add—that is always made fun of? 

Sitting in gym class, balls dribbling against the wooden floor, and the constant sound of heavy breathing was starting to drive Megumi crazy. His headphones had died in the class before. So, he was people-watching, trying to find something to entertain himself and pass the long period. Anything, a distraction, a way to keep himself entertained. Solutions to the never-ending movement of the world, each smallest sign of motion causes him to feel dizzy. It was all too much. 

So, he tried to focus on one thing, then felt overwhelmed by that, moved on to the next, and then whatever was next to try and drown out everything. Until it all became too much, and he was absorbing it all to the point that his thoughts were being drowned out. The activities being portrayed by the rest of his classmates became mind-numbingly loud. Everything he thought could be a solution just became a part of the problem. Until he heard that note. 

The pink-haired boy, always smiling and tanner than anyone in the class, especially tanner than Megumi, sat next to him. All he did was sit next to him, headphones in, with a water bottle in hand. He was athletic and muscular, his arms sculpted into anyone's fantasy of an ideal body. Megumi glanced over at him, noticing how loud his music was and how familiar it sounded. He just brushed it off, trying to zone out from this all, until the end of class. 

That note. 

“Is that Welcome to the Black Parade?” Megumi blurted.

The pink-haired boy jerked back to look at Megumi. “Can you hear what I’m listening to?”

“Yes, how embarrassing is that for you?” Small slivers of audio that Megumi could decipher as Gerard Way started to sing were cut off right as he could fully clarify what this guy was listening to. 

“You know My Chemical Romance?” The boy completely dismisses the obvious insult thrown at him—probably too focused on Megumi recognizing what he was listening to.

“Are you seriously asking me that, like, look at me.” Megumi gestures to his hair, choppy, medium-length, messy layers, and straightened, with some parts straightened at a curve to create points in his hair. It covered almost his entire line of sight on his right side. The black rings in his nostrils, and the two wrapping around his bottom lip–it wasn’t visible, but his ears were covered in various pieces of metal. Makeup: eyeliner on his waterline, with it smudged around, and then his outfit: The Used band T-shirt, two studded belts overlapping each other, black accessories galore on his arms and neck, and those black skinny jeans that squeezed his legs. He looked like he came right out of MySpace, and religiously listened to Fall Out Boy, which wasn’t far off from the truth.

“I don’t like to assume things about others, especially based on how they look,” the boy says confidently, like it’s the right thing to say.

“Please, assuming I know a popular emo/rock band, when I look like this, is not the worst thing you could say to me. Is that the only song you know?” 

Pinky—Megumi gives him that name in his head—looks away, instantly no. 

“Of course, you don’t know any others.”

“Well, what are good ones to listen to? I love this song, but I haven’t had time to dig for more,” he looks at his phone, tapping to the band's profile on whatever music platform he’s on—Megumi could only assume that’s what he’s doing on his phone.

Megumi hasn’t taken his eyes off of this guy. He can’t seem to stop, silently and subtly, gawking at him. This guy, Pinky, is breathtaking, like fuck dude. The small, yet noticeable, dimples that appeared on his cheeks were so charming compared to those broad shoulders. He was wearing a loose graphic T-shirt—it looked like a Spiderman shirt, but Megumi couldn’t tell—and the sleeves hugged his arms tightly. It was different from how Megumi’s sleeve loosely wrapped his biceps. For some reason, his body reminded Megumi of Oli Sykes’, which only made him more infatuated.

It also seems like he listens to the same music that Megumi likes. Is he dreaming right now? Megumi would never admit to a single person in his life, but he’s been eyeing this guy down since the start of their senior year—a bit of junior year too, but he never dug any further into his emotions towards the guy—and had always been too scared to say anything to him.

“My Chemical Romance has a lot of better songs than just Welcome to the Black Parade. If I want to prescribe the right songs for you, I need to know what else you like. So, Pinky, what else do you like?”

Pinky looks back at Megumi with furrowed brows, questioning his nickname, and bringing a hand to ruffle his rosy locks. Shrugging it off, he now looks like he’s searching his brain for music he likes.

“I like Pierce the Veil.”

Megumi feels his brain and heart almost leap out of his body from excitement. He composes himself, hides all that excitement, and reverts it to just, “Oh really, I love that band too. So, what songs do you like?”

“Caraphernelia, and Bulls in the Bronx.”

Might be generic, but, oh god, Megumi needs this guy now. Like, fuck, being hot is one thing, but learning Pinky has the same music taste as Megumi is an insane new emotion he’s feeling. 

“Oh, okay.”

“Is that, too, basic for you?”

“No, it’s fine, I just thought you would say another song.”

“Like what? King For A Day? I love that one too.”

Even though it’s quiet—eliminate the pounding of balls hitting the ground, shoes squeaking, and the gym teacher yelling at the girls on their phones—Megumi fears that his internal screaming is external. 

Not once has he imagined himself, in gym class of all places, talking to this heart-stopping creature. And, even though he’s had classes with him for a long time, he can’t seem to recall his name. Maybe it’s Yuri, no, Itachi, no, neither of those sounds right. 

“You good? You’ve been silent for a while, and you’re just staring at me.”

Fuck, Megumi didn’t realize how lost in thought he was; he forgot he was looking at Pinky. “Sorry, what’s your name again?”

“Yuji Itadori, and you? I forgot,” he takes a sip out of his bottle, a small drip escaping from being swallowed, and Megumi watches it slide down his cheek. 

“Megumi Fushiguro,” he brushes through his bangs and starts to fidget with his lip ring. “What other bands do you like?”

Itadori slouched down in his seat, his chest touching his knees, and placed his water bottle down. He stays like that for a good ten seconds before sitting back up, stretching his arms back, his shirt rising just enough for Megumi to see a sliver of his stomach. When he relaxes his body, he lets out a big gust of air. “I don’t know, I can’t think of any more.” His phone is still in his hands, but Megumi can’t tell if it’s on anymore. 

Megumi starts to not care if he doesn’t know that many bands, since this gives him a chance to talk to someone–not just someone, but this guy, who he has been fond of since the beginning of the year, Yuji Itadori–about the music he’s into, and gets to introduce it to them. Only hoping that after he shows something he enjoys, it won’t leave a bad taste in his mouth if Itadori isn’t a “good person.”

The excitement from someone listening to his favorite music and talking to him like he was a human made the voices go silent. But now the fact that Itadori could be doing this as a prank, and not real kindness, hits him like a brick. 

How could he be so stupid and forget that this guy is popular and good at a lot of sports, specifically track and field? The sight people are seeing right now could ruin Itadori’s perfect image of being “normal.” Megumi’s stomach sinks, and he feels like puke is trying to travel up his throat. 

But, he doesn’t want to ruin this moment; he wants to believe that Itadori is nice, and doesn’t care about how crazy he looks talking to the school’s weird kid. So, Megumi swallows in case anything tries to escape, and looks back at Itadori. 

“Why are you talking to me?” Megumi blurts out, failing to suppress any of his overreacting brain's ideas.

Itadori snaps his attention to him, and he looks hurt. As if Megumi said the worst thing you could ever say to another being, but it was just a question, even if it came out wrong. “You started talking to me first, so the real question is, why are you talking to me?”

True, Megumi was the first one to say something, but Itadori was the one listening to a song no one could ever imagine him listening to. “Well, you were listening to My Chemical Romance by me, with the volume blasting, I might add, and you didn’t expect me to hear it?” 

Megumi created a perfect prank in his head and a reason for this entire interaction. Itadori must have been chatting with the other sporty kids, and they must have seen Megumi sitting there, all alone, and looking sad. So they told Itadori to go over there, use his kind facade, act tired, and have his headphones blasting a song Megumi would know. This would then result in Megumi noticing the song and calling Itadori out for listening to it, and that would be the pinnacle of humor for popular kids. 

Except for the fact that he didn’t see Itadori talking to anyone before he came over here to rest, and he would have since he was watching everyone.

“Are you pulling a prank on me? Why else would you want to talk to me?”

“Wow, you think that low of yourself, and me?”

Megumi didn’t expect a response like that. If he weren’t stupid, he would think Yuji meant it to try to be nice. Still fidgeting with his lip ring, pulling at it, and rubbing his fingers over it. 

“No, I don’t. All I want to know is why you’re talking to me?”

“Because I want to, and you seem to know and enjoy talking about music. So why would I want you to stop telling me about it? Especially because it feels like you actually care about me listening to more.”

“But you’re you. You don’t seem like the type to listen to this kind of music.”

“Okay, and? I’m realizing the beauty in it.” Itadori rests his arm on his knee and uses his hand to keep his head levitated, resting in the palm of his hand. He’s no longer giving his gaze to Megumi and is now watching the other part of the class run back and forth. “It’s not the end of the world if someone, who doesn’t look the part, talks to you, is it?”

Megumi considers that it might be the end of the world, but his silence speaks volumes—he could feel Itadori’s gaze seeping back into his skin like he was trying to stop him from thinking it was true by using his mind. 

So, he stops thinking before he feels bad. Dreading when his emotions would get the best of him and make him feel guilty for his own thoughts. Megumi has felt remorseful for even thinking the wrong thing, at the wrong time, even when no one is aware of it. Mainly feeling this way towards the people he cares for, though. So why is he thinking about that with Itadori making him feel this way?

“I know it’s not, but I’m not used to these kinds of interactions. Now, is that the end of the world for you?” Megumi is still looking over at Itadori, watching him fidget with the loose piece of his pants. From his spot, it’s without a doubt, Itadori is the most handsome boy he’s ever laid his eyes upon.

“That sounds sad, you know? Fushiguro,” pausing to get any hint of confirmation to continue, “Can we start over?” 

“What are we starting over exactly?”

“We could start over after we reintroduced ourselves. And, you can tell me about more music to listen to.” Itadori turns towards him now, his whole face smiling, a cheesy grin and squinting eyes. 

That was the whole point, right? The reason I kept initiating responses to Itadori’s remarks. It’s because he only knew Welcome to the Black Parade. 

Thinking about it now, Itadori didn’t seem annoyed by any of Megumi’s questions. Itadori didn’t even care when he mentioned “prescribing” him more bands. He sounded eager, like that’s why he didn’t try to shut the conversation down. 

“Okay, I’m sorry.” Megumi released his gaze from Itadori, fixing his eyes on the ground now, letting his lip piercing go so he could try to make his hair somewhat kempt. “We could do that.”

“Awesome, and you don’t need to apologize. What’s your Spotify? I bet you have the best playlists.”

Megumi doesn’t look over at him. He grabs his phone and taps around until he’s on Spotify. “Here, no rude comments on the username.” 

Megumi Fushiguro just handed his phone to a person he barely knows and shared his Spotify profile with him. Is this the real Megumi, or a fake? Fakegumi. 

“Dude, sick phone case, you’ll have to teach me how to make it.” Megumi’s phone case was covered in little charms he ripped off old clothes, jewelry, and old earrings, and silver studs he tore off old belts in the corner, and to fill the space were little doodles of hearts, x’s, and stars. “ShadowxXxDogs, how’d you come up with that?” 

“I said no comments on it, didn’t I?”

“I’m asking curiously, not trying to be mean, I promise.” He hands the phone back after following him on Spotify. When Megumi slides out of Spotify, he notices that the contact app has been opened too; he knows he didn’t open it.

“Did you add your contact information to my phone, too?” His grip tightens on his phone, and his gaze now returns to Itadori, shifting into an attempt at a glare. He only smiles at him, slightly surprised by his reaction. “I thought you only wanted my Spotify.

“Well, I did at first. Then, I started thinking about how we would be able to talk afterward. I didn’t think you would want to try communicating with song titles in a playlist. So I added myself to your contact list, sorry I didn’t ask beforehand.” 

Yeah, Megumi didn’t want to try to create a new way of Morse code, but he also didn’t think they would talk after this, and he doesn’t see a point in why they should. “We’re talking after all of this?”

“Yeah, why not. I’d love to talk to you more.” His voice is so soft. Every word he says sounds full of pure joy, like he’s genuinely happy they’re heard by Megumi.

Something in Megumi’s stomach twists. Unable to tell if it’s nausea from his nerves or those butterflies people talk about. Either way, he wants both of them out of his body.

The bell rings, and they both look up as people start surrounding them, gathering their belongings. Megumi plans to get out before Itadori tries to start any more conversations, especially with the new crowd around them, even if they’re all too busy to care about what two people are saying to each other. At least one of them would catch on and diminish Itadori’s reputation to nothing.

His eyes land on his discarded bag on the ground, then back to Itadori, who’s now nowhere to be found. That solves my worries of having to respond to Itadori. Megumi doesn’t know why he’s scared to respond, but he doesn’t complain that his chance is gone. 

When he looks over at his bag again, it’s gone. This day keeps getting worse. Except, he doesn’t want to think that his time spent conversing with Itadori was a total waste, but another part tells him it was. Half of the people who were crowding the small pocket hidden away from the gym are now gone. Only the slowpokes, and Megumi, who’s standing still since his bag is missing, and in case anyone wants to shove him out of their way, because they’re obviously more important. 

“This is your bag, right?” That voice, that very familiar, kindhearted voice. “You were just sitting there, so I grabbed what I thought was your bag,” Itadori says.

Megumi’s gaze tilts down slightly; now that they’re both standing next to each other, he can see their small height difference. Itadori has a more muscular body, broad shoulders, and a sculpted face; however, Megumi’s scrawny body stood over him by one and a half inches. There was still the possibility that Itadori could wrap himself around a tree and have his hands and feet meet together.

Megumi’s figure wasn’t like the other boys in school, but he was happy with it, or that’s what he wanted himself to believe—not letting him dwell on if it was wrong, and that it was normal. Perfectly normal. His height was one of his most defining qualities, once people looked past his thin frame.

“Thanks.” Megumi snatched his bag and ran towards the nearest exit. He didn’t have any more classes that day, but it’s not like Itadori would know that.

—

Megumi is on his bed, hugging a Minecraft creeper plush, his sister, Tsumiki, got it for him as some kind of reward, and holding his phone mere inches away from him. 

Over an hour ago, Itadori texted him a simple text. Nothing extraordinary.

ItadorixXx: Hey Fushiguro! What playlist should I listen to first? (8:03 pm)

It’s almost ten now, Megumi hasn’t moved from his spot in his bed, and his headphones only get louder—attempts to drown out every response he thinks of. “I Miss You” by Blink-182 booms out of the small speakers like he experienced the worst middle school heartbreak. 

Megumi can’t figure out what’s stopping him from texting back; maybe it’s the fact that he overthinks every little thing. 

What if Itadori is asleep now, and Megumi wouldn’t want him to be woken up by that, or wake up in the morning to it? It’s too late now; he’s probably asleep. Or, he forgot he even texted him, and that would be an awkward conversation he would rather avoid. This entire thing could have been avoided if Megumi had kept his ears to himself and if he had kept his mouth shut, like he normally does. 

For once, he wants to ignore that brain of his, try to do something he isn’t used to. His phone is darkly lit, and the cover of the song is the only thing brightening his face. 

Megumi is a playlist junkie. He creates ones for different scenarios, stories he’s read, emotions, and some of his favorite quotes. Most of the covers were his pictures, or screenshots of memes he found online, and he only found them partially amusing. A lot were photos of his white dog, Shiro–he named it when he was only five years old–or the night sky, either from his window or from his late-night strolls. 

Megumi can’t choose a playlist to suggest. Either he picks one with only fifteen songs in it, one he forgot to update, or one with fifty-plus. Finger swiping over the screen over and over, until he misclicks on one. The cover is of Shiro lying his head on Megumi’s leg. There were only twenty-three songs, and that seemed like the perfect amount. 

That brain starts working again. The music must not be loud enough to drown it out. He clicks the double-button on his phone to turn it up one more time. Only to be reminded that it’s at the loudest setting it can go to. 

Oh, Right. It’s already at the loudest setting.

Megumi readjusts the headphones’ placement—because that must be the problem. 

What if Itadori thinks the songs in the playlist have a secret meaning to them? Like a hidden message. A secret confession. Buried in the way the songs are organized, or the lyrics embedded in the songs. A crazy thought, indeed, but a reasonable one–at least that’s what Megumi wants to believe.

Most of the songs are about love, but they seem hidden enough, and then the rest are sad. A mix of Fall Out Boy, Pierce the Veil, My Chemical Romance, Panic at the Disco, and The Fall of Troy. Starting Itadori on the more well-known bands, and then introducing some more obscure bands, sounds perfect. I mean, the whole point is for him to know more My Chem. songs, because he only knows Welcome to the Black Parade, and to Megumi, that’s criminal.

The text from Itadori was never opened; he only stared at the notification. Finally, opening it, and it all becomes more real. It becomes even more real when he pastes the link to the playlist in the small box. 

Megumi is about to text someone, and that someone is a guy he finds attractive.

Megumi: You could have started with any, but start with this one. 

That lump in his throat doesn’t move, only growing bigger. Feels like it might suffocate him from the inside. His head hurts, and he finally takes his headphones off, a muffled sound of whatever song he was listening to seeping out. Megumi turns the phone away from him and tries to let his body relax. His stomach growls, and a small ache of pain spreads on his back. Yeah, he didn’t want to relax at all. Thanks, body.

The vibrations from his phone spark life into him again, and he’s staring back at that dark screen. Itadori responded, and so quickly, too. Megumi doesn’t want to think that Itadori is nervous about responding so fast, in case Megumi thinks he’s weird for it. 

ItadorixXx: Yayyyy! Thanks, Fushiguro, I’ll listen to it tonight, and then we can talk about it in class tomorrow. Cute dog btw. （っ＾▿＾）

Does Itadori text like a parent and a teenager at the same time? Yes, the answer is yes. 

That lump, once in Megumi’s throat, has now traveled to his stomach and has turned into those butterflies, again. The feeling was still unfamiliar, but a bit more welcome than before.

Megumi should respond. It doesn’t have to be anything big, just something simple to show he saw his text, and that he agrees. 

But, should he? Contradicting himself again and again. Wanting to respond so Itadori knows he saw it, but that would mean he wants to talk to him in class again. What if Itadori thinks that it is too pushy, or something? Even though Itadori is the one who brought it up as a thing for them to do, and he wants to. 

This whole overthinking is starting to tire him out, and he wishes there were a button to switch it off.

Megumi: Cool Beans! ^_^ 

Bro…what the fuck did I just type?

Megumi was so lost in his brain’s gunk of thinking that he forgot to process what he was typing. It felt like he was trying to respond with the same flow as Itadori. 

Now he needs to search for how to delete a text from both sides of messages, and how to burn the memory out of someone's mind.

ItadorixXx:Fire Dude!!

He doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe he thinks it’s fine or normal? Megumi doesn’t want to think about it anymore, not wanting to burrow himself into this hole anymore. 

Smiling at the text, for only a moment, just a moment. 

Megumi sets his phone down on the side table next to him, leaving his headphones next to it, after finally turning his music off and shutting his lamp off. The lamp, being one of the main sources of light in the room, made it much darker now. 

Sinking himself into the bed, the blankets covering his whole body, except for his eyes. He watched the curtains sway in the wind flowing through the open window. It felt like imagining sheep jumping over the fence, and as he drifted into a deep sleep, he felt the butterflies settle at the pit of his stomach, and his stomach growled once more.

—

The sun’s bright, shining rays on Megumi’s face always felt brutal. It was targeting him every morning, trying to blind him before he was given the chance to take in the world he woke up to. A hand always finds itself covering his eyes, like it’s a part of his morning routine. 

Once he’s awake—or as much as he can be, the mix of an empty stomach, but a full mind, left him tossing and turning most of the night. So, he’s partially awake, and the room feels smaller. It’s already a pretty small room, but that’s what he likes about it. The way it feels close to him, and fits the small collection of his belongings perfectly. 

He gets out of bed groggily and looks over at the clothes he placed on his chair last night. They’re his normal clothes, ones he’s worn a lot. So why do they give off a vibe that something's off, as if they’re a rotting apple left in a trash can?

The mirror isn’t far from his bed, but it doesn’t face it. Megumi stands in front of his mirror, wearing what he set out the night before. Now, it looks wrong on him. He’s worn those exact combinations of clothes before, no problem. Why, all of a sudden, is he looking at himself, seeing everything as a flaw?

The way his arms stick out of the sleeves, looking thick, fat lumps of flesh and bones, looks like he’s squeezing into that shirt. His jeans feel tighter than usual, which could mean one thing: he’s gained more weight on his legs. 

I thought I had gotten better at controlling my food intake. So why do I look so off?

The thought circles his head, making him feel dizzy and nauseous. How he looks at himself with sorrowful eyes, sorry he was given this body. Sorry that people have to look at his body. What a horrible body to witness.

It’s not good enough. He’s not good enough. 

Maybe he should try harder. Try better at controlling the way his body is—because it’s his body, so he can control the way it looks. I can always be thinner and look better.

Megumi can’t let Itadori see him like this. It pains him that Itadori even witnessed him looking like this yesterday. 

He digs through his closet and finds an old black hoodie. It has a cool design on the front, kind of resembling a skull, and Megumi found it at a thrift store. Keeping on the jeans he already had on, and accepting that they were too small for him. 

To try and get his hair somewhat straightened and swept to the side, he had to sit closer to the mirror. His hair was naturally messy, so today, he focused on controlling the way his bangs looked and only straightening a bit of his hair. All of his makeup was at the base of the mirror, on the floor, which allowed him to finish getting himself ready. As long as his face and hair appeared somewhat decent, it could make him feel somewhat better about the rest of his appearance.

The hoodie he put out to wear—not putting it on immediately after finding it, so he could try and do his hair without it in the way—was extremely big. To Megumi’s height, it stopped halfway at his thighs, instead of stopping at his waistline, and the sleeves made him feel like he was trying to be Ariana Grande in 2016. But it was comfortable and hid his body perfectly. 

The kitchen smelled like sugar and cinnamon, and a small scent of coffee followed. Tsumiki was at the stovetop, flipping something. Even though Megumi didn’t need to be at school until 8:30, he always tried to avoid his sister’s breakfast. Not because it was bad, her cooking was amazing actually, but so he wouldn’t have to eat. Too many calories this early in the morning, and from what Megumi could tell, Tsumiki was flipping bread; carbs, already a big no. 

Most days, he makes it out without her noticing, but some days he doesn’t.

“Megumi?” Tsumiki asks, her attention still on the slice of bread she’s pressing into the pan. “You’re going to eat, right?” 

Fuck. He wasn’t even close to her, or to being out of the door. I swear she has eyes in the back of her head. “I’m not very hungry in the morning. I thought I told you that before.”

Tsumiki scoops the crisp slices of bread out of the pan and gently places them on a plate full of copies of the slice of bread. Her attention now turns to Megumi, whose face is puzzled almost instantly after she locks onto his clothes. “A hoodie? What’s with the change from your usual clothing, Megumi?”

“It’s not that much of a difference, I saw the weather for today, and didn’t feel like being cold. It’s not that big of a deal.” 

“Okay,” her tone unsure, “You’re sure you aren’t having any more of those thoughts again. If you are, you can tell me. You know that, right?” 

Why is that the first thing she thinks of when I’m wearing a hoodie? It’s a hoodie, and even though I lied about checking the weather, it can be bipolar. Megumi thinks instead of working up a response. Tsumiki just looks at him, eyes full of sorrow and worry.

“It’s not, can I not wear a hoodie anymore without you worrying about me? Please, Tsumiki, stop worrying about me more than yourself.” Megumi tries to say something that sounds right, like it’ll fix this conversation, and he won’t have to talk anymore. Like it will somehow reassure Tsumiki into thinking he’s fine. “I’m fine, okay? Okay.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have to worry about you if you didn’t give me a reason to worry over.” Her voice is stern, still gentle, like normal. She looks at him doubtfully. “So, if you don’t want me to worry, then don’t create a situation for me to fret over. I’m trying to be nice when I say that. Does that make sense?”

Megumi nods, still hovering close to the archway and farther away from the table. Tsumiki finishes setting the table, and Megumi watches the entire time. Watching how much care she puts into making it look perfect. I wonder if she does this even if there’s no one else eating with her. 

“Sit,” she points to an empty chair, “you’re not leaving without having breakfast.”

The cinnamon and sugar smell was from the homemade French toast Tsumiki had made. It smelled amazing, and there was the thought of how good it would taste, too. Megumi took his phone out, and the time read 7:12, which meant he had enough time to eat. 

But he felt like he shouldn’t, like he didn’t deserve it for lying to his sister, and because of the way it’d make him look and feel. That scent trailing into his nose started to make him feel nauseous. 

When he looked back over at Tsumiki, who was already sitting at the table, sipping her coffee and forking pieces of French toast onto her plate, she looked peaceful. It was hard to tell what made her look like that, but she’d probably look even more peaceful if she didn’t have to worry about Megumi as much as she did. If he could leave her in this undisturbed state forever, it would be his dream come true. 

“Megumi, please take a seat. I want you to eat with me.”

She always knew how to make my past thoughts sound like straight-up bullshit. 

“Tsumiki…” He just stands there, looking at her. The words he wants to say don’t come out; her gaze stops them. Megumi doesn’t want to hurt her, but he doesn’t know how to stop feeling this way. Eyes trailing to the table, then to the floor, and then traveling back over to those brown eyes, the same as Itadori’s, minus the orange flakes that blended with his. “Okay.”

“Thank you.” That smile was so genuine. “Try some of the French toast, I made it the way you liked it as a kid.”

Megumi’s chair creaked when he sat down, which only led to more voices telling him to leave now, to not indulge in this gluttony. Even if it was only from how old the chair was. 

The French toast was piled on a large blue plate set in the middle of the table, and Megumi begrudgingly stabbed one with his fork and brought it to his plate. It was still warm from the mix of being on the hot pan and surrounded by other pieces of toast. He poked at it a couple of times before attempting to cut one of the corners off. Only grabbing one because even thinking about indulging in more than one felt sinful. The smell was enticing, and his stomach growled in agreement. 

Tsumiki wasn’t watching him; she was busy scrolling on whatever social media app filled her mind. No eyes on him made this entire process a little bit easier. He brought the fork to his mouth, stopped, and noticed the way his hand was trembling. Fuck. He wanted to back out, but his stomach started to ache in pain; it felt like vomit was going to send the piece of bread out instantly. Swallowing nothing, and then in an instant sticking the fork in his mouth, and sliding the bread off with his teeth.

Nothing. Megumi couldn’t taste the cinnamon at all, or the sugar, not even the butter that Tsumiki used to slide it on the pan easily. The only thing he could notice was its texture. It felt like a small piece of sponge squashing under his teeth, only chewable. After chewing it into nothing, he swallowed it down, and to his surprise, no vomit.

There was no way he could stop now. Panic grips him by the neck, tightening with every breath he manages to take. Leaving a barely touched piece of toast would only make Tsumiki worry more, and it’s not like he could leave it for Gojo. He looked over at Tsumiki again, her gaze still on her phone; thankfully, she wouldn’t notice the fear in his eyes. 

The slice of French toast just lay on the plate, Megumi’s hand still shaking. He stabbed the entire piece of toast and brought it to his mouth, shoveling it in quickly. The texture alone was nauseating; that feeling of a sponge-like clump in his mouth made him gag. He couldn’t stop now; he needed to chew it down to nothing so he could properly swallow it. But the more he chewed, the worse it got. Little bits were getting stuck in his teeth, and still, it tasted like nothing, blander now. 

In an attempt to end this suffering, he tried to swallow it whole. If he ate it fully, maybe it wouldn’t count as more food since it would be in smaller quantities, but there was a chance it would feel like it was weighing him down. But there was nothing he could do, since the more he tried to chew, the more unbearable it became. Swallowing it whole felt like the only safe option.

Forgetting that it was a decently sized piece of bread, he started to choke on the mass, now struggling for it to slide down his throat. It hurt, and it felt like he was going to stop breathing at any point. Would that be such a bad thing if he did? I guess it would, since he didn’t want “Choked on Bread” written in big letters on his tombstone. 

Megumi grabbed the glass of water Tsumiki had poured for him earlier and started chugging it in an attempt to help the bread soften and slide down more easily. 

Tsumiki, now looking at him, “Megumi?”

He placed the glass down, swallowing one more time and finally freeing his windpipe, looking over at Tsumiki, breathing heavily, and wiping his mouth. “I swallowed wrong, is all. I’m okay.” Even if the feeling of the food stuck in his throat sucked, it would always come back up later, only in a different form. “I need to go now before I’m late. Thank you for the food, I appreciate it.”

Before Megumi heard her response, he was already standing up, pushing his chair in, and heading towards the door. “You’re welcome, Megumi! Have a good day at school, I love you.” He heard from the door, petting Shiro goodbye as she slept on the couch, as he was putting his shoes on, a simple pair of beat-up Converse, and he smiled. “Say it back.”

“I love you, too.”

Silence, that's how he had left the house when he was finally outside, backpack on and earbuds in. He was scrolling through playlists, trying to find one that would drown out the thoughts of what just happened. 

On the walk to school, Megumi realizes the weather today is not made for a big black hoodie. He feels a layer of sweat already forming on his forehead, but right now that’s not his biggest worry. 

Trying to forget this morning with the music blaring in his ears is failing. Every song that plays and every lyric is only a reminder of what happened.

Blatantly lying to his sister always made him feel a different kind of guilt. Like glass was stabbing the roof of his mouth every time a word came out, and afterward, there was just the stinging from the piercing pain. 

A noose wrapping around his heart, not yet tightened, but waiting for the moment to close in. The moment when Megumi can’t pretend that lying to his sister doesn’t go against his own sense of morality.

He didn’t want to lie to her, but somehow that felt better than telling her the truth. Hurting her with the truth, again, was something he would try to avoid at any cost, even if he had to lie to her. 

He’d have to estimate how many calories that was when he got to school.

Megumi wishes he weren’t like this; he never asked for this kind of mindset. And no matter how many times he has tried to fix it, he’d always end up back at the start. Doubting himself of ever getting better, and starting over with his habits.

If there were a way for you to tear out your brain and rewire it the way you saw fit, Megumi would do it in a heartbeat. Especially if it meant he wouldn’t have to harm his sister anymore.

After walking around for ten minutes, he could see the same group of people who stood outside the school every day. They were seniors, like Megumi, but they didn’t care for school as much anymore. Starting early in life, when there wouldn’t be any kind of school to look forward to. 

At least they were nice, Megumi believed they were, because every time he walked past them in the morning, they ignored him. Never throwing insults at him or laughing when he passed. So, Megumi thought they were good enough to be considered nice. 

Inside was empty–or as empty as a high school can get, especially this early in the morning. People crowded around lockers, but there was enough space to move around without any skin-to-skin contact. 

At Megumi’s locker was a person he didn’t think he’d ever seen before. They were shoving something into the small slits at the top. And as Megumi got closer, the guy turned around, finished shoving whatever he was trying to stuff into the locker, smiled, and ran down the hall. His music was loud, loud enough to drown out the sound of feet running away.

His locker had been the site of multiple insults, scribbled on the outside, where everyone could see them. Multiple times, the janitor would apologize for something he couldn’t control. Sometimes he’d be told not to let it get to him, and they’re only words. But after it happens more and more, trying to ignore it becomes a lost cause. Those marks start to feel like they’re being etched into his skin.

This time, his locker is clean, and it even shines with the hallway light. But Megumi remembers that the guy was shoving something into it. When he swings the door open, a small folded piece of paper lands on the floor. He could just leave it there, walk away, and forget about it. But something inside is telling him to look at it.

Kneeling to grab it and unfolding to see its contents. In big black letters reads: FATHERLESS EMO FAG. Mmm, how original. Megumi rolls his eyes and crumples the paper before he stands back up to do what he’s meant to do at his locker.

Even if he’s used to the same insults that get thrown at him, there’s still a small pain inside that pokes at his heart. Some insults had more pain infused in them than others, and this was one that was becoming overused—still painful, though, at least under its origin. Just the knowledge that people go out of their way to make his day worse feels detrimental to his being. 

He’s heard it all before and will continue to hear it until he dies. It would have only been “Fatherless Emo” if he had never been outed as pansexual in his sophomore year—humorous, due to how much disdain he feels towards people.

Thinking back on it, that year was when everything had turned to shit. The bullying was always present, but for some reason that year it piqued in severity. And that year was when he started this habit with food. The need to have control over something in his life, even if it left him mentally exhausted. 

The first class of the day was only homeroom. Megumi liked it, though. It allowed him the space and alone time to not be bothered, so his time there was spent doing what he loves the most, listening to music and reading.

Except for today. It was different. 

When he first walked in, the energy of the room was off. Like, there was someone with too much energy sitting in there. And there was. Yuji Itadori sat at one of the desks by the window, where he was staring outside.

Megumi never noticed that they had a homeroom together. It was early enough in the morning, so most of the classroom was empty, except for the one student trying to sneak in a couple more minutes of sleep, and Itadori.

Itadori hadn’t noticed him yet, and Megumi wanted to try to keep it that way. His only problem was the fact that Itadori was in his seat–they weren’t assigned, but after sitting there enough times, people would dub it a cursed chair. So if the wrong people saw Itadori sitting there, it would turn into some kind of cheese touch. 

“That’s my seat,” Megumi said, hands in his pocket as he stood next to Itadori. When Itadori looked over at him, his eyes lit up. Megumi was the reason for that. The mere sight of him was enough to make Itadori spring up like a puppy. He’s surprised he didn’t start licking him or jumping on him. Only looking at him with so much delight.

“I’m sorry, I was guessing where you sat in here. My guess was too good,” he sat up and gestured with his hands towards the now free chair. “Please take your seat back, I didn’t know.”

That puppy dog smile never left his face. He looked like he was so happy to just be alive. 

Itadori takes the seat in front of Megumi, and he sits in the chair so he can still face him. Arms crossed, and legs straddling the back of the chair.

Megumi sat in his seat slowly, the heat from the person before still remaining. He pulls one of his earbuds out—he turned it down before telling Itadori to get out of his seat—and bends over to grab one of his books. Itadori’s eyes were glued to him; he seemed interested in these simple actions Megumi was performing. 

“What? Why are you watching my every move?”

“I don’t mean to, but I want to talk about the playlist you had me listen to last night.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that.” Megumi had flipped to where he left off in his book and was attempting to signal to Itadori that he didn’t want to talk right now. But he just kept looking at him, with that puppy dog smile and eyes. It resembled what you’d think an actual chocolate orange would look like. Brown with that hue of orange, as if it were a layer. He thumbed through the pages before closing the book and setting it down. “What’d you think?”

“I’m glad you asked!” His voice was loud and full of pure joy. These kinds of questions are what fill him with energy and jubilation. “So, I thoroughly enjoyed the entire thing. There was one My Chemical Romance song that stood out to me the most, and I added it to my liked songs, too.” 

“Really? Which one?”

“I can’t remember,” Itadori scratches his head, “But maybe you could check for me? I left my phone in my locker.”

Megumi fidgeted with his sleeve and pulled his phone out to check. “What’s your Spotify?”

“I followed you, since you gave me yours yesterday.”

“Oh yeah, I kind of forgot I told you mine.” Megumi semi-lied. He actually has a great memory, but lately, forgetting things has started to become a normal occurrence for him. Except Megumi was more worried that people could see Itadori following him, than his forgetfulness. “Sorry about that.”

“You’re okay, dude.” 

That smile, that fucking smile. Full and perfect. No matter how many faults in his life, it would never affect how pure it was. Megumi loved it. And he never wanted to lose it.

Itadori didn’t have that many playlists compared to Megumi, and he’s pretty sure Itadori forgot you can’t look at someone else's liked songs. 

“I can’t look at your liked songs; only your playlists are viewable.”

“Really? Aw man–I’m sorry I made you check for nothing, and I still can’t remember which one it is.” He pouts like a little kid, too.

“It’s fine, as long as you like another song. That’s all I care about.” Megumi shuts his phone off and tosses it back into his open bag. 

When he turns his eyes back to Itadori, he’s staring out the window. His side profile is in perfect view. And again, Megumi is questioning how this guy is this criminally attractive. It should be illegal how his nose curved into a beautiful point. Those lips. Megumi found himself slipping his attention to Itadori’s pouty lips. Butterflies in his stomach followed shortly. 

To exterminate them, he tilted his head down to the book he was trying to read. His stomach growled shortly after, and before Itadori possibly took note of it, he squeezed his stomach inwards. Doing that would either muffle the sound, take it away from being heard, or fail miserably, letting the noise fill the room. To Megumi’s luck, it muffled the sound from being audible enough for Itadori’s ears to pick up on it. 

“What other songs do you remember that you liked?” Megumi asks.

Itadori looks back at Megumi and then purses his lips while scratching his forehead. “I liked all of the Fall Out Boy songs, but you only added songs with long titles to the playlist. So don’t ask me for the names, because I can’t remember.”

“That’s fair, but I’m glad you were still fond of them.”

“Yeah, the lead singer's voice is really unique.”

“Patrick Stump, he’s the lead singer. He has a very noticeable voice; you can basically recognize it instantly in any song he’s a part of. And I think it helps make Fall Out Boy, Fall Out Boy. The lyrics, which are all written by Pete Wentz, who is also the bassist, are artistically genius. I can’t fathom how he even thought of them, but I cherish them dearly. Joe Trohman is a crazy, talented guitarist, and Andy Hurley could kill with his drum skills. I like how each of their songs feels like they put a lot of thought, love, and care into it. Either through vocals, instruments, lyrics, or production.” Megumi wasn’t looking at Itadori as he spoke; to focus on his words, he fidgeted with the book again. 

But after he was done, and finally looked up at Itadori, he was surprised by his face. Smiling, again, but this one was different. He looked pleased, like when a parent watches their kid get excited about a toy they got them for Christmas or their birthday. “Itadori?”

“Wow, just wow,” now looking shocked, “You must be really into music, and you must love Fall Out Boy.”

“I guess.”

“You guess!” Itadori sounds hurt that Megumi would doubt himself, especially when it included something he sounded so passionate about. “You just spent almost five minutes giving me a whole Wikipedia definition of the band, including your own biased opinions on them. So, unless my word definitions are wrong, you clearly admire this band a lot and are extremely passionate about music.” Itadori emphasizes the last sentence by pausing before spitting each word out.

Megumi barely ever has the chance to tell someone about his favorite bands, and so when given the chance, he’d rather not say a peep. But at times when the topic of them comes naturally, he could talk about them for hours. 

Except that feeling of oversharing always came with guilt. A kind of guilt for feeling too annoying. In his case, right now, deflecting any positive comments Itadori leaves feels like a safety mechanism. Does he know why? Not really. But it’s all subconscious, instead of being well thought out.

“If that’s how you see it, then sure.” Itadori, face still resembling hurt, but not hurt for himself, but for Megumi. This guy sure is expressive. Megumi thinks, and he starts to feel bad for not caring. “Fine, you’re right. I love music, and I love to talk about it.”

There’s that smile again, and with it, not a single sight of hurt anymore.

“Yay! Okay, another band I enjoyed was Panic at the Disco! But it was different from what I’ve heard from them before.” He got over that quickly. Megumi agreeing with him was all he needed to be happy again, weird. “Was it their newer stuff in the playlist?”

“No, absolutely not. I refuse to listen to Pray for the Wicked.”

“Is that the album with High Hopes and Hey Look Ma, I Made It? I like those songs, especially when they play during track practice, it gives me momentum.”

“Please never say like, and those songs in the same sentence, ever again. You can like those songs, but I never want to hear them again.” Megumi retorted, his face contorting in disgust at the thought of them. 

“Oh–okay then. But what were the songs that you had added?” Itadori asks.

“Those songs are all from either Pretty Odd or A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out. Their other albums, before that one,” he shudders as if it’s the one that must not be spoken of, “are still good, but they don’t beat their first two. In A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out, every song is meticulously crafted, just like Fall Out Boy, with the lyrics, instruments, and vocals. Ryan Ross wrote the lyrics for the entire album, and again, they’re so creative I can’t comprehend how he thought of them. A lot of them resonate with you, or they take something, like love, for example, and paint it into this beautiful masterpiece created with words. Maybe, even changing the way you viewed something. The placement of each song in the album makes it feel like it could be one big song. They all seem to fit together, and if they don’t, then the intro to the next song grabs you immediately. Itching a part of your brain you never knew needed it. If you haven’t, you should listen to the full album, no shuffle.”

Itadori’s looking at him again, and he’s smiling again. For someone who always seems to need to talk, listening to Megumi makes him feel special. But then again, he feels bad for talking his ear off this much.

“I did it again, didn’t I? I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry, I like listening to you talk about something so passionately, and I’m learning things in the process. I’ll definitely listen to the entire album, no shuffle, especially after you described it like that.” Itadori smiles cheekily, his tongue peaking out a bit.

A small flush appears on Megumi’s cheek, but he covers it by pretending he had an itch on his cheek. “Any other bands or songs you remember?”

“Not really. Sorry. But I did listen to the entire thing.” Itadori bends over the chair's back so he can rest his head on Megumi’s desk. 

Still as a statue, and as shocked as The Scream—keeping his mouth shut, and body composed instead of flinching back as a reflex. His face starts to prick with heat, and he can feel blush returning to his cheeks. He uses the sleeves of his hoodie to hide his face, and Itadori hasn’t noticed how he’s making Megumi react to such a simple action. 

Itadori is too busy staring outside the window, again. Seriously, what could be so interesting out there that he keeps watching whatever events are unfolding? 

Right as Megumi is about to look for himself, Itadori turns back to him. From this angle, he looks smaller, as if he is staring up from beneath him. Megumi, already having his face mostly covered with his sleeve, decides: he doesn’t need to see at all, and he doesn’t even need to breathe anymore. Smothering his face into his sleeves so there’s not a single chance of Itadori catching onto his rosy red face. This might mess up his makeup, but for now, that’s not his biggest concern.

“I think I might just fall asleep like this.”

Megumi moves his right hand a bit to catch a glimpse of Itadori closing his eyes, and using his arms as a little pillow. This sight is tamer than the one Megumi was just witnessing, so he removes his sleeves from his face. 

For the rest of the class, Itadori slept until the teacher told him to wake up and use his time wisely. He ended up falling asleep on his desk, but when he was dozing off on Megumi’s, it meant he could finally read. 

He let Itadori sleep like that until he was told to stop. And it was nice until more people came in, and their judgmental stares started piercing Megumi’s body. In an attempt to neutralize them, he flipped his hood up and subtly poked at Itadori to wake up so they wouldn’t hurt him too badly. 

Neither worked, and he could still feel the harmful stares, and soon could hear the small remarks and giggles. Can the floor cave in right now, so I don’t have to experience this anymore? But the floor stayed solid, even stomping on it to see if it would crack didn’t do anything. 

“How embarrassing for both of them.”

“Why both? I think it’s even more unsettling for Itadori to be sitting near that thing.”

“Well, yes, that’s true for Itadori, but I mean, how boring can you be that Yuji Itadori fell asleep on your desk?”

“Oh, I see what you mean. That really is embarrassing for it.”

“Well, it’s not our problem. Maybe if he changed to be more normal, this wouldn’t be a situation.”

“Even if he dressed more normally, he’s still the same fatherless loser, who probably cuts himself to feel something.”

“Oh my god, stop, you’re too cruel. Don’t forget that thing might have feelings.”

Why were people so cruel to others who appeared different from them? 

Megumi has asked himself that question almost every night, and was always left with a blank mind, an empty answer. At the end of the day, we’re all human, but for some reason, the world didn’t see Megumi as good enough to be treated like one. 

Relief washed over his body when the bell rang, but was halted when he noticed Itadori was still passed out. He couldn’t leave him here, but he didn’t want people to even see him touch him–that could stir up an entire new thing, which would end with Itadori’s reputation plummeting into a 6-foot hole.

So he stalled for time, waiting for the classroom to clear up before he eventually poked Itadori’s shoulder. After a couple of prods, he was blinking his eyes. He rose, stretched his arm out, and scrunched his face. “How long was I out?”

“Only the rest of class, and two minutes of passing period.”

“Not bad, not bad. You know, once I slept through four classes, and no one cared to wake me up. So, I appreciate you caring enough to wake me up.”

Care, Megumi just did it because he would have felt bad, and he actually had human decency to not let someone sleep their day away, not because he felt emotionally compelled to. It’s too soon to tell how he cares for Itadori. “It’s whatever.”

Itadori yawned and started wiggling himself out of the desk and chair. Megumi moved out of the way, glancing up at the clock, and thanking future him who decided not to take any electives this year, and only the ones he needed for credits.

“I have to get to a class now, so is it okay if we part ways here?” Megumi asks, lying too.

“Really? I mean, can we eat lunch together? Maybe we can listen to more songs together.” His eyes dripped with yearning. 

“I-I don’t know, I prefer to eat alone. But, maybe.” Megumi looks back at the clock, the bells about to ring. “No promises.”

Itadori smiles, and that’s the only kind of confirmation he needed. Even if it wasn’t a yes, there was a chance. “Okay,” he looks up at the clock, his face fear-stricken, “Fuck, I need to go. I’ll see you at lunch.” 

Then, Itadori is gone. Megumi has never seen someone run so fast before, so it didn’t even feel like he saw him leave. Just a split second, and he’s gone. 

Megumi’s alone again, and he frees the trapped breaths he didn’t want to release in case someone had something to say. His next class was in an hour, so to pass the time, he’d go to the library or go to Gojo’s class if he didn’t have any classes. Gojo was a teacher at this high school before Megumi was old enough to even consider high school. 

Gojo to Megumi was like his adoptive father, but he would never say that out loud, only considering him as a guardian or benefactor because it seemed tolerable. After Megumi’s mom passed away, and his father left after only being with Tsumiki's mom for five months, Gojo took them in. He was one of his father’s old friends from college, and for some reason, he trusted Gojo to take his kids. Gojo and his husband, Geto, were more than happy to take Megumi and Tsumiki in. 

Unfortunately, Geto passed away four years ago, having only been in Megumi’s life for eight years. Leaving Gojo alone, and him refusing to ever find someone new. A result of that was that he started distancing himself from being home with Tsumiki and Megumi. Now he didn’t hate Gojo for that; he understood why, even if it was similar to what his father did, and his slight absence in the house was easier to deal with—it also meant hiding specific habits was easier. Even though Gojo was in pain, he still tried to be there for kids who weren’t even his kin. 

Tsumiki was old enough to take care of Megumi, but an extra hand would have been nice. Especially since it would soon just be Megumi, after Tsumiki had gone into a coma. 

So, Megumi was stuck living, if one could call it that, more like surviving, with an emotionally absent guardian and a comatose sister. 

There was no definite answer on why she’d gone into a coma, but many nights were spent at the hospital waiting for her to wake up. Most days were unsuccessful, and he spent hating that the world treated him and the people he loved like scum. 

Except that one day. When Tsumiki woke up. 

Megumi felt the world’s tight grip around his throat ease, just a little, though.

Then, he would try to expel the food consumed this morning without anyone noticing—after pacing by the same shelves full of books, or spending his time listening to Gojo ramble about his last period, or the papers he doesn’t feel like grading. 

—

Lunch was his least favorite time of the day. Mainly because everyone was clumped into their groups, and there he was, lonely little Megumi.

Not eating anything, or barely eating enough, always interfered with enjoying lunch, too. 

While everyone chomped or slurped on whatever the cafeteria was giving out that day, Megumi stuck with whatever Tsumiki packed for him. Nibbling on a sandwich, before finding it to be too grotesque, and tossing it in the trash on his way to his next class. Or chewing apple slices into nothing but mush, and swallowing it down quickly so the texture wouldn’t be there for any longer than it needed. He’d always try to fully eat one thing that Tsumiki packed, and some days he was successful; other days not.

Megumi would try to spend his time on the landing of the stairs farthest away from the rest of the school. It was the one that barely anyone went to, unless to skip class, or make out with their partners. Anytime he came up the stairs and saw anyone there, he’d just stare at them until they felt off and then leave. At least he used his off-putting vibe for good sometimes.

The flat top correlated with two big windows. One side looked out to the track field, basketball court, and a small field. Megumi found himself watching people play countless sports instead of eating. And multiple times, he’s seen someone walk back with blood dripping out of their nose, after they were hit with a flying ball. 

On the other side was a view of all the stoners smoking their life away. They always acted like school was unimportant and were “preparing” themselves for the real world. Megumi hated them. Watching them blow smoke into the sky, do shitty tricks with it, always made him sick. He hated how high and mighty they acted. Thinking that everyone around them was childish, low-life, while they “acted” like adults. 

Some days, he’d get so lost in thought, watching them, he’d come up with scenarios. Ones where he’d beat them up until their faces were bruised and bloodied. But, he’d never actually go through with it, no matter how much he wanted to see them feel small the way they made others feel. Megumi wouldn’t do it, not because he was scared, but because he didn’t want to hurt Tsumiki. 

When Megumi was in middle school, he’d get into a lot of fights with his bullies. Trying to scare them off with his bitter attitude and snappy punches. Always ending with Gojo and Tsumiki having to come in and apologize for him. The car ride home those nights was always silent. Megumi would sit in the back with his eyes outside, and his body cradled together. 

After they’d gotten home, he always heard Tsumiki crying in her room. No matter how loud Gojo talked, trying to distract him, he always heard her weeping. So when Megumi went into high school, he knew he had to stop fighting. For his sister's sake, and he was okay with that.

And on today's agenda: who’s in his spot? It would be the same spot stealer from this morning, little ole Yuji Itadori. 

Itadori’s back was to the stairs entrance, and his face glued to the sports side of the windows. Megumi’s first thought wasn’t anger, just confusion. No matter how hard he tried to avoid him, he was there, in his spot. 

Maybe he could turn around and go hide in the bathrooms. That’s unsanitary, though, so instant no. Outside, no, too many people like to be out there, and a lot of flying balls. Roof, nope, they locked the doors to the roof after a couple tried to have sex up there. This was the only spot he could sit and feel comfortable. But with Itadori there, he can’t try to eat. Not with his watching eyes. 

I’m sorry Tsumiki.

“Hey, how’d you know I sat here?”

Itadori flinched back to see Megumi walking up the stairs, his backpack hanging from his hand. He set it down in front of Itadori, and then sat down himself, sitting criss-cross-applesauce. His face, expressive as always, was scared, but then soon morphed into a smile. Happy to see Megumi made it to his spot for lunch.

“I remember you kicking me out one time.”

“I did?”

“Yeah, it was my friend, Ozawa, and me. Really, I should have thanked you after, because you got me out of a pretty awkward situation.”

Megumi feels like he would have remembered kicking Itadori and some girl out of his spot, but he has no recollection. “I seriously don’t remember doing that.”

“Okay, let me just grab my lunch, and I’ll jog your memory. It’s nice I get to enjoy my food instead of playing sports all lunch.” Itadori unzipped his bag and pulled out a kids' Spider-Man lunchbox. Megumi smiled at it–how cute–but when he felt his lips move into that form, he sucked his lips in to hide the smile forming on his face. “No, making fun of my lunch box, it’s because I couldn’t get a senior kids' backpack.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything mean,” Megumi puts his hands up, somewhat proving he wasn’t going to say a thing, then relaxing his hands back in the space he created between his legs. “I didn’t know people were doing kids’ backpacks for their senior year.”

Megumi’s backpack was the same one he had since freshman year. It was ready to be thrown out, but he couldn’t get himself to do it. A simple all black bag, with only two pockets, and two dog keychains on the zippers.

“Oh yeah, it’s this whole thing. I’m surprised you didn’t know about it.” Itadori pulls a zip-lock bag full of veggie straws. He opens it up and takes out a couple, crunching on them so easily, and swallowing like it’s nothing. “Want one?”

“No, no I’m okay.” Megumi’s voice sounds nervous, like he’s being interrogated for something.

“Oh, okay then. If you want any, just tell me. And I’ll give you as much as you crave.” He smiles, biting his tongue a bit.

“Thanks, Itadori.” Megumi isn’t used to someone being this thoughtful towards him. And still, he looks so happy, and he’s happy talking to Megumi. “Tell me about the time I kicked you out of my spot.”

“Oh yeah, okay, so it all starts with me sitting in math class, doing my work until my friend Ozawa comes over to me. She asked me if I could help with the homework during lunch, and being a good friend, I said yes. Ozawa had a spot for us, but she made sure to mention the fact that we were going to be away from everyone, like in a hidden spot. I thought that was weird, but I brushed it off because I assumed she just wanted a quiet place to focus, one away from everyone.” Itadori paused, shoveling in some veggie straws, chewing for a bit, and then swallowing them down. “So, when we got there, I started taking out my notes, because I’m expecting us to do our math homework. But she doesn’t, she just watches me. So I ask her what she’s doing, and she pulls out the ‘I actually wanted to ask you something.’”

I feel like I’ve heard that before, but I can’t remember when. Not in this kind of context, though. Megumi thinks as Itadori chews on more chips.

“So I asked, ‘What is it?’ and she said, Get ready for this, ‘I like you, Itadori, and I've had feelings for you since middle school.’” Megumi’s eyes widened, actually shocked, and then he rested his face back to normal. Itadori was watching his reactions. He chuckled a bit before continuing. “Crazy, right? So my immediate reaction is to just stare at her. I’m shocked, because this isn’t math homework, this is confessing to my childhood friend on a school staircase. Like, I know that my being bisexual isn’t a secret to anyone, but that doesn’t mean I like every boy or girl I interact with. But, back to the story, in my state of shock, she thinks it’s a good idea to move in and try to kiss me. That’s when you showed up. I saw you staring, felt off, and started apologizing. I felt so bad that we took your spot, so I was also trying to get Ozawa up so we could leave you alone. And that’s what happened.”

Megumi took the whole story in, but he was stuck on the fact that Itadori just confidently said he was bisexual without a single worry. But also the fact that he stopped that, and didn’t even remember it. “Wow, I have no recollection of doing that at all. I mean, I stopped that.”

Itadori sighed, “Oh my god, yes. I had never been more relieved to see you in my life.”

“What?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind, I think I just misheard something you said.”

“Oh, okay.”

They both look away from each other, faces flushed from embarrassment. Megumi’s stomach growls, and he tries to muffle it by sucking his stomach in, but fails. Itadori looks at him with worrisome eyes.

“You sure you don’t want any of my food, or did you forget yours?”

Megumi wants to say no, but the way Itadori is looking at him makes him feel like, if he said no, it would be equivalent to hurting a puppy. 

Those voices creep in, telling him to run, say no, do anything but indulge in consuming those fat-filled delights. He’s not looking into the citrus, brown eyes, instead focusing on Itadori’s knee, for some reason. Staring at anything but those eyes, he can’t say anything bad when making eye contact with him. 

Megumi breathes in, it can’t be that bad, he thinks, and then lets out the air he collected. Looking up, stares into Itadori’s eyes, “Yeah, I’ll take some.” Holding his hand out for Itadori to pour some into his hand.

The worrisome look in his face fades and is replaced with ease, happiness fills his eyes, and that smile. Megumi would do anything to protect that smile, even if he had to lie. As long as Itadori smiled at him, maybe, just maybe, he could start to feel better about certain aspects of life.

“I love these chips, they’re fun to blow air out of.” Itadori fills Megumi’s hand with veggie straws, and he’s now left with a little bit left.

“Are you sure this isn’t too much? You barely have any left to eat.”

“I’ve already had most of the bag, and I’d rather you have more than me.”

Megumi smiles at the salty straws in his hand, picks one up, and brings it to his mouth. Unlike this morning, when Tsumiki wasn’t staring at him, Itadori couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of him. With eyes watching him, a lump formed in his throat, and a pit grew in his stomach. His hand started to shake, and he felt dizzy. 

“Tell me, are you and Ozawa still friends?” Megumi couldn’t eat in this silence while Itadori watched him. But maybe it would be easier if he could focus on Itadori’s voice to distract himself from the nerves.

“Hm? Oh yeah, we’re still friends. Afterward, we talked about it.” Itadori said. 

“How’d you get past that awkward situation, though?”

“I basically explained to her that I had no romantic feelings for her, and that I was into someone else. We didn’t talk for a while because she was embarrassed, but eventually we started talking again. And it was like we never stopped talking, just went back to normal almost instantly.” Itadori grabbed another zip-lock bag out of his lunch box; this one was full of sliced apples, which Megumi gagged at. 

During his small ramble, Megumi was able to eat at least seven of the veggie straws. The first one was the scariest because he was scared it would taste bland, but to his surprise, he was able to figure out their taste. The texture threw him off, and it felt weird on his teeth, so he tried to swallow most of them whole. But with the silence again, he felt unable to eat anymore. There was still a decent amount in his hand.

Itadori mentioning that he was into someone else was a shock, more like a prick in the heart. Even if he would never mention his feelings to him, it still pained him. And maybe, deep down, there was a chance that someone was him. But that would be crazy to think that, right?

Megumi was starting to regret the clothing choice he picked this morning. The weather today was not even close to hoodie weather, and to make it worse, he was not about to take his hoodie off. Not in front of Itadori. He was smart enough to have a shirt on under, but that didn’t mean he was going to take his shirt off just because of that. 

“Can we listen to music?” Itadori asked.

The question came out of nowhere, so Megumi wasn’t prepared to answer, especially because he had a veggie straw hanging out of his mouth, "Yeah, I’d like to do that.”

“Awesome, oh, I didn’t bring my earbuds. Can we share yours?” Completely dismissing the chip still in Megumi’s mouth.

“Sure, but isn’t that a little gross?”

“I don’t care, listening to music is what I care about,” Itadori said confidently.

“Okay, let me finish these first.” He looks down at the veggie straws and notices all the different colors.

“If you need a hand to hold them, so you can grab them out of your bag, I can hold them. I know, I kind of just made you hold them all.” Itadori holds both his hands out, but is only met with Megumi’s wary face. “Or, I get them out of your bag so you can finish eating?”

“What, why would you do that? I mean, it’s not like I’m hiding anything in my bag.”

“And, even if you are, it’s none of my business.” 

“Then, sure. Can you grab my phone? It’s in the big pocket.”

Itadori nods, his eyes smiling back at Megumi. Megumi made sure to watch him as he opened his bag, and he did so gently. Opening it as if it weren’t garbage, and something actually to be delicate with. Maybe it was because it wasn’t his, and he respected Megumi, for some reason. And it felt like he didn’t want to stumble across something that would invade Megumi’s privacy.

It isn’t like Megumi really was hiding anything incriminating inside. Just school supplies, a book or two, and his notebook full of his calorie calculations. But he was smart with it. Learned that if he titled it on the front, it was more obvious that something was wrong. To avoid raising any suspicions, Megumi left it blank; he ensured it looked like any other school notebook. Only making it difficult for himself not to grab it, instead of his real ones, or the possibility of someone grabbing it out and thinking it was his math notebook.

Itadori did nothing, though; he slowly and carefully moved stuff around to try to find Megumi’s phone. “Itadori? Have you found it yet? It really shouldn’t be that hard.”

“I know–your phone case is pretty noticeable. Not like your backpack, though.”

“What’s wrong with my backpack?” 

Itadori went silent, and then his breath hitched with excitement as he lifted Megumi’s phone and earbuds, already plugged into his phone, into the air, like it was a missing wedding ring in the sand. “I found it!” Shuffling over to Megumi’s side now, his presence deepening into Megumi’s space. They were now sitting next to each other, and Itadori wasn’t letting any of the space between them be seen as a good thing, scooting closer until his knee knocked into Megumi’s. “And nothing’s wrong with your backpack, it’s just a little bland compared.” With pursed lips, he gestures his hands around Megumi’s entire appearance, “to all of this. Not saying that’s a bad thing too, by the way.”

Megumi keeps his attention on the contact their bodies are making right now, even if it’s simple. Nodding in response, and now uninterested in the veggie straws in his hands, but too scared to ask Itadori to take them back. He tries to compile them all in one hand, but a couple fall out and into his lap.

“Do you want the ziplock bag for those? I didn’t think about how much I gave you, and it might be hard to use your phone with no hands.” Itadori asks.

He didn’t know that was an option for him. Megumi nods his head slowly.

“Okay, here,” Itadori grabs the bag, and instead of making Megumi try and open the bag with no hands and to also pour them in, he opens it for him. “You can pour them in, and then you can have better access to eating them.”

Dumping them in, with not a single one falling out. And Itadori smiling at zipping it up for him after, even handing him a napkin from his lunchbox to wipe his hands of crumbs.

“What do you want to listen to?”

“I don’t know, maybe more Fall Out Boy? No, I want to listen to,” he trails off, staring in front of him as he racks his brain about what he’s trying to say. “A Fever You Sweat Through?”

A small snicker escapes Megumi’s lips because, truly, how did he think the name was that? But as soon as he feels his chest rise from the laugh, he swallows it down, trapping it and hoping Itadori doesn't hear it. “You mean, A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out?”

“Yes, that sounds better than whatever I thought it was.” Okay, good Megumi’s in the clear, he didn’t hear anything. “And did that make you laugh, Fushiguro?”

Fuck this.

“No, I was shocked, that's all. Because how did you mess up the title like that?”

“I don’t know, but at least I got the fever part of it,” Itadori says with confidence that makes it better.

“Sure, the most memorable part of the name.”

“Okay, I got it wrong, but please, can we listen to it?”

“Why can’t you listen to it on your own?” Megumi asks, looking up at him through his hair.

Itadori looks at him, his face looks annoyed, but not a serious kind of annoyed. Just annoyed that Megumi doesn’t see why he wants to listen to it with him. “Because you sounded passionate about it, and I want to. I don’t know how I’m supposed to explain any more than that.”

“Fine, hand me my phone.” Megumi states, and Itadori turns to hand it to him.

Megumi’s phone lit up, and looking back at it, it is his lock screen that he’s kept since he got that phone four years ago. A photo of Tsumiki, his childhood dog, and his mom.

Megumi had to be only four in it, since his mom passed away when he was five. To everyone's surprise, Megumi was smiling in it, and it was big. His mom was holding him on her left side, and he was hugging her. Tsumiki sat in her lap, on the right, holding Shiro, their childhood dog, her smile pure. Megumi’s dad, Toji, had taken the photo for them, leaving him nowhere to be found in the photo. That’s one of the reasons he loved that photo. It captured the family he wanted to remember, the one he wished he could live with.

Megumi didn’t hate Gojo, but he knew that if one parent had never left, he wouldn’t be in his life. Gojo’s brought fond moments to his life, but he’d much rather have his real, blood-related family, even though Tsumiki was only a stepsibling; she felt more blood-related than Gojo.

“Who’s in that photo?” Megumi had been so enraptured by staring at his lock screen that he didn’t notice Itadori staring too.

“Why are you looking at my phone, and it’s a photo of, none of your god damn business.” 

“Okay, sorry I asked, and I only looked because you were taking a while. So I wanted to see what was taking so long.”

“I got distracted. Is that a problem for you?”

“No, I was just wondering.”

Megumi snapped back at Itadori for glancing at his phone for a second too long, except Megumi doesn’t even know how long he had been watching. Enough time to realize who that smiling baby was, maybe? But there was no way of telling, unless he asked. And Megumi was sure as hell not about to ask that kind of question.

“Well, can you not look while I open my phone?”

“Why? Scared, I'll remember your password, or are you gonna open your phone on freaky porn?” Itadori joked. He was more than sure Megumi was not the kind of person to watch porn at school, but maybe the type to not want people to see his password.

“Are you trying to be funny? Because you’re failing miserably, and I’m hoping your next class is Comedy 101, ‘learn to be comical.’”

Itadori snorted, “I was, I’m sorry that was such a bad jab at humor.” For some reason, Megumi’s completely serious comment was taken as a joke, and that started to tick Megumi off. 

“Are we listening to music, or not?” Megumi asked.

Itadori shifted up, composing his giggles, and making that face one makes in a situation that shouldn’t be seen as funny. “Yes, I’ll look away now.”

When Megumi opened his phone, obviously, it didn’t open to anything sexual; it opened up to him googling the calories of homemade French toast. Which, to him, is way more humiliating than if he had searched up anything inappropriate. 

Swiping out of the app and opening Spotify. It didn't take him long to find the album, since he was listening to it in one of his classes yesterday. He turns over to tell Itadori he has it ready, but is stopped again. 

Sculpted out of pure perfection, a real being filled with beauty, and not a single flaw. A small sliver of sun broke through the window and streaked over his eyes, each speck of orange blended with brown even more noticeable. The way his Adam’s apple bobbed, and the way his shirt slightly revealed his collarbone. The shirt was loose, but the sleeves hugged his biceps tightly. His jaw line could slit Megumi’s throat, only if he really tried, and it contrasted with those rosy cheeks. Was he blushing? No, must be flustered from something completely unrelated.

It’s like he could feel Megumi’s observing eyes drinking in his image, because he slowly turned around, an apple slice sticking out of his mouth. Megumi didn’t even notice that he was still eating those. His eyes are full, and he pushes the apple slice into his mouth with his index finger. 

Megumi turns his phone to Itadori's face, and to signify that he had the album up without saying anything. His face lights up, leaning closer to Megumi, their faces inches apart. If there was a possibility, Megumi would have assumed he was going to kiss him, but he had already leaned back. “You seem way too excited about this?”

“I am, especially after how you amped it up.” Itadori reaches for one of the earbuds dangling from the phone and puts it in his ear. “Press play whenever.”

Megumi stares at him, then at the other earbud for him, then at the image being created by them right now. The fact that anyone could show up and see this sent shivers down his back. But he swallowed the fear, picked up his earbud, and placed it in his ear. “I don’t think we have enough time to listen to it all, but there’s an intermission in the album, so we can stop there.”

“There’s an intermission in the album?” Itadori sounded shocked 

“There’s also an introduction.”

“Really? I’m hyped for this dude.” 

Megumi’s face contorted into a disgusted scowl at being called dude, but he didn’t say anything. For once, not wanting to scold Itadori today, mostly because he just wanted to listen to music. 

Pressing play and laying his hand in his lap, watching the line move as the song played. Itadori, on the other hand, leaned back, his arms supporting his weight. He planted one of his hands right behind Megumi’s back, and was so close that if Megumi wanted to lean back, he’d run into it–unable to push it though, because he could tell his strength was less compared to Itadori’s. 

Tensing his shoulders, and wrapping the cord around his finger, unraveling it, then rewrapping it. 

Itadori tapping his foot to the beat was distracting, but almost everything was taking his attention away from the music. The way his ears were able to pick up Itadori’s breathing sent a flush across his cheeks. Thankfully, Itadori tilted his neck back, so he was focused on the ceiling. 

The beginning of Camisado started playing, and Megumi tilted his hand up so he could have a better look at the screen. Swiping down so he could watch the lyrics going by–maybe he could focus on those instead of the huffs of air coming from the man next to him.

A small sound of movement crept behind him, but he brushed it off as Itadori adjusted himself to get more comfortable. 

The position of his body, Itadori sought as comfortably, was lying his head on Megumi’s shoulder. His hand slid behind Megumi and stopped right next to his thigh. That small blush washed over his cheeks, began to flood his entire body, and his now visible neck was a pale pink color. His body was burning, and the music now felt miles away, playing in a locked room. 

Itadori’s breath, now next to him, even better, or worse, was on him. Fanning against his cheek, slightly lifting and moving his hair. His scent was strong, clogging Megumi’s nose—or Megumi’s just being dramatic, because these are simple actions, but coming from Itadori, and being expressed to him, made them anything but simple. 

Itadori had said something, maybe something about the song, but it was all a mumble. Going in one ear and dying before it could make it to the brain. 

With a small nudge into Itadori’s side and shoving himself away from the larger man, Megumi was away from him. His breaths were shaky, and his eyes widened with fear. What persuaded Itadori to do that? Lifting an arm to hide his rosy cheeks, and the other holding his earbud, the music still blaring out. 

Itadori just stared at him, confusion dripping from his eyes. Tilting his head to the side, like a puppy dog. His earbud was still in, but no more foot tapping to the rhythm. 

“Why did you do that?” Megumi asked in an exasperated tone.

Itadori blinks, “Do what?”

“You know what you did.”

“What did I do?”

“Lay your head on my shoulder. Why did you think that was okay?”

Itadori’s face goes pale, as pale as it can get due to his tanner complexion, that confusion shifting into raw fear. Eyes widened, and his mouth went slack in shock at his actions. Small spots of blush started appearing on his cheeks, which he covered quickly. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking. And I just let my body move without worrying about whether you’d be okay with it. I forgot not everyone is keen on physical touch.” He bows his head down, apologetically, “I’m so sorry, Fushiguro.”

Megumi wishes he could control the color on his cheeks, but it feels as if they have stained his cheeks forever. “It’s okay, just never do that again.” 

Except, deep down, he wanted him to do it again. Yearned to feel that touch again, even if it was something as simple as Itadori’s head resting on his shoulder. It was comforting, and different from when Tsumiki or Gojo show affection through physical actions. 

Even now, barely receiving any of that affection, due to the action in his body to swat away anyone who tries to simply ruffle his hair or hug him. It’s uncontrolled, and a thing he hates to do, but what can he do about it?

But the touch from Itadori was something different, enticing. 

Can he touch me again, but not like that? More intimate, maybe? Fuck, what is he thinking? He should be mad at him, mad that he didn’t think about how he would react.

“Never touch me again, okay? I hate that stuff.”

Everything he thinks always seems to be contradicted by what comes out of his mouth.

“I won’t, this will never happen again. I’m sorry.” Itadori apologizes.

That line kind of stings, never happen again, but that’s not what Megumi wants. So why does his mouth keep spouting lies? “Good.”

The bell rings, and they both look towards the exit. Itadori is already getting up, taking his earbud out, and handing it back to Megumi, who’s still sitting on the ground, watching Itadori collect his belongings.

He twists the earbuds up and notices that the music is still playing. Meaning Itadori was listening to music the entire time he was being scolded by Megumi. That part stung a bit because it meant he didn’t get to fully enjoy the music. Hopefully, he wasn’t paying attention to it and can retry listening to it later; hopefully, this moment won’t stick with him anytime he listens to these songs.

Lost in thought, he doesn’t notice Itadori standing above him, sticking his hand out to him, so he could help him up–he also didn’t notice the fact that Itadori was holding his bag too, again–but after what he just told him, that pissed Megumi off. Swatting Itadori’s hand away, pushing himself off the ground, and snatching his bag away from Itadori’s hold. “I don’t need your help, I’m very capable of getting myself up and grabbing my belongings.”

Itadori’s face stayed calm, a small smile on his lips, and that clawed at Megumi’s mood even more. Why is he so happy and calm when I say such cruel things? Is he stupid?

“Are you an idiot? I just smacked your hand away, and I basically told you I don’t need you. And, you’re smiling at me. As if I complimented you.”

Itadori giggled, his lips spreading into a bigger grin. “Maybe I am stupid, but your words aren’t enough to damage me, and I would have reacted differently if you had complimented me.”

“So, you’re telling me to try harder with my insults.”

“Preferably not, but who am I to stop you from trying?”

Megumi has been thinking about how attractive Itadori is for a while now, but as he gets to know him, it feels like it’s dampening his attraction to him. It was like only his looks were appealing to him–his laugh was addictive to hear too, and the way he dealt with Megumi’s belongings, and Megumi himself, was soft and full of kindness. 

Fuck this, actually fuck this. 

Megumi scoffs, “Jesus, you’re a moron, an absolute piece of work. I don’t understand how people find it easy to talk to you. Because I feel like I’m losing brain cells just hearing your responses. And I bet, the only reason people talk to you, and somewhat respect you, is because of your charming face.”

“You think I have a charming face?” 

Megumi’s face starts to flush red again, and he’s dumbfounded. “The fact that’s the only thing you were able to retain from what I said just proves my point. You’re a jackass.”

“Now we’re talking about my ass?”

“Oh my god, no. Seriously, is your brain turned on? Did you set it to permanent, dumbass?” Megumi grimaces, brushing his hand through his bangs.

“No, I just love getting this reaction out of you.” Itadori pokes at his own head, “Yeah, it seems like it’s on.”

“Really? This gets a rise out of you? Are you being serious?” 

“Maybe, but that’s a secret for me, and maybe one day for you.”

“I hope I never find out then.”

The bell rings again, and they both look in the direction of the sound, notifying that lunch is officially over, and that if you aren’t in class right now, then you’re late.

“Great, you made me late for another class. Second one today, and it’s all on you.” Itadori says, but he doesn’t sound too upset about it, more sarcastic than serious.

“And how is your poor time management, my fault?” Megumi asks, starting to steer towards the stairs. 

“Well, if you didn’t distract me with your smooth voice and pretty eyes, then I would have been able to get to my classes on time. See, it's all your fault.” He shifts his body towards the stairs and starts walking down, leaving Megumi at the top. 

Megumi had put one foot on the step, but halted after Itadori spoke those words. Pretty eyes? And a smooth voice? I have no idea what to make of this guy. He tries to brush it off and continue walking down the stairs, but it makes itself at home in Megumi’s mind that he’ll visit multiple times for the rest of the day.

Megumi frowns, “You are terrible at humor, so I truly hope your next class is Comedy 101. Because I don’t get your attempts at humor.” 

“That wasn’t an attempt at comedy, and you’re bad at lying.” When Megumi makes it to the bottom of the stairs, Itadori looks at him, smiles, and goes to poke him, maybe in the shoulder, but stops. “I’m going to head to class now, text me when you get home, and then we can plan a better time to listen to the album.”

“I–” he stutters, “Sure, but don’t get your hopes up on me texting you first, okay?” 

Itadori just laughs and shoots him a thumbs up, “I know you won’t forget.”

Then he’s gone, leaving Megumi alone in the stairwell. 

Megumi doesn’t have a class this period; he only has one, gym, at this time on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but today is Wednesday. Except he does have a last period, so he obviously can’t leave, especially since it’s Science, Gojo’s class.

Normally, he passes the time by staying here, but the energy feels off now, so he begrudgingly goes to his class, extremely early, and in doing so, he’ll ignore every comment Gojo throws at him. Gaining back the reading time he missed during the first period.