Chapter Text
Megumi doesn’t really like winter.
It’s not like he prefers the sweltering heat of summer, either. Or the damp humidity of autumn. If he has to name his favorite season, it’s probably spring. The prelude to a bright summer, but not quite; just warm sunlight, the first blossoms of the year, the scent of flowers and a gentle breeze. His best memories are from spring, spent with his sister years ago. She used to walk alongside him through gardens and parks, telling him the story of every flower she found. But winter?
Winter is when the flowers die out. The branches of each tree go bare. The sunlight that warms his skin is scarce, and he runs colder than ever. A comforting breeze turns into a bitter one—biting, sending shivers up his spine, making his fingertips tingle. Everything about winter makes his chest tighten—the early dusk, the cold air, the memories of all the people he loses. He isn’t fond of winter at all.
He is, however, fond of Yuji. Begrudgingly, he has to admit that winter suits him well. That fact is clear, as he takes in the sight of Yuji walking beside him. The exhaustion that seeps into his very bones, the ache in his muscles as he walks, the sting of small cuts on his skin, all of it fades away at the sight of him. His face is flushed, both from the heat of the battle, and the cold breeze that surrounds them. But he’s far from cold, Megumi knows. Yuji runs hotter than anyone he’s ever met– a side effect of all the anomalies that make him who he is. He barely even flinches at the freezing wind, even as Megumi shivers beside him.
He can feel his fingertips numbing, the frigid wind biting at them. Megumi frowns, more annoyed at the inconvenience of not being able to feel his fingers than the cold itself. Discreetly, he tries to rub his palms together, without drawing Yuji’s attention. He knows that as soon as Yuji notices he’s cold, he’ll be all over him; brown eyes pulling into a worried frown, so earnest and concerned that Megumi can’t physically stand it sometimes.
It should concern him, perhaps, the magnitude to which he feels for Yuji Itadori. He’s given up on trying to name his feelings, or even control them. Every inch of control he’s fought his whole life for slips away when he’s beside him. With every brush of fingers, every soft look Yuji gives him when he thinks he isn’t looking, every look into his brown eyes; his control vanishes. All he has left is the lump of feelings in his chest that he can’t name, too wound up to try and untangle, too heavy to bear for much longer.
Caught within the maelstrom in his head, Megumi fails to realize that Yuji’s gaze has flickered down to his hands. His words pull him out of his own mind, soft and concerned.
“Fushiguro? Are you cold?”
Megumi blinks, finally noticing how he’s been rubbing his hands together for around a minute now. He clears his throat, embarrassed and a little guilty at being caught. He didn’t want to make Yuji worry, and he definitely wasn’t strong enough to tolerate his concern right now without folding like wet cardboard.
“Uh, no. It’s fine.”
He mutters, avoiding Yuji’s gaze. He deliberately looks away, trying to act like he’s observing the view around him, or searching for something; anything to escape those brown eyes. In reality, the view around him is one to take in. They’re walking up the winded mountain side road that leads up to the campus. In the winter morning, the trees are damp with snow, the view off the edge of the road filled with snow capped buildings and faint lights from the city. If he wasn’t so aware of the boy beside him, he might’ve actually gotten lost in the view.
However, the possibility of that vanishes the second he feels Yuji’s fingers brush against his own. To his own fault, he didn’t realize when he got so close. Their shoulders are almost brushing. Megumi can feel the heat radiating from his body, and the suddenness of his proximity makes his head spin. He fights the urge to shove him away, pull back, grumble something about him being clingy and put his walls up again. But the feeling of his knuckles brushing against his own somehow stops him.
It’s a fleeting touch at first, one that neither of them mention. Usually, Yuji would be talking his ear off about a new movie he saw or a new restaurant he wanted to try out, while Megumi pretended to listen (unfortunately, he did.) However, it was clear that their mission took a toll on them. Neither boy spoke a word for most of the journey, too exhausted to form proper sentences. Megumi almost forgot about Yuji’s presence beside him, when he felt it again.
This time, he knows it’s deliberate. Yuji’s fingertips brush against his, the pad of his index finger pressing against his own. Goosebumps line his skin at the feeling, the rough callouses of Yuji’s fingers glaringly real against his own. He can’t stop the way his breath hitches at the feeling, or how quickly he glances away. He can feel his heart beat just a little faster, thrumming against his chest. He can feel Yuji’s eyes on him, but he can’t bring himself to look back.
And then it happens.
Yuji’s fingers, once hesitant, now find their way between his. Their fingers intertwine, knuckles brushing against each other. He can feel every brush of warm skin against his, every raised scar, every nerve ending that jolts his very own. His palm is a warm weight against his, the heat from Yuji’s hands seeping into his own. The numbness he felt melts away; replaced by the warmth pressed into the space between his and Yuji’s hands and the rush of adrenaline that floods him. It’s jarring, his heart throbbing between his ribcage, the meaning behind the simple action almost making him dizzy.
Yuji Itadori is holding his hand.
He almost thinks he might be dreaming, but a soft squeeze from the other boy quickly dispels that thought. Finally, despite the way his brain screams at him to pull away and jump off the side of the road, he turns his head to look at Yuji. The sight he sees would be enough to kill him on the spot, if he wasn’t so intent on living again for the boy next to him.
Yuji smiles at him, a slow, soft lift of his lips, the scar at the corner of his mouth twisting. Megumi notices the small flush on his cheeks, something that’s more than just the cold air biting at his skin. His nose is shiny under the hazy winter light, the tip redder than the rest of his face. It feels like the sun has disappeared from the sky itself, only to nestle itself in Yuji’s chest.
I want to kiss him.
Megumi is caught off guard at the intensity at which the thought hits him. He can feel warmth creeping up his own cheeks, flushed with blood and desire. His pulse thunders under the bare, soft skin of his wrist; he’s almost sure that Yuji can somehow feel it, too. They don’t speak about it, the press of their palms against each other, or the matching hues on their cheeks. They walk back like that, quiet, nervous, but with a shared comfort between them, one that comes from the way Megumi notices each dip of his brow and how Yuji notices each twitch of his lips.
Each step they take is slow, calculated, like they’re both trying to hold on to the feeling of their hands intertwined with the others for as long as they can. No words need to be spoken, no glances need to be exchanged; the twin flames in each heart and the gentle string of fate tugging at their wrists is enough. When Megumi finally stops in front of his dorm, he turns around, looking at Yuji.
It would be so easy to tug on his hand, pull him closer, intertwine their fingers even more until he doesn’t know where he ends and Yuji begins. To take a step forward, breathing in the scent of oranges and cologne, feeling the life seep back into his weary bones. To tilt his head up, just a little bit, feel the warmth breath brush against his lips and–
Yuji’s hand slips away from his.
“Uh– I’ll see you tomorrow, Fushiguro.”
He mumbles out, a small smile on his bashful face, boyish and handsome and all that Megumi’s ever wanted. The pink hues on his cheek match his vibrant hair, the hazel of his eyes reminding Megumi of autumn leaves under his feet and the smell of the perfect cup of coffee. Megumi blinks his brain back to life, clearing his throat and simply nodding. He turns the handle of his door, the cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth of Yuji’s palm, and walks into his room with nothing but the smell of oranges and brown eyes on his mind.