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The Sendai sun had never been as hot as it was that August afternoon. For Megumi Fushiguro—six years old with a soul that seemed to have already lived a century—happiness was an abstract, almost annoying concept. His father, Toji, was a blurred memory, an absence that weighed like a boulder on his chest. All that remained was Tsumiki, his sister, the only ray of light in an apartment that smelled of dust and waiting.
But that day, destiny decided to change its scent. Satoru Gojo arrived. "Alright, brats! The party in the shadows is over!" the man exclaimed, entering the house with the grace of a hurricane and the charisma of a movie star. His white hair looked like solid sunlight, and the scent of expensive sweets preceded him like an aura. Dark sunglasses covered his eyes, but his smile was more than enough to light up the room. "Your father decided to play hide-and-seek forever, so from today on, you're under my wing. I hope you like sweets, because we’re going to be eating a lot of them."
The move to the new villa was a whirlwind of boxes and confusion. But it was right there, on the border between Gojo’s manicured lawn and the neighbor's wild hedge, that the encounter took place.
Megumi was sitting on the porch when a head of coral-pink hair popped out of the bushes. "Hey! Are you the new neighbor?" Yuji Itadori didn't just enter Megumi's life; he jumped into it. He held a yellow cooler bag and possessed an energy that almost hurt to look at. "I'm Yuji! My grandpa says you were adopted by a guy who looks like vanilla ice cream!"
Megumi raised an eyebrow. "His name is Gojo." "Doesn't matter! Here," Yuji said, sitting down next to him without permission. He pulled out a plastic cup. Special Vanilla Pudding. Megumi watched Yuji devour the first pudding in three seconds flat. Then the second. Then the third. The boy's face was a map of caramel. "You're... you're incredible," Megumi muttered, genuinely impressed. "Is that all you eat?" "They're the best!" Yuji replied with his mouth full.
"You look like you're made of pudding," Megumi concluded. "You're the Pudding Boy." Yuji burst out laughing, a laugh so pure that Megumi felt something break inside him. "The Pudding Boy! That's the best name in the world!"
A few months later, during one of the first rainy Sundays in the new house, Megumi discovered that Yuji didn't just bring pudding, but also a strange kind of warmth. They were curled up on the living room rug, surrounded by the dozens of manga Gojo bought for them. Yuji had fallen asleep with his head on Megumi’s shoulder, drooling slightly on his shirt. Instead of pulling away in annoyance, Megumi remained motionless, holding his breath. He observed Yuji’s pale lashes and the small scars on his knuckles—witnesses to falls from trees or childhood scuffles. For the first time since his father had left, the void in Megumi’s chest didn't feel quite so vast. "Pudding," he whispered almost inaudibly, testing the name on his tongue as if it were a precious secret.
The elementary school years flew by, but it was in the eighth grade that the nickname became a double-edged sword. Yuji was already a track and field star, and his popularity was soaring. One afternoon, after an inter-school meet, the entire track club and half of the third-year classes had gathered in front of the vending machines.
"Hey, Itadori! You were lightning out there!" a classmate shouted. At that moment, Megumi arrived, carrying the backpack Yuji had forgotten on the bench. Without thinking, frustrated by the heat and the crowd, Megumi huffed: "Pudding, move it. Gojo is outside waiting, and if we’re late again, he’ll buy out the entire pastry shop."
Silence fell instantly. A first-year girl giggled, covering her mouth. "Pudding? Did he really call him Pudding?" "Oh my god, it’s like a total boyfriend nickname!" another whispered loudly. Yuji, who was drinking, choked on his water, turning as red as his hair. Megumi felt his ears burn. A soccer club senpai stepped forward with a smirk: "So, Itadori, are you as sweet as a dessert? Does Fushiguro eat you for a snack?"
Megumi tightened the straps of the backpack until his knuckles turned white. "It’s just a name," he said in an icy voice, but the imperceptible tremble of his hand betrayed him. Yuji, instead of getting angry, looked at Megumi, then at the crowd, and finally smiled with an embarrassment so genuine it was disarming. "Yeah, well... I’m his favorite, right?" he replied, scratching the back of his neck. The crowd exploded into a chorus of "Oooooh!" and Megumi fled toward the exit, dragging a laughing, flush-faced Yuji behind him.
That summer between middle school and high school, the heat wasn't the only thing making Megumi's breathing heavy. They were on the porch, bare feet brushing the dark wood. Yuji was trying to catch a cicada, his leg muscles tense and glistening with sweat. He was no longer the boy who emerged from the hedges; his shoulders had broadened, stealing space from the air.
When he surrendered, dropping down beside Megumi, their knees touched. It was the slightest contact, filtered by the light fabric of his shorts, but for Megumi, it was like touching an exposed wire. Yuji didn't move away. He remained there, staring at the sunset that was painting Sendai an almost violent orange.
"Gumi?" he murmured, using that diminutive that always made Megumi’s teeth chatter. "Yes?" "Do you promise that even if you become a dark and handsome guy in high school and have a thousand fans, you'll always save me a seat next to you at snack time?"
Megumi wanted to tell him that there was no world where Yuji wasn't his center of gravity, but he just pushed against his shoulder. "Move, idiot. The pudding's melting."
The first day of high school arrived with the scent of cherry blossoms and the stiffness of new uniforms. Megumi felt awkward in the dark fabric, while Yuji walked beside him, practically bouncing on his heels. In front of the main gate, a group of girls began pointing at Yuji, recognizing the middle school champion. One of them approached: "Hey, you're Itadori, right? Are you joining the track club?"
Yuji smiled, but before he could answer, his bag swung open, spilling a plastic container onto the ground. Megumi bent down to pick it up at the exact same moment Yuji did; their fingers brushed, and an electric shock seemed to pulse through the asphalt. "Pudding for breakfast again?" Megumi muttered. Yuji chuckled, ignoring the girls. "You know I don't function without sugar, Megumi. Besides, you bought it for me yesterday."
The weeks following the start of high school were a siege. Yuji was everywhere: on the track club posters, in the hallway gossip, in the smiles of the second-year girls. Megumi watched him from a distance, sitting under their usual cherry tree with a book in his hand that he never actually read. He felt like a shadow trying to hold the sun between his fingers.
One Tuesday, Yuji reached him at a run, ignoring a group of classmates calling him to go to karaoke. He collapsed onto the grass, short of breath and his uniform rumpled. Without a word, he rested his head on Megumi’s knees and closed his eyes.
"Too many people, 'Gumi," Yuji murmured, his voice muffled by the fabric of Megumi's trousers. "They make an incredible amount of noise."
Megumi hesitated, then placed a hand in those pink locks, stiff with gel but warm from the sun. "You could have gone with them. They were waiting for you."
Yuji turned slightly, opening a single eye, amber and clear. "None of them have vanilla pudding in their backpack. And none of them are my safe place. Can we stay like this for five more minutes?"
In that moment, Megumi realized that no matter how big or famous Yuji became for the rest of the world, the "Pudding Boy" always came back to base. And the base was him.
Arriving at high school also brought Nobara Kugisaki. The first meeting was in the cafeteria. Yuji was trying to convince Megumi to trade his gingerbread for another pudding. Suddenly, Nobara slammed her tray on the table. "You two are depressing," she began. "You're the track star who only eats sugar, and you're the one who looks like he's planning a funeral."
"And who are you?" Megumi asked coldly. "The person who's going to change things. Nobara Kugisaki." She looked at Yuji, who was holding Megumi's pudding. "Why is he giving you his pudding, Fushiguro? Is this some kind of tribute?" Yuji laughed. "No, it's because he's my Pudding Boy!"
Nobara raised an eyebrow at Megumi, who had turned burgundy. "Pudding Boy? Oh, I see. You're not friends, you're a living romantic comedy. That sucks. I like it." She wasn't one to stand by. In class, she leaned toward Megumi. "Why does he look at you like you're the only source of oxygen for miles?" "Kugisaki, stop." "Pudding!" Yuji exclaimed from the other side of the room, waving a paper. "Gojo-san said we’re ordering sushi tonight!" The whole class turned. Nobara chuckled. "See? You’re the worst-kept secret in the history of Japan."
That evening, the villa was strangely silent. Snow fell outside, creating a wall of white. Megumi and Yuji were on the sofa, a blanket over their legs. Yuji was eating a pudding, but his movements were slow.
"Megumi," he said softly. "Today Nobara asked me if we ever get tired of pretending. She told me 'Pudding' isn't a nickname, it's a declaration of love." Megumi snapped his book shut. "She talks too much." "But is she right?" Yuji turned, his eyes searching Megumi’s. "Because when people say we’re boyfriends, I don’t feel uncomfortable. I feel... proud. I wonder why we aren't, really."
Megumi felt the air leave his lungs. He looked at Yuji, saw the pudding cream still smudging his lips, and the disarming sincerity in that face. "Because you're an idiot, Pudding," Megumi whispered. "An idiot who loves you?" Yuji asked, leaning in. Megumi didn't answer with words; he closed the distance and kissed him. It tasted like vanilla and home.
At that moment, the door burst open. Gojo and Tsumiki were on the threshold, loaded with grocery bags. "I won the bet!" Gojo screamed, jumping for joy. "Tsumiki, you owe me a hundred yen!" Tsumiki smiled, her eyes glistening. "I’ll gladly pay it, Satoru."
Yuji and Megumi pulled apart, faces red, but they didn't let go of each other's hands. "So," Gojo said, taking off his glasses and winking. "Since it's official now, Pudding... do you want another pudding to celebrate?" Yuji laughed, squeezing Megumi’s hand. "No, Gojo-san. I think I’ve found something much sweeter."
Megumi sighed, but this time he didn't try to hide his smile. The nickname remained, the misconception was over, and their story had just begun.