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Yuuji Itadori didn't consider himself a complicated person.
He liked movies with happy endings. He liked meat—any kind, really, but beef was special. He liked training until his lungs burned and then collapsing next to Megumi on the grass, watching clouds rearrange themselves into stupid shapes.
Simple things.
So when the strange, clawing feeling started somewhere in his chest during a joint mission briefing, Yuuji didn't have a name for it.
It happened when Okkotsu Yuta—the Yuta Okkotsu, second-year, special grade, living legend—walked into the room and smiled directly at Megumi.
Not a polite smile. A knowing one. The kind that said we have history.
"Fushiguro-kun," Yuta said, warm as sunlight. "It's been too long."
Megumi's ears went pink.
Not the usual annoyed-pink from when Yuuji stole his pudding. A different pink. Soft pink.
"Okkotsu-senpai," Megumi said, and his voice had dropped half an octave. Formal. Respectful. Gentle.
Yuuji's chopsticks snapped in his hand.
Nobara glanced at the broken pieces. Then at Yuuji's face. Then back at the chopsticks.
"You okay there, idiot?"
"Fine." The word came out wrong. Tight. Like someone had tied a knot in his vocal cords. "Totally fine. Great. Fantastic."
Across the cafeteria, Yuta was saying something that made Megumi almost smile. Not a full smile—Megumi didn't do those—but the corners of his mouth tilted up in that rare, precious way Yuuji usually only saw when they were alone at night, walking back from convenience store runs, or when Yuuji did something especially stupid during training.
That's my smile, Yuuji thought, and then immediately wanted to throw himself out a window. Wait. What? No. That's not—he's not—I don't—
"You're making a face like a constipated bulldog," Nobara observed. "Itadori. Seriously. What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"You just murdered those chopsticks with your bare hands."
Yuuji looked down. Oh. Right. Splintered bamboo lay scattered across his untouched curry. He hadn't even realized he'd been squeezing.
From across the room, Megumi glanced over. Their eyes met for half a second. Normally, Megumi would hold his gaze—sometimes too long, in a way that made Yuuji's stomach flip—but this time he looked away first. Back to Yuta. Back to him.
The knot in Yuuji's chest tightened until he couldn't breathe.
"I'm gonna go train," he announced, standing so fast his chair scraped the floor like a scream. "Extra reps. Need to get stronger."
"You literally just finished training," Nobara called after him. "Itadori! Hello? Itadori!"
He didn't stop.
The training ground was empty. Good. Yuuji punched a log until his knuckles bled. Then he punched it some more.
Why?
He didn't understand. Megumi could talk to whoever he wanted. They weren't—it wasn't like they were together. They were classmates. Friends. Partners on missions. Nothing more.
Except.
Except Megumi had stayed up all night when Yuuji was sick, pressing cool cloths to his forehead and calling him an idiot in that flat voice while his hands trembled with worry.
Except Yuuji had started cooking without thinking about it, just to see the way Megumi's expression softened over a warm meal, just to hear him say it's good in that quiet way that meant more than anyone else's screaming praise.
Except they shared a room now, supposedly for "practical reasons," and neither of them had mentioned changing the arrangement. Except Yuuji knew the exact sound of Megumi's breathing when he was actually asleep versus when he was pretending. Except Megumi had let Yuuji hold his hand during that horror movie last week—for moral support, obviously—and hadn't pulled away for three entire hours.
This is stupid, Yuuji told himself, slamming his fist into the log again. You're being stupid. He's allowed to have other friends. You're not—you don't—
"Is this about Okkotsu-senpai?"
Yuuji whirled around.
Megumi stood at the edge of the training ground, arms crossed, expression unreadable. His uniform was slightly rumpled, like he'd run here.
"No," Yuuji said too fast.
"Your left hook is usually tighter. You're over-rotating because you're angry." Megumi stepped closer. "You only over-rotate when you're angry. Or when you haven't eaten. Did you eat?"
"I broke my chopsticks."
"...What?"
Yuuji slumped against the log, suddenly exhausted. The knot in his chest was still there, throbbing like a bruise. "I don't know why I'm like this right now. I don't understand it. You were just talking to someone. That's normal. People talk. That's a thing that happens."
Megumi tilted his head. A strand of dark hair fell across his forehead. "You're jealous."
"I'm not—" Yuuji stopped. The word landed in his chest like a stone dropped into deep water. Jealous. "Is that what this is?"
"Usually, yes. The tightness. The irrational irritation. The sudden urge to destroy inanimate objects." Megumi's mouth twitched. "I've experienced it before."
"You have? When?"
Megumi didn't answer. Instead, he walked to the bench where Yuuji had left his water bottle and picked it up. Held it out. Their fingers brushed.
"When you talk to that girl at the convenience store," Megumi said quietly. "The one with the pink highlights. You always laugh at her jokes."
"I laugh at everyone's jokes."
"You really laugh at hers."
Yuuji stared at him. The sun was setting behind Megumi's shoulders, painting everything gold and orange, and suddenly the knot in his chest didn't feel like anger anymore. It felt like something else entirely. Something he'd been carrying for months without realizing it.
"Megumi," he said slowly. "Are you jealous of the convenience store girl?"
A long pause.
"...No."
"You're blushing."
"It's sunset."
"That's not sunset. That's your face being red."
Megumi turned away sharply, but not before Yuuji caught the real pink this time—not soft, but burning, spreading from his ears down his neck like a spill.
And just like that, the knot dissolved. Not completely. But enough.
Yuuji grinned. The first real grin all day.
"Megumi."
"What?"
"Let's get dinner. Not the cafeteria. Somewhere off-campus. Just us."
Megumi's shoulders relaxed an almost invisible amount. "Fine. But you're paying."
"I always pay."
"Because you eat four times as much as a normal person."
"Details."
They walked side by side toward the dormitory, not quite touching but close enough that their shadows merged on the pavement. Neither mentioned the conversation. Neither mentioned the way Yuuji's hand kept brushing against Megumi's, accidental-on-purpose.
Neither brought up what any of it meant.
But when Megumi quietly, almost shyly, hooked his pinky around Yuuji's for just three seconds before letting go—
Yuuji understood.
The jealousy hadn't been about Yuta.
It had been about the fear that he'd never get to see Megumi smile like that again. That someone else would earn that soft, rare expression, and Yuuji would be left on the outside, watching.
He didn't want to watch.
He wanted to be the reason.
Oh, Yuuji thought, his heart finally catching up to the rest of him. Oh.
Tomorrow, he decided, he'd make bento again. But this time, he'd pack two boxes.
One for each of them.
And maybe—maybe—he'd finally find the courage to say something about the way Megumi's pinky had felt wrapped around his own.
Simple things, after all, were sometimes the most terrifying.
And Yuuji Itadori, for the first time in his life, realized he wasn't simple at all.