Archive of Our Own

It starts with a simple when we move in together, fushiguro from Yuuji. The rest of Yuuji’s sentence was white noise or pure gibberish, even, for all Megumi cares. There’s no drunkenness that can be blamed on Yuuji’s possible slip-up either—he can’t really get drunk, after all. Megumi wonders if maybe Yuuji is concussed, but he can’t recall a head injury that Yuuji’s had to suffer from lately. Megumi would know. Yuuji fights like a special grade already, anyway, no promotion or white jacket needed to even confirm it, so injuries are few and far between.

Megumi’s stomach flutters in something he’s been used to for years now, but it twists and curls into his organs even further at just how casual Yuuji is being about it. When we move in together, as if a date has already been set in stone and their names are signed side-by-side on an existing lease. 

Graduation had been a mundane affair—such is the case when you’re a graduating class of three. They take out the sake Nobara keeps stashed in her room that Yuuji drinks like a sailor but doesn’t get affected by, and Megumi sips hesitantly as he gets very affected. Like, slurring his words and smiling too much, his jaw unclenched and muscles loose, words of a certain confession ready to slip off his tongue. Nobara handles her alcohol surprisingly well for a girl her size, but the tell-tale signs of tipsiness are there in the rosiness of her cheeks and the dazed glint in her eye. 

They’re inseparable and it’s no shock to anybody around them, a scarred trio that when separated look oddly out of place. In the izakaya where they chose to continue their post-graduation celebrations, Megumi feels like he’s close to hurling even though he’s nursing a non-alcoholic fruity drink Yuuji picked out for him. It has cherries and Megumi wonders if Yuuji can actually tie the stem with his tongue like he said he could when he ordered it. 

Megumi doesn’t ask we’re moving in together? because he knows he won’t be able to without going red in the face. So, instead, with feigned nonchalance: “You don’t wanna stay in the dorms?” 

They have made a home out of their dorm, anyway. Walking in and out of each other's rooms without knocking, sharing clothes, Yuuji admitting once to having accidentally used Megumi’s toothbrush when he was in a sleepy haze—Megumi had maybe over exaggerated his disgust over that to save face, when really, Megumi didn’t really mind. Not even a little, honestly. 

“Would be cheaper,” Megumi adds, when Yuuji gets a bit too preoccupied with the drink in his hand, a look of contemplation on his face, eyes blinking more rapidly than usual. His body language's just...slightly off, Megumi can tell, even with how Yuuji's trying to hide it behind a smile. 

Nobara scoffs, raising an eyebrow. “What, that Gojo inheritance already running dry? When has that been an issue?” 

Megumi rolls his eyes as he takes another sip. It’s a paper straw and it melts on his tongue which is kind of unpleasant. “I spend that money on you two more than I do on myself.” It’s true. Megumi doesn’t really know what else to do with it, and Nobara and Yuuji are so easily impressed by anything and want for everything. There’s a bidding war on a rare limited edition Human Earthworm Blu-ray set that Megumi’s wagering on. A pair of the newest Miu Miu ballerina flats in his online shopping cart in Nobara’s shoe size that he already knows. He tells himself he should buy stock and then receives another wishlist from Nobara the next day. The stock can wait, he guesses. 

No wishlists from Yuuji, though. Not really. He might hint at little things he’s got his eye on but it’s Megumi that ends up scrolling the depths of eBay at 4 a.m. because Yuuji kind of mentioned in passing this one signed Hunger Games poster that would look really cool in his room. It’s an unbelievably headache-inducing auction that damn near has Megumi summoning Mahoraga but he manages to win it by the skin of his teeth and it’s shipped the next day, hanging on Yuuji’s wall within a week. Yuuji even got it framed. Yuuji was right, it does look cool, and Megumi selfishly wants to think it’s because he got it for him. 

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Yuuji says, because he has, more than once, “you should spend more on things you like, Megumi.” Nobara immediately shakes her head and boos as she takes another sip of her drink. 

I like you, Megumi thinks, and then sappy right afterwards. So, so fucking sappy. 

“He bought himself that book the other day,” Nobara says. “Something about…I wanna say fishing?” 

Megumi is about to correct her and also add why the fuck would I buy a book about fishing but Yuuji cuts in. “Right, that reminds me. We’d need a lot of bookshelves at our place,” Yuuji says, pointing at Megumi like our place is an apartment that already exists with an address they can order bookshelves to right now. Funnily enough, Yuuji’s pulling his phone out and it’s a bookshelf from Ikea that first pops up on his screen, like he was already looking at it beforehand. “Lookie here. You can stop stacking your books in towers on the floor. And it’s on sale!” 

Nobara steals Yuuji’s phone from his loose grip before Megumi’s even had a chance to look. She squints her eye as she zooms in on the screen with pinched fingers. “You’d need like, three of these. You’re forgetting all the books he has under his bed.” 

Yuuji snaps his fingers and nods at Nobara. “Right, right. Jeez, Fushiguro, you’ve read all of those? Maybe we should have a cute little reading nook for you.” 

Nobara’s just, like, scrolling on Yuuji’s phone now and Yuuji doesn’t really seem to mind. Megumi’s head is still chanting our place our place our place and, right when his head is about to repeat it again, Yuuji beats him to it. “I should add that to the Pinterest board of our apartment,” he mumbles, like he’s making a mental note to himself. 

“Pinterest?” Nobara squeals as she seemingly searches for the app on Yuuji’s phone and finds the so-called board of our place and lets out a small, albeit genuine gasp. “452 pins?” 

“That’s not even that many,” Yuuji tuts. Nobara scoffs and has a look on her face that reads are you kidding? Megumi will admit that she’s pretty good at making that face. 

“Your taste is so…boyish.” Nobara flimsily holds Yuuji’s phone now, just enough to barely expose the screen as it tilts, and Megumi gets a glance at the future that’s apparently being decided for him. Looks cozy, just from the peephole glimpse that he takes. 

Yuuji scowls and finally takes back his phone, muttering something like you just wouldn’t get it as he scrolls, Nobara giggling beside him. When Megumi is shown Yuuji’s screen again, it’s to show the Ikea bookshelf that is, in fact, on sale, and apparently already in Yuuji’s cart along with eleven other items, according to the little number in the corner. 

It’s what Yuuji says next that has Megumi almost choking on his drink for like, the third time in this booth. His throat’s starting to get all scratchy. “One of these in the living room, another shelf in our bedroom. That should be enough for all your books, no?” 

Nobara steals the words right out of Megumi’s mouth, which works out just fine since his is all fizzy and dry at the same time. “Our? Surely you and Fushiguro can afford a two bedroom.” 

Yuuji shrugs but his eyes are practically glued to his screen, a light flush to his cheeks that can’t be blamed on any alcohol. “Rent in Tokyo is high. And rising! Don’t you, like, read the news?” 

“Do you?” Nobara asks, a bemused look on her face. 

“Do you?” Yuuji parrots, mockingly, and if Megumi doesn’t interrupt they’ll both go off on an hour long petty tangent that Megumi has no patience to hear or observe right now. 

So he bites. Not at the our bedroom ordeal because he’s flustered enough as it is and surely Yuuji didn’t actually, like, mean that, but he decides to play along on the whole our apartment joke, because that’s what it is, right? A joke. A bit. Yuuji’s being funny and it’s not really working, in that all he’s doing is making Megumi dizzy with a want he doesn’t know what to do with. 

“A two bedroom should be well within our budget, Itadori,” he says, "hypothethically speaking." Itadori because they’re in public and Yuuji is mostly reserved for quiet (or sometimes not so quiet when Yuuji has the entire world in his head and wants Megumi to hear all about it) nights in a bed they do, on occasion, share. A few times a week. It’s not unlike them. 

(Megumi had thought that when they grew to be the height and weight they are now that the occasional bed-sharing would come to an end, seeing as they barely fit in their twin-size when they were growing boys. But Yuuji is persistent and Megumi is endlessly grateful for it. Yuuji, in Megumi’s bed, hot laptop on his lap playing whatever movie he decides they should watch next, an arm around Megumi’s shoulders. Megumi, who runs cold, finds that he likes the heat of the laptop, and the heat of Yuuji, so it’s easy to cuddle into him more and more each time. Yuuji will say the movie is one of Gojo’s recommendations and it never hurts, not anymore, when Yuuji mentions him, because he knows just how to. Name dropping him into not-so-meaningless conversations, never tiptoeing around the subject of him. Yuuji knows exactly how to do that—make Megumi’s grief feel less like it takes up an entire room and more of just, like, this person you loved is gone and I’m going to talk about him to you, with you. A lonely grief now shared.) 

Megumi tries so hard to ignore the very quick look of confusion (or hurt?) on Yuuji’s face that fades in the blink of an eye, barely there. He laughs Megumi’s comment off in a way that’s a bit too forced. “What, wanna get away from my snoring?” 

Weirdly enough, Megumi doesn’t. “I don’t mind your snoring,” Megumi says. But sharing a bedroom is a thing couples do, he doesn’t add. Sharing a bedroom would mean that this means something, does it mean something? Do you want it to mean something? 

There’s a pause after that Megumi doesn’t know how to fill, eyes glancing down at his drink. Nobara’s scrolling on Yuuji’s phone again and Yuuji’s hands are fidgeting in Megumi’s peripheral. He hadn’t noticed just how loud the izakaya was before, but he does now when he’s trying to find the sound of Yuuji’s breathing in the midst of it, ears searching. 

Yuuji then taps Megumi’s ankle with his foot, and Megumi looks up to see soft eyes and a warm smile, reminiscent of an old sunset at a high school in Sendai where it all started. “You’re too nice to me, Fushiguro.” His voice is all cute and fuzzy at the edges and it’s so hard not to melt into a useless puddle at the words, so meaningful whenever spoken by Yuuji. 

Their legs go from knees barely touching to ankles fully interlocked under the table within seconds. Nobara cackles at all the furniture store tabs Yuuji has on his phone. “These are all king-sized beds, Itadori.” 

Pink spreads all the way to the tip of Yuuji’s ears when he suddenly freezes. “So what if they are?” Yuuji croaks out with a scoff, hands going to steal his phone back but Nobara is quick, hides it behind her back. 

“So, not only are you wanting to share a room, but you’re gonna share a bed too?” Nobara questions, clutching Yuuji’s phone tightly with an arm held high, waving it around so Yuuji can’t grab it. “Is there something going on between you two that I don’t know about? Because, like, legally speaking, you’d have to tell me!” 

Something happens in Megumi’s heart, stomach, chest, his entire fucking body all at once, and someone needs to crack open a window or something because his hands are getting all sweaty and, Yuuji has to be playing a prank, right? A very unfunny, idiotic one. Megumi would think Nobara is in on it too but she seems just as shocked at all the revelations unfolding at this table. 

He feels Yuuji’s legs stiffen around his under the table and he hears Yuuji groan as he reaches for his phone once again. “Just give it!” 

“Not until you tell me first!” Nobara exclaims. 

Yuuji lets out a frustrated sound, and Nobara looks at him like he’s been cornered, because he kind of has. Megumi pretends that this is all beneath him with a well-practiced blank look on his face but, really, he’s on the edge of his seat waiting for an answer out of Yuuji that he has no right expecting. 

“There’s nothing to tell,” Yuuji says, followed by a triumphant aha! when he manages to snatch his phone back, now secure in his front pocket. “It was—it was a joke,” he stammers out, voice bordering on shaky. 

Right. So Megumi had been right, it was a joke. There’s no relief that comes from the confirmation, though. If anything, there’s a hurt he knows he has no place feeling. Our place our place our place. There’s not really an our, is there? Not officially, not really. Not in the way where it means something. 

“You put a lot of effort into that joke,” Nobara says, small smirk on her face, a concentrated look in her eye like she’s studying Yuuji, who gives her nothing to work with. “Pinterest account and everything.” 

Megumi tries to scan Yuuji’s face for something but he’s not sure what. Maybe a frown on his face or a clench to his jaw that would reveal, actually, none of this was a joke and I do really want to move in with you and share a bed and a toothbrush holder and everything, for that matter. All he finds is a sheepish smile and wavering eyes, twinkling. They meet Megumi’s with a hesitation he rarely sees from Yuuji anymore. It makes Megumi’s chest go tight in a way he’s kind of forgotten about recently. 

“Go big or go home, right?” Yuuji says, the lilt of his voice a bit off but he smiles nonetheless. 

When they get back to their dorms at three in the morning, eyes heavy and mouths yawning, Yuuji doesn’t follow Megumi into his room. Megumi thinks Yuuji will maybe just wash up and change or something and then make his way to Megumi’s bed later, but he never comes. When Nobara asks why Megumi ‘looks like hell’ in the morning, he doesn’t say that it’s because he spent hours looking at the tiny crack under his door waiting to show Yuuji behind it. He just groans and flips her off instead. 

Yuuji doesn’t come to Megumi’s dorm for five nights in a row after that and it’s fine. Totally, extremely fine. It’s not like Megumi should expect it or anything—Yuuji dropping in on him has always been more of an unplanned spontaneous thing, but…five nights? It’s a cause for concern, Megumi thinks. Alarm bells go off in his head and he can’t really be blamed—they haven’t gone this long without sleeping in the same bed since they were first years. Megumi’s never been a very good sleeper but he twists and turns more so than ever before. Every sleep is more restless than the last.

What’s frustrating is Yuuji, the angel that he is, will greet him in the morning, or sometimes in the afternoon if Megumi sleeps in, all smiles and fondness with Megumi’s coffee already prepared in hand just the way he likes it, grinning like nothing is wrong. Because, technically speaking, nothing is wrong, is there? Megumi did think Yuuji coming into his room at the crack of dawn would end eventually. Good things in Megumi’s life seem to always follow the pattern of having an expiration date. Perhaps that time had come. 

Still, Megumi can’t help but think that it ended prematurely, and that it actually shouldn’t have ended at all, but he has no right to, he decides. The beds are small and creak enough on their own with one person sleeping on them, let alone two that are long-limbed and move around so much in their sleep. It made no sense. But didn’t it, though, in a very tiny way, at the very least? Apparently not to Yuuji, who had said that there was nothing to tell. It’s unfair of Megumi to throw that back at Yuuji when he was merely trying to get his phone back but he does it anyway. It’s possible, Megumi fleetingly thinks, that Yuuji had finally outgrown the habit, or outgrew Megumi. It’s a painful possibility that makes Megumi feel like a small child for being hurt by it. 

Megumi’s on his sixth restless night after a particularly bad day and he’s just about had it. The mission he was sent out on earlier had him dealing with an exasperating and brutal grade one that left him scuffed up and sore and, without wanting to really ask for it, he wants Yuuji. Imagines him walking in without knocking because he never does, in an old baggy shirt and shorts, hair probably still a bit damp because he always showers before bed, they both do. He’d smell like sandalwood and safety and have his sticker-littered laptop in hand, more an excuse than anything else, Megumi guesses. They don’t always watch anything, and oftentimes Yuuji will just prop the laptop up on Megumi’s desk and immediately get in bed, start talking about his day, voice all soft and quiet. Then Megumi will talk about his, and they’ll gradually fall asleep. If Megumi is lucky, which apparently he often was, he’ll wake up to Yuuji still there. Yuuji, a morning person by nature, always has the option to start his day before Megumi, but he usually waits for Megumi to wake up, too. Megumi wonders what Yuuji does with all that time. 

It’s a sort-of-routine that felt so, so right and Yuuji not being here now is so wrong and Megumi’s up on his feet. He’s marching with purpose like the floor’s to blame for Yuuji not showing up and his knuckles are white, boney, and meeting Yuuji’s door. It’s weird, he doesn’t usually knock either, but he feels the need to now. A week kind of warrants that. 

“Itadori,” Megumi calls from the door as he knocks, his voice rougher than he was expecting it to be, and more tired. 

Some shuffling and a few footsteps, and then Yuuji, who opens the door with wide eyes that look like they’re in desperate need of sleep. Megumi knows. “Megumi?” 

Being planted in front of Yuuji makes Megumi realize he hadn’t really thought of what to say, not even a little. It’s all just emotions running wild and ramped in his chest and all words in every language fail him on his heavy tongue, and hearing megumi come out Yuuji’s lips so easily doesn’t really help. Yuuji’s just blinking rapidly at him and Megumi doesn’t know how to communicate his want, so he doesn’t. He opts to grab Yuuji by his shirt. Sleepy and desperate decisions to regret later, he figures. 

Yuuji is startled but lets Megumi have his way, his shirt getting all scrunched up Megumi’s tight grip as he pushes Yuuji into his bedroom, Yuuji walking backwards in staggered steps. “Megumi,” he repeats, stumped, bewildered. 

“What’s with you?” Megumi asks, and it’s a bit too harsh for how soft and mushy he feels inside, “and don’t say nothing. It’s been nearly a week.” 

Yuuji doesn’t move his eyes away from Megumi but he does grab a hold of the hand clutching his shirt, the touch an instant ointment on a wound Megumi didn’t know he had. Yuuji is so warm. 

“A week,” Yuuji says slowly as Megumi’s hand loosens, then tightens again. 

“Yes, Itadori, a week,” Megumi presses, because he’s not going to really say it, putting unfair expectations on Yuuji to fill in the blanks himself. He must know, surely. He can’t not. It might hurt too much if he doesn’t. “Are you—“ Megumi tries, sighing when he can’t find the words, coming up empty on each lame attempt. “Did I do something?” He lets out, and immediately hates how desperate it sounds. 

Yuuji frowns like Megumi’s question is absurd. It’s not really that farfetched, Megumi thinks. “No, Megumi, no. You didn’t. You really didn’t,” Yuuji says, and he sounds sincere, looking at Megumi all tender and deer-like. 

“So?” Megumi asks, shoving lightly at Yuuji’s chest. 

Yuuji smiles, a small thing, but whatever little tension between them melts away slowly because of it. “Miss my snoring that bad?” 

What an absolute fucking tease. It’s unfair how much Megumi likes it, how badly Megumi wants to smile because of it but has to bite it down. He's trying to stand his ground here. “You’re unbearable.” Megumi’s hand unclenches from Yuuji’s shirt and falls awkwardly at his side. Yuuji pokes his shoulder, then dusts and fixes up his sleeve.  

“You didn’t do anything,” Yuuji says again. “I just figured, y’know.” There’s a shrug that follows that doesn’t seem as careless as what Yuuji was probably going for. 

Megumi frowns. “Figured…?” 

Yuuji’s eyes go a bit distant, his mind going elsewhere. “That you needed your space.” 

“Why the fuck would you figure that?” There’s no bite to Megumi’s question, just utter confusion. Yuuji doesn’t seem to want to let up, eyes suddenly not meeting Megumi’s wavering ones. Yuuji, whose hands are always buzzing to do something and fingers always fidgeting, goes uncharacteristically still, and then eventually steps back to sit on his bed. “Yuuji.” 

“Dunno.” Yuuji’s leg begins to bounce up and down, and he’s suddenly taken a very strong interest in a loose string on his bedsheets. 

Megumi kicks at Yuuji’s foot with his own. “Liar.” Megumi contemplates it momentarily but then sits next to Yuuji, a small gap between them. He wants to be closer. Yuuji’s bouncing leg stills. “Tell me.” 

Yuuji scratches at his undercut and draws out a little sigh. He gulps heavily and then breathes out a shaky laugh that doesn’t really land. “It wasn’t really a joke,” Yuuji mumbles around a pout. 

Megumi furrows his eyebrows, looking at Yuuji, whose face is merely lit by the lamp at his bedside. He looks more nervous than he remembers Yuuji ever being in recent history, that new found confidence of his tucked away somewhere he cannot find. It’s vulnerable and Megumi wants to know what to do about it. “What wasn’t a joke?”

Yuuji hides his face in his hands and lets out a frustrated sound like he’s just hoping Megumi will telepathically understand him and like, Megumi gets that. He does it too, far too often, maybe, when actual communication and words should be taking place. “Forget it.” Yuuji falls back onto his mattress with a heavy thump and sighs. Megumi keeps his steady eyes on him. 

“No, no. I’m not going to forget it.” Megumi picks at his brain and thinks of what wasn’t a joke, and doesn’t have to go very far. He hears the loud izakaya with a taste of sour cherry on his tongue and the feeling of Yuuji’s strong legs entangled with his, that blush crawling up both of their faces. He thinks of that joke Yuuji played that didn’t really sound like a joke. Something loosens in Megumi’s chest that was wound so incredibly tight, and he breathes out a laugh. “You mean about our place?” 

Yuuji’s tired eyes meet Megumi’s own for a quick second before he’s looking up at the ceiling again, picking at his fingernails. He shrugs, and when Megumi hears how heavy the gulp was that Yuuji swallows, he figures he’s not really going give a verbal answer, which is answer enough. Megumi lies down beside him, shoulders barely touching. It’s a common sight but Yuuji looks a bit shocked by it all the same. 

“I didn’t want it to be a joke.” The words feel too much like a confession as he speaks them but once they’re out, it’s freeing in a way Megumi didn’t know was allowed. 

Yuuji’s head immediately snaps to Megumi, and Megumi meets his eyes easily. “Really?” Yuuji asks, biting at the inside of his cheek. “But you…” 

Megumi wrinkles his nose. “I…?” 

“You looked at me all weird,” Yuuji mumbles out, a bit lamely, like he’s starting to realize that maybe he’d been overthinking too much. They both have a habit of doing that. “You hesitated.” 

You looked at me all weird kind of makes Megumi want to laugh but he holds it in, for as long as he can, at least. He doesn’t make it long. “You surprised me,” Megumi says with a low chuckle, eyebrows furrowing, “at least loop me in when you decide I’m your roommate.” 

“We already live like roommates anyway.” Yuuji looks at Megumi as he speaks, eyes gold and earnest. “It just makes sense. I wouldn’t want anyone else,” Yuuji says while his eyes dart around Megumi’s face. There’s a pause after that only Megumi seems to be aware of before Yuuji seemingly catches up, cheeks going nearly as pink as his hair. “To live with, I mean.” 

Megumi keeps his eyes locked in on the scar by the corner of Yuuji’s mouth, a usual thing. His eyes usually gravitate towards it and he swears he’s not looking at his lips. He’s not. “Right.” 

“We’d divide the chores so well,” Yuuji continues, as if Megumi needs actual convincing, “who else would know how to make your morning coffee just right, and know how to guide you back to bed when you sleepwalk? Don’t you think it makes sense?”

“You do make good coffee,” Megumi agrees, half-smile on his face. Yuuji returns it for the first time all night. “I still sleepwalk?” 

Yuuji scratches his head while he thinks, humming. “Last time was…three weeks ago? After that mission we went on in Saitama.” 

Megumi hums. Megumi remembers that mission. It was particularly exhausting, spanning over four days, even with the two of them together. “You didn’t tell me.” 

Yuuji shrugs, that small smile still on his face. “I’ll tell you next time.” 

It hits him a few moments after that those words are exactly what Megumi had knocked on Yuuji’s door and pushed him into his own room for, waiting to hear. Next time, like Yuuji will be there whenever Megumi sleepwalks next. Like Yuuji will be there, indefinitely, and Megumi was being silly for ever doubting him, them. Megumi taps Yuuji’s foot gently with his, and Yuuji gives him a funny look. 

“You’d really want to live with me?” Megumi finds himself asking, the words tumbling out before he has the chance to stop them. 

Yuuji frowns a bit, then props himself up on an elbow, looking down at Megumi now with a small smile. “452 pins, Megumi. C’mon.” 

Megumi doesn’t really have a frame of reference here but 452 is a big number. “That is a lot. You want to move me into some kind of mansion? We’re only two people.” 

It’s a joke but Yuuji’s face goes a bit serious. “Whatever you want,” he says, and there’s a weight to it that makes Megumi think he really means it. 

Megumi’s thankful the light’s not shining on him, the flush he feels on his face hopefully hidden by the dark, and he keeps his eyes focused on the corner of Yuuji’s mouth. “It does make perfect sense to me, then.”

Megumi’s moved around way too much in his life for a guy his age, he knows. Lived under moldy ceilings that leaked and slept on floors with a hoodie acting as a blanket while his sister took the couch in sketchy apartments where they had to rummage for food. Gojo had taken them out of that, and introduced him to the concept of safety. It never truly sunk in, though, until Yuuji, if Megumi is being honest with himself. I feel safe here, he thinks, and what he sees in his mind's eye is a person, pink hair and a gentle face, a scarred chest he can lay his head down on and hear the beating heart it’s holding and know he’ll wake up and still feel its aliveness the next morning. Safety. Yuuji. 

It’s all he really wants—to make an entire home out of that safety, and to keep it for as long as the universe will allow. He might even fight the universe if it dares to snatch it away from him. If it’s for Yuuji, then he will fight. He already has. 

So when they look for apartments, he imagines that home in his head, where Yuuji’s at the stove cooking something hearty for dinner and humming an old tune—usually songs his grandfather had introduced him to, 70s folk rock from bands no one hears about anymore. Cooking brings out those memories in Yuuji more than anything else, Megumi realizes. It’s always in the kitchen where Yuuji talks most about his childhood, his past. He imagines the genkan holding their line of shoes, the undone shoelaces and scratched up leather. He hears the movies Yuuji will play on their TV while Megumi sneaks looks at Yuuji beside him—he loves seeing Yuuji when he’s like that, all focused and intense and so enamored by what he’s watching. He’d tell Megumi to focus and that he’s missing the best part, but Megumi knows he’s not missing anything if he’s looking at Yuuji. So Megumi’s not picky when they look for apartments because he knows that he can build that home anywhere, as long as it’s Yuuji he’s looking at. 

The same cannot be said about Yuuji, apparently, because he is incredibly picky. It’s amusing at times but ridiculous and tiring when Megumi is dragged around from one neighborhood to the next because Yuuji didn’t like the oven settings in that place or the weird smell in the hallway in the other. 

“We’re not gonna live in the hallway, Itadori,” Megumi tells him while Yuuji is already looking up the directions on his phone to their fourth showing of the day. His legs hurt. He wants to lie down and he wants Yuuji to be beside him. 

“But you’ll be walking that hallway everyday, Fushiguro.” 

He says things like that a lot, too, like he needs everything to be perfect for Megumi, even though Megumi would be happy anywhere so long as Yuuji is with him—but he lets Yuuji be picky. Knows of that unsatisfied itch that lives under Yuuji’s skin when things aren’t exactly right and if exhausting his legs and climbing up hundreds of steps will satisfy it, Megumi will endure. He’ll still complain the entire time, though. Best friends rights.

(Yuuji never brings up the whole sharing a bedroom thing again once they officially agree to look for apartments, so neither does Megumi. Megumi has a slight, potentially unrealistic hunch that Yuuji is finding ridiculous flaws in every apartment they see because they’ve all been two-bedrooms. The hunch is kind of confirmed every time they go their own way to check out their respective bedrooms and Yuuji acts all weird, sniffing around and suddenly finding faults in everything around him. The shower drain looks like it’ll clog easily, the neighbor had a mean look on his face, et cetera. Megumi tells him he doesn’t care about all that each time but Yuuji does not relent.)

It’s a two-bedroom in Ichigaya where Yuuji, for once, has no complaints. The building’s old but the appliances are recently renovated, and it's mostly families that seem to live here, children running amok with their tired parents tailing behind them—it’s loud, but in a way that’s more alive than it is annoying and feels really comfortable already, actually. Before they even get past the door to the apartment, a little girl with neatly plaited blonde hair, no older than five years old, runs with a screech and almost slams into Megumi’s legs in the corridor but Megumi catches her just in time. She hides behind his right leg, hugging it, and looks up at Megumi with a finger on her lips. “Shhhh!” 

He moves his head to where the girl is looking, way down the end of the corridor, where a barely realized curse hovers, a blob that’s nothing but sound and color, bleary and just mildly irritating. Not really worth exorcizing, even.  

“You can see that?” Megumi asks. 

The girl shrugs, still hiding behind Megumi’s leg. “My mom tells me it’s not real.” She doesn’t sound convinced as she says it. Yuuji looks at Megumi and they both breathe a soundless laugh out through their nose. “I knew it was real.” 

Megumi gives Yuuji a nod that Yuuji returns, and then perches down to be at eye-level with the little girl, him tall enough and her just short enough that she can’t see the curse anymore, blocked by Megumi. He hears Yuuji walk behind him. The girl frowns at him with big, suspicious red eyes and Megumi just, stares back. It becomes somewhat of an awkward standoff before he coughs. “What’s your name?” 

“Shouldn’t say that to strangers,” she mumbles out, glaring. Megumi shrugs and is about to tell her she’s right but she sighs and says, “Miyaguni. Is it a monster?” 

“Something like that,” he replies, to which he can hear Yuuji tut and then say hey! in the distance. “I’m not gonna lie,” Megumi says to him, looking back. Yuuji’s already walking back, exorcizing the curse of that level as effortless as like, killing a mosquito. Megumi thinks that might actually be more difficult. He has the bites around his ankles to prove it. 

Yuuji comes up behind him then perches down, hand coming up to squeeze Megumi's shoulder. There’s a look on Yuuji’s face Megumi’s struggling to decipher, but it’s not a bad one. They both stand up, and the girl, Miyaguni, peeks through and sees what is now an empty corridor, steps closer as if to take a better look. 

She turns back and gives them both a questionable look, little arms crossed and sparse eyebrows furrowed. They just shrug back. “You see those a lot?” Yuuji asks.

“Only sometimes,” she says, eyes still focused on the corridor like she’s waiting for the curse to manifest in front of them again. “Did you scare it away?” 

Yuuji nods. “Mhm. Won’t bother you anymore.” 

She kicks at the floor like she’s mad at it. “I tried doing that. I’m not scary enough.” 

“One day you will be. Until then,” he points at the door behind them with his thumb, “we’ll be just down the hall.” 

Megumi’s head snaps to Yuuji’s, a baffled look definitely on his face, but Yuuji doesn’t share it. He just looks at Megumi and smiles, genuine and sweet. 

Miyaguni doesn’t look convinced but her face relaxes, and then suddenly sours when she hears her name being called from down the hallway, a woman’s voice. It sounds tired but caring in the way a mothers would, Megumi’s guessing. Miyaguni follows after it in quick steps but looks back for a quick second, and gives Megumi and Yuuji a wave and squints like she’s making sure they’re real. They wave back, Yuuji saluting. 

“We haven’t even been inside yet,” Megumi says. Yuuji just hums back, grinning. 

The actual apartment is, surprisingly enough, exactly how it appears in photos and has an oven Yuuji seems to be pleased with. There’s no weird smell and the curtains aren’t a wrong color or whatever other excuse Yuuji has said over the past few weeks, and Megumi can see it on Yuuji’s face that no reasonable excuse sits on his tongue. If anything, Megumi can tell that he’d be happy here. “Don’t you feel it too, Megumi?” 

Megumi looks around him and sees the lazy Sundays when they have no missions and stay sprawled out on the couch with empty bowls of soup on the coffee table, and he hears the faint sound of the shower running while Megumi finishes whatever book he’s reading, and he smells the shogayaki Yuuji is preparing in the kitchen while the washing machine beeps out a tune that a load is done, and he smiles, at Yuuji in front of him and at the supercut playing in his head. 

“Yeah,” Megumi says, looking at Yuuji like a sunflower that cannot help but yield to the sun, “I do.” 

They’re pretty good at sleeping in their own designated bedrooms until they’re not. It takes three weeks before Yuuji’s in Megumi’s bed and honestly, Megumi’s shocked it takes him that long. He was kinda hoping it would take less time, but then he thinks he might be getting greedy. There’s no need to nitpick when the results are the same—Yuuji cuddled up into his pillows, the soft and reassuring sound of his breathing, the scars on his face that Megumi gets to wake up to again. The bed’s definitely bigger than the one they had as students but they wake up tangled into each other's limbs just the same, an arm over a chest, a leg over a hip. Megumi still has the tendency to hog the blankets and Yuuji still never seems to care. 

Things are kind of the same as being in the dorms except that feelings become harder to avoid, no drawer to forcibly tuck them into and tend to at a later date because Yuuji shares that drawer with him now and also, he’s shirtless more often than he’s shirt…full? He walks around without a shirt a lot and Megumi has eyes is what he’s trying to get at. He leaves the bathroom with a towel around his hips that's hanging a bit on the looser side, honestly, and there are beads of water dripping down his back, and his chest, down to his abs and the trail of hair that ends where the towel begins and Megumi has to, like, dip into his shadows for a second because, Jesus Christ. It’s a lot. It’s not enough. 

Megumi can’t even do much about his pent up feelings without the follow-up guilt, so he chooses to do nothing, which isn’t viable. He’s good at rejecting his human impulses until he’s not, like most people are, so that only works for a little while. He considers taking up more missions or staying out of their apartment more often but quickly diminishes the thought because he doesn’t want that, no matter crazy Yuuji drives him (by doing nothing more than just existing next to Megumi, no less). He thinks it’s absurd to have even considered creating any distance between them, especially when he comes home and sees Yuuji already there, fresh out of the shower and thankfully already pajamaed. There's a girl-group pop song playing from his phone while he’s rummaging through their fully stocked fridge in search of something that’s apparently missing from the dinner he’s making. He spoon-feeds Megumi a bite that catches Megumi off guard and then asks him what’s missing. Megumi shrugs and tells him nothing but Yuuji’s not convinced. 

“Just man the stove for a bit,” Yuuji tells him, handing Megumi the spatula that he was holding like Megumi’s supposed to know what to do with it. 

“And do what?” He looks at the sizzling pan and frowns. 

“Just—“ Yuuji makes a gesture with his hand that Megumi’s guessing means stir. Megumi’s sure he’ll end up burning the entire kitchen down if he’s left unattended for longer than a minute but it’s cute that Yuuji trusts him enough, even if it’s such a small task, so he does his best. A minute passes and the kitchen doesn’t burn down so that’s nice. Yuuji’s filtering through their fridge and Megumi feels him before he sees him, suddenly coming up behind him, chest pressed against Megumi’s back so casually, like the gesture isn’t enough to liquify Megumi into a gay-panicked puddle in their kitchen. 

It’s silly because Yuuji really doesn’t have to do this—there’s enough space for him to stand right at Megumi’s side, or he could simply tell Megumi that he’s back, ask him to move away, but apparently Yuuji would prefer to do this. The arm he snakes around Megumi so that he can add whatever it is he’s adding to the pan is so unnecessary, if Megumi’s speaking logistically here, because he really didn’t have to do that. He gets his other arm on Megumi’s, the one holding the abandoned spatula, and gets Megumi to start stirring again. It shouldn’t be enough to get Megumi’s brain to short-circuit but fuck, it is.

Yuuji brings up the spatula and puts it in front of Megumi’s lips. “Blow first,” Yuuji mumbles out, “then tell me if it's good.” 

It’s considerate of Yuuji to give him instructions because Megumi’s mind is temporarily offline, on its way to fully shutting down. He’s gulping heavily before his mind registers Yuuji’s command, and then he blows. He hears Yuuji chuckle softly, the exhale he breathes out onto Megumi’s neck causing a shiver all up and down his spine. When he tastes, Yuuji places his chin on Megumi’s shoulder, then turns to Megumi’s side, face still so close. Way too close.

“Hm, good? Better?” 

Megumi can just barely see Yuuji’s eyes through his hair—he’s in dire need of a haircut, and Yuuji keeps offering to cut it for him. Megumi realizes that he’s supposed to, like, answer, so he nods. It tasted fine to him before and it still tastes good now, Yuuji’s just a natural at this. Yuuji seems satisfied enough with Megumi’s nod, and ruffles his hair for him, wiping his bangs away from his forehead. 

“You need to remind me about that haircut,” he says, “though the long hair suits you. It’s cute.” Yuuji’s taking out plates and Megumi starts setting the table so that his hands are doing something that isn’t grabbing Yuuji by his stupid, handsome face. It’s cute, Yuuji says, like that’s just something he can say and Megumi has to pretend it doesn’t do weird things to his insides. 

“It’s annoying. Tokyo's too hot for long hair.”

Yuuji’s setting the plates down on their small breakfast table and he gives Megumi the neater looking one. He gets some sparkling cider out of the fridge and props it in front of Megumi. “After dinner, then?” 

That’s how Megumi ends up sitting on the edge of their tub with wet hair still dripping. Yuuji hovers over him, then grabs the towel hanging on Megumi’s shoulders, uses it to squeeze more water out of Megumi’s head. Feels quite nice, actually. Megumi can survive this proximity, he thinks. No biggie. Maybe just…a small-ie. Yuuji’s gonna keep touching him and that’s unavoidable—it’s a haircut. From his best friend. A best friend he shouldn’t be thinking about in the way he does, that familiar guilt twisting his gut again. He thinks he might actually start bleeding from it.

Yuuji puts the towel back around Megumi’s shoulders, moving his hand into Megumi’s hair, only ruffling lightly at first like he often does, but then he just…keeps doing that? Megumi has his eyes fixed on his lap, an attempt at following a strict rule he’s made for himself in this bathroom: Don’t Look At Yuuji. He manages to follow that rule for all of ten seconds because Yuuji's hand stays in Megumi's hair and Megumi looks up at him with an eyebrow raised. Yuuji’s already looking back at him, and then the hand in Megumi’s hair stills.

“Yuuji,” Megumi says, and means it like: what are you doing. A pause, and then Yuuji catches on. Megumi’s starting to realize that Yuuji needs those pauses often, always getting lost in something or somewhere. Yuuji’s hand is out of Megumi’s hair and scratching the back of his neck in a flash, like he’d been scorched. 

There’s an awkward laugh from Yuuji that Megumi doesn’t think too long about. He just keeps looking at Yuuji with furrowed brows. 

“Right, whoops,” Yuuji says, turning around to grab the hair scissors on their counter. 

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Megumi asks. It’s not that he necessarily cares, but like, he’s not trying to look ridiculous. Megumi thinks of Yuuji accidentally going too short and can already hear Nobara laughing at him. The photos would haunt his life forever. She’d make stickers out of them and spam his ugly haircut in their group chat at 2 a.m. and Yuuji must notice the way Megumi’s face twists because he laughs, genuinely this time, and ruffles his hair again. No lingering hand this time, though. 

“Stop all your,” he waves a hand in front of Megumi’s face, “worrying. I cut my own hair all the time, and it looks great.” Yuuji grins down at Megumi, who squints his eyes back as a response. “Right?” 

Megumi makes an iffy gesture with his hand, face scrunching up. “Hmmm…” 

“Mean. So mean,” Yuuji says while Megumi laughs. “It’s like you’re asking me to give you a bad haircut.” Yuuji leans down, knees bending to really look at Megumi, Megumi’s laughter gradually dying off with how close Yuuji suddenly is to him. Years of this and Megumi still can’t get used to it, how Yuuji’s eyes feel on his, his emotions a cornucopia overflowing just from the brief eye-contact that he gets, like, every single fucking day. It’s pathetic, is what it is. Yuuji grabs a lock of Megumi’s bangs, elongating it with his fingers. “So long.” 

Megumi gulps heavily and he hates that Yuuji can probably hear it, and looking into Yuuji’s eyes feels a little too vulnerable right now, the neurons in his brain going all haywire. The scar. Megumi keeps his eyes focused on Yuuji’s scar by his lip, and it gets a little easier to breathe. Yeah, he can do this. Act normal or whatever. 

Yuuji hums as he brings the scissors up and between the lock of hair, snipping so that it falls back onto the bridge of Megumi’s nose now, a familiar length. Yuuji’s got a real concentrated look on his face as he keeps going, the only sounds filling their bathroom being the snip of the scissors and Yuuji’s occasional humming, so Megumi’s rapid heart steadies. Megumi’s only allowed that grace for a few seconds because then Yuuji stands, legs stretching, and he brings a palm up to Megumi’s face with his free hand, gripping Megumi’s jaw. 

“Look up,” Yuuji says, so Megumi does. “Mm, good.” Megumi doesn’t know whether he means his hair looks good or that he’s being good but both options have his hands scrunching into his own shirt, cut black strands of hair all over it. Yuuji just kind of, stares, with that hand still on Megumi’s jaw. Megumi feels Yuuji’s thumb graze over his cheekbone, and surely that can’t have anything to do with the haircut. Not a lot of cheekbone-grazing and jaw-gripping in Megumi’s usual barbershop. Megumi clears his throat because he has to do something and that seems to wake Yuuji up again, the hand on his jaw relaxing. He grabs a lock of hair by Megumi’s ear and keeps working like what just happened was totally normal. Maybe it was and Megumi’s just crazy, but come on.

Yuuji’s perched down in front of Megumi again and the scissors snip behind Megumi’s ear. “Uh-oh.” 

“Uh-oh?” Megumi glares at Yuuji now, eyes meeting his. Yuuji’s biting down a smile. 

“Nothing, just…that was,” he scratches the back of his neck, an unsure look on his face that Megumi can’t tell is genuine or not, “quite a big chunk.” 

“I’ll kill you.” Megumi can hear Nobara’s laugh again. She’s gonna print posters, for God’s sake. “I’m actually going to kill you.” 

“Yikes, dude.” Yuuji’s shoulders shake from the laughter he’s trying to keep in. “Might as well just shave it all and go bald.” 

“Yuuji, I swear to god.” Megumi stands up from the edge of the tub and is met with his reflection in the mirror immediately, and he looks- fine. It’s fine. Yuuji was kidding and Megumi’s hair looks fine and Yuuji's full on laughing on the floor. It’s kind of unsafe, actually, because the scissors are on the floor too, right next to Yuuji’s face. Megumi kicks Yuuji’s leg. That only makes him laugh harder. Megumi’s stomach starts doing little somersaults at the sight. 

“Idiot,” Megumi mutters, finding it hard not to smile at Yuuji. It’s always nice to see him like this—carefree and giggly, even if it’s at Megumi’s expense. “Unfunny idiot.” 

Yuuji looks up at him from the floor, that stupid sweet smile on his face. Megumi will do anything to see it forever. “Oh, c’mon. That was funny. You should've seen your face.” He gets up off the floor, still exhaling out laughs through his nose. He stands in front of Megumi, and fixes Megumi’s hair like he’s trying to neaten it, but no haircut can stop its spikiness, Megumi knows. It’s got a mind of its own. “So spiky,” Yuuji mumbles. “You’d look cute either way.” Megumi feels a flush come up his neck but it stops when Yuuji continues, “even if you were bald.” 

“I hate you.” Megumi shoves lightly at Yuuji’s shoulder, but Yuuji doesn’t go with it. He just keeps grinning at Megumi. 

“No you don’t,” he says around a smile. “I did good, didn’t I?” 

He actually did, Megumi will admit. “Not bad. Questionable customer service, though.” 

“Oh, is that so?” Yuuji brushes some of the cut hair from Megumi’s shoulder, and then keeps a hand on Megumi’s arm. Megumi prays to everything that Yuuji can’t feel the consequential shiver. 

“Mhm. You’re lucky to be a sorcerer. Would make no money from this.” 

Yuuji laughs, something low and he does it while looking at Megumi’s face, his lips. “Jeez, we’d starve.” 

And there’s just…something about that? The hypothetical scenario being discussed where Yuuji is not a sorcerer, but he’s still somehow in Megumi’s life. How they’d still be a pair, how there’d still be a we. Yuuji’s proven it to him time and time again that they are each others, but it still does something funny to Megumi’s heart whenever a small, tiny thing confirms it. 

“Where’d you just go?” Yuuji mumbles out, looking at Megumi like he’s trying to seek an answer out of his face. Megumi tries to say something but he just can’t, not with Yuuji’s hand still on his arm and not when Yuuji’s looking at him with a glimmer to his eyes like there’s something wondrous in front of him. “C’mon, you should change. There’s hair all over you. I’ll clean up the mess,” Yuuji says eventually, sending him off. Megumi can’t help but feel there was something unfinished in their moment, that he should’ve done something. He realizes most of their interactions feel like that recently. 

When Yuuji crashes down onto Megumi’s bed and starfishes over the sheets, Megumi included, it’s not really surprising, which feels nice. Still makes Megumi’s heart skip, though, but that’s how it’s been reacting to Yuuji in general since he’s known him, so. Yuuji lands with an arm over Megumi’s torso and lets out a loud yawn, his pink hair ruffling against Megumi’s neck. Megumi keeps his eyes focused on his book but finds that the words become undecipherable to him, suddenly. Yuuji noses into Megumi’s shoulder and Megumi reads a sentence, then realizes he’s already read it seconds prior. Yuuji lifts up a bit, looking at Megumi now, and Megumi’s not even sure what language is on the paper anymore, actually. Yuuji gets a hand near Megumi’s face, then tousles at his newly cut bangs, all dry now. 

“S’nice. Can see your eyes better now,” Yuuji mumbles, voice soft and syrupy. 

Megumi hums, thinking the moment might end now because of it, but Yuuji keeps playing with his hair, staying close. He’s just trying to distract Megumi, surely. “Megumi,” Yuuji whines into Megumi's neck. 

“Hm?” Megumi lets out, because he’s definitely going to choke if he speaks actual words. 

Yuuji groans, head not coming up from Megumi’s neck. “I keep waiting,” he sighs, quite dramatically, “and waiting. It’s driving me crazy, Megumi.” 

“What is?” Megumi asks, voice quiet, all caught up in his throat. It’s all he can manage. Yuuji looks up at him and frowns with a huff like Megumi's question was the wrong thing to ask. He then shuts the book that Megumi wasn’t reading, throws it to the foot of Megumi’s bed. Megumi just keeps his eyes tracking every frantic movement. 

“You’re gonna kill me.” Yuuji bites at his own lip, his eyes sleepy and frustrated. “Megumi,” he stresses, like Megumi’s missing some big, crucial detail. 

“You’re waiting,” Megumi repeats, “for…?” 

Yuuji plops his head down on Megumi’s chest with a sigh. Megumi would think he’s torturing the poor guy, if only he knew what with. “Yuuji,” he says, sitting up a bit straighter, getting a bit concerned now. Yuuji comes up with him, that same frustrated look on his face. Megumi takes a page out of Yuuji’s book and puts a hand on his jaw, tilting his face so that he can look at him. It shocks Yuuji, Megumi can tell, but he leans into his touch in a way Megumi wasn’t expecting.  He has that look on his face again like he just can’t take his eyes off of Megumi, mouth slightly agape and pupils dilating. 

“You’re really pretty,” Yuuji whispers, a slight drowsiness to his voice.

“Okay,” Megumi breathes out, because…what? 

“And I keep waiting for you to kiss me,” he says, “but you won’t, and that's, like, fine. I’ll accept that if you don’t- if that’s not what you want. But then—“ he lets out a tired sigh yet again, runs a hand through his hair, “you’ll keep looking at me and at- at my lips? And I’d go all oh my god he’s finally going to do it, but then you don’t, and again—“ he gives a weak thumbs up, “all good, dude. I’m not- if you don’t feel the same- that’s. Aces, man. I’m all good with that, but—“ 

Megumi has to actually put a hand on Yuuji’s mouth to get him to stop, the rest of his rant going all muffled into Megumi’s palm in an unintelligible hmmpppfhhh. “Shut up, Yuuji, just—“ Megumi pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Give me a second.” Yuuji nods around Megumi’s hand and gives him that thumbs up again. Megumi inhales, exhales. Takes that second he needs to think. Lets his jaw relax and eyes soften because he’s sure he was looking at Yuuji all crazy and he doesn’t deserve that. “I’m gonna remove my hand now,” he says, after a minute. Yuuji nods again. 

There’s a speech in Megumi’s head that's been writing itself since he was fifteen years old and it comes to mind again now. He could finally let it out, he thinks, but his brain is still a scrambled mess and Yuuji’s looking at him like he wants to kiss him— so that’s what he does instead. Yuuji lets out a surprised gurgly sound that makes Megumi want to laugh. He presses into Yuuji’s lips softly, hesitantly, an unfamiliar thing to him but he hopes his feelings take over and guide him, for once. Megumi parts away from Yuuji for a second when he doesn’t kiss back, and is met with those same wide eyes. 

“You—“ Yuuji starts, but doesn’t end with anything. Megumi’s stomach goes from those doing those somersaults to just full on parkour now. He’s exorcized special grade curses that have had his heart racing less than it currently is. They breathe each other in, faces closes, and then Yuuji places his forehead against Megumi’s. If Megumi melts into it like he’s been waiting an entire lifetime, it’s because he feels like he has. “Megumi,” Yuuji says, for no apparent reason other than to just say it. Yuuji puts the hand that was anxiously gripping at the sheets against Megumi’s cheek. He kisses Megumi, both of them more prepared for it now, and how else could Megumi describe other than that it just feels right? 

Their lips fit into each others perfectly, carefully. Yuuji tugs at Megumi’s bottom lip but he’s gentle with it, maybe a mistake but Megumi likes it anyway, and then he brings his other hand, sinks it deep into Megumi’s hair. Megumi keeps his hands around Yuuji’s neck as he deepens the kiss, trailing after the minty taste of Yuuji’s toothpaste in his mouth, along with all his sweetness. It doesn’t really matter that they’re both inexperienced at this. They already know each other so intimately, whether it’s through sparring, sleeping, simply coexisting—everything has carried over into this and it’s just, like, why did we ever wait so long? Yuuji tries using his tongue more, licks into Megumi, and Megumi’s mouth is open and accepting. Yuuji’s warm and the slip of his tongue feels good, and it’s like in Megumi’s genetic code to melt into it. 

They part in a daze, maybe from sleepiness, maybe from the overwhelming feeling of finally, and Yuuji lets out a giggle, then fits his nose into the bridge of Megumi’s, kissing him again lightly. 

“You’ve been waiting for that, huh?” Megumi says, voice a bit hoarse, his eyes on Yuuji’s lips. “You could’ve just done it. I would’ve been fine with that.” 

Yuuji does, again, a small kiss on the corner of Megumi’s mouth, then on his lips, gentle and patient. “I like you,” he whispers, kissing Megumi again, a hand going around Megumi’s neck, his thumb by his jaw. Megumi thinks he might cry or something. “I like you, Megumi,” he says, like it’s worth repeating, and Megumi puts his forehead on Yuuji’s shoulder, wants to hear Yuuji say it again, and again. He feels a kiss pressed on his ear, then his hair. “Like you so much,” he says softly, right by Megumi’s ear. 

Megumi keeps his forehead pressed against Yuuji’s shoulder, can hear their breathing start to synchronize. A hand comes up and caresses Yuuji’s arm and Megumi doesn’t even remember ordering his brain to do that, his body running on autopilot. “I like you too,” he confesses in a barely audible whisper, feeling so warm and fuzzy in his chest that he wonders if Yuuji can actually physically feel it. He’s had the words I like you on the tip of his tongue for so long they’ve made an entire home there, with a zip code and everything. Megumi wonders if Yuuji’s done the same, if that's why he felt the need to repeat it so much. He gives it a try. “I really like you,” he repeats, amazed at how easily the words roll off his tongue now. 

“Yeah?” Yuuji says right by his ear again. Megumi’s fingers automatically curl into Yuuji’s shirt, head burrowing deeper into his neck. Yuuji’s fingers never stop caressing Megumi’s face, the skin-on-skin so soft and supple. “For how long?” 

“None of your business,” Megumi mumbles, the words muffled when they escape onto Yuuji’s skin. He mindlessly licks his own lips, some of the spit getting on Yuuji’s neck. He feels Yuuji shiver from it.

“Hm, so a while then?” Yuuji teases, and Megumi punches Yuuji’s arm lightly. 

“You wish.” 

“I think,” Yuuji starts, a low chuckle following, “I think I’ve known it since I was sixteen.” 

Megumi wasn’t really fidgeting much to begin with, but he still freezes at the admission. There’s something about it he cannot fathom—so committed to the idea that a younger Yuuji had no romantic desire toward Megumi at all, that his own feelings would stay private, never communicated and forever unreciprocated. It was a tough but necessary reality to accept for his own survival, Megumi thinks. He would love from afar and that would be the end of it. He never dreamed—not really, not with a full scope of his imagination—that there could ever be a beginning, a reciprocation. That he could look at Yuuji and have Yuuji fully, really look back. Turns out he was looking back all along, to Megumi’s obliviousness. 

“But you never,” Megumi tries, but finds there’s no completing that sentence. 

Yuuji kind of does it for him. “Never said anything?” 

Megumi lets out a weak, bordering on stressed sound. Yuuji hums, and Megumi can guess that he’s smiling. He almost wants to lift up to see but it’s too nice being fitted into Yuuji’s neck like this.

“You didn’t either, silly,” Yuuji says, pressing a kiss on Megumi’s hair. “I was happy enough to just- have you in my life, really. If that’s all you wanted then I would’ve been okay with that.” 

“Don’t want that,” Megumi mumbles, “don’t want just that.” He wants him every which way, everywhere, in everything, forever. He’s allowed that want, Megumi decides. He’s sleepy and wired at the same time and wants to kiss Yuuji again. He then realizes that he can, which is new, so he lifts up and does it, hands coming up to touch Yuuji’s face, thumb on the scar by his lip. 

“Hm,” Yuuji hums in between kisses, pressing Megumi back down to his pillow. He trails some kisses down Megumi’s jaw, presses some on his neck. “Megumi, Megumi, Megumi,” he mumbles after each little one, like he can’t help but chant it. Megumi never really liked his given name, that much Yuuji knows, but what’s not to like about it when it’s Yuuji saying it? 

Yuuji’s rifling through his DVD collection when Megumi gets home. The collection grows everyday, and Megumi’s partly to blame for that, almost always coming to Yuuji with a bag of movies like he is today. Yuuji’s weirdly strict about streaming and preserving physical media because it’s a dying art, megumi and Megumi’s just happy making Yuuji happy, and can live without streaming. He’s got Poltergeist and Train to Busan in hand because Yuuji was in a ‘spooky mood’ and Megumi’s willing to watch whatever. 

It’s close to midnight on a Saturday so both films get queued, Yuuji with a bowl of fruity cereal in hand because he prefers it at night and Megumi kind of gets that, so they both eat cereal at night with a movie now, though Megumi hates the fruity ones, likes chocolate more. Sometimes the cereal bowls are left abandoned and soggy because Yuuji will rest his head on Megumi’s shoulder, then Megumi’s arm will go around Yuuji, and then Yuuji’s kissing up Megumi’s neck, licking into his Adam’s apple, biting his sensitive skin all over, marking him up on their shared couch where they’re often wearing each others clothes. The bowls end up on their coffee table and Megumi’s on Yuuji’s lap with Yuuji’s hands around his waist in a matter of seconds, the movie serving as background noise now for all Megumi cares (though they do usually finish the movie, eventually.) 

Poltergeist doesn’t really get them in that mood though so their bowls of cereal get slurped up and make it into the sink empty this time. Megumi and Yuuji see enough horrors almost everyday that scary movies don’t really leave the intended effect on them and actually feel a bit silly, but it’s…interesting to see what non-sorcerers find scary? Yuuji cries at Train to Busan, though, but he’ll cry at almost anything he watches, so it’s not surprising. Megumi wipes his tears for him anyway. 

When they go to bed it’s not really Megumi’s room anymore, but more like…theirs? Half of the boxers in Megumi’s drawer are Yuuji’s. Yuuji has his phone charger plugged on his side of the bed. The fact that he even has a side of the bed kind of confirms it more than anything. Yuuji’s room serves more as extra storage space now, so a lot of Megumi’s books go there. Megumi throws in the idea of turning it into a gym, and because Yuuji likes driving Megumi crazy, he jokes about them turning it into a nursery in the future. Megumi punches Yuuji’s arm at that. 

Megumi’s so in love he smiles down at the hair Yuuji didn’t wash off the sink when he shaved in the morning, just because it's Yuuji's, in a sink that they share, in an apartment they've been living together in for nearly two years. He pesters Yuuji about it when he sees him in the kitchen making breakfast, of course. Yuuji smiles around a sorry, sorry, won’t happen again! while he hands Megumi his coffee, the same way he’s liked it since he was a student (splash of milk, half a teaspoon of sugar). Breakfast is whatever Yuuji whips up for the both of them with what they’ve got in the kitchen, and Megumi’s never picky when it’s Yuuji doing the cooking. Megumi cuts up some fruit for the both of them to eat, too. Whatever’s in season. Yuuji’s not choosy when it comes to what he drinks in the morning, but he’ll often have some tea, maybe some juice. He kisses Megumi after setting a plate down in front of him, on his forehead but sometimes it’s on his temple or his lips, and it catches Megumi off guard more often than not, still. 

“Get used to it,” Yuuji says, because he can see the slight look of shock on Megumi’s face, which couldn’t have been anything more than a slight eyebrow raise and a flutter to his eyelashes, but Yuuji somehow notices it anyway. 

“Don’t know what you mean,” Megumi lies, and Yuuji knows it, so he laughs. 

“I love you. Get used to it,” Yuuji says, and Megumi will get used to it eventually, he knows. Until then, he lets himself be surprised by it. Surprises are nice when they make Megumi feel the way Yuuji’s love does, like it’s a planted seed growing, roots strong and harvest abundant. Megumi will never ask his heart to not quicken at the sight of Yuuji—it’s just what it wants to do, so he lets it. 

It’s an ironic request from Yuuji, anyway. “I love you too,” Megumi replies, easily, and Megumi will see it; that small look of surprise that washes over Yuuji’s face for a brief moment, probably only decipherable to Megumi who knows him like the back of his hand. 

They’ll have decades of this, Megumi knows, so he takes his time getting used to it.