Work Text:
Three months before graduation, as they returned from another late-night mission, Itadori walked past his bedroom and followed Megumi to his door instead. He slumped against the doorframe, his nervous gaze fixed on the rough, reddened skin of his knuckles, eyebrows furrowed as he organized his thoughts. It was quite an unusual sight, so Megumi refrained himself from speaking too soon.
He tried to fight the urge to slip into bed but didn't last more than five seconds.
“What is it?”
Itadori looked up at him.
“Do you want to live with me?” Itadori asked, lips stretched into an uncertain smile, hand scratching the back of his neck. “After graduation, I mean. I've been thinking about it and, I don't know, I think it'd be cool to get our own place. What do you think?”
Nothing much.
Megumi didn't think of anything anymore. He'd been depleted by the last few years, worn out both physically and mentally, and now he was just a hollow, disinterested thing. Nothing ever seemed to matter, not even agency over his own life. But why would it? It wasn't as though he'd ever had any to begin with. Up until that point, life had just been a bunch of decisions that other people had made for him—except, maybe, for that night he insisted on saving Itadori's life.
So the answer was pretty clear.
Megumi didn't need to think about it, not even for a second, because he didn't have any plans for after graduation anyway. He hadn't cared enough to make any, not even after Kugisaki chided him for it, saying that being supine and accepting whatever came his way put him in a state not so different from death, oblivious to the fact that this was exactly where Megumi wanted to be. Or maybe—and it was a more plausible theory—she'd known for a long time but was too scared to admit it.
In any case, Megumi hadn't planned anything. Had nowhere to go. So he just nodded, mumbled something like ‘Sure’, watched the beam on Itadori's face, then went to sleep like nothing had happened.
A week.
A single week.
That was how much time Megumi needed to realize that living with Itadori was a mistake. One he should have predicted.
On the good days, Megumi was nothing but a feckless actor, performing on the stage of life, pretending that everything was fine, that he was a fully functioning human being and not the shell of one.
On the bad ones, he turned off the lights and stopped the act entirely, recusing himself to the silence of his bedroom, the blinds shut and his body indistinguishable from the shadows, still like a corpse.
The worried knocks against his door were left unanswered, growing gradually quieter with time as he tried to ignore the wretched truth. That he was living with the one person on Earth who wanted nothing more than to save him, in every possible way, over and over again. The constant reminder fed his guilt, nurturing it into its own entity. He barely ate, barely talked, barely did anything apart from crushing any ideals Itadori must have had about their domestic life together.
Megumi wished he could pretend well enough to erase the frown on Itadori's face. He wished isolation wasn't so addictive. But it was all just impossible. Getting out of bed was impossible. Holding a conversation was impossible. Pretending was hard and wallowing in self-pity was second nature. He couldn't ignore the untreatable wound hidden behind his ribs, pulsing like a heartbeat. He couldn't ignore the fact that everything was terribly wrong, that it was all a charade, a cruel dream, and only he could notice.
Now, Megumi was trapped between the walls of the apartment he shared with Itadori and a third unknown thing they were too scared to name.
It was clear that, by living here, Megumi would ruin them both.
And he did.
That was the real tragedy—not Megumi progressively losing himself, curled up on the cold floor of his bedroom, feeling like he was once again at the bottom of the world, lost and dispossessed. No, he could easily handle that. What he couldn't handle, on the other hand, was inflicting the same kind of wounds to the person he wanted to protect the most. Misery was a spreading disease, a hungry beast—but feeding on Megumi's soul was like gnawing at tiny, meatless bones. It should have been expected that, at some point, the beast would turn to something richer. That it would sink its teeth on Itadori instead.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” Itadori asked, eyes full of hope on Monday.
“Hey, want to try that new restaurant on our street?” He tried again on Friday.
“How do you even manage to find your bed? It's so dark in there,” Itadori joked on Sunday, his voice strained. Megumi had just left his room for the first time this weekend, offering a glimpse of what was inside before shutting the door.
Sorry, I'm a bit tired.
Er, I'm not really hungry.
And, sometimes, a mixture of shame and silence hidden under a mask of irritation.
A month passed. Two. Four.
The countless rejections did nothing to deter Itadori. He was still keen on saving someone who refused to be saved. Someone he'd already saved. It was annoyingly, terribly painful.
The more Megumi tried to stay away and the more Itadori clung onto him, pulling him by force into the world of the living. Megumi could see his pleas in everything—on his plate during dinner, hidden inside the delicious meals Itadori would cook for them, in the unusual pair of shoes left at the entrance as Kugisaki asked what they'd been up to, in the knocks against his door when Megumi hadn't left his room for an entire day. And, occasionally, Itadori's pleas got more desperate. He'd slip inside Megumi's room without waiting for permission that wouldn't come, then dragged him out of there. It didn't matter how much Megumi complained about it or how much he fought against it, teeth gritted and venom on the tip of his tongue.
Itadori still tried. He always, always tried. Giving up was an obscure concept to him, something rejected by his DNA.
One night, in the middle of autumn, Megumi just lost it. Once again, he failed to understand why he couldn't be left alone. Why he had to come back and be happy. Why being here, safe and sound, wasn't enough.
Nothing he ever did was ever enough.
“How many times do I have to repeat myself?” Megumi asked harshly, although the bitterness in his voice was solely pointed at himself. He hadn't meant to ruin them both. He'd only wanted to ruin himself. “I don't want your help. I didn't ask for it. I didn't ask for any of it. So can you just leave me alone?”
The words scraped his throat on their way out, spilling blood in the inside of his rotten mouth. How can you not resent me for this? How can you even look at me this way? Like I'm good. Like there's hope. The thoughts leaked from his brain, flooding his mind with the kind of desperation that cracked his face open, painted his ears and his neck in the crimson shade of his shame. How can you even stand to live here with me?
Itadori stayed quiet for a moment, paralyzed in the corridor that separated their bedrooms. Megumi hadn't thought that rendering Itadori speechless was something possible, and yet. His resolve withered like the brown, crunchy leaves outside, blown away by the neglectful wind.
Megumi turned around, chest heaving, reaching for the doorknob. He slipped inside his room, ready to slam the door, when Itadori spoke, voice soft and cracked, “Has it ever occurred to you that I'm the one who needs you?”
Megumi froze, his fingers nearly slipping from the doorknob. His heartbeat pulsed in his ears in a deafening rhythm.
What's with that face?
It's just… I'll be lonely without you, Fushiguro.
Oh.
Megumi would never forget that smile—melancholic, wet with tears, reaching the darkest part of his soul and lighting it up. He was sure that, if he turned around, he'd see it again. He just didn't know if he could bear it one more time. So, he stayed put in the stale air of his bedroom, his chest strangely tight, aching for something unknown.
Megumi had come back for a reason, hadn't he?
At the time, living for someone else had seemed far easier than living for himself. In the end, he'd done neither.
“I'm right here,” Megumi said, very gently. He knew it wasn't the truth—not really, not even if he strongly wished it was—but he said it anyway, like some kind of prayer. Wasn't this how faith worked? You knelt before God and repeated the same words over and over again, in the hope that they might blossom into something true someday, that they reach the unreachable.
Itadori let out a restrained, wistful laugh. “No, you're not, but that's fine. I'll wait for you, Fushiguro. It doesn't matter how long it takes. I'll wait. Just… come back to me, alright?”
The past few months had gone by in the blink of an eye. Every day had been the same. A loop of misery.
Until now.
It had never crossed Megumi's mind before that Itadori could be lonely even if he was right here, living in the same apartment, just a door away.
But it should have.
Because Megumi was not here, not really. He hadn't been here or anywhere in a while.
A state not so different from death. Kugisaki's words echoed against the walls of his skull, loud and unwelcome.
I'll wait. Itadori's voice this time, as familiar as his own.
Megumi shut his eyes, his jaw painfully clenched.
If there was anything he was absolutely certain of, it was that Itadori was incapable of lying, that dishonesty was a sin rejected by his soul, and every word that left his mouth was laced with something close to a vow. He'd wait his entire life for Megumi if he had to. He'd wait much longer than that.
And now.
Well, now Megumi was trapped. Now he wanted to make it better, to be better, which was strange because he hadn't wanted anything in a very long time—after all, in this world, wanting something was the quickest way to put a curse on it.
This was the most daunting part. Waking up every day. Making the same choice every day.
Not being alive.
Living.
___
Late January.
Megumi left his room in the middle of the night, eyes still heavy with sleep, awakened by the dryness in his throat. He blindly moved through the apartment, led by the street lights that spilled through the windows, casting a faint yellow veil on the furniture.
Megumi poured himself a glass of water, felt it travel all the way down, then nearly choked when he noticed it—a head, sticking out from the couch.
“Itadori?” he asked between two coughs, his mouth pressed against the crook of his elbow. “Is that you?”
“I don't know. Do you live with someone else, Fushiguro?” Itadori teased as he turned around, half of his smile eaten by the shadows.
Megumi put the empty glass in the sink, then walked past the couch, hands deep in his pockets. He was too tired to hold a conversation, his brain too sluggish.
“Whatever,” he said, swallowing a yawn. “It's late. I'm going back to bed. You should, too.”
Something moved in the corner of his eyes, perhaps a hand waving in the dark. When Itadori replied, his voice was too upbeat, obviously concealing a strain. “Yeah, I will. Good night!”
Megumi's steps faltered at the sound of it. His pace slowed, eyebrows drawn together. He hadn't noticed when he reached his bed, unconsciously fitting his body in the imprint he'd left on the sheet, his movements on autopilot. He tossed and turned, unable to shake the strange feeling he'd been trying to ignore for the past few weeks, growing heavier with time, taking up too much space. He just couldn't stop seeing it: Itadori sitting cross-legged in the living room, staring at the black screen of the television, his solitude reflected back at him. It'd felt almost unnatural to see him this way. Calm, quiet, brooding, lonely. These weren't words Megumi would normally choose to describe someone like Itadori, someone who'd rather do anything than just sit here doing nothing, who always made sure to keep himself busy, who was always in motion, on the verge of saying something. A perfect representation of life, not just weight on a couch, not someone who'd waste his time pondering and debating with himself when he could just act and think later.
The picture was haunting. It made Megumi uneasy, gnawing at him until he had no choice but to retrace his steps to the living room.
Itadori hadn't expected to see him again. “Fushiguro? Is everything okay?” he asked, his voice bleeding with worry. “I thought you went to bed.”
Megumi joined Itadori on the couch. Since it was dark and easy to misjudge the distance between them, he accidentally knocked his shoulder against Itadori's, and mumbled an apology in his head that somehow didn't make it past his lips. They hadn't been close like this in a while. Megumi had almost forgotten how warm Itadori could be.
“I couldn't fall back to sleep,” Megumi explained.
Itadori let out a quiet laugh, his expression indiscernible in the dark, but Megumi could easily picture the unscarred corner of his lips lifting into a subdued, dispirited smile. Megumi had caught it many, many times before. It'd never been an easy sight.
“Ah. Can't sleep either,” Itadori said, scratching the back of his neck like he always did when things suddenly got personal. He was very fidgety in these moments—his eyes scanning the entire room without meeting a single gaze, and his arms restless, usually reaching for something vulnerable, like the nape of his neck or the middle of his chest. And then he'd crack a joke, hoping to deviate the conversation to something lighter, his smile slowly dropping once he realized that it wouldn't work, at least not on Megumi.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” Megumi asked.
This stole a genuine, surprised laugh from Itadori. “A movie? Didn't you say it was late?”
Megumi raised an eyebrow, daring him to turn down the invitation. “Yeah, so? Is that a no?”
“Ah, man. No need to be a tease,” Itadori said as he bent forward to get the controller from the coffee table. Before the bright screen fully blinded Megumi, he caught a glimpse of Itadori's lazy, lopsided grin. A real one. “Of course I want to watch a movie with you, are you kidding? I literally prayed for these words to come out of your mouth one day.”
Itadori left the couch to check his collection of DVDs, which was stacked next to the television. He'd always been fond of physical media, eager to call ownership to the things he loved the most—not only movies, but also the albums of his favorite bands, the ones he played every Sunday afternoon as he was lying on the carpet next to the couch, a worn-out manga in his hands. And ever since they'd moved in, Itadori's collections only kept growing, an indicator of the time spent here together.
Not that Megumi minded.
If anything, it was quite the opposite. He rather enjoyed these little pieces of Itadori that were scattered all over the apartment, especially the way they made the place more inviting, more personal. A home.
“What do you want to watch?” Itadori asked as he went through the stack of DVDs.
Megumi shrugged, indifferent. “Whatever you want. You can pick.”
“I thought you didn't trust my taste in movies?”
“Oh, you're right, I don't. But I'll probably fall asleep anyway.”
It was subtle, but Itadori faltered for a second. His fingers hovered over the DVDs too long, and when they started working again, his eyes skimmed over the different titles without registering them. Then he scratched the top of his ear, eyebrows drawn together. His mind appeared to be elsewhere. The obvious question was where, but Megumi had no idea what could have unsettled Itadori in the first place. Couldn't figure out why Itadori had sat there in the dark, alone, when he should have been sleeping in his bed instead.
It turned out that Megumi didn't know much about Itadori these days. The distance he'd dug between them to protect Itadori from the embarrassing truth—that he was not fine and probably would never be again—had isolated him from the person that mattered most to him. And he'd known since the beginning that it would be the price to pay, but anticipating pain had never dulled any of it, only dragged it out.
This time was no exception.
Losing Itadori, in any way, would be a death sentence. It was in such moments that Megumi realized how alive he still was. How much he still had to lose. And he would.
“Is there a reason why you're here with me and not sleeping in your bed? No offense, but you look pretty beat,” Itadori said.
Megumi froze. His chest tightened. But when he spoke, his voice was shockingly stable, almost clinical, “Do you not want me here? I can leave—”
“I always want you here. It's not about that,” Itadori cut in. “It's just… I don't want you to feel like you need to be here. I don't want you to do things just for my sake. I want you to do them because you want to. For your sake.”
But that was precisely the problem. Megumi didn't know how to do that. At least not when it mattered.
“What things?”
“You know what things,” Itadori replied, a frustrated hand running through his hair.
This vagueness, a boring shyness that was very out of character for the both of them, had grown unbearable. They used to say things exactly as they were. When had they stopped doing that?
“Is this about Shinjuku?” Megumi asked, straight to the point.
“I mean, isn't everything? You're here because I needed you. Because I don't know how to go on without you. You didn't choose this. I thought— Fuck, I really thought you did. But I put you here, didn't I? I put you here, and I'd do it a thousand times again if I had to, but now— now you're—”
“What am I?” Megumi asked, voice very quiet.
Itadori winced, head trapped between his hands.
Lost.
Suffering.
Gone anyway.
Megumi knew all too well that grieving a living person was possible, but he doubted that Itadori was capable of such a thing. It was too close to giving up.
Maybe Megumi should have died that day in Shinjuku. Maybe he would have done a great service to the both of them if he had. It would have been painful at first, but at least Itadori would have moved on by now. He couldn't have been lonely. Not when he still had so many people who loved him. Better people. Why would Megumi be any different? What could he give that their other friends couldn't? The question kept him awake at night, and even after all this time he couldn't provide any rational answer to himself.
Or perhaps there wasn't one to begin with.
After all, there wasn't anything rational about the way Megumi felt right now as he watched Itadori crumble in the middle of their living room. Nothing rational at all.
“Itadori, will you please look at me?”
Itadori pressed the heel of his wrists against his closed, wet eyelids.
“Ah,” he muttered, tears slipping inside his open, smiling mouth. Glistening on his teeth. “Can't.”
The sound of his voice, weak and discomposed, shattered something essential inside Megumi. Everything stung. He was all wound.
“Do you feel indebted to me?” Megumi asked, his voice exceptionally stable for someone so close to falling apart. “I hope you don't, because it would really piss me off if you do. You don't owe me or anyone a happy life. You didn't put me anywhere. All you ever did was give me a reason to stay, so don't you dare think that any of this is on you. It's not.”
Itadori's grip on his hair lessened, but the silence grew heavier. When Megumi couldn't take it anymore, he stood from the couch and knelt down next to Itadori, gently pulling his hands away from his tear-streaked face.
“Ugh, that's embarrassing,” Itadori muttered, his head tilted toward the floor, still refusing to meet Megumi's gaze. “Sorry.”
Megumi reached for the side of Itadori's face, surprising him with the contact of cold fingers on his skin. When they finally landed on Megumi, Itadori's eyes were full of hesitation. His lashes dark and wet.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Megumi said, very softly.
Itadori nodded, heat flaring across his neck. He twisted his wrist out of Megumi's grip, and right when Megumi started missing the touch, Itadori held his hand instead.
“I don't feel indebted to you, Fushiguro. I've never done anything because I felt like I owed it to you. I guess I just—” Itadori stopped in the middle of his sentence, the words lost in his mouth only to come out a beat later, “I guess I just really love you, man.”
Megumi blinked dumbly, his heart pounding against his ribs. “Oh.”
Luckily, he didn't have to find something more eloquent to say.
Itadori stood swiftly, a random DVD now trapped in his grasp. Then, as if nothing had happened, he patted the top of Megumi's head with his free hand and casually headed for the couch, leaving Megumi estranged in this ocean of foreign feelings.
I just really love you, man.
Of course Megumi knew that. He'd never doubted that. Itadori was his best friend, they obviously loved each other, he just hadn't expected to actually hear those words. And, more than anything, he hadn't expected to feel them so strongly either. So strongly that it nearly hurt not to say them back. That it killed him not to find a word, a sentence, a language that would faithfully encompass how deeply he cared for Itadori. Love seemed too small and the thing he was feeling felt bigger than anything he'd ever known.
He wanted to say so much.
He didn't say a thing.
“Er, I can't believe I freaked out like that,” Itadori said from the couch, voice suddenly casual, unaware of the devoted mess he'd left on the floor. “Should we watch the movie now?”
The movie was a blur of images, warm and grainy, with no context and no plot. Every time a character spoke, Megumi tried very hard to focus, to register their words so he could understand what was going on, only for his traiterous brain to derail him completely.
Instead of paying attention, Megumi's gaze found its way back to Itadori, rapt by the way the screen lit Itadori's face, by the way he grinned at every joke, sighed with exasperation when a character acted foolishly, blinked when the story got emotional. He was the most heedful viewer, and watching him was not so different from watching the movie itself.
Perhaps Megumi liked cinema a bit more than he thought.
He liked it so much that he forced himself to stay awake until he just simply couldn't anymore. The easy vibrations of Itadori's laughter, the warmth of his arm, the fading sound of the television, calm and stable, like rain tapping against a window... It was the perfect recipe to drift away.
Megumi woke up hours later. The streetlights turned off, replaced by the rising sun, the living room painted an orangey red.
To be anywhere other than his bed was disorienting, but to be lying on the couch with Itadori's arm wrapped around him was something else entirely. His heartbeat picked up, loud in a sleepy Tokyo.
Megumi tried to get up but the grip around his waist tightened, pulling him closer. His pulse was worse now, fast and uncontrollable and so unlike anything he had felt before. There was an earthquake—right there, below his skin.
“Don't go,” Itadori murmured, his breath tickling the back of Megumi's neck.
“The couch is too small,” Megumi said, his voice raspy.
“It's fine, you can lay on me. I don't mind. Just don't go. Please?”
Everything felt so very warm. Megumi rubbed the side of his face against the cushion, strangely embarrassed, heart in his throat. And because he dreaded the wintry cold of his bedroom, because he was tired and it was too easy to pretend that he was doing Itadori a favor by staying—he did exactly that.
___
Megumi's most recent fear was confirmed on a slow, lazy Sunday afternoon.
Itadori was sleeping in the living room, an opened manga resting on his chest, his arm dangling off the couch. He'd been taking a lot of naps recently, to the point where Megumi felt like he spent more time watching Itadori sleep than actually hanging out with him. Which wouldn't have been an issue two weeks ago.
But ever since Itadori crumbled in the middle of the night—hell, ever since he told Megumi that he loved him—Megumi seemed incapable of being alone. The cold darkness of his room had grown unwelcome, a reminder of the mess inside his head, of all the things he wanted to leave behind.
These days, Megumi had been feeling more moth than human. A lonely insect trapped in the night, just looking for a light to rest on. For Itadori's kind brown eyes to meet his, for the corner of his lips to lift into a gentle smile, his voice drowned out as if it belonged to a dream—nothing in the world seemed brighter than this.
It was a slow, lazy Sunday afternoon. The quietest Tokyo could be while the sun was up—so when Itadori screamed, his hoarse, cracked voice easily pierced through the silence.
The mug Megumi was holding slipped from his hand and crashed on the kitchen's floor in a thousand pieces.
It took less than three seconds for Megumi to cross the apartment and reach Itadori, and a single one to wake him up.
Itadori straightened up very fast, nearly crashing his forehead against Megumi's. His eyes were wide open. His chest heaved fast and erratic, as though he'd just run away from hell. It'd been a while since Megumi had seen him so afraid.
“Are you okay?” Megumi asked, one hand hung in the air, close to Itadori's face as though he was cupping an imaginary jaw.
“Oh, God. You're okay,” Itadori whispered at the same time, the tension gradually leaving his body. “I thought— Nevermind. I'm so glad you're okay.”
Megumi's hand dropped to the couch, the ghost of Itadori's warm skin still tingling at his fingertips.
Of course Itadori would worry about someone else when he was the one to thrash in his sleep, the remnants of a nightmare stuck behind his eyelids.
Megumi didn't dare ask why he wouldn't be okay. His nights were plagued with nightmares, too. He was constantly losing people who were already gone. People who deserved to be here more than he ever did. It seemed like Itadori's nights were not so different from his. If anything, Itadori's were probably worse.
“Does that happen often?” He asked instead.
Itadori shrugged before flopping back against the couch, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Sometimes, yeah.” Then he dropped his eyes, finally looking at Megumi. A half-smile on his lips. “But that's fine. It's the price of surviving. I can't complain.”
“Of course you can,” Megumi said without missing a beat.
These words—or perhaps it was simply the sudden fierceness in Megumi's voice—stole a laugh from Itadori.
He got up, his hands buried in his pockets. Megumi had the strangest deja-vu. A memory through the eyes of someone else.
“It's really funny that you'd say that,” Itadori said, slipping into the narrow corridor that separated their rooms. “It's easier to be kind to each other than to our own selves, don't you think?”
The creak of a door. Opening, then closing.
Itadori disappeared into his room, leaving Megumi to ponder alone. It was probably for the best, because fifteen minutes later the answers that came to him were not easy ones and he wasn't sure if he would have been able to share them with someone else.
Yes, you're right. It's far easier to be kind to you.
Perhaps he could have said that.
The rest of his thoughts were a wild, vulnerable mess. He chased them away with a shake of the head, felt them leave his brain only to crowd the space between his heart and his ribs. Was it possible to choke on such a thing?
Because it's easy to love you.
What's your excuse?
Surely it was.
___
09:03 P.M
I'll come home late :( Don't wait up
01:23 A.M
Is everything okay?
Megumi could hear his own breathing in the quiet of the apartment. The silence was only disturbed by the creaking of his bed as he tossed and turned, his hand reaching for the phone left on the other side of the mattress. The streetlights never bled in his room, blocked by the closed shutters. Therefore, even the slightest amount of light blinded him, the pain similar to staring directly at the afternoon sun.
Itadori hadn't replied in a while.
His lack of answer could be explained in a lot of rational ways—a lost phone, a drained battery, or a Curse that was taking its time showing up—but Megumi's brain always led him to the same horrible conclusion. That something terrible must have happened. He lived in a world in which silence could only mean one thing: the second before tragedy inevitably knocked on his door. A world where peace came at a cost.
The past few days had been too gentle. He'd softened. Let his guard down.
Silence only meant one thing.
When it finally broke, Megumi felt his entire body sag into the mattress. The metallic sound of keys clinking together eased most of his worries. And when he recognized the steady rhythm of Itadori's footsteps getting closer and closer, Megumi fought the urge to leave his room and steal a glance.
Luckily, Itadori made a beeline for the bathroom, leaving him no choice but to stay put. Megumi's eyelids grew heavy, lulled by the way the water hit the shower floor, like rain tapping against the window, each drop sliding across the foggy glass.
Across Itadori's wet, sunkissed skin.
Megumi jerked awake.
What the fuck?
He did not just think about that.
His thoughts spiraled, and the more he tried to get away from them, the louder they became. He couldn't even manage to keep them inside his body. Soon enough, they wrote themselves on his skin. In hot, red splotches.
His own brain turned against him. Every thought led back to Itadori.
The way Itadori lay on the floor shirtless during summer, a fan blowing hot air in his direction. Tilting his head as he found Megumi staring, his mouth curling into something warm and amused.
He didn't look at other people like that.
Sure, Itadori was generous with his smiles and he had the remarkable quality of making other people feel special. But it was different with Megumi, wasn't it? Itadori didn't hold other people's hand when it was cold outside. He didn't look for them the second he stepped into a room. He didn't set them apart. Didn't meet their gaze when something funny happened, turning everything into a secret inside joke they'd never let others in on.
It had to be different. Otherwise, Megumi was nothing but another victim of Itadori's unattainable light. Just another person he made feel special.
And it couldn't be just that.
Not when—
Creak.
The door opened and the corridor's light slipped into Megumi's room, softly hitting the right half of his face.
“Fuck,” Itadori muttered, one hand wrapped around the doorknob. “Did I wake you?”
“I wasn't sleeping,” Megumi replied, his voice strangely weak.
Itadori let out a sigh of relief, moving more freely now that he didn't have to worry about being stealthy. “I told you not to wait up,” he said with a smile.
He settled at the foot of the bed, his upper half pressed against Megumi's legs, the other half dangling in the air.
“You look pretty happy that I'm not.”
Megumi had never been drunk before, but he supposed that missing Itadori could not be very different. His body felt lighter without the worry of expecting bad news. When he reached out, his hand weighed as much as a bird's feather. Bringing it to the top of Itadori's head took no effort at all. His fingers looked for the scalp underneath the pink hair then stroked gently.
“I'm a selfish asshole. Can't help it,” Itadori said, the hint of a smile in his voice. “What have you been up to today?”
“Nothing much,” Megumi replied with a shrug. “A bit of reading, that's it.”
“What did you read?”
Megumi laughed softly, his entire palm now pressed against Itadori's head. “What's up with you tonight?”
“What d'you mean? I can't be curious?”
“You can, but you've never asked me that before.”
“I haven't?” Itadori mumbled, more to himself than to Megumi. He thought about it for a moment, then said, “I guess it's because I haven't seen you all day. I kept wondering what you were doing, who you were with. If you were having a good time. That sort of thing.”
“You could have just called me.”
“Not really,” Itadori said, shaking his head. “You can't really make a call when you're on the job, you know.”
Megumi groaned. His hand lifted as he spoke, but Itadori quickly snatched his wrist to put it back where it was. “Why are you even thinking about that sort of thing when you're on a mission? That's exactly how you get hurt. You need to be more focused than that.”
“Ugh. You sound like Kugisaki.”
“Then Kugisaki's right.”
Itadori looked away. His head dropped on the blue comforter, his cheek pressed right above Megumi's knees.
Silence fell once again, long enough to make Megumi's eyelids heavy and his fingers slow. He wondered if he should tell Itadori that he was about to fall asleep and that it would be best for him to go back to his room, but the words refused to come. It quickly dawned on him that he didn't actually want Itadori to leave.
And it didn't seem like Itadori wanted to leave either.
“These days, when I'm away, all I can think about is how nice it will be to come home to you. And when I'm here and you're not, I get excited at the idea of you coming home to me. It's hard to be anywhere else,” Itadori said very quietly. Then, noticing the lack of response, he looked up again and asked, “Hey, what are you thinking?”
The truth was, Megumi had no idea.
His thoughts were all tangled, his heart close to bursting. Had the world always felt so big?
And this foreign, warm feeling.
No, not a feeling.
More like a thread tying him to the universe. Making him belong.
“That I'm glad you asked me to move in with you.”
Itadori chuckled, the soft shakes of his chest vibrating against Megumi's legs.
Closer.
As soon as the thought left Megumi's brain, his hand grabbed Itadori by the back of the neck, gently pulling him closer, a silent plea to crawl farther and share his pillow.
Itadori happily obliged. “You don't mind?” he asked.
Megumi snorted. “I think it's pretty obvious that I don't.”
It was so dark that it would be easy to forget that Itadori was even here. That all of it was real and not a figment of Megumi's imagination.
“I wish I could see you,” Itadori whispered, reading his mind.
But the lights stayed off. Instead, he ran his fingers over Megumi's face, slowly trailing the curve of his eyebrows, the thin skin of his eyelids, the ridge of his nose.
They traveled lower and lower.
Until he reached something softer.
Itadori went very still all of a sudden. Then his thumb traced the gentle curve of Megumi's mouth, the touch lighter than before.
“Do you see me now?” Megumi asked.
“Yeah. You're smiling.”
“I am?”
Itadori's fingers found his jaw. Brought their foreheads together.
The scent of citrus lingered on his fresh skin, probably from the soap they had chosen on their last grocery shopping and had been sharing for a week.
Being so close felt so wonderful that it was nearly torture.
Heat spread across Megumi's skin. Turned his insides into mush.
“Fushiguro…” Itadori pleaded, the familiar name landing on Megumi's face in the form of a soft, trembling breath. “I'm not crazy, right? I can't be making this up.”
It should have been obvious that the first time Megumi would truly, completely see Itadori would be in a dark room, their bodies intertwined with the shadows.
“No,” Megumi whispered back, leaning in. “You're not crazy.”
In a swift, merciful motion, Megumi kissed him.
The moment their lips crashed, Megumi's entire body seemed to come alive. Electricity traveled through his veins, awakening every part of him, shining a light on these feelings he'd been trying to ignore.
Itadori's mouth was wet and warm against his, the slightest amount of pressure enough to make him lose his mind. Deprived of his sight, Megumi's imagination desperately tried to conjure the kind of expression Itadori was making—and he pitied himself for missing it.
The kiss was tentative, exploring at first.
Then something else entirely.
Eyelashes brushed against Megumi's cheek. Fingers buried in his hair, making it messy. A tongue slipped inside his slightly open mouth, stealing a taste.
Megumi didn't even notice when Itadori left his side to settle above him. He expected it even less when a warm hand found its way underneath his ridden up shirt and started brushing the smooth skin of his stomach.
His navel was a sensitive area. Megumi pushed himself deeper into the mattress, away from the touch.
He'd never admit to it, but he was quite ticklish.
“Sorry,” Itadori said. His voice was low and raspy, almost unfamiliar. He grabbed Megumi's waist instead, pushing their hips together. “Better?”
Warmth poured into Megumi's lower half.
He opened his eyes wide, suddenly very grateful for the darkness—because the next second, a surprised moan escaped his mouth, his hips lifting of their own accord.
Itadori let out a shaky laugh as he swallowed the noise, his grip tightening. “I'll take that as a yes.”
“Shut up,” Megumi said, no heat in his voice.
He buried his embarrassment, and instead, he pulled Itadori closer, his fingers reaching for the short, brown undercut.
Later, if someone asked him, he'd be able to tell them exactly how sweet Itadori's smile had tasted in that moment.
___
The moon hadn't run away with the memories of last night.
For a short, scary moment, Megumi feared he'd made it all up—an innovative way for his brain to get back at him because he hadn't been miserable enough the past few weeks.
But the moment he stepped into the kitchen, drawn by the hiss of the pan and the golden light bleeding through the small window, Itadori reached for the nape of his neck, bringing him close to share a kiss.
If last night had felt magical, today felt miraculously real.
When Itadori leaned back, Megumi finally caught the expression he'd tried to picture a few hours ago. There was an inviting darkness in Itadori's eyes. The tops of his ears were nearly as pink as his disheveled hair. His lips were shiny and swollen, curved into a soft, teasing smile.
Megumi had no choice but to kiss it again.
And again.
And again.
The best part was how natural it became, soon imprinted in their routine. The gesture grew more natural every day. Now, reaching for Itadori's face was not very different from stretching in the morning. Kissing his temple was another way of greeting. Their love lived in new habits—a bed that was never half empty, goodbyes that were always followed by a soft pressure of lips, Itadori slowly becoming Yuuji, and the usual, excited Fushiguro! growing into a tender Megumi.
If he thought he knew Yuuji before, now it seemed like the boundary between his person and the other had blurred a little. They'd made their own language, solely based on the blink of an eye or the slightest raised eyebrow. Knowing and understanding someone so profoundly was the most intimate thing Megumi had ever experienced. It was the kind of knowledge that made him feel like he was part of a secret the rest of the world was dying to know.
And he was aware of how absurd it was. No one cared about how Yuuji fell asleep on his back but always woke up facing Megumi. They didn't need to know the way he quietly laughed at himself when he was lost in thought, how he never properly dried his hair after a shower, smiled at babies in the street, talked to animals like they could understand him.
But Megumi did.
It seemed impossible that such tenderness could exist in a world so cruel. That life could be so calm and ordinary, yet so exciting.
The only downside was how distracted Megumi would be during moments that required his entire focus, constantly worried about the wellbeing of someone else. They quickly agreed that going on missions together was a bad idea.
Quite the wise decision.
But now, Yuuji had to leave for five entire days, leaving Megumi like a ghost haunting a deserted mansion. And, in all honesty, it was probably not right. Relying so much on a single person could not be a reasonable way to live his life. But Megumi was working on it. The last thing he wanted was for his love to morph into something he wouldn't recognize—another unhealthy habit.
That morning, he didn't wake up beside Yuuji's warm body. Instead, a folded note was left on the pillow.
Do you remember that night we slept on the couch? I told you that I loved you. I felt like I was going to die if I didn't tell you, like the words were going to choke me otherwise. But then I did and it made me so afraid. I immediately regretted it. The timing was terrible and I didn't want to scare you away or put another burden on you. But, man, I really, really meant it. You wouldn't believe how much I meant it. How much I mean it now.
See you in a few days!
— Yuuji :)
Megumi dropped his head on the cold mattress, his heart tight as if a fist had clenched around it. He hadn't thought that loving someone could be felt in every bone, in every drop of blood in his body. But he knew that now.
Love was pretty heavy.
I'm sorry, Yuuji, Megumi thought, his eyes wandering toward the window, looking out at the blue sky. I think I might have cursed you a little.
He read the note again.
___
07:38 P.M
The apartment is really quiet. It's weird.
07:56 P.M
Haha
Don't get used to it!!
I miss you too :)
___
On the night Yuuji was supposed to return, Megumi grabbed his apartment keys and aimlessly wandered outside. The moon looked exceptionally pretty that night, and by following it, he found himself at the train station. People who were eagerly waiting for their loved ones to return stood beside him.
It made him think of Itadori's words, that first night they kissed.
These days, when I'm away, all I can think about is how nice it will be to come home to you. And when I'm here and you're not, I get excited at the idea of you coming home to me.
A train approached, gradually slowing down as it got closer, muting everything else. Wind blew Megumi's hair away from his face. The ghost of a smile was on his lips.
The doors opened quickly, and people began to get off. Families reunited. Lovers stretched out their arms wide to welcome their loved ones back. Most people seemed to be in a hurry, and this wave of love quickly washed away.
Yuuji was one of the last people to get off. His hair was a mess, his eyes red with fatigue. He moved very slowly, his brain probably still half-asleep. But when he caught Megumi's lonely figure waiting for him at the end of the platform, his steps faltered and the fog in his eyes immediately disappeared. A wild smile brightened his entire face. When he began walking again, a pleased rhythm found its way into his steps.
“You didn't tell me you'd come,” Yuuji said, once close enough.
“I was in the area,” Megumi replied, a poorly concealed amusement in his voice. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from grinning. “Welcome home, Yuuji.”
It was technically too soon to say these words, but they'd been trapped in his mouth for a long time now.
“Thank you,” Yuuji said. Then his eyes glinted teasingly, the way they always did before a joke. “Was it very lonely without me?”
Megumi looked quite serious for a moment. “It was.”
Yuuji laughed, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his head, his cheeks slightly flushed. “Oh, man. I was secretly hoping you'd say that.”
Megumi shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips, then stepped forward to grab Yuuji's bag. There were a few protestations, but he didn't react to any of them. Instead, he turned around and began walking toward the exit, Yuuji close behind.
“What have you been up to?” Yuuji asked.
“Nothing much. Exorcising curses. Reading. The usual.”
“Yeah? What did you read?”
It was supposed to be a simple, innocent question.
But Megumi stopped abruptly.
He turned around, eyebrows slightly raised.
Yuuji seemed to remember that particular conversation as well, because he pinched the bridge of his nose, looking suddenly very flustered.
“Ah,” he sighed, only half-laughing. “That's too bad. I was trying to think of something else until we reach the apartment.”
Megumi's fingers began to tingle. He rubbed his fingertips together, a complicated expression on his face. “Why?”
“Because we're outside,” Yuuji said with a shrug, looking away. “People could be watching.”
“And you care?”
Megumi's gaze was growing very insistent, but Yuuji still wouldn't look, far more interested in the floor of the train station.
“No, I don't. But you're kind of a private person? And it's fine, but I'm pretty sure you wouldn't kiss me in the middle of the—”
Megumi reached out, grabbing the back of Yuuji's neck before kissing him. The tension in his shoulders disappeared as Yuuji slightly leaned his head to the side, opting for a better angle.
Megumi backed away slowly, head cocked to the side. “Nah, I think I would.”
Maybe he was right earlier, when he impatiently greeted Yuuji with a Welcome home. When empty, the apartment was just an apartment. The only walls that belonged to his home were the hands cradling his face, pulling him closer.
___
Time was no longer measured by the rotation of the Earth, but rather by Itadori's existence—cruelly long in his absence, evanescent when he was here. Saying “I'm home” after a long day was the delight of Megumi's life. His week-ends were filled with laughter. His bed never cold, his boredom never cruel.
He paid his respects to his lost, loved ones once a week. And he no longer sat in silence, eaten by the guilt of breathing. But instead, he spoke until his mouth felt dry and his heart was filled to the brim.
It turned out that living for someone was much more noble than the lonely act of dying for them. He could see it in Yuuji's face, in the way he stood—happiness spread just as easily as misery.
Soon enough, Megumi began to grow his own collection of books. He bought them at the bookstore next door, a mandatory trip on Saturdays where Yuuji insisted on picking one that he was sure Megumi was going to enjoy. When the weather was nice, he went on strolls and watched the way the sunlight slipped through the trees during summer, beaming like golden stars in a dark green sky. Yuuji went with him more often than not, but as time passed, being alone began to have its perks, too. Laundry was his favorite time of the week, and although he wasn't sure anyone would agree with him on that, he enjoyed watching the clothes tumble in the washing machine. He liked mundane things the most. He found exceptional beauty in ordinary life. Whether it was cooking for his friends, helping Yuuji with his undercut, or teaching him how to make shadows with his hands when it was late and they weren't sleepy yet—it all excited him the same.
His days ended uneventfully, in the quiet of a shared bedroom. They were full of light, full of love, and he always looked forward to the next one.
At some point, without realizing, Megumi had started living for himself as well.
There was still a buzz sometimes, like the flap of a fly's wings, right beside his ear. A reminder that he had much to atone. That this sliver of happiness had been tainted red since the beginning.
However, it was just background noise these days, far easier for him to ignore. Things inevitably got hard sometimes, it was part of the deal. Roads could get dark and bumpy and he could take wrong turn after wrong turn—but in the end, they all led back to the same worn out path.
His person.
“I already told you that you don't have to wait for me,” Megumi said, handing out a helpful hand.
Yuuji was sitting at the bottom of the apartment building's stairs, leaning on his elbows. Black headphones hung around his neck, leaking the riff of an electric guitar.
On days like this one where Yuuji got bored at the apartment and the weather was pleasant, he went outside and waited for Megumi to return from his mission. Night was coming and the last buttery sun rays faded on Yuuji's face, catching the honey shade of his eyes. He grabbed Megumi's hand and stood up. Sweat rolled off his temple.
“Uh-uh. But, you know. I missed you,” he said with a wink. Then, noticing the lack of reaction, he endearingly patted the top of Megumi's head, his chest shaking with a laugh. “What's with that face, eh?”
Megumi felt a sting behind his eyes.
“Nothing,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around Yuuji. “I'm just glad to be home.”