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Megumi can’t remember when it all really started.
Maybe because there wasn’t a specific point in time. No moment of sudden revelation. No arrow through the heart. And certainly not love at first sight.
They were just friends, for a long time - since high school, to be exact. Best friends. But nothing more. Nothing he would ever acknowledge, anyway. And if anything else - any feeling - ever started to bubble up in the back of his mind, he shoved it down, away, out of existence. Or at least he tried.
His best guess was that something started to shift sometime around last summer. Last summer, when he had just broken up with that awful PR consultant, who in the end perhaps wasn’t really all that awful but maybe just represented everything about a life he could never fit into, a mold that the world around him had pre-manufactured and set up as his only acceptable option. It was simple: all he had to do was meet a pretty girl from a respectable family, date for a few years, get married, make money, have kids . . . and altogether color within the lines of conventional society until the day he died. Lovely wife, good family, marriage, kids, career. Standard, straightforward. It should’ve been easy.
Except that he couldn’t even make it past the first step. That relationship - his longest to date - lasted five months.
You just picked the wrong girl, people told him. His friends, his coworkers, his family. Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’ll work next time. Or the time after that. Just find someone else.
And when they told him this, he would plaster on a smile and nod and say he knew. Because he did know. It made perfect sense. Of course, it was just the wrong girl - silly him. Better luck next time!
But deep down in a long-buried part of his heart he knew there was more to it than that. Because if nothing else, that last failed relationship confirmed something he had known all along and had been running from for years.
He didn’t like women. He liked men.
But he could never tell them that.
Last summer. He didn’t mean for it to happen like it did. He didn’t mean for it to happen at all.
If he really wanted to, he could chalk it all up to just how emotionally vulnerable he was at the time. He was freshly single and disillusioned, stressed about work, nostalgic for the simplicity of high school. And so he took refuge in the person who was closest - his oldest friend, his best friend. Yuji Itadori.
And as always, Yuji welcomed him with open arms.
For a while it really did almost feel like high school again. The two of them both single, both free. The only difference was that now instead of walking home from school together and spending the rest of the day at one or the other’s house - they had only lived a block apart at the time - they each clocked out of their respective jobs and met at Yuji’s apartment. It was bigger and nicer than Megumi’s, and conveniently closer to the city center. And even though this meant Megumi was always the one to come knocking, Yuji never made him feel like a burden. He wanted him around, he said, when Megumi apologized for taking up his time. And he truly never seemed to tire of his company.
So, as the weeks passed and summer melted into fall, they settled into a steady routine: Megumi would leave work, stop somewhere to pick up food, and then show up at Yuji’s door. And Yuji always opened that door with a smile that melted away any lingering memories of the day, any worries, any stress. It was a smile that felt like coming home.
Their time together was sometimes planned activities - little day trips on the weekends, cooking recipes Yuji wanted to test out, trying new restaurants, going to concerts or festivals. But more often than not, it was unplanned and mundane, and honestly, it was those days that Megumi enjoyed the most: the simple pleasure of everyday tasks made better by having someone he cared about by his side. It was running errands after work, eating takeout in bed, ridiculous social media challenges that left them collapsing on the floor in laughter. Movie marathons and video game battles and late nights where they found themselves huddled together under the blankets against the cold. All the times they stayed up too late and fell asleep leaned up against one another on the couch. All the mornings Megumi woke up first and laid his head on Yuji’s shoulder until he woke up too and smiled.
And so, with his defenses down, those forbidden feelings he thought he had killed off a long time ago crept slowly back to life. Whispers in the back of his mind. What if, what if, what if . . .
What if he could be with the person who was there through it all. Who was always there. The person who was kind, and genuine, and patient, and sweet, and funny, and unafraid to be brutally honest when he needed it. Who treated him better than anyone ever had. Better than he ever thought he deserved.
With Yuji.
But except for a few moments of weakness, he never let himself think about it. It was wrong, it was ridiculous, it was stupid. No what if’s, no if only’s. They were just friends, of course. It was pure platonic affection. That was all. Obviously. Right? It had to be.
Until it wasn’t.
One Friday night sometime in mid-November Megumi found himself at a party without Yuji. An incredibly rare occurrence, but Yuji was away on a work trip, and it couldn’t be helped. It was the birthday of one of their mutual friends from college, so in spite of his general distaste for social gatherings, Megumi felt obliged to show face at least for a little while.
It turned out not to be so bad. After a drink or two to loosen up, he found himself actually enjoying the rhythm of the evening, catching up with old friends amidst the pulse of music, happy chatter, and occasional shouts and peals of laughter that echoed across the crowded bar.
Eventually he decided to take a break from the cheerful chaos and found a high-top table tucked into a corner where he could observe from afar. After a few minutes, someone wandered over to sit down on the stool across from him, and he glanced up to see it was Nobara Kugisaki - another longtime friend from high school. He nodded in greeting, she returned the gesture, and the two of them sat in comfortable silence sipping their respective drinks until finally Nobara leaned over to ask casually, barely audible over the music, “So, how’s it going with Itadori?”
Megumi’s heart skipped a beat. He frowned. “What do you mean?”
Nobara chuckled. “What do you mean, what do I mean? Aren’t you -” here she paused to raise her eyebrows meaningfully, then leaned in still closer to hiss - “together?”
Megumi choked on his drink.
After a fit of coughing, he managed to splutter, “Wh-why would you think that?”
Nobara laughed outright. “Are you kidding? Have you seen the way he looks at you?”
Megumi could only sit there, dumbfounded. Nobara continued. “And the way you look at him. Both of you - it’s the same. I don’t know how to describe it . . . I guess it’s that every time I see you together, you’re always following each other with your eyes. And there’s so much care in that look. Like you’re the only two people in the room, watching out for each other, no matter where you are.”
Megumi was speechless. Was it really that obvious? And . . . was Yuji really looking at him that way too?
He forced a laugh. “No, no. It’s nothing like that. We’re just good friends.”
Nobara raised a doubtful eyebrow but said nothing more.
Why. Why. Why did she have to mention that?
Megumi left the party a couple hours later feeling like he had forgotten how to breathe. Ever since that conversation, there was something different, a new feeling blooming in his chest. A feeling that he had been fighting so desperately to ignore and strangle out of existence but that now, with just that little bit of encouragement, had exploded into a thousand fireworks that sucked away his breath and filled his head with smoke.
Have you seen the way he looks at you?
He hadn’t noticed, actually. But now . . .
There’s so much care in that look . . .
Fuck.
Yuji was back in town the next day, and they picked up their routine like nothing had happened. But something had. Now Megumi was on high alert, constantly searching for that look that Nobara had described, reading into every little thing that Yuji said, analyzing frantically to see if what she had insinuated was true. The first day of careful observation brought him no answers. Neither did the second. Or the third.
And somehow days slipped into weeks, and weeks into months - and exactly nothing became any clearer with time.
Sometimes, briefly, he would think he caught a glimpse of what Nobara had been talking about. Of how maybe his feelings were real, and that Yuji felt them too. Sometimes he would think he caught Yuji looking at him in the way she had described, with a tender warmth in his gaze that went beyond simple affection. With just a little too much love in his eyes to be dismissed as mere friendship.
Not to mention the fact that they spent practically every waking moment outside of work together - and a good number of sleeping ones too, considering how Megumi woke up on Yuji’s couch or in his bed at least one or two mornings a week. Not to mention all the little things Yuji said offhandedly that drove him crazy with faint, pointless hope.
What would I do without you, Yuji would laugh, when Megumi showed up at his door with bags of groceries, or movie tickets, or whatever else he might need but hadn’t thought to ask for yet.
People must think we’re married at this point, with how much time we spend together, and you sleeping over all the time, he would tease, on lazy weekend mornings when Megumi would roll out of Yuji’s bed, in Yuji’s sweatpants, with something akin to a hangover from the movie marathon of Yuji’s favorite B-rated horror films the night before.
You know you mean so much to me, Fushiguro, he would mumble sleepily, and reach out to tousle Megumi’s hair as he leaned heavily against him on the couch after an evening with just a bit too much to drink. I think I trust you more than anyone.
It would get to the point where Megumi was sure, certain, positive, convinced that Nobara was right. That Yuji really did have feelings for him. That it really was like that. And then finally, right when he had just about worked up the courage to say something, that certainty would be buried under an avalanche of conflicting evidence.
Yuji would start fixating on his - at this point, virtually lifelong - celebrity crush (Jennifer Lawrence), or harping on about all the female coworkers and clients who hit on him (he had a beautiful smile, they said. They were right.), or relating every gory detail of the dates he occasionally went on with people he met on apps (he was just curious, he claimed). And Megumi would listen attentively and laugh along with him even as his stomach twisted in confusion.
So overall results? Inconclusive.
Megumi was clueless. No matter how hard he tried, he could not for the life of him determine whether there was something else, something more than just friendship growing between them. And even if there was, did he really have a plan for how to handle it? He could run away and kill the connection by isolation. He could confront it head-on and actually talk to Yuji about it. Or, he could do nothing.
He chose the latter.
Maybe it was a cowardly move; maybe it was self-preservation. Maybe it was the only way he could think of to walk the narrow line between what was and what might be with the lowest risk of damage to either of the parties involved. The choice that was most likely to maintain the status quo. Because that was the most important thing: to keep Yuji by his side for as long as he possibly could. To preserve their friendship. That was what he cared about most - their friendship. He just needed his friend, his best friend. As long as he didn’t let any stupid feelings get in the way, he was certain nothing could come between them.
He was wrong.
It was anticlimactic, really, how it all fell apart. There was no one to blame. Nothing to be angry about. It was just the natural course of things, of little changes in life that he knew were inevitable but hated anyway. There was truly nothing to be done. And that somehow made it worse.
It was in early March, on the first sunny afternoon after four days straight of rainstorms. The world felt freshly washed, as if it had been preparing for the first hints of springtime that then arrived in the form of a soft, warm breeze and a handful of early blossoms decorating the limbs of the trees along the street in front of Yuji’s apartment building.
Megumi admired them as he stood on the sidewalk waiting for his friend. It was unusually peaceful for so close to rush hour. Calm. Tranquil.
At least until Yuji came bounding out the door and practically tackled him in a hug.
“Man, it’s been forever!” His grin threatened to split his face in two.
Megumi pushed him away but smiled as he shook his head. “It’s been three days. You saw me last Friday.”
Yuji pressed the back of one hand to his forehead and clutched his chest with the other as he pretended to faint. “Exactly. That’s soooooo long.”
Megumi laughed and punched him on the shoulder. “Idiot.”
Yuji straightened up and danced out of reach, still grinning.
Megumi shook his head again and rolled his eyes. But his smile didn’t fade. “Come on, let’s get to the restaurant before the dinner rush hits.”
Yuji practically skipped back towards him to sling an arm across his shoulders and then proceeded to yap his ear off the entire walk to the bus stop.
Megumi couldn’t stop smiling.
Of course it would happen in spring, the perfect time for new beginnings, Megumi later ironically realized. Yet another reason he should’ve seen it coming - there was just something in the air.
They did in fact make it to the restaurant before the dinner rush, and the meal passed pleasantly and uneventfully enough. He was just about to flag someone down to ask for the check when a server approached the table tentatively. There was something vaguely familiar about her, as was confirmed when she turned to Yuji and hesitantly asked, “Yuji . . . Itadori? Is that you?”
Yuji looked up and a shock of recognition flashed across his face. “Yuko!”
Now Megumi remembered who she was: their old classmate Yuko Ozawa, who had transferred to a different high school after their first year. Which would make it, what, 12 years since they’d seen each other? He was honestly impressed that she had recognized Yuji after all this time.
And then Megumi realized that the table was awfully quiet.
He glanced between her and Yuji smiling shyly at each other with a sinking feeling. There was something in her smile, and in Yuji’s eyes - like two people who had lost something a long time ago and only just now happened upon it, out of pure chance, and were delighted to find it was even more beautiful than they remembered. He could practically see the sparks flying between them.
Nonetheless, he kept his expression as neutral as possible as the two of them laughed and exchanged niceties. He tried not to notice the glow that lingered on Yuji’s face after she walked away. He congratulated Yuji when he proudly brandished the scrap of paper she had slipped him with her phone number scrawled on it.
He pretended not to have realized that everything was about to change.
The days blurred after that. In his memory there were brief flashes of clarity - helping Yuji pick an outfit for his first date with Yuko, watching his face light up every time he got a text from her - but mostly it was muddy recollections of feelings, not events. Wretched, horrible, pathetic feelings of envy and longing and loss that he hid behind a smile. For Yuji’s sake.
The days marched on. He saw Yuji less and less, as Yuji saw her more and more. It was inevitable, he supposed. He knew, he saw it coming, but somehow it still stung to stand by helplessly as the person he cared about most faded out of his life, bit by bit. It felt like watching a funeral in slow motion, and all while still haunted by the double pain of wicked jealousy shadowed by guilt. He really was such a fool. How had he even dared to begin to let himself hope that Yuji might have . . . feelings for him too?
Weeks rolled into months. Yuji and Yuko gradually became something established, serious, official. Something lasting. Megumi worked more, to try to notice less. To try to feel less.
To be fair, he and Yuji still texted all the time. They still saw each other in person every couple weeks or so too. But it was different now, because nine times out of ten, she was there, even if not physically present, then still caught up in the flood of words that Yuji spilled out to him every time they finally got to talk. Gushing out stories, plans, excitement, laughter - simply overflowing with happiness.
And Megumi listened, he always listened. Because he wanted to. He wanted to see his friend so happy. He was glad. Really, truly glad. Really, truly . . .
But his smile cut at the corners of his mouth, and the voice in the back of his mind mocked him.
Such a good friend you are, such a good, good friend. So genuine. He could almost laugh. So sweet how you accept that you could never make him happy enough. How fitting that you lose him now to someone who can. Pathetic. Worthless.
Pathetic, indeed. How could he be so selfish? It wasn’t like anything realistically ever could have happened between them. Maybe in another world, in another life, but not here. Not now. And so why, why, why couldn’t he just be happy for Yuji? For his friend. His best friend.
Maybe it was because on the rare occasions the three of them were together, he saw the light in their eyes when they looked at each other, lost in their own world, until they remembered him on the sidelines and looked over and laughed and beckoned him closer, innocent and oblivious. Maybe it was because every little interaction he observed between them, every elated text Yuji sent to tell him just how sweet and perfect she was, every afternoon he spent alone knowing Yuji was with her - every tiny reminder of his loss was another stab of the knife. Another wound he’d have to wait for time to heal. Another future scar across his heart.
The world keeps turning in spite of it all, of course, and summer arrives again. Hot and merciless, with no clouds, no rain, no relief. Just sun scorching down on pavement and the city suffocating in the oppressive heat of mid-July.
The overworked window A/C unit in Megumi’s apartment breaks. The fan too. He sleeps in a chair on the balcony and still sweats all night. Suffering silently, restless, staring out at city lights and up at stars, heat-stricken and delirious. He hates summer now.
He finally wakes from a feverish dream to a sun-soaked Saturday morning and a text from Yuji.
wanna watch a movie tonight? I have A/C at my place, I promise ;)
He hesitates. The phone dings again.
it’ll be just us, it’ll be chill :D
That was all he needed to hear.
The night comes and goes too fast and joins the blur that is everything in Megumi’s memory these days. It’s Yuji opening the door with a huge grin on his face, it’s eating takeout on the living room couch, it’s having the same debate about the horrific plot of Human Earthworm IV for the thousandth time. It’s pausing the movie every five minutes to laugh and talk, it’s the clock ticking slowly towards 3 AM, it’s Yuji handing him a pair of his sweatpants to change into and telling him to stay the night. It’s the trance he slips into when they shift the movie marathon to the TV in the bedroom and he finds himself curled up next to Yuji with his head on his chest and Yuji’s arm around his shoulders. It’s the one and only tear that slides down his cheek when he realizes this might well be the last time he gets to do this.
It’s the whisper of I missed you that dies on his tongue as he finally falls asleep.
Sunlight.
Megumi blinks awake slowly and lies still. He can’t remember the last time he slept so soundly, or woke up with his mind so pleasantly empty of thoughts. He stares up at the cracked plaster ceiling and traces with his eyes the lines of light and shadow painted by the sun sneaking through the gap in the curtains. Nothing moves. The only sound is Yuji’s soft breathing beside him. He stretches out his arms and legs, his back heavy against the mattress, and rolls onto his side to face Yuji’s sleeping form. He’s so comfortable . . . so peaceful . . .
And then the sunlight shifts and fades, the washing machine buzzes angrily down the hall, and reality comes rushing back, overwhelming and unwelcome.
It’s not real. All of this, this perfect moment, sleepy and alone together in the morning light, it’s not real. It’s nothing but a brief glitch in the system, a glitch that is rapidly drawing to a close. Any second now, Yuji will open his eyes to see Megumi staring at him. And he’ll blink, smile sheepishly, sit up, and then he’ll be gone. Rolling out of bed, pulling on a hoodie, walking to the kitchen, back to his real life. His life with someone else. His life where Megumi is just a minor detail, a side character, someone he calls when it’s convenient. Just a friend. A good friend, a friend with a long history, but still, just a friend. Nothing compared to the person who he normally shares a bed with - the person who so quickly became his whole world. Who innocently, unknowingly pushed Megumi to the side until he felt on the verge of disappearing altogether. Who involuntarily condemned him to a life in the shadows, left watching helplessly with a hollow smile that he paints on for Yuji’s sake.
He has to smile, because Yuji can never find out all the things that Megumi came so close to saying, so many times, and even did try to say a few times, but never with quite the right words, or the right tone, or the right level of boldness to show he really meant it. Maybe he’s an idiot for not trying harder. Or a coward for hiding it still. But it doesn’t matter now. Because Yuji is happy with Yuko, and as long as that remains the case, Megumi will never spoil it by tainting his joy with knowledge of his bitter loss. Of the jealousy that burns white-hot in his chest every time he watches Yuko run her hand through Yuji’s hair, or wrap her arm around him and rest her chin on his shoulder as he smiles at her with that adoring look in his eyes. That look that could have, maybe, just maybe, belonged to Megumi. Almost. Maybe.
He supposes that this wound, like all wounds, will heal with time. The scar will last forever, he’s sure, but the wound itself should close. He likes to think that eventually he’ll be able to laugh with them, and really mean it. Be able to wear a smile that isn’t just a mask around them. Perhaps even watch their wedding one day with nothing but joy in his heart for his friend’s happiness. He’ll find his own new person, someone who will look at him with that same look of love and understanding that he’s never experienced from anyone but Yuji and that is now reserved for Yuko. One day he’ll have his own person to wrap his arms around and hold close, to whisper that he loves them and really mean it. And the four of them can be friends. They can all laugh together without his mind echoing back those pointless thoughts of what could have been if it had stayed just them two - just him and Yuji. Yes. The four of them will be happy. He’ll heal, and move on. Really, truly move on.
He’d like to believe this all will happen. He’d like to hope. He does hope. He hopes that in time he’ll stop drowning in what might have been, in all the wretched whispers of what if and if only. In time, he’ll be able to save himself. He’s sure of it. He has to be . . .
But for now, it doesn’t matter. Because for now, the wound is still fresh.
And it still burns deep into his soul.