Work Text:
Megumi curses to himself as he rushes out of bed and quickly starts his morning routine. He’s already sent a message to his supervisor, complete with an apology for being late and missing his team’s daily check-in and a promise that he’ll be at work soon. It’s so out of the ordinary for him that he feels weirdly guilty, though he attributes most of that to the mindset that working is life—despite his attempts to keep those two things separate.
Still, it’s not like him to sleep in and miss all of his alarms. He’s a diligent worker—punctual, attentive, and communicative—so showing up nearly two hours late and missing a team call is bound to turn some heads. If anything, it’ll grant him unwarranted and unwanted attention from said supervisor, which could turn out to be a headache in and of itself.
Not like it matters, though. As he brushes his teeth, his phone pings with a rather simple message in response to his panicked apology:
[9:35AM] Gojo: happens to the best of us! just come in when you’re ready >;(
A frowning winky face.
Well, that’s new.
Still, it’s nice to know that he’s not going to be reprimanded for being late. He doesn’t think it would have ever really happened—not unless he made tardiness a habit—but he has a lot to do today, regardless of whether or not Gojo decides to give him a slap on the wrist.
It’s almost enough to make his skin crawl. Megumi feels like he’s about to burst under all of the pressure he’s currently under. With the stress of a new project, the tight, unexpected deadline, and an upcoming conference, he feels like he’s either being crushed under a boulder or pulled in a million different directions.
Hell, maybe it’s both.
He’s spent a lot of late nights spent working—way more than he’s ever had to before—and while it’s nice to know that his supervisor’s got his back and is paying him for all the extra work he’s putting in, it still doesn’t change the fact that he’s working this much.
Ever since the beginning of the month, it’s been nothing but overtime, overtime, overtime. He’s pretty sure that if he has to look at a spreadsheet ever again after this, he’s going to explode. Sure, it’s not like anyone could have predicted that the client would have a ton of expectations thrown at him at the last minute, but even if it’s “no one’s fault,” he still has plenty of blame to go around for all of the sleepless nights these past two weeks.
He decides that if Gojo is going to be fine with his sleeping in, he might as well get something to pick his day up before he goes in and finishes the rest of this project. He knows that he needs to just jump in and get it over with, but he was up until two in the morning staring at that fucking spreadsheet, one glass of bourbon in, and now he’s here—late, tired, and stressed—so he’s going to get himself a cup of coffee, dammit.
He deserves this, he tells himself and grabs his keys and wallet and heads out the door. Immediately, he starts for his favorite café. It’s nothing special, just a little hole-in-the-wall kind of place, but it’s got the best coffee he’s been able to find in the city, and he appreciates something authentic as opposed to a chain anyway.
Is it technically further from his apartment than his office is and in the complete opposite direction of it? Yes.
Does he care? No.
The walk over is at least pleasant. The humidity in the city has been brutal with all of the sun and heat collecting itself in the heart of the metro, but today, there are clouds in the sky and a nice breeze in the air. There’s some strange foot traffic ahead—maybe an event or something—that he spots, but his mind is set on getting a hot cup of coffee and a croissant to hold him over for breakfast to really pay attention to it.
As he slowly approaches the tall glass windows of the café, he can feel some of the tension start to leave his body. He’s finally at the end of this project-from-Hell, and he’s ready to be able to slow down and get back to his normal schedule. It’s been so long since Megumi has had an evening to himself that he doesn’t know what to do with it, but the prospect of getting home and not having to open up his work laptop is very enticing.
He just has to make it through today.
Now that he’s closer to the café, he notices that the foot traffic seems to be coming from this area. It looks like the city is hosting something, and it’s taking place on this block. It’s not ideal, as he can already tell that the shop is busy, but he’s still determined to reward himself for all his hard work, so he pushes through the door anyway.
The smell of roasting coffee makes it all worth it.
Making his way to the line, he absentmindedly stares at the menu as the people in front of him slowly start to dwindle. A plain, black cup of coffee and a croissant is all he needs, but there’s a new lunch menu out for the summer, so he makes a mental note to come back sometime for a proper meal.
When it’s finally his turn to order, it doesn’t shock him to learn that they’re a little backed on the drinks. Checking the time, he shrugs it off and pays the barista, selecting a table along the wall to sit at while he waits.
He uses the time to go through emails on his phone, making sure that he didn’t miss anything important. In the office group chat, it looks like Yuuta has sent a photo of his cat that he took last night, and other than a brief update about the conference next week, there isn’t anything else.
His life really has been nothing but this spreadsheet all month, huh.
Sighing, he continues to scroll through his phone without purpose. Names are called and orders are placed at the edge of the counter, but none are his. More and more people file in and out of the café, and a group of teenagers have come in and backed the line all the way to his table.
Scowling a bit, he adjusts his seat so that they’re not standing so close to him, but it doesn’t make much of a difference. More drinks are called, and people serving food move in and out of the kitchen. At some point, all of the chaos starts to become background noise, and Megumi only occasionally glances up from his phone to see if his order is ready.
“I don’t really like coffee. I don’t know what to get,” someone says.
Megumi doesn’t know why, but it catches his attention. One of those strange moments where his zoning out suddenly stops out of nowhere, and he finds himself looking up.
In front of him, standing in line now, are two firefighters.
They both have fire department t-shirts on and are wearing a couple of radios and some gadgets he doesn’t recognize on a sling. Their shirts are tucked into their uniform pants, and their boots are loud and thump against the floor.
One of them is tall and shockingly large. And loud. His bulky muscles are easy to make out beneath the shirt, and his hair pulled up and out of his face, but what attracts the most attention to him is his booming voice and laugh that echoes over the sound of the coffee shop. Additionally, Megumi notices a large, jagged scar that cuts down his forehead and through his left eye.
Easy to spot and hard to miss.
He almost makes the second firefighter look small.
It’s ridiculous, because now that Megumi’s looking at him, he realizes that they seem to be about the same height. The firefighter is bulkier, of course, and his muscles flex unintentionally as he crosses his arms, but the thing that stands out about him the most is the bright pink mop of hair that sticks up in every direction. It’s messy, as if he has a habit of running his hands through it, and it’s cut short at the base of his head by a dark brown undercut.
Interesting, Megumi thinks.
He’s never seen a man who looks like, well, that before.
The second firefighter laughs at something the first one says, and—fuck—Megumi’s heart skips a beat. Just a little. It’s cliché and entirely embarrassing, even though he’s the only one who knows about it, and he ducks his head, looking back at his phone in order to stop staring.
But not before he catches a quick flash of a smile and a single dimple on his left cheek.
Oooookay, so this morning has definitely not turned out the way that Megumi planned it. Hell, he was supposed to be at work nearly two hours ago, but now he’s stuck here, ogling some guy who’s just trying to get his morning fix like everyone else here, and trying not to be flustered about it.
“Todo, I’m not going to overload on sugar three hours into a twenty-four-hour shift,” the second firefighter says.
“That’s the only way to make coffee taste good,” the first one—Todo, supposedly—replies with a shrug.
Megumi definitely disagrees with that sentiment, but he continues in his attempts to ignore the two and focuses on listening for his name being called by the barista. His order has to be ready any minute now.
A bit more time passes, and the firefighters have now made their way to the front of the line. As they place their order, Megumi finally, finally hears his name being called and walks over to the counter to pick it up. He’s now two hours and ten minutes late, but at this point, he’s given up on stressing himself out over it and just does his best to mentally prepare himself for the teasing to come from Gojo later.
Grabbing a few napkins for his croissant, he turns from the counter and starts towards the door. Immediately, he collides with a body that nearly knocks him on his ass—seriously, it was like running straight into a fucking wall, what the fuck?—and coffee spills out of the cup and onto his arm.
It burns instantly, seeping into the cuff of his sleeve, and Megumi jolts from the pain, at least having the good sense to place the cup on the counter before turning and reaching for more napkins. He hisses as he tries to keep the now soaked fabric off of his skin and hopes that it doesn’t burn him too badly.
“Shit, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”
Then he freezes.
It’s the firefighter.
The pink one, not the loud one.
Another pair of hands starts to help him, grabbing Megumi’s burned wrist and holding his arm up. The firefighter inspects the burn, scowling with concern, and touches his skin gently. Up close, Megumi can see the soft brown color of his eyes and the way his eyebrows pinch when he’s concentrated. There’s a scattered dusting of freckles along his nose and cheeks, and a scar through his right brow, while another cuts the left corner of his mouth.
He’s… fuck, he’s cute.
The firefighter presses gently into Megumi’s wrist. “Does that hurt?”
Unable to form any words, Megumi simply shakes his head in reply.
“It looks like it was only a surface burn then,” he mumbles, more to himself than anything. “I was worried because the coffee looked hot.”
Megumi blinks, still a little flustered. “It was.”
The man laughs—all light and airy. “Yeah, no kidding. I’m surprised to see anyone drinking hot coffee on a day like this, though it is the morning, and I feel like hot coffee is a more of a morning drink, you know?”
He’s rambling now. Such a strange tangent to take when you’re holding the arm of a person you spilled coffee on, but Megumi finds that, despite his irritable mood earlier, he’s not too bothered by it. In fact, with a carefree, lopsided smile on his face, the way that the firefighter is looking at him is actually quite nice.
“I only really drink black coffee, so it doesn’t matter how hot it is outside,” he manages.
Humming, the firefighter smiles even wider. “For some reason, I feel like that suits you—oh! But in, like, a cool way. Like in a I’m-put-together kind of way.”
Well, Megumi doesn’t know about that, but he appreciates the sentiment.
For a moment, they’re just standing in front of the counter, the smell of coffee stronger than ever as the man continues to hold onto Megumi’s arm. There’s a charged, electric feeling at the point of contact where their skin meets, and after another bout of silence, the man clears his throat, blushes, and looks back down.
“Dude, I totally ruined your shirt. I’m so sorry,” he says, deflating a little.
It was one of Megumi’s favorite shirts—easy to wear, both at home and around the office—and now, it’s drenched in coffee, the light grey color an awkward brown, with splash marks that litter themselves up Megumi’s arm and chest.
“It’s just something I threw on,” Megumi lies. It’s just a shirt, after all. “Not a big deal.”
“No, but I feel bad,” the man sighs. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, and I totally ruined your morning and your order. Let me buy you another one.”
Immediately, Megumi shakes his head. “You don’t have to do that. It was only a cup of black coffee.”
“Yeah, but it was yours, and I spilled it.” He frowns and reaches into his pocket for his wallet. “I’m Itadori, by the way.”
“You can call me Fushiguro, but only if you put your wallet away,” Megumi replies.
Itadori pauses for a moment, faltering, before a smile breaks across his face and he holds his hand out to shake. Megumi returns the face and tries to ignore the way his skin tingles when their fingers meet.
“I’m serious,” he says. “You don’t have to buy me another coffee.”
“But I feel bad.”
“Then don’t.”
Itadori gives him a look that’s something between a pout and a scowl.
“Really, it’s okay,” Megumi says. “I’m late for work, and this was supposed to be just a quick in-and-out kind of thing. I really should get going. I can have coffee at the office.”
At that, Itadori’s face falls, and there’s a flash of what appears to be panic across his face. “Am I making this worse for you by holding you up? I’m so sorry.”
Megumi offers him a small smile and shakes his head. “You need to stop apologizing so much. It’s okay.”
At that Itadori laughs sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “Sor—Okay, yeah… You’re right.”
The exchange makes Megumi laugh a little, and with a nod, he starts to turn back to the door. Unsure of what else to say, he decides to just let the conversation end there and begins to walk away.
“Oh, wait!” Itadori has to jog in order to catch up, but when he does, he places a gentle hand on Megumi’s shoulder. “I, uh, I still feel bad about the…” He gestures vaguely to Megumi’s sleeve. “… You know.”
A bit taken aback, Megumi looks down at it and shrugs. “It’s just coffee.”
“Okay, but if I can’t pay for a new drink, then I feel like I should make it up to you somehow.”
“You don’t have to do that, Itadori.”
“No, but I want to.”
Reaching back into his pocket, Megumi is about to tell Itadori not to pay him, when instead, he pulls out his phone. “What if you gave me your number, and I can either pay you for the cleaning, or I could buy you another coffee when you’re not running late for work, or… something…?”
With every word, his confidence starts to waver, but he keeps his phone out and his gaze locked onto Megumi’s.
And, oh.
Yeah.
Okay.
Megumi can already feel his face starting to heat up, and there’s no way he can blame that on the weather or the no-longer-hot coffee on his sleeve, so he simply swallows and nods.
Is he asking me out right now?
“Sure, okay," he manages.
Itadori smiles, and some of the tension starts to leave his shoulders as Megumi reaches forward and starts putting his number into his phone.
“I’m working a twenty-four-hour shift at the station, so… you might not hear from me for a bit,” Itadori admits. “I’ll probably crash until tomorrow evening once it’s over. I hope that’s not a problem.”
“Not at all,” Megumi replies. “I don’t work tomorrow, so how about you give me a call when you’re up, and we can talk about dinner… or something.”
He teasingly mocks Itadori’s tone on those last two words, letting his lips curl into a smirk when Itadori starts to blush.
“Dinner,” Itadori says.
“Is that a problem?”
Then he smiles. “Not at all. Dinner it is.”