Archive of Our Own

Todo’s still buzzing around the ring, practicing punches and dodges. He’s just finished beating the pulp out of Yuuji, but that’s not the real pain he’s carrying today. Yuuji sighs as he unwinds the tape from around his fists. 

“That wasn’t any tougher than usual,” Satoru teases as he flicks Yuuji’s ear. “Why the glum face?”

He rolls his restless shoulders. “It’s no big deal, just… Nobara told me last night that when the lease is up, she’s moving in with her girlfriend. I’m screwed.”

“Oh, that’s all?” Satoru’s smile is a little too wide for Yuuji’s liking, rivaling the Cheshire cat’s. “A family friend’s sorta in the same position. His sister’s moving out to get married.”

Yuuji narrows his eyes. “Are there roaches?”

“No.”

“Mice?”

“Nope.”

“How expensive?”

“Uh, cheap, but that’s because it’s kind of subsidized.” Satoru waves his hands as if to magically dispel the implication.

“Subsidized?”

“Oh, you know, Gojo Clan money!”

Yuuji’s stomach knots. “What’s wrong with him?”

“What?” Again, the magic is attempted, and again, his grin stretches ear to ear.  “He’s a perfect roommate. Quiet. Clean. Respectful. He’s got a little bit of a temper, but I’m starting to think that’s just with me.” Satoru chuckles.

None of this settles well. Yuuji is sure he is standing on some kind of precipice, but whether jumping it is going to mean certain death or an exhilarating new adventure is yet to be seen. He swallows, and takes a leap. “Okay. When can I move in?”

Fushiguro Megumi is, in every sense of the word, perfect.

Or maybe perfect is an understatement.

He dirties a dish? He cleans the whole damn sink.

He drops crumbs? He vacuums the entire room.

The clock hits ten? He is as silent as death behind a closed door.

And it’s not as if he’s a hermit either. Saturday nights have morphed into movie night, slowly working through Yuuji’s stack of B-movie horror DVDs without complaint. If their schedules align—which seems to be becoming less coincidental—one of them cooks dinner and the other does the dishes. It’s a… pleasant existence.

So pleasant, that something feels… off.

Yuuji sits across from him, and somehow can’t help stealing glances at the other man as he eats. From what he sees, Megumi savors every bite, rarely shoveling. Not only that, but he emotes with every taste, though it’s brief and hard to catch unless you’re actually looking for it. And Yuuji finds himself looking for it. He’s looking a lot, and it’s hard to suss out why.

I live with the guy, who else’s face am I looking at?

That seems a logical explanation, but it doesn’t match the way the joy on his face seems to bring the same to him. A swell of pride in his cooking, yes, but then…

“You’re staring.”

Yuuji’s soul separates from his body. Heat flushes his cheeks. “Sorry! I, uh, just, want to know if you like the food.”

“You’re a good cook,” Megumi answers succinctly.

“Did you, um…” He’s grasping at straws, since the addition of talking over dinner feels nice, or whatever that feeling is. “You ate like this with your sister? She lived with you before, right?”

Megumi swallows hard, and regret starts to bubble in Yuuji’s belly. Still, Megumi’s mouth opens again, a soft whisper leaking out. “Sometimes. Tsumiki had a life. I didn’t want to get in the way of that.”

“Oh…” Something in Yuuji becomes unsettled. There’s empathy, yes, but it’s a nebulous feeling. “I kinda get that. It sorta feels that way with my older brother. He has a lot on his plate, and I just don’t know where I fit sometimes.”

“Did you live with him?”

“No,” Yuuji answers quickly. “We weren’t raised together, so… but you and your sister?”

“For a while, we were all we had.” Megumi leans on his elbow, cheek resting on his palm. “My dad left and Gojo Satoru gave us this place, but…” He sighs. “We were young.”

Without thought, the words slip off Yuuji’s tongue: “You really are perfect.”

It’s as if he’s hit Megumi in the face, since not only does his face redden, but his head jolts, eyes widening as he stares at Yuuji. “I-I’m not.”

“But–” Yuuji tries to squash the flow before it even starts, but just looking at that face and the denial has him spewing. “You took care of each other! I always had some kind of parent-ish person to track me, but the two of you only had each other, and you still turned out perfect. I mean, you work hard. You’re always on top of stuff around the apartment. You are just…”

“Don’t say it again, please,” Megumi begs. His eyes are glossy and his one hand is clenched into the side of the table. “I… I’m just… being responsible. I’ve always had to be responsible.”

Yuuji swallows that bitter pill, trying to figure out the disconnect. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t…” The other man sighs, settling his face against his hand. “Guess it’s… nice to think that someone sees it that way.”

Yuuji’s heart tumbles into his gut. It’s such a new feeling that he makes him slap his hand to his chest, checking the seam of his middle to make sure nothing has fallen out. Megumi watches the motion, eyebrows furrowing but cheeks pinking. “Ah, well, yeah, I–” Yuuji’s got nothing. His heart’s thumping. Now he’s too aware that Megumi is watching him and it feels…

“Itadori.”

That causes another kind of tremor and Yuuji lets out a shaking exhale in an attempt to quell it. They’ve locked eyes, and really, that’s making it worse. “I guess I just want you to know I…” Why does it feel like I’m gasping for air? “I like that about you.”

Megumi freezes in place, a rabbit in the headlights about to be struck.

“And I”—fear catapults the words off his tongue—“I might get some things wrong about you, and I want you to correct them. I think I’d rather know who you really are than just making something up in my head.”

A choking sound, not quite a laugh and not quite a whimper exits Megumi’s mouth. He tries to catch it with his hand, setting his lips in his palm and his eyes to some far off spot.

“And maybe you could do the same with me,” Yuuji offers, his hands shaking. “And maybe I can learn when to shut my mouth.” He ends with a bitter laugh, but it’s followed by one that rings true from Megumi. It’s a real laugh, something that Yuuji realizes he has yet to hear.

“No, it’s… something I like about you, too.”

Oh. A jumbled mess of twine cramps below Yuuji’s stomach. It’s twisting, twirling, and he’s sure he’ll never get a moment of rest from it, especially as Megumi smiles.

Four months into their harmony, Okkotsu Yuuta appears.

Yuuji’s ready for movie night when the front door opens. It’s Megumi, as he expects, but the secondary character makes him do a double-take. “Hey,” Megumi grumbles. “This is Okkotsu Yuuta.”

Yuuta’s tall and thin—a string bean, really—with tired eyes and straight, black hair that tickles down his neck. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m gonna miss the movie tonight,” Megumi adds before he nudges Yuuta towards the door of his room.

“Ah, okay.” But it’s not. Something is draining from Yuuji. It’s like going over the hump in a roller coaster, but it’s not fed by the joy of the ride but the utter fear of falling.

When the door to Megumi’s room claps shut, Yuuji’s instantly on his feet. He can’t stop his quick steps. Pinching his leg is the only thing that stops him from taking the final leap and putting his ear against the door.

What are they doing?

Yuuji teeters on his feet and pinches again.

Think, Yuuji. Why do you bring someone back to your apartment?

There’s that feeling in his gut again. The threat of spiraling into an endless abyss.

Why do you bring someone back to your apartment and shut the door?

And for a terrifying moment, his mind creates a different kind of movie: Okkotsu kissing Megumi. Okkotsu with his hand running down Megumi’s chest until–

Revulsion turns Yuuji’s lips into a terrible sneer as he forces himself away from the door. For an absolutely irrational second, he wants to bust through the door and catch them. As if it’s some terrible act that goes against everything right in the world. Instead, he takes a deep breath, and he tamps it down, not realizing he’s feeding a beast that will refuse to die.

“Yuuji, that was incredibly reckless,” Choso hisses as he tries to concentrate on getting the butterfly bandages just right. Yuuji’s eyebrow is split, and the blood and squirming is not making it easy for his older brother.

“Sorry,” Yuuji mutters, but it’s laced with something else entirely.

“You’re not.” Choso allows the admonishment to sit in silence as he finishes cleaning and dressing the wound. He removes his sterile gloves, shooting them into the trashcan. “And something is going on.”

“No.” Yuuji punctuates this with the drop of his head, the defeat sitting heavily on his shoulders.

“Even Todo commented, and he rarely has much to say beyond the ring.” He waits, giving space, but it remains unfilled. Sighing, he turns. “I’m going to wash my hands, and when I come back, I’d like to take a walk with you.”

Yuuji grimaces and watches Choso’s back as he leaves. It’s not that he doesn’t trust his brother—I mean, yeah, they only met later in life, and technically they’re only half brothers, but… He blows air between his lips, the ridiculousness of the sound doing nothing to lift his heart.

Hell, even if he put on a clown nose and danced a jig, he’d probably still feel like his chest was empty and badly sutured. He’s drowning in that when Choso returns and takes him by the elbow. The outside air is a relief in comparison to the hot training gym. The streets aren’t exactly empty, but a Thursday night at dinner time is usually just reserved for people trying to get home, trying not to notice two men deep in conversation.

“Something is going on,” Choso repeats.

Yuuji’s staring at his sneakers, trying to avoid the pits and peaks in the sidewalk. “I don’t know.”

Choso clears his messy black hair back into a ponytail, letting the cooler night air relieve some of the sweat on his neck. “Then explain to me what you do know.”

“My roommate…”

“I thought you were getting along?”

A twinge of something stirs below his gut. Yuuji can’t grasp it, and it’s gone as soon as he starts the next melancholy spout. “Well, yeah, but he’s been bringing this guy over for the past month.”

“Oh.” Choso slows a little, adapting to the amble necessary to unpack this new bit of information. “A friend?”

“I–” Yuuji snaps his teeth over it. I don’t think so. I think they’re close. I think they’re so close that they go behind a door every time they come here and… I know they’re whispering, but it’s probably– I know they’re–

“Romantic?”

His shrug is pathetic, closer to just a tremble of his shoulders.

“And it bothers you?” Choso nudges Yuuji with his elbow. “I can’t imagine he’s stopped being nice, polite, friendly just because he’s gotten a boyfriend.”

“Don’t–” say that word is what wants to come from his mouth. It tastes like bile on his tongue. Boyfriend. I don’t want Megumi to have a boyfriend. I don’t want it said that way, out loud, because that means it could be true.

“Yuuji?”

He realizes his eyes hurt, and it’s not just because of the blow over his brow. It’s that saltwater build-up under his lids.

Immediately, Choso is pushing him into a cramped side street, the most privacy they’re going to get. He clamps both hands on Yuuji’s shoulders and gives him a gentle shake. “This isn’t like you.”

“It’s not,” Yuuji admits, and the flood gates start to break. “It’s not like I’ve had a problem with it before. I mean, there’s plenty of couples in our gym, and even Gojo-sensei has a boyfriend, and I don’t–” He lets out a keen groan, frustration tempered by the final depressive release. “I don’t hate them the way I hate Okkotsu. I hate seeing his stupid face, and I hate the way Megumi just shuts the door and…” He’s nothing more than a petulant child throwing a tantrum, and there’s nothing more that he can do but hates himself for it.

Choso is quiet for a moment, letting Yuuji’s lingering sniffles and sobs be the only sounds. He digs in his pocket and offers a bit of gauze he has just in case. Yuuji uses it as a makeshift tissue before raising his bleary eyes. “Can I ask you something?”

Yuuji nods.

“Does Megumi disgust you?”

Even in his current state, Yuuji is able to roll his eyes. “Of course not. He’s sorta perfect.”

“It’s just Okkotsu,” Choso prompts.

“Yeah.”

Choso hums thoughtfully. “Yuuji, we’ve never really talked about you and romantic relationships.”

Yuuji laughs weakly. “I do not need the birds and the bees conversation from you right now.” 

“Well, maybe something adjacent to that…” Choso takes a step back, leaning against the opposing brick wall. “You’ve had one or two girlfriends.”

“Two,” Yuuji corrects but tries not to sound defensive. He knows the number sounds low enough on its own, especially for a man in his mid-twenties.

“But they didn’t really last long.” Choso raises his eyebrows as if he’s made some kind of point.

“You’re making me sound like a loser,” Yuuji grumbles.

“Not my intention,” he corrects. “It’s more… I’m not trying to pry, but have you thought about why they didn’t work?”

Yuuji shrugs. “They both thought I was too busy for them. One said ‘aloof’ but… I mean, I took them on dates. I bought them flowers. I, you know, spent time with them when I could.”

Choso inhales deeply. “Did you enjoy any of it? Or were you doing that just because you knew it was what was expected of you?”

That’s an arrow through Yuuji’s chest. If he still had a heart, it would have been punctured, but right now he was sure that it was already ash in his stomach because of the past few weeks of Okkotsu visits. “I-I don’t get what you mean.”

“You dated them to date,” Choso says with cold succinctness. “There wasn’t anything you found particularly irreplaceable about them.”

Yuuji still feels like he’s staring at puzzle pieces that are all sky blue with no clear pattern in sight. “I mean, I guess.”

“But this roommate situation… before Okkotsu came along, you were spending a lot of time together.”

A puff of air leaps from Yuuji’s throat, a pathetic imitation of a laugh. “Well, we live together, so yeah.”

“And you were enjoying it?”

“Like I said, he’s perfect. He’s just cool and nice and–” Yuuji clamps his mouth shut.

“Are you hearing it now?” Choso pushes softly.

“Hearing what?” Yuuji snaps.

“Your feelings.” Choso’s gentle, so damn gentle, as he reaches across the divide to grip Yuuji’s shoulder. “I don’t think it’s that you hate the idea of the relationship, just that the relationship’s not with you. It’s jealousy, Yuuji.”

And there it was, the name for the beast that was sitting in his belly, wailing and gnashing teeth every time that door shut between them. “I’m not…” Yuuji looks at his hands as if there’s an explanation there. Do I like Megumi… that way?

“Yuuji?”

“Oh,” he groans and slides a little lower on the wall. “I-I really don’t know, Cho.”

“That’s okay.” Choso moves his hand to Yuuji’s hair, sending a few strands astray. “Anything and everything is okay. I just want you to think about it instead of ignoring it. I think you’ve just been ignoring it, and it’s making you miserable.”

“But, Cho, what do I do?” Yuuji doesn’t bother to fix the way the sweat had matted his hair in an awkward fluff.

Choso shrugs. “Talking always seems like a good route.”

That leaves Yuuji erupting in a forlorn sigh. “That’s impossible. ‘I don’t like your boyfriend because I’m’–” Yuuji can’t even finish the sentence.

His brother laughs. “And I thought I was hopeless.” He lets go, taking a few steps out of the little alcove they’ve been standing in. “We can brainstorm some stuff while we finish the walk, but, really, Yuuji, maybe it’s just about looking at it with new eyes. I think you have a better grip on it now, so just try again.”

Yuuji finds it easy to avoid Megumi Thursday night, but Friday comes and no matter the sweating and panic, he sits dutifully on the couch. Megumi should be home from work any minute, but the norm has become Okkotsu walking through the door with him. This time, much to the flutter of the multiple butterflies in Yuuji’s stomach, he is alone and looking relatively unburdened.

That is, until he sets his sights on Yuuji. “What the hell happened to your face?” And just like that Megumi’s crossing the threshold, getting right in Yuuji’s face to examine the split.

“O-oh” is the only sound he can manage to form as Megumi’s fingers gingerly run along his hairline. With eyes wide open, in this close proximity, Yuuji takes a moment to study him under the guise of this brief medical examination.

Megumi has beautiful eyelashes.

And I don’t know how to describe it, but a delicate neck?

Thin lips that look good in a smile or a frown, or even crinkled in thought while he stares at me like I’ve been missing on another planet.

“Do you have a concussion? I’ve been asking you questions and–”

“No,” Yuuji cuts him off quickly. “I’m just sorta… thinking about stuff.”

“Oh.” Megumi drops his bag to the floor and withers in the same motion, planting hard on the couch. “Uh, is it– can I help, or…?” To Yuuji’s surprise, the lightness in his voice disappears, and his fists tighten. “If someone did this to you–”

“Oh, it’s not like that!” Yuuji raises innocent hands. “It was at boxing practice. I just took too much of a chance and it bit me in the ass.” 

A grimace still sat on Megumi’s lips. “Then what’s with the spacing?” Yuuji tries to offer just a shrug but Megumi sighs. “You’ve been weird for over a month now. I know I’ve been busy lately, but I still notice.”

“I guess I, um…” Yuuji pauses for a deep breath. “I do miss us hanging out.” Each word shrunk to the point that Megumi leans with each syllable.

His furrowed brow is practically in Yuuji’s face when he asks, “Like the movie night?”

“Y-yeah.”

Megumi laughs softly. “I guess I just thought… I sort of thought I was intruding, so when Yuuta asked me to help with the surprise I said Fridays were good.”

“S-suprise?” Yuuji latches onto the word like a lifeboat.

He rolls his eyes. “Grand romantic gestures. Yuuta’s going to propose to my cousin, Maki. He wants me to do the pictures, but he’s been dragging me through all the prep work too. I know her almost as well as he does, so…”

Maki. Yes, she’d come to the apartment a few times, and Yuuji had struck up a few conversations.

“I think he’s just nervous.” Megumi sounds like he’s apologizing but Yuuji’s heart is soaring. “For some reason, it’s like he thinks she won’t say yes unless it’s perfect. She’s been with him for six years…”

“So you went in your room…” Yuuji can’t stop from wondering out loud.

“To be polite?” Megumi offers with eyebrows raised. “Did you think I was avoiding you?”

Yuuji lets out a breathy laugh. “Sort of.” I thought you were out of my reach. 

“No, that wasn’t it.”

The strength of his baritone buzz hits Yuuji in the gut, stirring warmth that he wasn’t expecting. The heat trickles upwards, staining his neck, his cheeks, and probably his ears. Instead of panic, the lightness hits him. Airy and freeing are the first things that come to mind. “It’s not intruding. At all.”

Megumi’s eyebrows struggle against something, and the corner of his mouth twitches. “Okay.”

Yuuji takes a deep breath, putting on a smile that no longer feels weighed to hell. “So will you watch a movie with me tonight?”

“Yeah.” Megumi still looks like he’s pondering it for a minute. “Wanna get takeout?”

“Yeah!”

Whatever smile Yuuji manages, Megumi instantly outshines it. It’s gorgeous, making Yuuji ignore all the stupid questions. That grin seals itself into Yuuji’s very soul.

Yuuji slips next to Satoru, who is intently watching Suguru as he spars against Choso. “Gojo-sensei…”

“Oh, sensei,” he says as a pleased chuckle rumbles in his chest. “This should be good.”

“You must know Fushiguro pretty well…” Yuuji picks at his knuckle wrappings.

“He may as well be family…” Satoru mimics the same nervous flutter that Yuuji is struggling to speak through.

Yuuji hones in on the strands of the ropes. “Has he, well, do you know if he’s ever…” He withers just as the words do on his tongue. It’s not fair. I should be talking to Megumi, right? Cho said to talk, and I don’t think he meant collecting rumors. Yuuji sighs. “Forget it.”

“Okay!” Satoru chimes as he goes back to leaning on the ropes, head cocked playfully to the side. “Oy, Suguru, hurry up. Watching you is making me–”

“Shut up!” Suguru snaps over the rest. “Go find something else to do!”

“But I wanna do–”

“Satoru!”

Satoru sighs. “I’m bored… Yuuji, just spit out your question. Give me something else to think about.”

Yuuji bristles, his stomach still knotting with the push and pull of the potential knowledge. “I’m not trying to pry, but…” He bolsters himself with a breath. “Has he ever, uh, had some kind of relationship?”

Satoru taps his chin. “Plenty of platonic. His relationship with his sister’s good.”

“B-but, like, a girlfriend or even maybe a boyfriend?” Yuuji’s voice shrinks with each word, ending in a mere whisper that almost gets lost in the sounds of Choso’s fists.

The older man hums thoughtfully, the finger still tapping his chin as he uses his other hand to reach into his pocket. His cellphone is against his ear in a second and Yuuji can hear the ringing. “Oy, Gumi-chan,” Satoru coos into the phone.

Yuuji freezes.

“Are you still in the office?” Satoru takes his finger from his chin and plants the hand on Yuuji’s head. “I forgot something. Mind bringing the folder from my desk over to the boxing club?”

A tinny, rough racket comes through the other end of the phone.

“C’mon, Gumi-chan. You can drop it off here, and Yuuji can drive you home! It’s a win-win.”

There’s a pause, and Yuuji’s heart claws up into his throat.

“Aw, he hung up,” Satoru gripes as he lowers his phone.

Yuuji uses the last of his breath to shoot out the weak question: “Why would you do that?”

“An experiment.” Satoru pockets his phone and lets go of Yuuji’s mop of hair. “Hey, Cho!”

“Busy,” Choso grunts as he dodges one of Suguru’s hits.

“Too busy to help your baby brother?”

Choso and Suguru stop their vicious dance, both sweating and panting. “What are you talking about?”

“See, your brother does love you,” Satoru says to Yuuji before motioning the two other men closer. “Gumi-chan is on his way here from the office–”

“He said yes?” Yuuji squeaks.

“He didn’t say no,” he corrects. “Cho, you’re staying in the ring, but you’re going to make sure Yuuji’s shirtless, sweaty, and glistening. Suguru, you’re going to work your magic down here with me.”

Suguru pinches the bridge of his nose. “And what exactly is my magic?”

Satoru reaches desperately grabby hands for him. “You’re too cute to be up there. You’ll distract him. Need you down here.” Suguru seems to comply, but instead of hopping into Satoru’s waiting arms, he waltzes towards the door, dabbing at the sweat on his brow. 

“I’ll keep watch,” Suguru sings as he leaves them.

Choso leans through the ropes towards Yuuji. “Who’s Gumi-chan?”

“H-he’s talking about Fushiguro,” Yuuji mutters, unable to meet his brother’s gaze.

He looks between Yuuji and Satoru before settling on the white-haired menace. “Are you sure Yuuji’s comfortable with this?”

“He wants to know if Gumi-chan’s into him,” Satoru says as he waves a hand over Yuuji’s entirety.

“That’s not what I said!” Yuuji yelps. “I-I only asked– I just wanted to know–”

Choso puts his hands on his hips, glaring at Satoru. “This sounds like you’re just torturing him. I won’t agree unless Yuuji’s totally comfortable.”

“Totally comfortable is never going to happen,” Satoru replies before grabbing Yuuji by the neck. “You need to decide how badly you wanna know. Gumi-chan has the nonchalant act down pat, but if you’re looking your best in the ring, we can break him.”

“Um…” Yuuji looks between Satoru and Choso. Care reflects on their faces in different ways, but at the core he sees the same thing. They want what’s best, but I don’t even think I know what’s best for me, just that I… I do feel more for Megumi than just roommates, friends, whatever. He straightens his shoulders. “Cho, fight me, please.”

Choso sighs. “The second you’re uncomfortable–”

“I’m not,” Yuuji reassures him as he slips into the ring. “I-I know what I’m doing now, I think.” They glove up, mouth guards in. This is nothing less than natural to them, a dance they’ve done for the past five years since they were reunited. Yuuji always adores how Choso doesn’t take it easy on him, pushing him towards limits. This is one of those moments, and Yuuji is instantly in a sweat, muscles burning.

“Is he taking the bus?” Suguru calls from the glass. “Because I can see it down the end of the street.”

“He’d have to have gotten on the first one after the call,” Satoru answers.

“Well, looks like he did want to come.” Suguru opens the door, letting a pleasant breeze into the ring. “Fushiguro, over here!”

“I know where I’m going!” He can hear Megumi shout, but he’s trying not to pay attention.

Actually, Yuuji shouldn’t be paying attention to anything other than Choso’s fists. They’re flying and he’s forced to speed up, his breath edging towards ragged.

“Where’s Satoru?” Megumi’s grumble fills the room as the door closes.

“Over here, Gumi-chan,” Satoru sings from the edge of the ring.

“Call me that again, and I’ll kill you.” 

“And, see, Yuuji, as promised.”

Yuuji knows he’s on display and it’s not entirely an unfamiliar feeling. There’s been times when Yuuji knows he’s being looked at. Clubs. Bars. Parties. This serves as an exception because this is the first time he’s wanted it. Deeply, truly wanted eyes on him. Wanted to be under the microscope of someone’s gaze to the point where they couldn’t take their eyes off him. It’s disorientingly strange: someplace in a triangle between the points of lust, insecurity, and wonder.

The issue now is the silence. It’s just him and Choso. Breathing, grunting, the slaps of gloves and skin. Each minute echo is amplified in his mind. Besides the threats in Satoru’s direction, Megumi has said nothing. Possibly even done nothing. As far as Yuuji can catch in his periphery, the mop of black hair stands framed between the ropes of the ring. Where his eyes are is a mystery. Where his heart is an endless mystery.

The bell rings and Choso slows to a stop. “Good job, brother.”

Yuuji pants and stretches tall as he wipes the sweat from his brow. Is he looking? he manages to mouth to Choso.

The only thing Choso does in reply is chuckle and start towards the spot where the two men stand. “So, you’re the roommate.”

“F-Fushiguro Megumi.” The reply seems kind of breathless, but maybe that’s only Yuuji’s hope twisting his ear.

“Kamo Choso,” he replies. “Yuuji’s older brother. Sorry I haven’t introduced myself sooner. It’s a shame that I’m not even allowed to come over when you’ve lived together for six months.” Choso’s lament borders on bombastic, making a good act at grabbing Yuuji’s arm to drag him into the conversation.

Yuuji takes his own part in the play as he rolls his eyes. “It’s because you’ll stress about every last thing in the apartment. You’ll bring us three months worth of groceries and then you’ll order us a new couch or something.”

“Do you need a new couch?” The facade slips as Choso’s brows raise. “I can–”

“Cho!” Yuuji complains. “We’re fine, right, Fushiguro?” The setup finally leads his hopeful gaze to Megumi. Electricity lights his gut as he catches those green eyes taking him in. 

As soon as he’s been spotted, Megumi finds a convenient spot on the mat to examine. “Fine.”

“See?” Yuuji offers, and maybe the sweat and heat isn’t all about exertion anymore. I think he was looking. Maybe I’m being too hopeful, but…

Megumi clears his throat. “I, uh, gave Satoru whatever the hell he needed. I can take the bus or…”

“Stay!” Yuuji blurts, a nervous twitter of a laugh ruining any coolness he could hope to infuse. “I’ll, um, drive you home.”

Everything seems to pause because Megumi is, well, studying him. Eyebrows furrowed, lips tighter than usual, with a crease started in his forehead. “I’ll wait.” 

There’s fifty-thousand other layers to that—Yuuji hears it—but between Choso’s and Satoru’s perked ears, Yuuji lets it lie. “Okay, sure. I’ll, uh, be fifteen minutes.” 

“I’ll keep Gumi-chan company,” Satoru chimes.

“Over my dead body,” Megumi growls as he smashes a hand into Satoru’s approaching face.

“I’ll watch them,” Suguru intercedes with a sigh. He is grabbing both parties by their respective collars before leading them away from the ring.

Megumi still gives Yuuji one last glance, making his heart stumble and restart.

“Yuuji…” Choso jump-starts his heart and he reels towards his brother. “About Fushiguro…”

Yuuji steels himself for the break in his hope.

Choso opens his mouth, snaps it shut, and opens again. He battles the words before they read his tongue. Finally, he releases the question: “Do I have to give you the birds and the bees talk?”

“Cho!” Yuuji yelps as he slaps a hand over his brother’s mouth. Choso’s cackling underneath and Yuuji feels his face grow the same shade as a carnation. He pushes him back beyond the ring and back towards the locker room. His hand plants against those lips firmly until they are within the sanctuary of the lines of lockers. “Be serious!”

“I am,” Choso says as he reins in his laughter. “Obliviousness to flirtation really must be genetic. We’ll have to get Yuki and Fushiguro together and–”

“Stop teasing,” Yuuji pleads.

“I’m not,” Choso presses back as he grabs Yuuji’s shoulders. “Take a shower. Change into some fresh clothes. Take him somewhere on the way home, even if it’s just a coffee. Give him more time away from the usual way he sees you.”

The flutters start, jutting from his stomach to his heart and back again. He runs a knuckle along his sternum as he tries to take a deep breath. “So, um, like offering dinner on the way home? That sounds natural?”

Choso tries to suppress another chuckle. “You’ve asked someone to dinner, Yuuji.”

“But this is…” So different. Not because he’s a guy, but because… I want it bad enough that I could scream it. That I might scream it instead of using that friendly, bubbly exterior.

“Your intensity works to your advantage,” Choso coaches. “If it’s important to you, show him. I don’t think that will drive him away. He doesn’t seem the type.”

Show him. Yuuji nods. “Can you keep him company while I get ready?”

“That depends…” Choso grins. “How many embarrassing stories am I allowed to tell him?”

Yuuji gives him a playful shove before heading for the showers. Just in case, he still calls over his shoulder: “None!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Yuuji can see Megumi drumming his fingers on his knees. Nervous energy just seems to tingle in the compressed air of the cab. He’s starting to worry that he won’t even get the words out of his mouth when Megumi opens his: “Are you hungry?”

“Um, yeah.” Yuuji is still glancing out of the corner of his eye and finds Megumi’s hands planted, terrorizing the fabric of his jeans.

“Let’s go out.”

The wording makes Yuuji flush, but he still manages a firm answer. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Megumi’s fingers relax but there’s silence again.

Yuuji waits until he’s through two lights when he asks, “Any idea where?”

“Oh…” He sighs. “We’re near that noodle spot you like, right?”

“Yeah, but…” Yuuji nibbles on his lip. “I guess I’d like to know what you like. What you want.”

Another two lights and Megumi clears his throat. “I like ginger.”

Yuuji breaks into laughter as that terrible pressure starts to dissipate. “Fushiguro!” he scolds.

Megumi cracks a smile, showing him one of the lopsided ends. “I’m just sorta not hard to please.” He raises his eyebrows after it leaves his lips, cracking his smile. “So, um, the noodle place meets those standards.”

“Just no red peppers,” Yuuji adds. He’s playing a dangerous game, but he risks another look at Megumi when he says it.

Megumi’s brow wrinkles. “How do you know that?”

“I saw you push them around your plate that night I made fajitas.” Yuuji tenses his hands on the steering wheel, anxiety bubbling in his gut. “I noticed, so I always left it out. Next time you ate it all.”

He looks down at his hands. “You noticed.”

“I mean, you weren’t rude about it or anything,” Yuuji corrects quickly.

“No, just… thanks.” Megumi winces, making Yuuji’s brow wrinkle. 

He doesn’t have time to address it as it’s his final turn. There’s a prime spot in the parking lot, just another bit of luck that’s starting to make Yuuji’s heart thump. When they get out of the car, Megumi walks shoulder to shoulder with him as they make their way to the entry. Yuuji stretches his stride so he can get ahead, opening the door for Megumi and following behind.

He’s got nice proportions? Yuuji almost laughs at himself.

His shoulders aren’t too wide—they fit how lean he is.

His hair’s getting a little long—would it go tame if he let it go longer?

“Two please,” Megumi breaks his thoughts with his pleasant baritone.

His voice, too, I love—like his voice.

They sit and Yuuji doesn’t even bother to open the menu. It gives him an excuse to watch Megumi peruse, eyes flicking over the lines as if he’s categorizing each dish. Another list starts in his head.

I’ve never seen the same green eyes on anyone else. They’re perfect for him.

He clenches his jaw a little too much—I wonder if it hurts him.

His hands are—Yuuji hits the brakes. The rest of the list was already starting a storm in his chest, but the idea of those hands on him, well, there was no end to the churning, and it certainly isn’t in the upward direction. He sighs.

“What?” Megumi doesn't even bother looking up from the menu.

Just thinking about your hands on my body! Yuuji can almost groan at the idiocy. Instead, he clears his throat and tries to keep Choso in mind. Let him see something out of the ordinary, or at least remind him of that. “Choso just beat the shit out of me tonight.”

There's an almost imperceptible wrinkle in Megumi's forehead as he starts looking too hard at the menu. “For some reason, when you said you did boxing every Thursday I didn’t imagine it like that.”

“Yeah, right now it’s mostly sparring.” Yuuji busies his fingers with the edge of the menu. “I started out five years ago when Choso brought me in as a sorta bonding thing.”

“You fight with anyone else?”

“Sure. Gojo-sensei, Geto-sensei, Todo…”

The waitress wanders over and drinks and food orders fly succinctly from both of their mouths. Yuuji's about to search for another start when Megumi starts again. “Never heard of Todo.”

“Todo Aoi. Man, you should see him! An absolute brick wall!” Yuuji flexes a little and it seems to derail Megumi, but the frown catches up with him.

“Are you… close?”

Yuuji pauses, genuinely pondering it. As he rests his cheek against his palm, he hums out thoughtfully. “I guess? We don’t really hang out outside of the gym, but he’s a cool guy. He can be a bit… intense, but overall he means well. Truthfully, he’s fun to fight, which is kinda hard to find.”

It’s not that he seems pleased, but at the very least Megumi looks less irritated. “Your brother seems nice.”

“Also intense,” Yuuji adds with a short laugh. “Just, well, it’s always like he’s trying to make up for lost time. He’s been that way since my grandpa died. He thinks he has to take care of me and kind of forgets I’m not a little kid. Sorta like your sister.”

Megumi snorts a laugh. “Guess so.”

He bolsters himself with a deep breath. “If you want to come back and watch again, or even box—it’s good exercise! And after we could hang out like this, and…”

“It’s, well,” Megumi starts and suddenly finds a very interesting spot on the table cloth. “I feel like I’m intruding again. It’s something you have with your brother. With Sa– Gojo, Geto, and Todo.” His fingers attack that spot, worrying into the white.

“I guess you need to hear this.” Yuuji slaps his hand over Megumi’s, trapping the anxiety underneath. “You’re important, and I, well, if I’m asking or saying or inviting, I want you to take it seriously.” Intensity is there, but, c’mon, Yuuji. “I like being with you.”

Muscles freeze, inhales cease. Megumi stares at him, and there’s a dusting of color on his cheeks. 

Okay, maybe too intense! ‘Being with you’!! Yuuji! What about ‘spending time’ or ‘hanging out’ or–

“I–” He croaks and his fingers sort of dance under Yuuji’s. It’s not like they’re working to be free, but more bucking at the intimacy. “I’ll come next week.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a precipice they’re sitting on now, and Yuuji is in desperate need of guidance. His hand still sits there on top of Megumi’s, and the time to take it off after a friendly bit of prodding has definitely passed. Even worse, Megumi can’t take his eyes off the connection. There’s no grimace, no frown, no anything, just a flat, analyzing gaze.

“Why do you call him Gojo-sensei?” Once the question is out of his mouth, Megumi is staring at Yuuji, hand seemingly forgotten.

Yuuji snaps out of his panic for a whole new one. Changing the subject without addressing the hand was… was… Like a date. Holding hands at dinner is like a date. He’s almost afraid if he opens his mouth, he’ll scream. Still, his lips move enough to release the truth: “He’s a teacher there, so…”

“He’s a pain in the ass,” Megumi grumbles.

Yuuji grins. “Gumi–”

“Don’t even repeat it,” he snaps.

The cascade of laughter should be politely covered by a hand, but Yuuji’s instinct to pull his dominant one is squashed instantly. I want to hold Megumi’s hand. “At least he thinks you’re close.”

“We–” Megumi huffs. “We are. He just pisses me off.” His fingers tense, and Yuuji’s sure he’s going to pull away, but it’s just that little dance again, as if he needs to tap it out into the tablecloth first. “He took my sister and me in after my dad ditched us. They sort of… worked together.”

“Is that why the apartment…?”

“Yeah. And the job. Working with Satoru is all nepotism,” Megumi answers with a sigh.

“You work hard,” Yuuji presses. “I don’t think he’d keep you on if you couldn’t do the job.”

His shoulders deflate, but for a moment, the weakest of smiles spreads across his lips. “At least you see it.” Yuuji expects some bitterness, but something about his timbre is nothing but sweet, as if it should be at the end of their meal rather than the beginning. He wants to hold onto it, to hear whatever just took over Megumi’s voice again, but it’s gone with the next sentence. “Besides the movies, boxing, and work, you stay at home.”

While the words are a statement, Yuuji can’t help but feel like it’s something he has to answer to. “I mean, you’re there, so…”

“You have that other friend, Kugisaki, right?”

Yuuji shrugs. “Well, yeah. We hang when we can. She’s got a steady girlfriend, so…”

“Oh.” Megumi’s lips press together. “I thought…”

Wheels start to turn, and Yuuji’s brow wrinkles. “Me and Nobara?” He shakes his head while he laughs. “Trust me, I’m not enough for her.” His heart skitters into his throat as Megumi meets his eyes. He’s staring again, thoughts clearing the slate of his face. “I mean, you’re the same way, right? You go to work, you come home, and we just hang out.” The warmth slips out of Yuuji’s hand as Megumi pulls his pair together. “I-I wasn’t–” Yuuji stammers.

“I like it too.” His voice is quiet, barely audible over the clink of dishes and the smattering of conversations.

“Fushiguro?”

“I said,” he tries again with extra air puffing his chest, “that I like spending time with you.”

His swallow clicks and clacks down his throat, as Yuuji’s mouth dries up. His hand is still across in the divide, and his instinct is to just grab. Any kind of hold on Megumi would be enough, especially after saying something like that. Instead, the food fills the space between them, the waitress breaking the moment with her perky “enjoy!” They eat in silence, and Yuuji feels something other than Megumi’s hand slip through his fingers.

When the doorbell rings, Yuuji perks up, quickly moving through the apartment to get to the door. He doesn’t bother looking through the peephole, just opening it to find the last face he would have imagined. Okkotsu Yuuta stands there, hands in his pockets. “Uh, hi,” Yuuji says. “Fushiguro’s–”

“Not home from work yet,” Yuuta finishes for him as he nods. “But may I come in?”

It’s only polite to move aside, so Yuuji does, letting him into the living room where they stand awkwardly. “If you wanna wait for him, feel free to use the couch, or…”

“Actually, I was hoping we could talk,” Yuuta says as he sits. “Do you have a minute?”

I do, but… Guilt prickles the back of Yuuji’s neck. It’s like I still don’t like you just because… because a part of me is still jealous. It’s like I can’t unimagine you two being together…

“If you are, it’s alright, I’ll just wait for Megumi.” Yuuta settles, bringing his bag into his lap and starting to fish through it.

“Sorry, yeah. I do have some time, it’s just…” Yuuji tries to wipe away the grime from his skin. “I don’t know what you’d have to talk to me about.”

“Clearing the air,” Yuuta answers quickly as he sets a notebook open on his lap. “Megumi wouldn’t give me the specifics, but I wanted to apologize for intruding. I have to admit I’ve been sort of single-minded lately with the engagement, and…” His sigh is larger than his body. “It’s this weekend, but I wanted to make sure I made things right with you before I get wrapped up in the aftermath.”

“Um, give me a minute?” Yuuji hightails it to the kitchen without a reply, instantly leaning into the cool of the fridge. It’s a nice wake up from this weird dream that’s happening. In case it’s the opposite, he grabs two beers, pops the tops, and heads back towards the living room. Yuuta is still sitting there, deep ocean eyes watching him expectantly. “Beer?”

“Sure,” Yuuta replies and holds out his hand.

They exchange and Yuuji sits on the floor, taking a long draft of his beer. After the amber liquid starts to stew in his gut, Yuuji leans on the coffee table. “It was sort of a misunderstanding.”

Yuuta takes a much more reserved sip. “I’m glad. I didn’t want to make trouble. If we were loud or obnoxious–”

“That’s not it,” Yuuji grumbles. “You’re fine. It’s actually… nice. Megumi sort of told me about it and the surprise sounds nice.” His face glows in reply, and Yuuji feels blinded by the sun. So that’s what real love looks like on someone.

“Thanks,” Yuuta replies and while he tries to reserve his smile, it won’t quit. “I really just– ha–” This time he does tip back the beer, popping his lip off the top. “It’s terrifying. I love her so much and just– things are about to change. I know I think they’re for the better, but I can’t always predict her wants and needs. What if what I’m suggesting is– ah, sorry!” Yuuta waves an innocent hand. “I’m so embarrassed. I shouldn’t even bring it up when I’m trying to just settle things with you.”

“Actually, can I ask you something?” Sweat prickles the small of his back.

“S-sure.”

“Were you and Maki– were you friends first?”

Yuuta’s shoulders unclench. “Yeah, for a while.”

His nail scrapes away at the label, shredding the paper like his nerves. “Then how did you… how did you tell her you wanted more?”

“Oh…” Yuuta lets out a bleak laugh. “I didn’t. She did.” He pauses to take a sip and then shrugs. “I… am not really the type who accepts love easily. I guess that’s why Megumi and I get along so well.”

Yuuji pauses his incessant tearing. “Y-you mean you’d say that Megumi wouldn’t be the type to make a first move or anything?”

“No,” Yuuta replies with a laugh. “I think he’d rather have his teeth pulled. He’s just… been alone a lot. Never put first, and always expected to be perfect when everyone else around him lets him down.” He sighs. “He’s gotten better, I think, since you moved in, but he’s still really closed off.”

Yuuji tilts back his beer, opening his throat, and wishes to drown. You can ask him. He seems to know Megumi pretty well, and he doesn’t seem to think he needs to be guarded with his answers around you. Just ask him. Ask him if he thinks Megumi would–

The door squeals open and Megumi’s voice filters through the house. “I’m home.”

“Welcome home,” Yuuta calls back and that makes Megumi’s footsteps slap a little quicker down the hall. 

The mop of black hair appears almost instantly in the doorway, looking between Yuuta and Yuuji. “Did I miss something?”

“No,” Yuuta replies happily. “Just waiting for you. Having a beer with Itadori.”

Megumi’s eyebrows furrow. “You two okay?”

“Fine,” Yuuji answers as he licks the hoppy liquid from his lips, eyes focused on his knees. “We were just talking, getting to know each other.” 

“Oh…” Megumi’s chin becomes a metronome, slowly clicking back and forth. “Yuuta, did you need something before tomorrow?” 

“Just a minute, and then I’ll let you have your time with Itadori.”

There’s something about the way Yuuta says that that makes Yuuji’s stomach crinkle. Our time. He puffs his cheeks and blows. It’s supposed to be just a passing glance, but when he looks at Megumi it’s a mirror. His color is high and his hands are clenched into fists at his sides. “C’mon then,” Megumi mutters before moving towards his room. He leaves the door open, but doesn’t stand in the threshold to wait.

Yuuta leans forward, but instead of standing, he’s almost face to face with Yuuji. “Take care of him, okay?”

“Uh…” Yuuji trembles over the vowel. “Y-yes. I will.”

He smiles again and it’s divine, true happiness. In a flash, Yuuta’s on his feet, striding towards Megumi’s room.

Once the door’s closed, Yuuji lets out the breath he’s been holding, pressing his palm into his sternum to try to still his heart. Take care of him. Oh, I wish I could.

Yuuji has his phone set on the counter, squinting at the recipe. The clock keeps mocking him, making him feel so far behind. He hasn’t even started the rice yet, and while all the prep work is done, the steaming–

“I’m home.”

He catches the groan between his teeth, making it just air. “In the kitchen,” Yuuji calls back. Hopefully his back is enough to hide the evidence, so he turns, arms spread across the counter.

Megumi hits the end of the galley kitchen and stares. “You okay?”

Thankfully, Yuuji knows he can barrel through the question. “How did it go? Did she say yes?”

“Of course she did,” Megumi replied with audible exasperation. “And now I have eighty pictures to edit.”

“Not tonight,” Yuuji instantly interjects.

“I mean, I don’t have to, but…” Megumi’s eyebrows wrinkle. “What are you up to?”

“Just, you had a long, hard day, so I thought I’d just help you relax.” Yuuji is about to shrug but stops himself for the sake of the guise. He doesn’t want Megumi to even get a glimpse of the counter. “So, um, why don’t you shower? By the time you’re done, dinner will be ready.”

He pauses, drumming his fingers against the doorframe. “Itadori…”

“What?” Yuuji tries to give a casual smile, but he knows his teeth are a little too tight.

Megumi presses his lips together for a moment, eyes trailing over Yuuji’s arms before coming back to gaze at his face. “Okay. I’m taking a shower.”

“Okay.” Yuuji goes back to the counter, but can’t stop his mouth. “Have fun!” Cringing is the minimum for that, and Yuuji adds a smack of his head to the kitchen cabinets. “God, you’re a moron,” he mutters to the mise en place. 

First, the rice cooker.

Then, the steamer.

Finally, the hot oil for drizzling.

By the time he hears the water shutting off, he’s setting it all on the table, infinitely happy that Megumi indulged in an extra long shower. He has just enough time to change his shirt—the sweat was abhorrent—before he meets Megumi in the middle.

“Smells good,” he instantly remarks, turning to lead the way into the table. “Wow.”

Yuuji stands next to him, hovering over the table. “So it’s steamed fish with ginger and this sort of oil drizzle thing. It’s supposed to be like a standard for ginger? I just found it while I was looking online for ideas, and–” He cuts himself off as Megumi just stares, eyes wide. “S-sorry, I’m blabbing. Just eat. I hope it’s good.”

“Sit then.” Megumi motions across from him.

“Oh, yeah…” Yuuji slides into his chair, and while he starts serving himself, he’s not paying enough attention to this plate. He’s trapped watching Megumi, waiting for whatever micro-expression he can feed off of. The first bite gives him his evidence. 

The other man’s eyebrows practically hit his hairline as he looks up from the dish to Yuuji. “This is great.”

“Ah, thanks,” Yuuji says with a long exhale of relief. His stomach unknots just enough to manage a few bites himself, verifying the truth in Megumi’s statement. Another bit of unwinding starts, especially as Megumi’s smile shines around his fork. He’s cradling his cheek as he chews, eyes trailing along the dish on his plate. “Are you, uh, happy they’re getting married?”

Megumi covers his mouth with the back of his hand, choking a little from a laugh. “Not sure my opinion matters.”

“Well, I’m asking,” Yuuji says.

“It’s about time,” he answers, for the first time toying with the food on his plate instead of eating. “It’s not like Maki’s been waiting but… I get how she feels. Neither of us have ever had a lot of stability, so having a constant is… nice, I guess.” Sighing, he drops his fork. “That doesn’t sound right, but I don’t know how else to say it.”

Yuuji’s grip on his fork is threatening to turn his knuckles white. “What’s your constant?”

“I don’t have one,” Megumi answers, but his hand slips over his mouth immediately after, as if he should have caught it before it escaped. “That’s not fair,” he continues, muffled. “Tsumiki, I guess. But even she’s… getting married. Finding her own constant. I’m… not good at that, I think.”

“Have you thought about finding, ah, a relationship, or…?” At this point, he can practically snap the IKEA cutlery in half, but he doesn’t want to give Megumi the distraction.

“I don’t know.” He runs his fingers through his hair, giving it a tug before letting it fall back askew. “I feel like my reaction to it is just… wrong. I look at someone like Yuuta and Maki and I feel like something in me is empty. I don’t think I’m ever going to be full, and I… This was all hard because I want to be happy for them, but I’m… not. I can’t stop thinking about how it’s another thing I don’t have.” A sudden, shockingly bitter laugh breaks his lips. “Sorry. This is not– this isn’t what you asked for.”

“Fushiguro, I think I get what you’re saying.” Yuuji latches desperately, and Megumi’s eyebrows flick upward for only a second before they lock eyes. A mask is trying to fall over that face, and Yuuji has to push it back. Has to say the right thing or it’ll be gone again, just like his hand. “And I don’t think it’s wrong. I think it’s just, ah–” Yuuji catches his breath, Megumi still watching him. Intensity. Honesty. Please, Yuuji, c’mon. “I feel jealous too. Like when I thought you and Okkotsu were together.”

Megumi sputters through another laugh. “Yuuta?” He motions towards his door. “The Friday night thing? The surprise?”

Yuuji nods.

Suddenly, the laugh loses its strength and Megumi’s gaze instantly hits the plate. “Y-you were jealous?”

“Because–” Yuuji can barely force it and has to scrape it tooth and nail from his gut. “Because I thought you were with someone and I– that’s what I wanted. I didn’t realize it at first, but yeah, I was jealous. I started feeling like you were filling some space in my life and then, suddenly, someone else was getting that.”

Megumi stands, his eyes glassy and trailing everywhere but Yuuji. “I-I need a minute.”

“Fushiguro–”

But he’s gone, catapulting towards his room with long strides before he slams the door.

Yuuji pushes his plate out of the way so he can smack his forehead to the table. “How did I fuck that up?” he murmurs to the wood.

I’m going to have to move out.

I’ll go sleep on Choso’s couch for a while until I can find something else.

I’ll just… damnit, how am I going to stop liking him?

Even if I move out, even if I don’t see him everyday, how am I going to forget?

He’s about to blubber like a baby when he hears the door click again. The chair practically clatters to the floor as Yuuji rushes to stand. “Fushiguro–”

“I thought…” Megumi leans into the doorway, holding on tight. It’s either a boundary or a bolster for his next words. “Explain to me what you thought was happening between me and Yuuta.”

He sighs, rubbing at the sweat that starts at the back of his neck. “I thought it was a romantic thing. You were, you know, doing what people do behind a closed door.”

Megumi’s mouth gapes, then teeth gnash before he releases an exhale through his nose. “Jealousy means…” He sways slightly. “Jealousy means wanting what someone else has. Jealousy means you– you wanted to be either me or Yuuta in that scenario.”

It feels strange to have it put so succinctly, but Yuuji’s watching Megumi’s gears turn. It’s as if reality doesn’t exist unless it’s said, laid out, verified. “I wanted to be Yuuta.” Yuuji takes a step. “Badly.”

An airy laugh leaves Megumi’s throat. “Why.” He tamps down the question with his hand. “I don’t get it. You’re– you’re normal, Itadori. There’s nothing wrong with you. You could go out and get any girl, or any guy you wanted, and you’re just–”

“But I don’t.” Another step, and now Megumi’s teetering again, as if he’s threatening to disappear back into the abyss of his room. “I don’t want– don’t need anybody else, Fushiguro.”

A few breaths shudder between them. “Megumi,” he corrects.

Yuuji blinks, mouth open to stammer because everything is a jumbled mess on his tongue.

“I-if you feel that way about me,” he whispers, “then maybe you should call me Megumi.”

“Megumi,” he echoes and the man in question blushes. “You’ll call me Yuuji?”

“Yes, Yuuji,” Megumi replies. Yuuji’s body threatens to melt into the floor. To make matters worse, Megumi’s letting go of his lifeline and stepping towards him, close enough now that he can reach and take one of Yuuji’s hands. “At dinner, you held my hand.”

“I wanted to,” Yuuji murmurs as he begins to take time to memorize the rise and fall of his knuckles. “I wanted to do it longer but I thought all I did was make you uncomfortable.”

“I couldn’t do both.” He laughs at himself again, that weak, pathetic tumble of air. “I couldn’t admit how important you are and touch you at the same time. It made me feel worse because I thought I knew I was wrong.”

“Wrong about what?” Yuuji dares to run his free hand up Megumi’s arm, testing the lines of his muscles. He tries to be as slow as possible, exhilaration taking hold as he finds goosebumps rising under his fingertips.

“That you’re more than just my friend.” His voice trembles as he presses his palm against Yuuji’s chest. His heart hammers underneath. “Oh, fuck, Yuuji, tell me to stop.”

“No,” Yuuji answers quickly. He abandons just holding his hand and instead uses his raising hand to hook his elbow around the back of Megumi’s neck. He puts them cheek to cheek, exhaling hard as if the embrace knocks the wind from him. “I’ll take it as slow as you need, Megumi, but I won’t let you go.” It’s beautiful, testing the fabric of Megumi’s shirt with the palm of his hand. There is a muscled back underneath that Yuuji wants to memorize.

Megumi’s breath is hot against Yuuji’s ear, but he still keeps that hand between them, pressing on Yuuji’s chest. His fingers crinkle the cloth, threatening to scratch at the skin underneath. “It doesn’t feel real.”

“You can feel my heart, can’t you?” Yuuji answers quickly. “That beating isn’t enough for you? It’s almost as bad as being in the ring.” The laugh that he emits against the cusp of Yuuji’s ear makes his claim a lie—his heart rings clearer than any moment in his life. “Hey, be careful with that.”

“I pretended…” His whisper is so deep, humming against Yuuji’s ear as it makes his every nerve buzz. “That night at the restaurant was a date. I was asking you out. I knew Satoru was setting me up, letting me see you like that, but I just thought it was more torture. More torture to see you so beautiful and have to just forget it.”

“Megumi…” Yuuji can’t stop it from being a groan. This was it. Temptation. Fire. The extremity of lust and love all rolled into one. Megumi was tipping him over an edge, and he was gladly falling.

“Tell me to stop,” Megumi begs again.

“No.” Yuuji is aching, but forces slow movement. The friction of his cheek against Megumi is divine, but the world begins to explode when he runs his lips against the delicate skin. Yuuji kisses the crease of his mouth, hesitating as Megumi sucks in a trembling breath. “Or are you going to tell me to stop?”

Megumi tilts his head in reply, latching his lips gently to Yuuji’s. The deliberate way Megumi toys with each one of Yuuji’s nerves threatens to break him. A fistful of Megumi’s shirt does nothing to quell the need, and Yuuji pushes for another touch. It’s allowed, but fleeting as Megumi moves to drop his forehead onto Yuuji’s shoulder. “It feels real now.”

Yuuji wants to laugh but his body refuses anything other than another heated sigh. “Then let’s make it real. I don’t want to be jealous anymore.”

Just a few ragged breaths hit Yuuji’s shoulder.

“It won’t be that much different.” One hand is sliding down Megumi’s back while the other dares to tangle in those unruly black tresses. It’s beautiful, just silken shadows between his fingers. “Just… I want to be able to touch you now. See that beauty that you got to see.”

Megumi turns his head, lips now brushing Yuuji’s neck. “What if…?”

“Now I will tell you to stop.” He’s firm but not spitting, not hateful but sad. Yuuta’s words hit him again, and it’s as if he can see the scar on Megumi’s soul. That incompleteness, the way he’s been left behind and abandoned in more ways than one. “Accept that I”—Yuuji gulps—“am moving towards loving you. I don’t want to see that as a dead end before I even get on the road. I want… I want it to be endless, Megumi. I just want to find new ways and new reasons to love you.”

He digs in, and it’s not a laugh but a sob. The heat is no longer Megumi’s breath but a dotting of tears that soak in Yuuji’s shirt. “It’s real,” he whispers for himself, trembling.

Yuuji plants a kiss on his temple in reply. “Will you try to do the same for me?”

“Yes.” Though still awash with tears, Megumi sets salty kisses along Yuuji’s jaw until he can reach his lips. It is tender, slow, and a promise.