Chapter Text
Megumi Fushiguro had never understood the point of birthday wishes.
Not the candles or the cake. Those were simple enough. You put a small flame on something sweet, closed your eyes, and pretended the universe had any particular interest in what you wanted.
It was the wishing itself that bothered him.
People asked what you wanted as though the answer might be something they could wrap in paper. As though wanting something and deserving it were the same thing. As though the world had ever handed anyone what they needed simply because they'd managed to survive another year.
Megumi had stopped making wishes a long time ago.
He still remembered the date, though.
December twenty-second.
It was printed on the back of his student records, tucked between information about his technique and the details of his emergency contact. Gojo had once called it a day worth celebrating, which was how Megumi knew better than to mention it.
That morning, he woke up at six, showered, dressed, and went to the training grounds.
The air was cold enough to make his nose sting. Frost clung to the shaded edges of the path, and the wooden steps outside the dormitory creaked beneath his shoes. Somewhere beyond the trees, a crow was making an unreasonable amount of noise.
Megumi summoned Divine Dog.
The shikigami appeared in a rush of shadow, its pale form cutting through the morning mist. It circled him once before settling at his side.
"Morning."
Divine Dog nudged its head against his hand.
Megumi scratched behind its ear.
"You're the only one around here with any sense."
The shikigami's tail moved once.
He trained until his fingers were stiff, then dismissed the technique and went back inside.
By breakfast, the day had already begun to disappoint him.
Not in any meaningful way. The rice was slightly overcooked, the tea had gone cold, and somebody had left a damp towel on the counter. These were ordinary inconveniences. They belonged to an ordinary morning.
Megumi preferred ordinary mornings.
They didn't ask him to be happy.
He was reaching for the last clean bowl when Yuji stumbled into the kitchen, hair sticking up in three different directions.
"Morning."
"Your hair."
Yuji pressed a hand to his head. "What about it?"
"Nothing. I just wanted to make sure you knew."
"Wow. Happy to see you too."
Megumi froze for half a second.
Yuji didn't notice. He was too busy opening cupboards, muttering about how there was never anything to eat despite the fact that the kitchen was full of food he refused to recognise as breakfast.
Megumi put the bowl down.
He doesn't know.
The thought came with a relief that was almost embarrassing.
Then he felt stupid for being relieved.
It was a birthday. Not a secret mission. Not some dangerous piece of information that could get someone killed. There was no reason to care whether Yuji knew.
And yet.
"Fushiguro, you want the last egg?"
"No."
"Cool. More for me."
Yuji cracked it against the counter. Half the shell fell into the pan.
Megumi watched him fish it out with a spoon.
He had a sudden, unpleasant thought that if he disappeared tomorrow, Yuji would probably remember the stupid things first. The way Megumi complained about his cooking. The way he refused to play video games and then criticised everyone else's technique from the sofa. Maybe he'd remember the time Megumi had fallen asleep in the common room and denied it even after Nobara showed him a photograph.
Those were the things Yuji knew about him.
Would he remember anything else?
Megumi picked up his bowl.
What a ridiculous thing to think.
He left before Yuji could ask why he was staring at an egg.
At eleven forty-three, Gojo ruined everything.
Not deliberately, which somehow made it worse.
Megumi was in the staff room, looking for the mission schedule, when he found a folder beneath a stack of paperwork. His name was written across the tab. He opened it, expecting another request for information about his technique.
Instead, he found a form with his date of birth.
He checked the date in the corner.
December twenty-second.
Today.
He'd known that already. The form didn't tell him anything new. It simply made the fact official, printed in black ink and filed away among the details that made him a person the school could catalogue.
A birthday.
One more year.
He closed the folder.
"Fushiguro!"
Megumi shut his eyes.
Gojo appeared in the doorway carrying a paper bag and the expression of a man who had never once considered the possibility that a room might be quieter without him.
"Perfect. I was looking for you."
"That's unfortunate."
"You're so funny. You should tell jokes professionally."
"I'd rather not."
Gojo dropped the paper bag on the desk. It made a suspicious metallic clink.
Megumi stared at it.
"What is that?"
"A gift."
"No."
"You haven't even seen it!"
"I heard it hit the desk."
Gojo put a hand over his heart. "I can't believe you'd judge my present by its sound."
"You bought me something?"
"Don't sound so horrified. I'm a wonderful teacher."
"You're a teacher."
"Exactly."
Megumi considered leaving.
Gojo leaned against the desk, his blindfold tilted slightly as he looked at the folder in Megumi's hands.
"Oh," he said.
Megumi's grip tightened.
Gojo straightened.
"Ohhh."
"Don't."
"Is today—"
"No."
"Your birthday?"
Megumi stared at him.
Gojo stared back.
Then, very slowly, Gojo's smile widened.
Megumi had seen curses smile like that.
"Happy birthday, Megumi!"
"Keep your voice down."
"Why? Is it a secret?"
"No. It's a date."
"A date you didn't tell anyone about!"
"Because it isn't important."
Gojo's smile faltered. Only for a moment, but Megumi caught it.
Then Gojo set the paper bag aside.
"Well," he said, in a tone that was far too casual, "that's a shame."
Megumi looked at him warily.
"Because I had an entire speech prepared."
"Burn it."
"With pleasure."
Gojo picked up the bag again. "I won't tell the others."
Megumi didn't answer.
Gojo tilted his head.
"Unless you want me to?"
"No."
"Okay."
That was it.
No threats. No declaration that birthdays were precious. No promise to organise something so spectacular that Megumi would regret ever being born.
Gojo simply took his bag and left.
Megumi remained in the staff room for another minute.
He looked down at the folder, then slid it back beneath the other papers.
It should have been a relief.
Instead, something sat in his chest like a stone he'd swallowed without noticing.
He couldn't even explain why.
Yuji found out by accident.
Of course he did.
Megumi was returning from the vending machines when he heard Yuji speaking to someone around the corner.
"—no, I'm telling you, he didn't say anything."
Nobara's voice followed. "Maybe because he didn't want to."
"Yeah, I know. That's why I'm not going to make it weird."
Megumi stopped.
He should have kept walking.
He knew that. He had no business standing in the corridor, listening to a conversation that wasn't meant for him.
Then Yuji said, "But it is weird, right? You spend every day with someone, and you don't know something as basic as their birthday."
Megumi's fingers tightened around the cold can in his hand.
Nobara was quiet for a moment.
"Not everyone tells people everything, Itadori."
"I know."
"And not everyone wants a party."
"I know that, too."
"Then what are you arguing about?"
"I'm not arguing." A pause. "I'm just thinking."
Megumi turned away.
The corridor seemed longer on the way back.
He knew Yuji wasn't talking about anything terrible. He knew that, logically, there was nothing wrong with the conversation.
Still, he could hear the words over and over.
You spend every day with someone, and you don't know something as basic as their birthday.
He thought of all the things he hadn't told them. The things he didn't talk about because they were old, or ugly, or too tangled to explain without making them somebody else's problem.
The things he kept because he'd never figured out what a person was supposed to do with them.
Maybe Yuji was right.
Maybe there were parts of him that were so unremarkable he had never bothered to let anyone see them.
Maybe there was a difference between being around people and actually being known.
He stopped outside his room and looked down at the can in his hand.
He hadn't even wanted it.
He'd bought it because he was thirsty.
For some reason, that made him want to laugh.
He went inside and shut the door.
By six in the evening, Megumi had developed a plan.
He would eat dinner. He would finish his report. He would go to bed early.
If anyone mentioned his birthday, he would thank them and move on.
If Gojo appeared with a cake, Megumi would tell him that he had a mission.
If Yuji asked whether he wanted to do anything, Megumi would say no.
There. Simple.
He was halfway through his report when someone knocked.
"Go away."
"It's me."
"That doesn't help."
"It's Yuji."
"I know."
"Can I come in?"
Megumi looked at the door.
He could have said no. Yuji would probably leave. He was surprisingly good at respecting a refusal when it mattered.
That was the problem.
Megumi didn't want him to leave.
He hated that even more than the possibility of a birthday celebration.
"Fine."
Yuji opened the door with his shoulder, holding two cartons of juice and a packet of crackers.
Megumi looked at the food.
"Is that dinner?"
"No. It's an offering."
"To what?"
"Your terrible personality."
Yuji tossed the crackers onto the desk and sat on the floor with his back against the bed. He'd learned that Megumi didn't like people sitting on his bed. The fact that he'd remembered was irritatingly considerate.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Yuji opened one carton of juice and drank half of it in a single go.
"So," he said eventually, "I found out your birthday was today."
Megumi kept his eyes on the report. "Congratulations."
"Thanks. I've been working really hard."
"Clearly."
Yuji rolled the empty carton between his palms.
"I didn't know if you'd want us to do anything."
"Then don't."
"Okay."
Megumi's pen stopped moving.
He looked at Yuji.
Yuji looked back, apparently unaware that he'd just done something deeply unfair by accepting the answer without making Megumi defend it.
"Okay?" Megumi repeated.
"Yeah."
"That's all?"
"What else am I supposed to say?"
Megumi had no answer.
Yuji glanced at the report. "You're writing that upside down."
Megumi looked down.
He was.
He turned the paper around.
Yuji grinned.
"There he is."
"Get out."
"Not until you eat something."
"You brought crackers."
"I brought crackers and juice. That's a balanced meal if you believe in yourself."
Megumi threw a balled-up piece of scrap paper at him.
Yuji caught it against his chest.
For a few minutes, things were normal again.
Then Yuji's phone buzzed.
He looked at the screen, typed something, and stood.
"I have to go."
"Then go."
Yuji reached the door, hesitated, and turned back.
"Hey, Megumi?"
"What?"
"Happy birthday."
He said it quietly. No grin, no exaggerated cheerfulness. He didn't wait for Megumi to respond.
The door clicked shut.
Megumi sat with his pen between his fingers.
He stared at the place where Yuji had been sitting.
Then he looked at the crackers.
He ate three before returning to his report.
At seven fifteen, Nobara came to collect him.
She didn't knock. She opened the door, walked in, and looked around with the critical expression of someone inspecting a hotel room.
"Do you own anything that isn't black?"
"Leave."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the answer you're getting."
She picked up his jacket from the chair and threw it at him.
"Put that on."
"Why?"
"Because I'm not walking around in the cold while you stand here looking like a haunted Victorian child."
Megumi caught the jacket.
"No."
Nobara's expression changed.
It wasn't dramatic. She didn't gasp or put a hand to her chest. She just stopped moving and looked at him properly.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"You're doing that thing."
"What thing?"
"Where you act like someone has asked you to donate a kidney when they actually want you to leave your room."
Megumi looked away.
Nobara followed his gaze to the desk. His report was still open. The pen lay across the page, exactly where he'd left it.
She sighed.
"Look. I don't care if you want a birthday party. I don't even like birthday parties. People get weird, and the food is usually bad, and someone always wants you to play a game that makes everyone hate each other."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because Itadori bought a cake, and if you don't come down, he'll eat the whole thing out of spite."
Megumi blinked.
"He bought a cake?"
Nobara stared at him.
Then her mouth fell open.
"Oh my God. You actually didn't know."
"I thought you were joking."
"About the cake?"
"About the whole thing."
She stood there for a second, looking genuinely offended on behalf of everyone involved.
Then she grabbed his sleeve.
"Get your shoes."
"Nobara—"
"You're allowed to have a cake, Fushiguro. It's not a binding vow."
She pulled him into the corridor.
Megumi could have resisted. He was stronger than her. He could have planted his feet and refused to move.
Instead, he followed.
He told himself it was because arguing with Nobara was more exhausting than walking downstairs.
He told himself a lot of things.
The common room smelled like burnt sugar.
Megumi stopped at the doorway.
Yuji was standing at the table, holding a lighter. Nobara let go of Megumi's sleeve and immediately began inspecting the cake as though she'd paid for it herself.
It was a small strawberry cake from the convenience store. The plastic lid was fogged with condensation. A strawberry had rolled into the cream, leaving a shallow groove, and the icing had cracked near one edge.
There were three candles.
One was already bent.
Megumi stared at them.
Yuji looked up.
For once, he didn't smile immediately.
"Hey."
Megumi looked at the cake, then at the lighter in his hand.
"You bought a cake."
"Yeah."
"Why?"
Yuji frowned slightly. "Because it's your birthday."
"That doesn't answer the question."
"It kind of does."
Nobara snorted and took the lighter from him.
"Move. You'll burn your thumb off."
"I know how to use a lighter."
"You managed to burn the toast this morning."
"That was different."
"How?"
"It was toast."
Megumi stood there, feeling strangely as though he'd walked into the wrong room.
He'd expected this to be embarrassing. He'd expected to feel trapped, watched, and obliged to act grateful over something he hadn't asked for.
Instead, Nobara was arguing about toast, Yuji was trying to straighten a candle that refused to stand up, and the cake was visibly losing a battle against gravity.
It was so stupid.
It was so ordinary.
Something in him shifted, and he didn't know what to do with it.
"You really didn't have to," he said.
Yuji stopped fiddling with the candle.
"I know."
There it was again. That answer.
Not we wanted to. Not you deserve it. Not a speech about how birthdays mattered, or how everyone should be celebrated, or how he shouldn't be so difficult.
Just I know.
Yuji pushed the cake slightly towards him.
"We wanted to."
Megumi looked down.
He could see the price sticker through the plastic container. The cake couldn't have cost much. It was probably the cheapest one they could find, and it looked like it had been carried here in someone's coat.
He imagined Yuji standing in the convenience store, staring at the shelves, trying to decide which cake Megumi might like.
He imagined him picking the strawberry one because it looked familiar. Because it was the only one left. Because there wasn't enough time to find something better.
He imagined Yuji carrying it back, protecting it from the cold with both hands.
The thought made Megumi's throat feel tight.
He hated that.
He hated that something so small could reach a part of him he'd spent years pretending wasn't there.
"Your candle's crooked," he said.
Yuji looked down.
"It keeps falling over."
"Because you're pushing it in at an angle."
"I know that now."
Nobara took the candle from him. "You're both hopeless."
She fixed it, stepped back, and turned off the lights.
The room went dark except for the vending machine's pale glow through the window and the small flames trembling over the cake.
Megumi stood with his hands at his sides.
He could hear the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. A car passed somewhere beyond the grounds. The candle nearest the strawberries leaned a little further to the left.
Yuji cleared his throat.
"Oh, no," Megumi said.
Yuji grinned.
"Oh, yes."
"Don't."
Yuji started singing.
He was terrible.
Not because he couldn't sing, but because he had apparently decided that the song required enthusiasm more than melody. He sang too loudly, rushed the beginning, and lost the rhythm before the second line.
Nobara joined in, deliberately off-key.
Megumi looked at them.
Yuji was smiling so hard that his eyes had nearly disappeared. Nobara had one hand pressed to her stomach, laughing between words and refusing to stop singing because she was determined to make Yuji sound worse by comparison.
They looked ridiculous.
Megumi felt the corners of his mouth move.
He caught himself and looked down at the cake.
The flames blurred slightly.
He blinked.
It was the smoke, probably.
The song ended with Yuji singing the final word alone while Nobara told him he had ruined the entire thing.
Megumi blew out the candles.
The room fell dark for a breath.
Then Nobara switched the lights on.
"Great," she said. "Now we can eat this before Itadori starts crying over it."
"I'm not crying!"
"You look emotional."
"I'm hungry."
"Same thing, apparently."
Yuji grabbed the cake knife.
Megumi watched him cut the first slice, badly.
Cream slid across the plate. One strawberry fell off. Yuji tried to catch it with the knife, failed, and watched it land on the table.
Nobody said anything.
Then Megumi laughed.
It came out unexpectedly—short and quiet, almost more breath than sound.
Yuji looked up so quickly he nearly dropped the knife.
Nobara's eyes narrowed.
"What?"
"Nothing," Megumi said.
"You laughed."
"No, I didn't."
"I heard it."
"Then your hearing is deteriorating."
Yuji was still looking at him.
Megumi picked up the fallen strawberry and put it on Yuji's plate.
"Eat your cake."
Yuji's smile returned, but he didn't say anything else.
Megumi was grateful.
The cake was bad.
The sponge was dry enough to require water. The cream tasted mostly of sugar, and one strawberry had clearly been chosen for its appearance rather than its flavour.
Nobara took a second slice.
Yuji took a third.
"You two have no standards," Megumi said.
Nobara pointed her fork at him. "You're eating it."
"I was hungry."
"You're eating your birthday cake."
"I'm aware."
"Say thank you."
Megumi looked at her.
"No."
"Say it."
"No."
"Fushiguro."
He looked down at his plate. The last of the cream had smeared against the plastic fork. He could have said it. Two words. It shouldn't have been difficult.
But thank you felt too small for what he wanted to say, and anything larger would have sounded absurd.
He settled for the truth.
"It's not very good."
Nobara stared at him.
Then she burst out laughing.
Yuji nearly choked on his cake.
"You can't be serious!"
"You asked for an honest review."
"We didn't ask for a review!"
"You asked me to say thank you."
"That's not the same thing!"
Megumi took another bite.
Yuji looked at him, appalled. "You're eating more."
"I'm hungry."
"You're impossible."
"Yet here you are."
Nobara wiped at the corner of her eye. "I'm keeping him."
"He's not a stray cat," Yuji said.
Megumi stared at him.
He hadn't realised Yuji had noticed.
Yuji was already arguing with Nobara again.
Megumi ate the strawberry.
It was the sweetest thing he'd tasted all day.
So he said, "I'll try."
Her expression softened by a fraction.
"Good."
Then she flicked the dish towel at his face.
"Now stop looking like someone died. It's creepy."
Megumi caught the towel.
"You're the worst."
"And yet you invited me to your birthday."
"I didn't invite you."
"Details."
She walked out before he could respond.
Megumi stood in the kitchen for a moment longer.
Then he folded the towel and put it away.