Chapter Text
Megumi is blasted out of his fucking mind.
He joined in late, so Mai gave him two extra shots to catch up. Problem is: Megumi’s a bit of a lightweight. Problem number two: Megumi took half an edible before coming to Yuuji’s room, not realizing they’d be drinking.
He’ll be fine. The edible isn’t really hitting, anyway.
“It’s—the craziest thing. I wouldn’t eat or sleep because I just—couldn’t.”
Miwa nods her head enthusiastically, electric blue hair bouncing. She’s really pretty, Megumi realizes. Her uneven bangs and the pink blooming all over her cheeks. Not Megumi’s type, but really pretty.
“I get you. When me and Mechamaru broke up, I—I—just didn’t know what to do with myself. I’d heard about it before I started dating him, but I never really understood it—”
“Exactly.”
Megumi doesn’t know what they’re talking about, but Miwa goes on. “Like—when you’re going through a breakup, or even just an intense fight, it’s the most closed minded experience you’ll ever have. You can’t think straight. It’s only you and them and there isn’t a world outside of you two—”
“That’s totally it—”
Megumi has no idea what it is.
“In that moment, it’s like my whole perspective was just—me and him in that moment. The anger, the hurt, the love—” Mai makes a noise of agreement. “You don’t really get it until you have someone of your own.”
Megumi clears his throat and decides now’s the time to speak up. “But, aren’t you and Mechamaru-san back together?”
Both Mai and Miwa give Megumi a weird look. Not a mean look, just a ‘Have you even been listening?’ look. And, Megumi has, he actually has, but he still isn’t quite sure what they’re talking about.
Hell, he isn’t even sure why he’s here in the first place. He’s having a good time, don’t get him wrong, but he doesn’t think he’s ever spoken a word to either Mai or Miwa before Itadori dragged him here.
His roommate is sitting across from him, looking dazed at Mai and Miwa. He looks like he’s ready to take notes, for god’s sake, hanging off of every word Mai and Miwa say, carefully listening.
Megumi’s never been in a relationship before, and he’s pretty sure that Itadori hasn’t either. He’s probably interested in someone—Megumi can’t exactly think of any other reason why he’d be so enthralled with this conversation.
There’s some EDM remix going on in the background, the lights in the crevices between the walls and the ceilings flowing from red to orange to all the colors of the rainbow then back again, and it feels like the universe is contained in just this room, feels like it’s expanding and contracting with each breath Megumi takes. Maybe that’s what Mai and Miwa are talking about—maybe this is what a breakup feels like.
“Shit, Toudou wants us to come over to Delta now,” Mai groans.
Megumi winces. Toudou’s made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t like him, and Megumi isn’t a fan either.
Itadori looks happy about it, though. Those two have always gotten along crazy well no matter how much Itadori tries to pretend otherwise. Megumi’s convinced it’s because they’re both straight and like the same types of girls.
Frat parties aren’t really Megumi’s thing either, but, well.
“There’s still more though,” Miwa says, shaking the apple juice bottle filled with—
Megumi has no idea what he’s been drinking, in all honesty. He’s been chasing it down with cranberry juice and it hasn’t been too bad.
“Let’s just finish it all!” Mai decides, a slight sheen on her cheeks.
Megumi registers that that’s probably not the best idea, but it’s a Friday night, and he’s finished with all his assignments. He really, really doesn’t want to throw up though. Megumi’s eyes flicker to Itadori who looks barely affected by any of the alcohol. Fuck him for being a heavyweight.
“Megumi.”
Megumi jumps a little at the harsh tone of Mai’s voice. He went to boarding school with Maki and not Mai; he still isn’t used to her.
“You in or not?” Mai asks, handing her shot glass to Miwa to refill. You can sit this one out if you want.”
Megumi thinks about it. He really, really thinks about it.
“Fushiguro-san?” Miwa asks, head tilted cutely.
And maybe this is a really, really bad idea, because Megumi knows his limits and knows that his no-vomit streak might come to an end tonight—he has a feeling, a really bad feeling about this—but when it’s right there, literally right there, why wouldn’t he take it?
He holds out his pink shot glass and laughs. “Fuck it.”
Megumi’s up in the lounge—it’s a shitty lounge, really. It’s just a big room with a lot of couches and chairs, and the white tables are always stained with some sort of food. There’s some card game on the table that no one’s playing, and Megumi thinks he might melt into his cushioned seat.
The edible is really, really hitting.
Plus, he’s drunk. God, he’s really fucking drunk. He doesn’t know where Itadori and Mai went—weren’t they at Delta Phi House just a moment ago? Where was that again? By the main quad?
He doesn’t know where the hell Itadori and Mai are, but Miwa’s still here sharing a seat with a blonde girl that Megumi doesn’t know the name of.
“I love you.”
“No, I love you.”
“You’re awesome.”
“I know I am.”
“Girls are—”
“I love girls—”
“Me too!”
Megumi’s brain might melt into his skull. There are other conversations and other people in the room, but they’re the closest ones. His eyes start to wander the room; the muted beige, greens, and blues of most of the furniture sink into the carpet, like geometric designs on two-dimensional space. Megumi feels like he’s existing in some abstract, liminal space outside the bounds of reality. It’s a space filled with people, with strangers.
And then Megumi spots a familiar head across the room. He’d never mistake his roommate’s bright pink hair—that he insists is natural, somehow—for anyone else, even if Itadori’s facing the other way.
“Itadori,” he shouts, cringing at how raspy his voice is. He stands up and stumbles over to Itadori, cringing even more when he realizes how off-balance he is. He wonders if this is how astronauts feel when they’re stepping into space—or maybe that’s the moon. Shit, Megumi doesn’t know.
The person Itadori was talking to—someone with a white bob of hair, a red streak in the middle—happens to be leaving right as Megumi makes his way over.
He places both his hands on Itadori’s shoulders—Megumi isn’t much of a touchy person, but right now, for some reason, he really just wants someone to hold.
“There you are.”
Then Itadori turns around, and—wow.
“When did you get all those tattoos?” Megumi blurts out, gawking at Itadori’s forearms. “And piercings?” he asks, as soon as he notices those too. He hears himself slur the words before he fully registers that he was the one who said it.
Itadori squints cautiously. Were his eyes always this red? Megumi doesn’t remember what color Itadori’s pupils are supposed to be.
“Two years ago,” Itadori replies, voice much deeper than it usually is. There’s a slight purr to it, deep and gravelly and Megumi feels a warmth deep in his stomach.
Fuck, when did Itadori get so hot?
“You’re very drunk,” Itadori points out, blood-red eyes doing a once-over of Megumi’s body, and it takes Megumi a moment to realize that he was speaking out loud.
He feels weak in the knees; he isn’t sure if that’s because of Itadori or because of how wasted he is. Both are pretty humiliating.
“Shit, how are you not?”
Itadori was keeping up with the girls pretty well, so it’s absolutely ridiculous how he doesn’t even look the least bit affected.
His eyes drop to Megumi’s lips, and Megumi finds himself gasping and inadvertently parting them when Sukuna brings his hand up to cup his jaw. “I haven’t been drinking as much as you have, darling,” he says, swiping his thumb across Megumi’s bottom lip. Megumi’s throat constricts, lungs filling with fire, and he becomes dangerously aware of how close he is to Itadori right now: he’s practically pushing Itadori into the back of a couch-chair, and their mouths are only a single breath away.
The proximity—it’s nice. A part of Megumi knows that he’s being a little selfish right now, but he likes it, likes being close to someone like this. He doesn’t get this that often. His mother died right after he was born, and his father—
Shit. What did Itadori just say? Megumi lost track of the conversation.
Itadori laughs, and Megumi finds out that his laugh is even deeper than his normal speaking voice. What the fuck? Why is that so hot?
Fuck, he thought that Itadori was straight.
“I said, I haven’t been drinking as much as you have,” Itadori repeats, tucking a lock of fallen hair behind Megumi’s right ear.
Not straight. Definitely not straight.
Megumi hears himself let out a whine when Itadori’s knuckles brush against his cheek. What the fuck?
He’s definitely never felt this way for Itadori before. Sure, he might’ve had a small crush on him at first, but that crush bloomed into an easy-going sort of friendship. Admiration and mutual respect. That was all he thought it would ever be—especially given how girl crazy Itadori is.
But something is different right now. Megumi is fifty-percent sure that Itadori is flirting with him, not to mention that he’s practically pushing himself onto Itadori, and Itadori isn’t doing a thing to stop it.
“Why don’t I walk you back to your room,” Itadori suggests, his hungry gaze zeroing back in on Megumi’s mouth.
Megumi frowns. “Our room, you mean.”
Itadori’s eyes widen, as if he’s just realized something. “Oh. You’re his roommate.”
Megumi frowns even deeper. “I’m your roommate, Itadori.”
Itadori laughs, and a part of Megumi wants to lay his hand flat against his chest, just to feel it rumble.
He doesn’t, though. He has enough sense to know that that’s too much. He and Itadori are friends when it comes down to it, and Megumi isn’t exactly looking to deepen their relationship in that sort of way, even if Itadori is looking at him like he wants to fuck him.
“Been a long time since anyone’s called me Itadori.”
Megumi tilts his head to the side. He calls Itadori Itadori all the time. What else would he call him? Yuuji? No, they’re not close enough for that.
“Just call me—”
“Oi, earth to Megumi.”
Megumi whips around, jolting at the hand on his shoulder, but relaxing as soon as he sees who it is.
“Maki-senpai.”
Maki narrows her eyes and studies Megumi quickly. “You’re fucking wasted, aren’t you?”
Megumi opens his mouth to say something—he isn’t quite sure what—but Itadori speaks over him.
“He is.”
Megumi feels his body sway, then he realizes that he’s slumped against Itadori’s side. He glances down at their feet and realizes that he’s slightly stepping on Itadori’s shoes to boot. Fuck, this is embarrassing, but at least it’s just Itadori.
Megumi can’t lift his eyes up enough to look at Maki, but he imagines that she’s giving him a scathing look of disapproval. He and Maki went to high school together, and they’re distant cousins; they’ve known each other for a while, and they know each other well.
She’s one of the few people Megumi knows will always be honest with him.
“What are you doing talking to Sukuna? Where’s Itadori?”
Megumi sobers up—slightly, only slightly—at Maki’s words.
Sukuna?
“Itadori is right here,” Megumi says, confused.
“Not that Itadori,” Maki sighs, arms crossed over her chest. “I mean Itadori Yuuji. Your roommate Itadori.”
Megumi’s face scrunches up, and he looks up at Itadori, the Itadori he’s currently nuzzling his cheek into. “But this—this is my roommate.”
Another exasperated sigh. “No, this is your roommate’s twin brother.”
Megumi pulls away and squints at Itadori. “You have a twin brother?”
Itadori’s eyes wander to Megumi’s exposed collarbones, his shirt loose on his shoulders. “Unfortunately.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“I wish I was.”
“What’s his name?”
Itadori rolls his eyes, and Megumi strangely finds himself charmed. “Yuuji.”
Then the room starts to spin, a sudden heaviness in Megumi’s chest. “Isn’t that—isn’t that your name?”
He hears Maki let out another heavy groan. “Sukuna, I’m taking him back to his room.”
She tries to tug Megumi away, pulling him by the arm, but Megumi hurriedly grabs onto Itadori’s arm and pouts. “I want Itadori to do it.”
He feels an arm snake around his waist, and he lets himself bury his flushed face completely in Itadori’s neck. It’s a little too hard to keep his eyes open, but luckily Itadori’s skin is cool against Megumi’s eyelids.
It all starts to go very hazy from here.
“If that’s what he wants, I’ll take care of him.”
“No way. Haven’t you been drinking too?”
“Only a couple shots back in Uraume’s room. I’m fine, really.”
“You better not pull anything on him.”
“I wouldn’t dare. He’s a cute drunk, though.”
Megumi manages to mumble, “I’m not drunk.”
Itadori chuckles, patting Megumi’s head. Despite the fact that Megumi is a little taller, he finds himself melting like a marshmallow over a bonfire. Bonfires are nice. Bonfires are warm—Itadori, this Itadori, is very warm.
“Yes you are, sweetheart.”
“No ‘m not,” Megumi whines petulantly.
Another soft, deep chuckle. “Fine, you’re not.” And then—
Oh. Megumi’s being lifted up, literally swept off his feet. He feels like he’s floating in space, suspended in mid-air. With much effort, he opens his eyes. Itadori is looking down at him with a soft smile on his face, a stark contrast to the tattoos, to the deep indents under each of his eyes, to the rough spike of his hair. Oh, Itadori is smiling at him. Megumi’s chest fills with butterflies. He doesn’t think that anyone’s ever looked at him like that.
“What’s your room number?”
Megumi blinks a couple times, trying to remember. “Three four two,” he says, enunciating slowly.
And then his head is being patted, hair ruffled. Megumi feels a hoarse noise escape the back of his throat. The last time anyone did that—it was Gojou, Megumi thinks, and he was five.
“Good boy.”
The words ripple all throughout Megumi’s body, and he realizes that he’s smiling, realizes that his cheeks are hurting from smiling so much. Megumi breathes in deeply, breathes in the scent of the man carrying him like a princess.
“I’ll take care of him.” These words aren’t directed toward him, so Megumi lets himself zone out for a little. “You have my word.”
A long beat passes, then Maki is exhaling in defeat. “Fine,” she says, “but only ‘cause your brother assured everyone you’re not as bad as you look.”
“The brat really said that? Fuck him.”
“Don’t prove him wrong.”
“Unfortunately, I won’t.”
And then they start moving. Megumi is dizzy, but it feels nice being carried like this. Feels nice not to have to worry about anything—feels nice to know someone’s taking care of him.
“You’re not my roommate, are you?” Megumi asks once he’s lying down on his own bed, rubbing his cheek against his duvet. There are dogs printed on it.
Itadori—the Itadori who’s not his roommate—is sitting on the edge of the bed, sitting atop a black dog on the duvet. He grins this sleazy but still painfully attractive sort of smile. “What finally tipped you off?”
Megumi sits up and gets a sharp bout of vertigo. He stares at the bulletin board behind Sukuna—pinned to it are numerous Poloroid photos of him, Tsumiki, and Gojou—to ground himself. His digital clock, the neat stack of books and notebooks on his desk, and the electric kettle and water purifier. He’s in his room—and he’s in a good place. He’s in a much better place than he was a couple years ago.
If he focuses, he can hear music playing in the next room, people talking in the hallway. It’s past midnight on a Friday night. It’s typical.
Eventually, he sets his gaze fully onto—Sukuna. He thinks that’s what Maki called him.
“Well, for starters, you look at me like you want to fuck me. Itadori doesn’t do that.”
Sukuna’s eyes go all big, and Megumi feels his heart clench. He’s cute, and he’s strangely transparent. He and Itadori—Yuuji, Itadori Yuuji—really must be twins.
“You do want to fuck me, right?” Megumi asks, crawling over to Sukuna’s side of the bed.
The way that he’s sitting—upright, legs off the edge of the bed, feet planted on the floor—makes it easy for Megumi to slink into his lap.
A pleasant warmth blossoms in his chest and a familiar heat blooms in his groin once he’s settled in, once he’s perched atop Sukuna’s lap and gazing down upon him like a king sitting on his throne. He revels in the way that Sukuna is very obviously holding his breath.
The pink on his cheekbones reminds Megumi that though Sukuna is much more sober than he is, he’s still been drinking—or maybe it’s all Megumi. Oh, that’s a nice thought.
He dips down until their noses are brushing, until their mouths are just barely not touching, and he feels a dizzying rush of power go straight to his head.
“If you ask nicely, maybe I’ll even let you.” Megumi cracks a grin at the dark pink blush on Sukuna’s cheeks, at the tight scowl on his mouth.
Megumi knows the vibes; guys like Sukuna, Megumi knows what they want.
Right now, Megumi wants it too, and all he wants to do is take it for his own. Megumi saw it the moment Sukuna set his eyes on him, and he sees it now with a blinding, overwhelming sort of clarity, perched atop the man’s lap.
“You’re drunk.”
Megumi rolls his hips and relishes in the way Sukuna’s breath audibly hitches. “Crossed. I feel a bit better now, though. My head’s a little clearer.” He finishes with another small roll of his hips. Being shy, being forward, being unwilling—it’s all the same. They all land Megumi up in the same place. It’s one of the first lessons he learned.
“Did someone slip something into any of your drinks, baby?”
Megumi thinks about it for a second, then he remembers that the only drinks he had were whatever was in Miwa’s apple juice bottle.
He shakes his head fervently, wincing at the ache of nausea he gets as a result of the motion.
“No, no, this isn’t like that. I want you to fuck me ‘cause you’re hot, and you look like you’d fuck me good.” Megumi cringes a little at the word vomit, but he supposes that none of it is exactly false.
Bizarrely, Sukuna doesn’t even seem affected by anything Megumi said. “You don’t mean any of that. You don’t even know my name.”
“Sukuna,” Megumi blurts, realizing that’s the first time he’s actually said it out loud. “It’s Sukuna.”
Sukuna’s pupils darken, eyes widening gradually. Megumi can’t take his eyes off him; he’s so expressive, and it’s absolutely hypnotizing. “You remembered,” he says, hands curling into fists by his sides.
Megumi feels himself pout, wanting those hands on his body. “Of course I did.”
Sukuna’s eyes don’t leave his.
Something happens, here, except Megumi can’t quite put his finger on what it is.
He forgets about it almost immediately, because of how quickly Sukuna moves on, gaze flitting to the wall behind Megumi. “You should sleep it off. Your hangover’s gonna be killer in the morning.”
Megumi’s pout deepens into a frown, brows knitting together in frustration. “But—” He rolls his hips with more purpose, rolls his ass right down onto Sukuna’s cock, and realizes that—“You’re hard.”
Sukuna doesn’t seem ashamed of it at all. “A pretty boy is grinding on me and begging me to fuck him.” And then he grins and says, “What else would you expect?”
“Then why don’t you touch me alre—” Megumi presses his lips together as an intense bout of nausea hits him. Oh god, oh fucking god. He swallows the feeling and continues with his point. It’ll be fine. “Why would you carry me back to my room if you didn’t want to fuck me?”
“Jesus Christ, and I thought I had issues.”
“I don’t have issu—” Megumi feels it coming; he brings a hand up to cover his mouth and jerks forward.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Are you—”
He hurries off of Sukuna’s lap, kneels on the floor, and proceeds to throw up all over the tile.
“Ah,” he hears Sukuna say. “Wonderful.”
The room is cold, much too cold—that is the first thought that Megumi has when he wakes up.
The second is the realization that he vomited all over the tile last night, and that he’ll have to clean it up.
At least it wasn’t carpet, Megumi tells himself, groaning into his pillow. His head aches a little, but sharp pangs are infinitely better than nausea. Carefully, he sits up, rubs the crust away from his eyes, and wraps his duvet around his body.
The third thing that Megumi thinks, realizes, notices—is that the window is open, that the morning breeze is blowing in, and that’s why it’s so cold. He doesn’t remember opening the window.
The fourth thing, and perhaps the most important, is that the floor directly beside Megumi’s bed is clean.
The door opens, then, just as Megumi is peering over the side, checking under the bed for traces of vomit, only for it to be sparkling clean—definitely cleaner than it was before last night.
“Oh, you’re awake now. Good morning!” Itadori says brightly, shower caddy in hand, white towel wrapped around his waist, a few water droplets falling down his chest, and—
Megumi rubs at his eyes again and squints. Yup, those are definitely bite-marks all over Itadori’s neck.
But that’s beside the point. Megumi rubs his fingertips into his temples and lets the relevant puzzle pieces come together in his head.
Itadori. It must have been Itadori.
The gratitude Megumi feels magnificently overshadows the embarrassment of someone else cleaning up his vomit. “Thanks for cleaning up my throw up,” he croaks, cringing at how bad his mouth tastes.
Itadori only looks confused. He puts his shower caddy down on his side of the room and tosses his towel onto his bed. His naked back is facing Megumi, and Megumi gets a good look at the hand-shaped bruises all over Itadori’s hips and ass cheeks. Jesus.
He’d thought Itadori was straight, given all of the swimsuit pin-up posters on his side of the room, but the placements, color, and sheer size of the bruises indicate otherwise.
Plus, he vaguely remembers Itadori flirting with him in the lounge last night.
“Throw up?” Itadori asks, pulling on his underwear. “What are you talking about?”
“I threw up all over the floor last night, remember?” You were there, Megumi wants to add, but doesn’t. It’s embarrassing enough, and as dense as Itadori is, he’s bound to get it at some point.
“Yo, I left after we went over to Delta. I went to—er, I went to a friend’s place.”
Megumi snorts. “A friend, right.”
Itadori blushes cherry red, and Megumi snickers quietly. He can’t help but wonder why Itadori would even bother to keep it a secret if his body looks like it was fucking mauled last night.
Was it Toudou, maybe? No, definitely not. Megumi might’ve been wrong about Itadori, but he’s certain that even alcohol wouldn’t tempt Toudou for even a night.
“Anyway,” Itadori hisses, almost fully dressed now. Even with his hoodie, you can still see a nasty purpling hickey just under the left side of his chin. But Megumi puts that to the side: he has bigger things to worry about than his roommate’s vibrant, gay, and mysterious sex life. “I only got back half an hour ago, and the floor was fine when I got here.”
It’s not coming together in Megumi’s head. He throws the jigsaw pieces out the window and tries to wrack his brain for solid memories.
Megumi can’t remember most of it, but he knows that he definitely met back up with Itadori in the fourth floor lounge, and that it was endgame from there.
“But you carried me back to—”
Pink hair, face tattoos, and a deep, raspy chuckle.
“Oh.”
Sukuna, also technically Itadori, was flirting with him: he touched his mouth, carried him back to his room princess style, and let Megumi crawl into his lap.
“Oh no.”
Megumi grinded against his cock and practically begged for him to fuck him.
That’s pretty much all he remembers, but it’s enough. It’s definitely enough.
He remembers the physicality of it much better than the actual words said—he doesn’t know if he should be grateful for that or not.
“Oh my god. ”
“Fushiguro?” Itadori asks, now sitting on his own bed.
Megumi groans, burying his face in his pillow and throwing the duvet over himself. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a twin brother,” he grits out, muffled by all the fabric. Itadori understands him all the same.
“I usually don’t tell people because we don’t really get along,” Itadori answers easily. “Plus, he skipped two grades, so he’s actually a junior.” And then he backtracks. “Wait—I never told you I had a twin brother?”
Megumi sits back up and levels Itadori with an ice-cold glare. “No, you didn’t,” he deadpans.
Itadori laughs apologetically, rubbing the back of his neck. “I must’ve forgot.”
“Yeah.” Megumi’s jaw clenches. “You must’ve.”
Eyes filled with guilt, Itadori looks away. “So, I take it you met Sukuna last night?”
Megumi grimaces, gnawing on his chapped bottom lip. “Yeah, we met,” he says, which is definitely a grave understatement, but he doesn’t actually know what happened last night beyond the flashes of clarity, few and far between, he managed to hold onto. He isn’t even sure if he did throw up—if a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? If a first-year college student throws up all over the floor and no vomit is there the next day, did it really happen?
He shouldn’t have taken that last shot.
Megumi glances over at his digital clock. 9:44 AM, it reads. Thank god it’s not noon or something. The fall semester’s barely started, and he already feels more of a mess than ever.
“And?” asks Itadori, bringing Megumi back into their conversation. “How was he?”
In all honesty, Megumi has no idea. He mostly remembers throwing himself at Sukuna for the entire night; he remembers being inexplicably, inordinately attracted to Sukuna, but he doesn’t remember much about Sukuna himself.
But, well, if he was willing to carry Megumi all the way back to his room, he can’t be that bad.
He shrugs and answers, “Nice, I guess.”
Itadori blinks rapidly. “You’re joking, right?”
Megumi furrows his brows. “No . . . ?”
Itadori’s face is, well, there’s a heavy mix of emotions—disgust, surprise, disbelief—there, but for the most part, he just looks confused. After nearly a minute, he scratches his head and says, “Wow, I just—nice isn’t how most people would describe my brother.”
As soon as Megumi opens his mouth to ask Itadori what he means, his phone starts ringing. With a sigh, he forages around the bed and all his blankets to try and find it. It’s now that he realizes he’s still wearing his jeans; he’ll change right after this phone call. He glances at the caller ID and instantly answers.
“Morning.”
Then comes a sigh of relief from the other line. “Oh thank god you’re alive.”
“Who is it?” Itadori whispers, coming over to sit next to him on the bed. His side casually presses against Megumi’s, and Megumi finds himself leaning into the touch.
“Maki-senpai,” he mouths back, and then he decides that there’s no harm in letting Itadori join the call for real. “Hey, can I put you on speaker? Itadori’s here.”
“Go ahead,” she answers. “I don’t have much to tell you, though. I just wanted to make sure you were okay after last night.”
Itadori whistles. “Damn, was your night that wild?” Not as wild as yours, Megumi wants to say, but Itadori isn’t finished. “Oh my god. Did you make out with a straight guy in the sex dungeon again?”
Megumi groans. He does not want to think about that night. “Please don’t call it the sex dungeon—”
“ Everyone calls it the sex dungeon—”
“It’s just the basement of South dorm—”
“There’s barbed wire and couches everywhere. Everyone hooks up there—”
“That doesn’t make it a sex dungeon. No one even has sex there. Not even I have—”
“And besides,” Itadori says, cutting him off, “what could be worse than making out with a stranger against a wall in a room full of people?”
Maki’s snort can be heard loud and clear over the line. “Well, last night, Megumi was all over your—”
No no no no no.
“Yeah, it was bad,” Megumi hurries to interrupt, white-knuckling his own phone in a panic. Itadori gives him a ‘Dude, you good?’ look, but Megumi just ignores him and tries to steer the conversation in a different direction. “I thought I threw up all over the floor last night, but when I woke up, the tile was clean. I must’ve imagined it.”
Maki snorts again. “Nope,” she says. “You really did yak all over the floor. Sukuna told me about it.”
Shit.
Itadori’s peering at him with wide, curious eyes now. Maybe it was a mistake to put Maki on speaker.
“You owe him one, okay?” she continues. “He cleaned your floor for you last night.”
Megumi’s eyes nearly pop out of his eye sockets. “Wait, really?” he blurts. He glances over at Itadori, who’s in a similar state of shock.
“Yeah, and not to mention that he princess carried you back to your room—”
“He what?” Itadori yells, openly gawking at Megumi.
Fuck. He did not want Itadori to know about that one.
“Fushiguro—”
“Thanks for checking in,” Megumi shouts into the microphone, cutting Itadori off. “I gotta go now. Clean myself up.”
Maki laughs. “Make sure you talk to Sukuna, okay?”
As soon as Sukuna is brought up again, Megumi goes to end the call, but then Itadori is trying to pry the phone out of his hands.
“Wait, Maki-senpai, what else did Fushiguro—”
Megumi elbows him in the stomach, wincing when all that does is hurt his elbow. He switches tactics and shoves Itadori off the bed, which takes quite a bit of effort considering how much he weighs. It’s effective enough, though.
“Yup, yeah, of course, see you, Maki-senpai.” Then he finally manages to end the call.
He looks over to Itadori, placidly sitting criss-cross on the floor, gold eyes burning bright with curiosity. He glares in return.
Itadori gets straight to the point: “Dude, what happened between you and Sukuna last night?”
Megumi buries his face in his hands. His skin is oily, and his mouth tastes like straight up vomit. “I wish I could tell you.”
Sukuna lives in an apartment off-campus. Itadori texted Megumi the address and told him good luck, and that’s all the help he got.
Megumi’s never been good with directions, even when equipped with Google Maps. Both his dogs back at home have a better sense of direction than him.
It’s noon, now, and he’s circled around the same block at least three times, and the rich-looking customers sitting outside the bougie cafe on the street corner keep looking at him weird.
He has half a mind to think that Itadori gave him the wrong address. The thing is: Megumi literally cannot find it. It exists on Google Maps, but Megumi is starting to think that it doesn’t exist in reality. Maybe this is an undiscovered urban legend of sorts: Japan has the Human-Faced Dog and Hanako-san of the Toilet, and Megumi’s university has Itadori Sukuna’s imaginary apartment.
Megumi gives it one last go, inspecting each door and examining the details of each building, where the architecture starts to change—to no avail. He’s about to give up and maybe buy himself some overpriced coffee from the cafe he keeps passing by when he hears a voice call out from behind him:
“Now what are you doing here, love?”
Megumi gets whiplash from how quickly he turns around, a stabbing pressure digging right into his frontal lobe. But that isn’t even the worst of it. He learns two things looking at Sukuna for the first time, sober.
One: the biggest difference between Sukuna and his twin brother are their eyes. Sukuna’s eyes are red and hooded, while Yuuji’s are golden brown and round.
Two: even when they’re both sober, Sukuna still looks like he wants to eat Megumi whole. It has something to do with his eyes: wine-dark, careful, attentive. He studies Megumi’s face, intense gaze tracing the arch of his cheekbones and the slope of his jaw, then dropping down to the pinkness of his mouth.
Megumi returns the favor. His eyes zero in on Sukuna’s ear piercings; he actually tries to count how many Sukuna has and loses track at some point, but what stands out are his vertical and horizontal industrial piercings on both ears. Then his gaze slips to his silver double bridge piercings, then to the black barbells on both his brows.
He never thought he was the type to like this many piercings on a guy, but it looks good on Sukuna.
Really good.
In his distraction, he almost forgets that he was asked a question.
“I was looking for your apartment,” he answers, eyes snapping back up to meet Sukuna’s, forcing himself to focus. “About last night, I—”
“How’d you sleep?” Sukuna asks, changing the topic fluidly.
Megumi blinks. “Good, I think,” he replies, biting down on his bottom lip, feeling like the rug was just pulled from under him. It’s scary how different Sukuna is from his twin. Or maybe that’s just the embarrassment starting to seep in, the memories of how he shamelessly grinded against Sukuna’s crotch, whining, asking why he wouldn’t fuck him.
“How’s the hangover?”
“Not terrible.”
“Drink carefully next time.”
Megumi realizes he can fit in his apology here. “Yeah, I’m really sorry you had to take care of me last night. And—you know, the vomit.”
The corners of Sukuna’s lips pull into his cheeks. Even the cute indents under his eyes are identical to his brother’s. “Really, I didn’t mind.”
“Yeah right.”
“I’m serious.”
And—he does look like he means it.
Megumi wrings his hands together, unsure of where to go from here. “So where’s your apartment?” is the question he settles on, but he cringes almost as soon as the words leave his mouth. “I mean, I, uh, Ita—er, Yuuji sent me the address, but I couldn’t find it.”
”Over there,” Sukuna says, pointing above the cafe.
Oh. Right. Megumi hadn’t thought of that.
He tries to think of what else to say, but then he realizes that although he’s apologized, he still hasn’t said thank you. “Thank you for carrying me back to my room. And for cleaning up after me,” he says, circling back. He barely remembers last night, but he knows he was a mess. “Again, I’m so sorry you had to do all that for me.”
“Don’t be.”
“No, I’m serious now. I’ve never done that before. Gotten that drunk. I didn’t know my limit—I mean, I don’t even think I was thinking about my limit. I should’ve known better. I was all over you, and you clearly didn’t want any of—”
“You were cute, minus the whole vomiting part,” Sukuna says, leaning back against the building, crossing his arms over his chest.
Megumi swallows, losing track of where he was in his apology. “I, uh.”
“You want to make it up to me?”
“Yeah. Anything,” Megumi says, not thinking it through.
Sukuna raises a brow. “Anything?”
Megumi hopes that it isn’t some weird sex thing. Not that he’d be opposed to having sex with Sukuna, but he thinks he needs about three more showers to feel clean after last night.
Sukuna’s eyes do an obvious once-over of Megumi’s body, which honestly, Megumi finds embarrassing, considering that he’s wearing joggers, a freebie t-shirt, and Gojou’s oversized sweater, but then his tongue darts out to swipe over his bottom lip, and Megumi catches a glimpse of silver right on the center of his tongue, and he forgets all about his embarrassment.
On second thought, he’s really sorry, and sex as an apology doesn’t sound too bad.
He sucks in a breath and nods his head resolutely, steeling himself for whatever weird sex thing he’ll have to do. It can’t be too bad. “Anything.”
Sukuna grins, and Megumi can’t stop thinking about how stupidly hot he is when he smiles. He grins, puts his hands in his pockets. The suspense builds, and builds, and builds, until he finally asks, “Well, have you gotten lunch yet?”
Oh. Megumi blinks rapidly.
“Uh, no. Not yet.”
“Let me take you out. I know a good place.”
Megumi can’t tell if he’s excited or disappointed, but he says yes either way.
In retrospect, Megumi should’ve known that, if Sukuna didn’t put his hands on him last night when he was literally begging for it, when they were both inebriated, he wouldn’t try to pull anything today, sober to boot.
“You’re a psych major?”
Sukuna nods. “Psych and philosophy double major.”
Megumi lifts his brows. “Interesting,” he says, and it isn’t the fake, generic sort of interesting you say when you don’t have any other compliments. Megumi means it.
Sukuna grins and leans forward, elbows on the edge of the table. “Yeah? What about that is interesting?”
Megumi bites his lip, trying not to get sucked into Sukuna’s gaze. “It’s just interesting.”
Sukuna hums, fingers tapping against the table. The restaurant Sukuna took him to is comfortable, cute even. They’re tucked away into a booth at the corner of the place, waiting for their food, and passing the time with conversation.
“You?”
“Biology,” answers Megumi.
“Pre-med?”
“Vet school, hopefully.” Megumi realizes that he’s smiling.
“You like animals?” Sukuna asks, voice low.
“Yeah,” Megumi says, playing with his hands under the table, warmth flooding his cheeks. He feels a little embarrassed for some reason. “Back at home I have a lot of pets.”
“Tell me about them,” Sukuna prompts, his dark gaze fixed on Megumi.
Heart beating a little faster, Megumi finds himself telling Sukuna everything. “I have two akitas. Kuro and Shiro because, well, they’re black and white.”
“Creative,” Sukuna says with a lopsided smile and twinkling eyes. He’s paying attention, literally just paying attention, the bare minimum, and Megumi feels his heart pounding.
“I was five.”
Sukuna chuckles and says, “Of course you were. Go on.”
“I have an owl, her name is Nue. And a snake, who’s name is . . . ”
“Orochi?”
Megumi frowns, and the tips of his ears start to burn. “I was six.”
“Do you have a frog named Gama by any chance?” Sukuna says, voice teasing. “Or a rabbit named Usagi?”
The answer would be yes to both, but there’s no way he’s admitting that now. He takes a long sip from his coffee, looks to the side, and ignores the question.
“Do you have any pets?” he asks. He has a feeling that Sukuna’s going to let him off the hook. He just has a feeling.
And his feeling is correct, because Sukuna just laughs and leans back in his seat. “Nah,” he replies. “Yuuji always wanted one, but our grandfather wouldn’t let him.”
Megumi thinks he remembers Itadori mentioning how he was raised by his grandfather.
“You and your brother, do you get along?” Megumi ends up asking, even though he knows the answer.
“Not really.”
“Is there a reason?”
Something far-away and distinctly uncomfortable flashes on Sukuna’s face. Megumi sees it in the way his mouth twitches, the way he breathes out a careful, controlled sigh, the way he doesn’t—can’t, maybe—look Megumi in the eye when he says, “Probably.”
There’s probably a story there, but now isn’t the time or place to find out.
“So,” Megumi says, realizing that now’s a good time to change the topic, “if you’re a junior, and you don’t get along with your brother, then why were you at a freshman dorm last night?”
Sukuna runs his thumb along the rim of his coffee mug. “I was drinking with a friend,” he replies. “Uraume. Do you know them?”
Megumi thinks back; he doesn’t recall an Uraume, but he thinks he heard Sukuna mention them last night. “I’m a first-year; I still haven’t met many people,” he says in lieu of a real answer.
“You know my brother.”
“Your brother’s my roommate, of course I know him.”
“That must be a pain.”
Megumi met him only last week, but they’ve been getting along well, going to the same parties. Itadori’s a bit on the messy side as a roommate, but Megumi doesn’t mind.
“Not really.”
He likes Itadori, and he tells Sukuna that.
And then he quickly, and perhaps unnecessarily, clarifies, “Not, like, in that way. I don’t like your brother in that way.”
The distant, awkward expression disappears from Sukuna’s face and is replaced with something—darker. Something more here. Something that is for Megumi, and not anyone else.
“Is that so?” he hums, gaze slipping to Megumi’s neck. He makes no attempt to hide it.
And as easy as that, Megumi forgets all about what they were talking about. “Yeah,” he breathes, meeting Sukuna’s gaze once his eyes flit back up.
When Sukuna licks his lips and grins, Megumi catches another flash of silver on the center of his tongue.
He gets Sukuna’s number once they’re both done with their food, and they part ways.
That’s that.
Expectations are everything, and they’re best combated by expecting nothing.
Nothing from others and nothing from yourself.
“He took ya out on a date?”
Megumi frowns. Maybe hanging out with Kugisaki in her room as soon as he got back to the dorm was a bad idea. She’s his best friend, but . . . she’s very forward about things like this. “It wasn’t a date. I just was apologizing for last night.”
Kugisaki squints her eyes. “Who paid?” she quips.
“What?”
She clicks her tongue and checks her nails absently. She was telling Megumi how she got them done with Maki this morning; her nails are acrylic, baby pink, and not too long, a single diamond stud on each of her ring fingers.
“Who paid?” she repeats boredly.
Megumi looks to the side. The succulent on the windowsill looks quite interesting right about now. “Him.”
Kugisaki finally drops her hand and lets out a disappointed, dismissive sigh. “So how was that your way of apologizing then?”
“Uh.” When she puts it like that . . .
Megumi would much rather be talking about Kugisaki’s love life instead. Kugisaki and Mai started hooking up over the summer, and even though they still have yet to make anything official, if Megumi is sure about one thing in life, it’s that Maki and Kugisaki are head over heels in love with each other.
“You’re really something else.”
“Why is Fushiguro something else?”
Megumi’s head whips to the side. “Itadori,” he exclaims, freezing up at the sight of his roommate peeking into Kugisaki’s room. The door was open, so Megumi hadn’t even noticed a thing. “When’d you get here?”
“Just now,” he says, walking into the room and joining them on the fluffy pink carpet. “Why do you look so panicked?” Itadori’s head is tilted to the side, golden brown eyes big and round. He looks like a puppy, and Megumi almost feels bad that he’s already thinking of lies to tell him.
“I—”
“He went on a lunch date with your brother,” Kugisaki interrupts before Megumi can think up a believable scenario.
“Kugisaki.”
“What? Didn’t we just establish that?”
That same conflicted expression from the morning is on Itadori’s face—disgust, shock, and bewilderment. Bewilderment over everything. “I thought you were just gonna talk to him.”
“We did talk. Over lunch.” Megumi doesn’t know why he sounds so defensive. Maybe it has something to do with the frown on Itadori’s face.
“Over a lunch date,” Kugisaki lilts.
Megumi shoots her a death glare. “It wasn’t a date.”
“It was totally a date.”
“Seriously?” asks Itadori.
Megumi bites his lip. “If, say, it was a date—which it wasn’t,” he frantically adds that last part, and Kugisaki starts snickering. He ignores her and gets straight to the point, “Hypothetically, if Sukuna and I did go on a date, would you be okay with that?” He bites his lip again once he’s said everything. He feels shy, feels like he’s asking a father for permission to date his daughter.
Which is not what’s happening right now. Not even close.
Itadori looks more startled than ever. He takes a moment to collect himself. “I mean. Yeah, of course. You can do whatever you want with him, but . . . ” he trails off.
“But what?” Megumi feels oddly talkative right now, tracing circles into the soft fur of the rug. “You always kinda freeze up whenever I talk about Sukuna.”
A half-frown half-pout pulls on Itadori’s mouth. Megumi stares at the hickey just under his jaw.
“It’s just—it’s weird between us,” Itadori explains, evasive.
“Weird?”
“Do you like him?” It’s a non-sequitur, a question of his own, a question unrelated to the one he was asked, but Megumi finds himself following along anyway.
“It’s not like that.”
Kugisaki finally jumps in. “I was mostly just teasing him,” she tells Itadori, bringing the conversation back into perspective. “But from what he told me, it sounds like it was a date to Sukuna, at the very least.”
“You’re making a big deal out of this. He probably just wants to hook up with me.”
“Huh.” Itadori’s brows are pinched, lips pressed together uncomfortably.
“What?” Megumi can’t help but push. There’s something wrong here, something Itadori’s not telling him.
“Nothing.”
“It’s clearly not nothing—”
“Drop it.” Itadori’s voice cracks almost imperceptibly, but Megumi catches it. “I’m sorry.” His amber-dark eyes are firm and insistent, and Megumi knows that they’ve pushed him too far. “Fushiguro, you can do whatever you want with Sukuna. What you do with him is none of my business.”
Kugisaki looks annoyed. “Hey, it is your business if your brother’s a fucking creep or something—”
“He’s not,” Itadori says, voice soft, careful, and almost repentant—and Megumi believes him. “He’s a lot better than you’d think.” And then, softer: “I mean it.”
The room goes quiet. There’s muffled voices and faint background noise coming from the hallway, so it isn’t totally silent, yet an overbearing, stifling feeling of quiet still carries through.
That is, until Itadori rushes up back to his feet and abruptly declares, “I gotta go.”
He’s already pacing down the hallway before Megumi and Kugisaki even register what just happened.
Kugisaki’s short brown hair swooshes with how suddenly she turns to face him. “Did something happen between you two? Just now? Or before this? Did I miss something?”
Megumi exhales something heavy and stares at his lap with a frown. “I wish I could tell you,” he says, déjà vu sharp on his tongue.
“Oh, it’s you.”
Megumi squints his eyes. The girl standing in front of him is short, her blonde hair is tied into two pig-tails, she’s wearing these cute overall jean shorts, and Megumi is entirely certain he’s never seen her before in his life, which is weird, because she seems to know him.
“Uh.”
They ran into each other on their way out of the dining hall, and Megumi is itching to get back to his dorm. Days later, and Itadori is still being weird, so Megumi wants to grab his books from their room and head to the library before Itadori gets back from cross country practice.
“Miwa and Mai’s friend, right?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.
Oh, Megumi remembers now. She had been the girl sharing a seat with Miwa that night. That night he—
He winces, wanting nothing more than to bolt out of here. “Oh . . . you were there when—”
“When Sukuna bridal-carried you back to your room?” she finishes for him, grinning playfully. “I was as out of it as you, don’t worry. At least you went to bed before you could embarrass yourself even more. I . . . did not have that luxury.”
If only she knew what happened after Sukuna carried him back to his room. Megumi doesn’t think it could have gotten any more embarrassing than that.
“I’m Nishimiya,” she says once their conversation has reached a lull.
It takes Megumi a moment to realize that he should introduce himself too. “Fushiguro.”
“Nice to meet you. Sober, I mean.”
Megumi laughs under his breath. “It’s nice to meet you too,” he says quietly.
“So . . . ” she draws out, clasping her hands together, looking up at Megumi with her gentle blue eyes. “Are you heading back to the dorm?”
Megumi nods, thinking about his bio homework due at 11:59 tonight.
“Wanna walk together? You’re in East dorm, right? I’m in the one right next to it.”
And Megumi thinks, well, what’s the harm? She seems nice enough, and says, “Sure.”
As soon as they start walking, he realizes what the harm is.
“So,” she starts again, her blue eyes no longer gentle, instead sparkling with mischief, mouth teasing, “you and Sukuna?”
Megumi nearly stops walking. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and starts sucking nervously. “It’s not like that.”
“I wouldn’t blame you if it was. He’s hot,” says Nishimiya, completely nonchalant.
Despite the awkward topic, Megumi is thankful she’s taking charge of the conversation. He’s never been very good at that. Conversation.
Heat blooms deep in the pit of Megumi’s belly, spreading all the way to his cheeks. Sukuna is hot, he’s an otherworldly sort of attractive, and that’s the problem.
“I’m not looking for a relationship right now,” he explains, kicking a rock on the sidewalk. It skips along the pavement for a little while before coming still. They walk past it and cross the street.
Nishimiya is undeterred. “Who said it has to be a relationship?”
The sun is starting to set, now, golden tones, warm oranges and yellows pooling by the bottom of the sky, like honey at the bottom of a barrel. Megumi hums, eyes snapping back to Nishimiya’s. She has a point; it doesn’t need to be a relationship, necessarily, but it’s more complicated than that.
“I don’t know where I stand with him.” It’s true; he hasn’t spoken to Sukuna since they had lunch together. He got his number, but he hasn’t done anything with it.
“Yeah? Tell me all about it. Or, as much as you can until we get back to the dorm.”
Megumi narrows his eyes. “We just met.”
She walks a little in front of Megumi and turns the corner. Megumi is grateful for it because he wasn’t sure if they had to turn or keep going straight. She hums quietly, then after a moment, she glances back at him and says, “Well, what better way to get to know you than your boy troubles?”
Megumi isn’t exactly the talkative type. He isn’t the type to unleash all his feelings, all his inner thoughts to a stranger, let alone to his closest friends.
But.
The thing is, unleashing all his feelings and inner thoughts to a stranger sounds especially good right now. He doesn’t have a clue what to do about Sukuna, and by extension, his twin brother, and he doesn’t exactly care if she tells anyone or not.
It’s hard to still have shame about something like this when the entire lounge saw him all over Sukuna that night.
So he tells her. Not everything—he conveniently leaves out the detail of him throwing up all over the floor and Sukuna cleaning everything up while he was passed out—but he tells her how he was searching for Sukuna’s apartment and ended up getting taken to a restaurant for lunch. He tells her how Sukuna asked about his numerous pets back at home, flirted with him, and paid for both their meals.
“Sounds like a date,” she says.
Megumi clenches his jaw. “It wasn’t a date.”
He doesn’t have to look at her to know she’s rolling her eyes. “At the very least, it sounds like he likes you. A lot.”
Megumi looks to the side and chews on his lower lip.
They’re almost back at the dorm, now. Only one more street to cross, and one more corner to turn.
“Ask him out on another date,” she suggests, hands in her pockets.
“But his twin brother is my roommate.”
Nishimiya looks bewildered at why that should even matter. “And?”
Megumi scratches his head. “They have some sort of weird thing between them. I don’t know what it is. I feel awkward getting in between them.”
“Then ask your roommate what happened.”
“He got all weird when we tried to talk about it.”
Nishimiya’s brows pinch together. She looks exasperated, but Megumi can’t imagine why anything he’s said would cause her to be exasperated of all things.
“Then ask Sukuna. Ask him on your second date. He asked you out on your last date, so the ball’s in your court now.”
Megumi frowns and falls silent. He looks around them and realizes that they’re already at her dorm.
Nishimiya goes on, pulling out her lanyard from her pocket. “To me, it just sounds like you’re desperate for excuses not to go for it. If a hot guy carried me back to my room when I was drunk, didn’t do anything to me while I was passed out, and even took me out to lunch the next day to boot, I’d already be planning our wedding.”
Sukuna . . . really has done a lot for him, huh? Megumi doesn’t know how to feel about that.
He doesn’t think that he’s ever had anyone who looked out for him to that extent. Except maybe Gojou, but the whole thing with Gojou is, well, complicated.
“Anyway, it was nice talking to you,” Nishimiya says, swiping her key card in the scanner and pulling open the door. Megumi blinks rapidly, still trying to digest their conversation, let alone the fact that it’s ending. “Good luck with Sukuna and your roommate.”
“Thanks for listening,” Megumi says, and he means it. “I really appreciate it.”
Nishimiya is nice, and Megumi likes nice people.
“No problem,” Nishimiya says brightly, walking inside. But just as Megumi’s about to head over to his own dorm, he hears the door creak back open. Nishimiya is peeking her head out the door and shouting, “You know, we should get drunk together some time!”
Megumi laughs, surprised. “Yeah, we should.”
Some time ends up being a lot sooner than Megumi thought.
Turns out, Nishimiya knows Miwa and Mai, and they all end up in Miwa and Mai’s dorm room again at the end of the week. This might become a regular thing, Megumi realizes.
“Never have I ever . . . ” Itadori’s face scrunches up in deep thought. Megumi thumbs the rim of his glass, waiting for Itadori to continue, staring at the light pink blush on his cheeks. “Cheated on a test.”
“Bullshit,” says Mai, taking a sip of her mixed drink.
“There’s no way. Not even when you were like, ten?” asks Miwa, hiccuping.
Megumi quietly knocks back his glass. There isn’t much left in his cup; he’s had maybe four or five shots worth already, and he’s pretty sure he’s in last place.
Nishimiya’s brows are knitted. “Like, not even discussed answers with people who’ve already taken it?”
Itadori is gobsmacked. His jaw is hanging open, and he’s blinking his brown eyes in disbelief. “Wait, all of you have? Are you serious?” he asks, frowning deeply. “Isn’t that disrespectful to the teacher? Like, the teacher worked so hard to come up with all the answers, so even if you don’t know the answers very well, you should at least try to do it by yourself—”
“Moving on,” Mai sighs loudly, cutting Itadori off, checking her nails. “Miwa, it’s your turn.”
Miwa perks up. “Oh, umm. Never have I ever done anal.” Mai looks like she’s about to loudly call shit, but then Miwa hurriedly clarifies, “Like—taken it from a guy.”
The two boys each groan and take a sip.
“Not fair,” says Megumi.
“Totally not fair,” echoes Itadori.
It’s still weird thinking of Itadori as anything but straight.
Mai grins. “It’s my turn, right? Never have I ever had sex with someone more than thirteen years older than me,” she says, looking Megumi dead in the eye.
Mai knows too much about him. Maki must have told her.
“Fuck you,” Megumi groans, finishing off what was left in his glass. The liquid burns, leaves him all warm inside. Mai and Miwa are high-fiving, and Nishimiya is falling into Miwa’s lap, giggling.
Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Itadori taking a fast sip of his drink. He’s trying to be subtle about it. He’s not—not even close—but no one is sober enough to call him out on it.
Things are better between him and Itadori, mostly because they’re pretending the thing with Sukuna just didn’t happen.
Alcohol helps. It definitely helps.
“Megumi, you’re out?” Mai asks.
Megumi nods, feeling a little woozy, feeling a little tired.
“You okay?” Nishimiya asks from beside him. Megumi realizes she’s resting her head on his shoulder.
Megumi nods again. He feels like a marionette doll without the strings, without the puppeteer. “Yeah,” he eventually musters up the energy to say. “ ‘m good.”
Nishimiya hums. She smells nice, Megumi faintly registers, like hinoki and coconut maybe. “Oh, by the, by the way,” she stumbles a bit, keeping her voice low, “did you ever text Sukuna?”
Megumi bites his lip and looks away, which is enough of an answer in itself.
“Why not?” Nishimiya presses, voice still hushed. Megumi is thankful that she has enough tact to make sure Itadori doesn’t hear.
“I, uh. I’ve been busy,” he says, which isn’t a complete lie. Classes have really started to pick up, midterms are just around the corner, and he’s spent more time at the library than anywhere else.
“Why don’t you text him now?”
Megumi just stares at her. The game’s fallen into a bit of a lull: Miwa’s talking about molecular biology or biomedical engineering—something bio, something smart—and Itadori is nodding along cluelessly. Mai is on her phone texting someone.
“That doesn’t sound like a good idea.”
“If you won’t text him when you’re drunk, are you ever going to text him?”
Maybe she has a point. Or maybe Megumi is just really drunk. Either or.
“You’re right,” Megumi blurts out, already pulling out his phone and searching for Sukuna’s contact info.
“I’m always right,” Nishimiya says, patting Megumi on the back. “What are you gonna send him?”
Megumi stares at his hands. Apparently he’s already sent a text just now. He’s definitely drunk.
“I said: hi, it’s Fushiguro.”
“Good start!” Nishimiya cheers, clapping her hands, eyes bright. “Now all you have to do is wait for him to text ba—”
Megumi’s phone is ringing—Sukuna is calling him.
“Oh my god,” Nishimiya says. “He’s calling you.”
“Who’s calling you?” Miwa asks, randomly piping into the conversation.
Megumi looks up and sees that the entire circle is staring at him, their own conversations having died out. Fuck. He quickly hides his screen to make sure Itadori doesn’t see.
“Uh, Kamo,” Megumi lies. “He does this sometimes.” And, well, it isn’t that far fetched of a lie. They almost hooked up once, but the thing is, Kamo doesn’t want to just hook up with him. He wants a relationship—he wants to be involved, he wants the real thing.
Megumi—he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want a relationship, doesn’t want anything remotely romantic in his life.
Sukuna—what does Sukuna want?
“Ew, why is that creep calling you?” Mai asks. “He was obsessed with me and Maki growing up.”
That catches Megumi off-kilter for a second. He always forgets how tightly interconnected the Zenins and Kamos are. Megumi is technically a Zenin but—it’s more complicated than that. He didn’t grow up with the other Zenin children—hell, he met Maki in high school, and Mai just last weekend.
His phone continues to ring.
“I’m gonna take this in the hall,” Megumi announces, not answering Mai’s question. It’s not like anyone will remember this in the morning anyway. He stands up and recollects his sense of balance. He’s drunk for sure, but he feels way better than he did last week when he first met Sukuna. Maybe it helps that he’s not crossed.
“Have fun!” Itadori says, and the others chime in similarly.
Megumi makes sure not to knock anyone’s drinks over on his way to the door; he soaked Mai’s carpet with vodka and cranberry juice last week, and he owes her half his meal swipes for a month.
Exiting the room and entering the hallway feels stepping into a new world. He can still hear the loud music from the room, muffled and hollow, but the hallway feels like a liminal space, a place that isn’t really there, doesn’t really exist.
Fuck. His phone is still ringing. He finally answers the call, presses his phone to his cheek, and clears his throat. “You’re, um, you called?”
“I hate texting,” Sukuna says simply.
“Ah.” Megumi’s heart is beating very, very fast. He doesn’t know what to say, but he feels a dark bloom of warmth in the pit of his belly.
“So, darling, what took you so long to contact me?”
Megumi lets out the quietest whimper at the tone of Sukuna’s voice. And—fuck—did Sukuna just call him darling? His knees feel a little weak; he’s thankful for the wall behind him, keeping him standing upright.
“I was . . . ” his words die out. He doesn’t know what to say. Megumi could use the same excuse he gave Nishimiya, that he was busy with classwork, but the more he thinks about it, the more it sounds like a lie. He doesn’t want to lie to Sukuna.
“Shy?” Sukuna sounds amused, sounds like he’s smirking, and Megumi doesn’t know why he finds that so ridiculously hot.
Megumi bites his lip, slumping down into a sitting position against the wall. “Yeah,” he admits, and then, for some reason, he finds himself further confessing, “Didn’t know if you wanted me back.”
“You want me?” There’s something there, something hungry, dark, and quiet in the roughness of Sukuna’s voice. Megumi can’t quite put his finger on it. His head lolls against the wall behind him.
“I think so. And I’m not just saying that ‘cause I’m drunk, I think.”
Sukuna hums contemplatively into the line, and Megumi drinks in the gravelly sound like water. A glass of water would be really good right about now.
“How much have you drank tonight?” he asks.
“Um.” Megumi takes a guess. “I think somewhere around six.”
“Are you feeling okay?”
Megumi thinks about it, and yeah. Yeah, he feels really good right now. “Mmh.”
“Are you with your friends?”
Megumi realizes that Sukuna is asking him a lot of questions. But he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind at all. “Was,” he answers. “I’m out in the hallway now.” Once again, he finds himself revealing more unnecessary information. “I was hanging out with your brother just now.”
No response.
“Sukuna?” Megumi asks once the silence grows unbearable. His voice sounds a little whiny, sounds a little slurred, but it’s okay. It’s just Sukuna on the other line. It’s okay.
“Yeah, baby?”
Megumi lets out another whine, but he forces himself to focus. “What’s wrong between you and Ita—Yuuji. Did something happen between you two?”
As he waits for Sukuna to respond, Megumi finds that his eyelids are droopy, that it’s hard to keep himself awake. Sukuna takes a long time to answer.
“I’ll tell you about it someday,” he says evasively. “Or maybe he will.”
“Mmh,” Megumi hums in response. He doesn’t really have the energy to come up with a real response to that. He almost doesn’t remember what they were just talking about. No, he definitely doesn’t remember what they were just talking about.
“Feeling sleepy, sweetheart?”
“Mmh.” Megumi closes his eyes.
He feels like warm honey. Warm honey poured into chamomile tea, goopy and warm.
“Do you know the number of the room you were in?”
“Mmh.” Megumi doesn’t question why Sukuna is asking him this. “One one five,” he mumbles.
“East dorm?”
Megumi nods, even though Sukuna can’t see him. “East dorm.”
“I want you to stay right there for a little bit, okay? Right outside the room. Ten minutes, okay?”
“Ten mins,” Megumi slurs, head dropping to rest on his knees, phone barely pressed to his ear. He doesn’t know why Sukuna’s asking him to wait, but he doesn’t mind. He trusts Sukuna—which is weird. It’s weird, because Megumi doesn’t trust many people.
“Wait, S’kuna.”
“Yeah?” It sounds like Sukuna is doing something; things are rustling in the background. Megumi wonders what it is, but more than anything, he just wants to keep talking to Sukuna.
Sukuna’s voice is calming—Megumi likes it. Megumi likes him a lot.
Cheeks warm, pink lips chapped, he asks, “Can you stay on the line?”
There’s a soft chuckle. It’s more fond than anything, and Megumi feels it down to his fingertips. “Of course I can, angel.”
Trust is something that has to be earned—but maybe Sukuna’s earned it already.
“Definitely more than six shots.”
Megumi groans, blinking awake. “Sukuna?” he croaks out, voice rough. He lifts his head up to see Sukuna crouching in front of him so that they’re face to face.
“You dozed off for a little bit there, sweetheart,” says Sukuna, cupping the side of Megumi’s face. Megumi nuzzles into the warm touch.
“I did?”
“You did,” Sukuna hums. “Not for too long, though. I was already inside by the time you stopped replying.”
“Mmh.” Megumi’s eyes flutter back shut as Sukuna combs his other hand through his hair.
No one really does that with Megumi anymore. Physical touch, physical affection. Gojou is teaching at the university now, so Megumi doesn’t want either of them to get in trouble over a misunderstanding.
“Do you want to get back to your room?” Sukuna asks, tapping Megumi’s cheek.
Megumi nods as best as he can. “Sleepy.”
A soft chuckle. “I can tell.”
“Want me to pick you up?”
Megumi nods again. “Mmh.”
And then he’s being swept off his feet again. Megumi forces himself to open his eyes just so that he can get a good look at Sukuna. He’s wearing this large, black hoodie with red markings on it, and his hair isn’t spiked like it normally is. It’s floofy, a little like his brother’s. Megumi reaches a hand up to touch, fingers tingling when he feels how soft it is.
Sukuna’s eyes soften, a smile blooming on his mouth in real time. Megumi feels lucky to watch it happen; it feels like watching a flower unfurl, beautiful and sublime.
Megumi trusts in his conscience—and his conscience is telling him that he can trust Sukuna—he knows he can.
“Having fun?”
“Your hair’s soft,” Megumi mumbles, and then his hand falls down to cup Sukuna’s cheek. Sukuna lets out a tiny gasp at this, a stuttered sound that Megumi never thought he’d hear from the man.
“I was getting ready for bed before coming here.”
Megumi frowns, the gears finally turning in his head. “Did you come all the way here for me?”
“Who else am I here for, baby?”
Megumi grows pink. He isn’t used to people doing things for him. Doing things he never asked for, never expected, never thought he deserved.
Life is a single-player game: you have friends, you have family, and you have enemies—everyone else is a stranger. You pick your friends, you’re stuck with your family, you make enemies along the way, and most importantly—you pick people to care about. But you’re never really playing with them or anyone. It’s all on you. Every choice you make, every mistake you make, it’s all on you and no one else. A consequence of this is that favors and good deeds are never just favors or good deeds. They always expect something in return, which is why, in theory, Megumi’s never been a fan of either—never been quite a big fan of needing to be saved, needing to be taken care of. He’s seen where that’s got him with Gojou—he owes Gojou his life, he owes Gojou for getting him and Tsumiki out of that house, and he’s aware that he’s never going to be able to pay him back. Gojou’s always said he doesn’t want or need anything in return, but something like that is impossible to believe. All the things Gojou’s done for him—he has to be wanting something in return.
It only makes sense that someone as unreadable as Gojou Satoru would have unreadable intentions. He trusts Gojou, but he doesn’t trust his intentions.
Which is why, since then, Megumi’s made every effort to play this game of life alone.
But Sukuna. Sukuna is an anomaly, an abnormality, an irregularity. Sukuna does things for him, kind things, and Megumi can’t tell what he wants in return. He has to want something. Everyone wants something.
“Hey, Sukuna.” Megumi’s voice is muffled against Sukuna’s neck. He doesn’t want to look at Sukuna right now. Thinking about Gojou, about Tsumiki, about his father—shit, he’s fucked up, isn’t he?
“Why are you doing this for me?” There’s no going back for someone like Megumi. There isn’t, there can’t be, it wouldn’t make sense for there to be.
In this shitty game of life, there are good people and there are bad people. Good people expect good from others, they expect their good deeds to be returned; bad people, well, they don’t care about anyone but themselves. There was a time where Megumi hated both types of people, but now—Megumi doesn’t know where he stands. He definitely knows he’s not a good person, but he doesn’t know if he’d call himself a bad person either.
Tsumiki and Itadori Yuuji, they’re good people. If Megumi knows anything, it’s that they’re good people. He used to hate Tsumiki for it, her unrelenting kindness, her unrelenting compassion.
Is Gojou a good person? No, definitely not. Calling him a bad person, well, that doesn’t sound right either.
Where does Sukuna stand, then?
Sukuna is a stranger, nothing more than Megumi’s roommate’s twin brother, nothing more than the man who happens to be there for him in moments where Megumi expects it least.
Everyone wants something, so what does Sukuna want?
Sukuna chuckles at his question and Megumi feels his heart clench, feels like the world’s about to shatter before his feet. He doesn’t want it to. He doesn’t want things to break, doesn’t want to be broken, doesn’t want to ruin whatever he and Sukuna have.
Megumi is selfish like that. Wanting to be cared for without giving anything in return.
He doesn’t have anything to give in return.
And then Sukuna is brushing his hair away from his forehead. And then Sukuna’s lips are on his forehead, soft and gentle and everything that should be impossible for someone like Sukuna. He’s a dangerous flirt, he has more piercings than you can count, and he acts like he owns the world—and it’s such a convincing act that Megumi thinks there must be some truth to it. He looks like the guys Megumi used to hang out in high school except a little older, a little realer, and a little scarier.
He looks like someone Megumi should stay away from, but Sukuna continues to give him every reason to trust him.
That’s the thing: Megumi does trust him. He doesn’t know when it happened; he just knows that it did. He just knows that somewhere along the line Sukuna earned his trust and made away with it, which is the scary thing about this all. It’s hard for Megumi to trust people, but when it comes to Sukuna—it’s different when it comes to Sukuna.
Sukuna’s lips are on his forehead, and his eyes are closed, pink lashes smeared like a shadow against his cheek, and Megumi feels his breath stutter. At the touch, but also at how beautiful Sukuna is.
Megumi swallows, wondering if Sukuna can hear how loud his heart is beating. With how close they are, he wouldn’t doubt it.
Sincerity is scary and vulnerability is even scarier, but something about Sukuna makes him think that he doesn’t have anything to be afraid of after all.
Sukuna pulls his lips back and his eyes are open again. He has this look in them, this look of—something. Something that Megumi doesn’t think he’s seen before, seen in anyone. He looks—conflicted, sad, happy, overwhelmed. It looks like it hurts, looks like he’s about to break, or maybe that’s just Megumi.
But maybe Megumi is just projecting.
“I wish I could tell you,” Sukuna says.
Megumi sucks in a breath, and his eyes, inexplicably, zero in on Sukuna’s lips. He wonders if Sukuna’s lips are still warm—he knows that his skin is warm where Sukuna kissed him, knows that it feels like Sukuna’s branded him with the intention of owning him, of making it so that Megumi will never be the same again. He wonders if it’s the same for Sukuna, wonders if Sukuna feels this warm inside, feels this warm all over. Sukuna’s lips were warm—he wonders if they’re warm even now, wonders if they would feel even warmer if he felt them with his own mouth.
Megumi likes kissing—but he hasn’t kissed anyone in a long while.
He wonders if Sukuna would let him kiss him—wonders if he could kiss Sukuna without Sukuna thinking he wants anything more out of it.
But does he want more out of it?
Megumi doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything, except for this one thing: he desperately wants to kiss Sukuna right now.
He wants to feel Sukuna’s mouth on his—wants to suck on his tongue and pant into his mouth—wants to know the taste of his mouth—wants to commit the shape of it to memory—wants to kiss him until both their mouths are raw, swollen and raw, swollen and raw until there’s nothing left. Until everything else is burned away.
Megumi wants to kiss him—desperately wants to kiss him.
“Sukuna.”
Megumi comes back into his body. His eyes flutter back open, struggling against the bright hallway light, and he angles his head toward the source of the voice.
“What are you doing with Fushiguro?”
Itadori is standing just outside the threshold of Mai and Miwa’s room, and the music from Mai’s speaker is flooding out of the room. Megumi feels weightless, inconsequential, a side character in his own life—feels like what’s happening right now is slipping entirely out of his control. The scene has changed, and the little world that consisted of just the two of them expands.
“Carrying him back to your room.”
“I—” Itadori sounds confused. “I can do that.”
Megumi might’ve imagined it, but it feels like Sukuna’s grip on him tightens.
“You don’t need to. I’ve already got him.”
Itadori’s face scrunches up. Megumi stares at the sharp indents below his eyes, right above the blush on his cheekbones. The world feels small right now—the girls are watching them, and Megumi thinks there might be people at the end of the hallway watching—but the world, Megumi’s world, feels small, yet at the same time, it feels just one person too big.
“Are you two—are you two really—”
“Would that be a problem, Yuuji?”
Then, bizarrely, Itadori starts laughing. It sounds like it hurts. It sounds like he’s hurting, sounds like an old wound, deep and poorly wrapped up, is spilling crimson all over the floor. “Fushiguro is not the problem. My problem is that my brother refuses to talk to me, but he doesn’t seem to have any problem hooking up with my roommate.”
“We’re not hooking up,” is Sukuna’s only defense. Megumi’s head lolls closer to Sukuna’s neck.
“Then what the fuck is this?”
Shit, Megumi shouldn’t be here. This isn’t—this isn’t his place. He knows what his place is, and he knows that this is not it.
“Yuuji,” Sukuna says sternly, “you’ve been drinking.”
“Sure I’ve been fucking drinking. So has he. Put him down. I’ll bring him back to our room.”
Sukuna’s voice can barely be heard over the music, however faint. He sounds gentle, and Megumi has no reason to believe that he’s not. “I’m not letting you.”
The wound continues to bleed, blood so dark it’s nearly ink-black, spilling out with Itadori’s pained laughs. “You sounded like you did back in high school just then. You’d always tell me what I could and couldn’t do, and then our grandfather dies, and then you don’t even attend the funeral. You dropped off the face of the fucking earth for two years—”
“I transferred schools and moved away, Yuuji. I didn’t drop off the face of the earth—”
“It felt like that to me, Sukuna. It felt like that. I needed you back then.”’
And that—that one hits a little too close to home.
“My life is my own, ” Sukuna says, voice strained. No, no, he sounds angry.
Itadori laughs again, and Megumi feels something break. It’s strange, not being the broken one for once. “I know that, but would it kill you to think of me for once? Your only fucking family?”
Megumi forces his eyes open again to look at Sukuna. His eyes are downcast; they stare at Itadori’s shoes for a long while, scarlet against ruby, as he struggles to respond.
“Was it so hard to live without me?”
There is no more laughter coming from Itadori anymore.
“Yes. Yes it was. Yes it is.”
A heavy sort of silence billows in like a dark cloud. It’s suffocating. It’s scary.
“Sukuna,” Megumi mumbles, lips moving against the other’s neck. His skin is soft and a little hot. Megumi laments at the lost opportunity, then he remembers himself, remembers who they are and where they are. “You can put me down. I’m good, now.”
Sukuna’s eyes snap back to Megumi, blood-red, but not with its usual intensity. He studies Megumi’s face for a couple seconds before carefully letting him down onto his feet. Sukuna slips a hand around his waist protectively, and Megumi instinctively leans into the touch.
Miwa comes out of the room and starts tugging on Itadori’s arm. She’s a little off-balance, but nothing like Megumi, at least.
“Yuuji, Yuuji,” she says, voice hushed, eyes flickering to the ends of the hall. “People are watching.”
Megumi looks around them and notices that there is indeed a crowd on either end of the hallway, he even sees a couple open doors and some heads peeking out of them.
“Fuck that,” Itadori hisses, eyes fixed on Sukuna. “Fuck them. Shit. Fuck you, Sukuna.”
“Yuuji, come on back inside,” Mai shouts, sounding annoyed and concerned all at once. “We wanted you to check and see if Megumi was okay, and he’s okay. Your job is done. I’ll call Nobara over if you want to talk to her, okay?” And then, quieter, quiet enough that Megumi is shocked that he even hears it: “You’re not the only one with twin problems, dumbass.”
Miwa, in a sudden show of strength that could rival Olympic athletes, yanks Itadori back into the room and slams the door behind them.
Like that, Megumi is left in the hallway, half-slumped against Sukuna’s side, starting to feel the six shots in full, wondering what the hell just happened.
They make it back into Megumi’s room, somehow.
Sukuna carefully lays Megumi down on his bed, making sure he’s lying on his side, his back almost to the wall, but Megumi squeezes his wrist, tugging him back.
“You gonna throw up all over the floor again, sweetheart?”
Megumi can’t tell if Sukuna is teasing or if he’s asking a serious question. Either way, Megumi frowns and tightens his grip around Sukuna’s wrist.
“What happened between you and your brother?” he blurts out.
Sukuna freezes, arm jerking slightly. Megumi refuses to let go, though, and rubs his thumb along Sukuna’s pulse point, droopy eyes staring back at Sukuna’s insistently. Stay, please, he tries to say. Sukuna seems to understand, lying down on the edge of the bed next to Megumi, turned on his side so they’re facing each other.
Megumi likes the warmth, and he realizes he’ll miss it—the warmth—when Sukuna leaves. Because he will leave, because that’s what people do in Megumi’s life. They leave.
They use him, and then they leave.
“I doubt your childhood was any more fucked up than mine,” says Megumi, loose-lipped. “When I was five, my father—”
“Shhh, baby,” Sukuna says, placing his finger over Megumi’s lips. Megumi feels his heart stop. “You don’t need to tell me if it hurts.” Then he releases Megumi’s lips and brings that hand up to brush underneath Megumi’s eyes and—oh. Oh, was Megumi crying?
Megumi jerks away, scrubbing at his eyes with the end of his sleeve.
“Did you really not attend your grandfather’s funeral?” he asks, trying to save face as he rubs his eyes.
“Will you even remember this in the morning?”
“I will,” Megumi says, and he fully believes it. “I promise I will.”
He hears Sukuna let out a heavy sigh.
“Me and Yuuji’s parents passed away when we were young, so our grandfather raised us for the majority of our lives,” he reveals, grabbing Megumi’s hand, pulling it away from his face.
Megumi stares at Sukuna’s hand, gentle around his bony wrist. He’s tanner than Megumi is, black tattoos even starker against Megumi’s skin.
“Around the time he died, I got into trouble with these guys.”
“You mean, like a gang or something?” Megumi thinks back to the time he almost got expelled from his middle school for accidentally starting a gang.
Sukuna’s expression tells him he’s off the mark. “Something like that,” he hums, looking at the wall behind Megumi, and Megumi realizes that even more photographs of him, Tsumiki, and Gojou are hung up there. “It’s all fine now, but if I had stayed, it would’ve meant putting Yuuji in danger. Us being twins, y’know. I had to cut off contact.”
So it was all for him? Megumi’s throat feels a little tight.
“Does he know this?”
“He does,” Sukuna says, sounding a little distant. Megumi wonders if he ever regrets it. He must. There’s no other reason why Sukuna, even now, continues to avoid his brother—no other reason than regret.
“Even so, he says he would’ve preferred it if I had stayed and risked it.”
But that was in the past, Megumi wants to say. But there shouldn’t be anything wrong with reconnecting with him now, Megumi wants to say. But he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know how to feel—he just knows that he doesn’t know the whole story, and he knows that knowing the whole story isn’t his right by any means.
Something tells Megumi that Sukuna doesn’t want to talk about this any longer. Megumi gets it; if he was sober, he doesn’t think he’d be saying what he says next.
“I have a sister, you know,” he says, steering the conversation away from Sukuna’s family. She left me too.
“You do?” Sukuna asks, looking a little more interested in the conversation, the usual intensity in his eyes slowly coming back.
Megumi nods. “We didn’t get along very well either. That’s why I don’t tell anyone about her, usually.” She left me too, just like you left your brother.
Sukuna hums and gives Megumi’s wrist a soft squeeze, and Megumi vaguely registers that their positions have switched. “Do you still talk?”
Megumi shakes his head, eyes falling shut. “She got into an accident a couple years ago. Car crash. Drunk driver,” he explains. Sukuna squeezes his wrist again. “She’s in a coma.” There was a time where Megumi used to be angry about it, angry about what happened—that time has long passed.
“Tell me about her.”
Megumi blinks, turning to face Sukuna again. “I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone about her.”
Sukuna’s grip on Megumi’s wrist loosens, then his hand is slinking upward, palm sliding against Megumi’s, tilting just enough that he can let his fingers fall into the crooks of Megumi’s hand. Megumi hears himself gasp; he stares at their hands, and he realizes it’s the first time he’s held hands with anyone.
Megumi is eighteen, half-drunk, half-sober, half-awake, half-lucid, and he’s holding someone’s hand for the first time. Someone is holding his hand for the first time.
It’s nice.
It’s—really nice.
It’s warm, more than anything.
“I’ll be the first, then,” Sukuna says, resolute. “I’ve never told anyone about what happened with Yuuji. It’s only natural that I return the favor and listen to you.”
And then he ever so slightly cracks a smile, eyes sparkling with something that looks a lot like joy.
“And besides,” he continues, brushing the hair away from Megumi’s eyes with his free hand, fingertips light against his temple. “I’m curious about you.”
Megumi’s head is spinning, but not in a bad way. He feels—feels like he’d be okay if the world ended right now. He feels at peace, feels like things are okay for the first time in his life.
“I want to know more about you,” Sukuna says with a barely-there smile. “I’m selfish like that.”
The only light source in the room is Megumi’s desk lamp at its lowest brightness, but he can see Sukuna clearly like this, piercings and tattoos and all. This might be the clearest he’s ever seen him—seen anyone, really. Bare, honest, and true.
He swallows, deciding to push it a little further, see how far he can go until he wakes up from this blissful dreamscape. “I’ll tell you only if you stay,” he says, struggling to string the words together. “If you stay with me tonight, I’ll tell you.”
It sounds like an ultimatum, but it isn’t. It’s a simple request conditional on one, small thing, and nothing is riding on it either, yet Megumi’s breath is caught in his throat. He’s scared—not of Sukuna leaving. Megumi would be a fool if he was still scared of something like that. Something so worn, something so ingrained in him that it’s as easy as breathing. Loss to Fushiguro Megumi, like many other terrible, terrible things, is just as easy as breathing. Loss is threadbare, frayed, and see-through. Loss is nothing scary—being alone is nothing scary.
No, Megumi is not scared that Sukuna will leave, but that he’ll stay.
People staying—now that’s the hard part. Making them stay, making them want to stay—stay for him, stay for everything they could be, stay for everything they are—Megumi’s never been good at that. He’s never known how to make others happy enough to stay. Happy enough that they want to stay, want him for who he is, want him for more than just a quick, drunken fuck.
Megumi isn’t good at being wanted.
And yet—right now, with the way Sukuna is looking at him—he feels wanted. Really, truly wanted. He feels it every time Sukuna looks at him with his crimson eyes, his bleeding heart, and his let-down walls, except Megumi has a feeling that Sukuna could never let him down.
Right now, Megumi feels wanted. Wanted in every way he’s always wanted to be wanted.
Sukuna laughs knowingly, amusedly even, his eyes soft and attentive in a way that lets Megumi know that Sukuna could never hurt him, at least not willingly, at least not on purpose. But maybe he’s just imagining it—maybe he’s just projecting—maybe that’s just what he wants. Either way, though, he feels his heart beat a little quicker, and he stares back at Sukuna, lying there on the bed next to him, body turned on its side so that he can study every bare inch of Megumi’s face as if he were a work of art, as if this were a museum, as if this were a place of worship. And for a moment, for a long, long moment where time stretches and divides into infinite segments, Megumi believes it—believes that he is wanted, believes that he is adored, believes that Sukuna’s intentions run deep, roots deep in fertile soil, green leaves high up and bristling in white clouds. The way Sukuna is looking at him—with patient eyes and a tender sort of devotion—leaves him no other choice but to believe in what he is seeing.
“Anything for you, Fushiguro Megumi.”
It’s still dark by the time that Megumi wakes up.
The room is still half-lit, and Itadori’s bed is still unoccupied.
But most importantly, Sukuna is still here, and they’re still holding hands, limbs tangled atop the blankets, fingers interlocked like they’ll never quite be rid of each other, never quite want to be rid of each other.
They must have fallen asleep at some point.
Megumi swallows something hard, something sad, something long forgotten, and in the bare illumination that the lamp light provides, he stares at Sukuna’s face, his piercings, his slope of his jaw, his cheekbones, the smear of shadows his lashes cast just below his eyes, and the soft, rose-pink shape of his lips; and he drowsily thinks, Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, with Sukuna. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
Sleep pulls him back in before he can make out what exactly it is.