Chapter Text
If there was one person that Megumi Fushiguro wanted to punch in the face it was Yuuji Itadori. Yuuji Itatori wasn’t a bad person nor did he have a bad reputation among the student body at their University. He was quite the opposite really, the outgoing type if you will. He attracted people like a warm sunspot attracts cats and it wouldn't be too off to call him a ray of sunshine. His attractiveness paired with his kind heart are ironically a double kill factor making it hard to go an hour on campus without hearing at least one whisper of Yuuji’s name from some unknowns lips. From what Megumi knew he was decent in basic electives but really thrived in anything that had to do with his major;Art.
Megumi also majored in art.
Yuuji in Megumi terms was beyond gifted in any art form he touched. Megumi isn't the type to give credit where credit isn't do either. It made Megumi's skin itch knowing all those years, all those sleepless nights and endless days he’d spent to perfect his technique Yuuji had just simply been gifted with it and the worst part of all he was humble about it. Megumi thought it would’ve been better if he was a talented jackass since it would be easier to hate him and all he’s for but Yuuji was in fact the nicest person in their major, perhaps the whole school. Hence the very one sided hatred he sported for the pink haired man.
His one sided feud wasn't something many knew about, only his closest friends really. When he’d first spilled his guts to them about how he felt about Yuuji it was done drunkenly in Maki’s apartment after having one too many drinks she’d kept feeding him. It wasn't an in depth confession, more like a quick ‘I hate Yuuji’ muttered more to himself in between sips of his drink. His cousin merely shrugged it off while Yuta asked the simple question ‘Why?’. Megumi in all his drunkenness only had one answer to that at the moment.
“Mmm…cause why not?”
Yuta dropped the conversation at his response and Megumi assumed it would be the last any of his friends brought the topic up. He was wrong though, a week later Maki happily brought up the topic again on their walk from the library back to her apartment.
“ A little birdy told me you hate someone?” It came out of nowhere, he looked at her with a raised eyebrow only to be met with her not looking away from her phone. He scuffed.
“I dislike a lot of people, y'know that. Why don’t you tell me who you’re texting?” Megumi kept his response short in hopes she wouldn’t press him further, talking about the pink haired man drunk was one thing but sober? Yeah no.
“Hey, don't talk to me so rudely brat.” She speaks with irritation dripping from her words like she wasn't the one who’d started the conversations. “Who I’m texting doesn't matter but what does matter is why you supposedly hate quite possibly the nicest human on earth. I mean c’mon Megumi, Yuuji? That's who you pick to hate?”
He lets out a long sigh, god he wished he just went straight to his apartment rather than Maki’s. Knowing her however meant she would’ve just asked the same question the next time they saw each other.
“Do I need a reason to dislike someone? I just don't like him, I find him annoying and too much almost all the damn time. That should be enough of a reason.”
Maki turns off her phone and tucks it back into her her coat pocket before promptly looking over to him with an expression that could only translate to a ‘what the fuck’ look. He just shrugged in response as they continued down the street.
“I swear I don’t understand you most of the time.” Maki muttered, although it was more to herself than towards Megumi.
”What’s not to understand? I just don’t like him. He's stupidly perfect at everything he does so much so it makes me want to choke myself.” The words seemed to spill out from Megumi’s mouth. Whether he’d like to admit it or not he’s been craving to tell someone how he feels about his pink haired classmate. Don’t get him wrong he can hold most of his thoughts inside but there's just something extra aggravating about Itadori that makes him clench his teeth together.
“In a sexual way?” Maki snorts out, looking at him from the corner of her eye and Megumi knows she's getting a kick out of his mini-rant he’d just spilled to her. He lets out a long sigh before responding to her.
“It’s like you’re not even listening to anything I said” He shuts his eye tightening, pinching the bridge of his nose as they continue to walk down the street. Sometimes it feels like he’s the older one between the two of them, he’d never admit however that he did find ‘juvenile humor’ funny from time to time.
“You’re not answering my question, Gumi’.” Maki wiggles her eyebrows at him, giving him a smile straight from the pits of hell. A shiver runs down his spine as his lip twisted into snarl.
“Oh fuck off Maki. You know what I meant and don't even start with that ridiculous nickname you’ve cooked up.” He swears on everything that if anyone other than Maki called him ‘Gumi’ he’d punch them square in the face(If he tried to even flick his cousin's forehead she would have his face pressed against the ground in seconds).
“Jeez… you really got your panties in a twist over this kid don’t ya?” It shouldn’t upset him this much. He’s never even talked to Itadori properly more than a few words here and there. That doesn't change the fact that his eye twitched whenever someone so much as mentions the pink haired student. “Hey, listen I’m not judging you just curious as to why you want to punch the poor kid.”
“I… I know just.. I don’t fully understand it right now all I can say is he makes me want to slam my face against my desk.” They turn into the lobby of Maki’s apartment building as he finishes his sentences heading towards the elevator door.
“Honestly understandable,” She pressed her apartment floor button then looked over at Megumi “Just let me know if you plan on fighting the kid, from what I heard he might wipe the floor with you.” Megumi leans against the back elevator and purposefully bangs his head against the wall.
“You’re such a great cousin y’know that.” His sentences are flooded with sarcasm as he speaks. Maki smiles over at him as the elevator dings, the doors sliding open, choosing just to shrug her shoulders as a response.
---
Megumi spends that weekend as any downright miserable university student would. His current art project is giving him a headache like no other and the longer he looks at it the worse it gets. Burning it sounds like a good idea, maybe stabbing it, ripping it is simply too dull of a death for the monstrosities that's looking at him. The worst part however? He can't figure out why he hates it so much. Inherently there's nothing wrong with it, when Yuta had seen it the other day his jaw had visibly dropped. Megumi should be satisfied with that type of reaction but it's not enough.
The air in the art studio smells of the turpentine he's been using, his head starting to throb from the smell that usually would calm him. He’s mixed basically every color imaginable yet hasn't had the heart to add or cover up anything on the canvas.
Initially he’d loved this project. The art that had come from the romanticism movement had always caught his eye. The raw pure love and emotions that filled the canvas was something he’d always craved to not only capture but something more. He’d never admit it out loud but somewhere deep inside him, guarded by sky high iron walls he longed to have someone love him with the same intensity of emotions. To be able to properly depict a piece filled with such intense raw love for someone is a true wish Megumi yearned for.
Perhaps that was what was so upsetting about the artwork looking back at him. Those fake emotions he’d alway used as a cover were not mixing with the ones on his pallet. There were no true emotions in the hues and tones he thought he mixed so well. Sure it was a beautiful depiction of two people yearning for each other, he’d gotten inspiration from one of his favorite pieces from the romanticism movement “Meeting on the Turret Stairs” by Fredric William Burton. A true piece filled with so much love yet covered in an unmistakable sadness that surrounds the two lovers.
It’s an aggravating feeling. He wants to be perfect, wants his work to reflect the image in his head he comes up with. Showing true emotions….no… showing his true emotions in his art could be his downfall before he even truly gets started in an already oversaturated world filled with unemotional generic art.
Megumi had always liked the notion that artwork reflects the artist but deep in his guarded heart he knows that's not true for him. Art used to be freeing for him, allowing him to properly express his feelings when he couldn't cry after the death of his mother or the anger he felt when his father had all but disappeared a few years later. Art was his escape, his emotions when he didn't know how to react. Art was the escape he craved from real life but then he noticed it. People paying way more attention to his emotions than he’d like.
It started in the very last year of middle school. He’d been living with some of his dads relatives by himself for a few years now when the whispers started. He’d never paid much attention whenever he heard them chatting, somehow they managed to complain about Tsumiki and him in every conversation he heard. Eventually the whispers reached his ears. He wasn't sure what to feel when his so-called family took interest in his only hobby he had. For the first time he felt like he couldn't express his emotions in his art. No that wasn't it: he didn't want to express his emotion in his art. Didn't want his family's eyes to see how much they actually affected him on a deeper level than he let on. How the blues he used were his cry for help, the purple the mental bruises from the past few years, the reds the anger he lets quietly sit inside his chest right under his ribs next to his heart.
It hurt him not being able to freely express himself through his art but that was a decision he’d made in order to protect himself. His art may have appeared more joyful, full of bright harmonious colors but Megumi himself started to slip.
Fights became a common occurrence for him. Anyone that even had a hint of hostility or annoyance towards him more than likely ended up with a split lip or black eye. The first time he’d gotten into a fight he’d walked home with his arms covered in bruises and one of the worst black eyes he’d personally seen. When he arrived home that evening his relatives looked seconds away from giving him a few more bruises but to Megumi’s surprise they’d gone for berating him until dinner. This pattern of creating fake art and getting into fights continued until the last semester of high school where he nearly spent the whole day in the art wing. A true oasis in his vastly fake life.
Megumi had made the deliberate choice to only apply to universities more than two hours away from where his relatives lived, his hope was they’d leave him alone the further he went. In a sense it did work, they call him every now and again hoping to stay on his ‘good side’ in case he turns out to be some bigshot artist in the future but the hurt they’d put him through is not something he can simply keep in the past. The stabbing pain next to his heart when he’d hear the snide remarks his family made about his mother, how his dad would have lived a better life without some ‘rat’ like her in it. Words he could never forget even if he tried. Sure he’d used down right awful language but he’d promised himself he’d never stoop to his family level and talk about anyone the way they’d talk about his sweet mother.
Except he did stoop to their level, only for one person. Himself. Call it clichė but Megumi sometimes thought the self hate made his art all the more noticable, impressive he might add. Maybe he should change his thinking. Let his emotions take full control of his paintings for the first time in a severely long time.
He doesn't want to start over but it hurts his heart more than his head how truly emotionless the painting is. Truthfully it seems to be mocking him except Megumi knows it's more so the sleep deprivation making it appear that way to him. A strangled sigh escapes his lips before he can even think about what he’s doing black paint is smeared across the canvas. He feels both mortified and proud of his actions.
He takes a deep breath to steady himself before smoothing the whole canvas in black paint. If he could leave it completely black at this point he would be he knows that not the art movement they're on( he also has a complete hatred for any type of ‘minimal’ art). His current canvas is far too expensive to simply dispose of(aka shove it in the back of the art studio till he runs out of blank ones or until he can figure out what to do with it. He pats himself on the back mentally for not adding an excessive amount of linseed oil to the black pigment when he was mindless mixing earlier.
The black is leaning more green with its undertones but that's a problem for another day for now his biggest issue is getting it to try as fast as possible. A quick shuffle around and his easel is placed in front of the window. It won't be dry anytime soon but letting it bask in the sunlight all day tomorrow should at least speed it up, even if it's just a few extra hours he’ll take it.
Megumi still wants to scream at himself considering what should've been an easy and quick-in his terms- project it now one he’ll have to dwell on and finish right before the deadline. He hates working up until deadlines, the panic, the anxiety it causes him is something he hates experiencing.
He carefully wraps his pallet before properly cleaning the oil paint covered brushes in a snail paced manner. He’s feeling lazy, the type of lazy where you don't want to think and just want to shut off your brain and rot away laying down in your bed for whoever damn long he feels like it. What could've been a quick clean up dragged on until he was putting his sketchbook away in his bag around eighth twenty-something.
It’s dark in the empty university hallways as he makes his way to the front of the building. When he steps outside he’s met with a breath of cool air that somehow calms him more than anything else that night.
Headphones were already over his ears when he stepped outside the art building, blasting his music as high as the volume would allow. By all means it wasn't the smartest idea to walk basically deaf through a city at night yet Megumi could care less. He’d rather have a headache from listening to music than his own frustians. On the brighter side his place was less than a thirty minute walk from where he currently was(it was a miracle he came across the listing so quickly). The bus was always an option, however the thought of sitting around random people was a no-go for tonight, and figured he'd stop at a convenience store and grab a makeshift dinner from there.
He picks a new playlist to shuffle on his phone when he feels it, a hand. A arguably strong hand grabs his shoulder before he can even tell left from right. Every nerve in his body tenses in that moment, his mind going blank with white static noise. Ironically enough “Hell Above” by Pierce the veil starts playing right as the hand grabs him filling his ears with very loud screams.
Megumi doesn't know what to do… except he does. His fingers are curling into a fist just as he’d done so many times before. In record time he spins around and punches his assailant in the face leaving them to crumble to the dimly lit sidewalk, clutching their nose. Pivoting back to face forwards he's about to take off into a sprint when his brain finally catches up with him.
His eye twitches, lip curling into a ugly snarl.
Fate is cruel Megumi thinks, in his eyes fate seems much more like a ugly curse that’s crawled its way out of hell to both metaphorically and literally make his life hell. Groaning he slides his headphone down around his neck before slowly spinning back around to look at his so-called assailant.
He presses his eyes shut before opening them. Staring up at his are a pair of light brown eyes that somehow still seem happy to be looking at him. The guy's nose is noticeably bleeding down through the fingers that are holding it, blood getting all over the poor yellow sweatshirt sleeves and front. Why the fuck does this guys still look happy, is he sadistic or something? Megumi really didn't want to know this much about the guy on the ground.
“You know, Fushiguro. I never thought you'd be able to punch so hard you’d knock me on the ass.” Yellow sweatshirt laughs as he talks, slightly muffled from his hands. Megumi mentally scolds himself for his weak technique, thinking he didn't hit him hard enough if the assholes not even in pain from a punch straight to the nose.
“Uhhh…Fushiguro? Are you in shock from hitting me? I swear it’s totally okay doesnt even hurt!” Bloody yellow sweatshirt says to him before shifting to keep his left hand on his nose as he picks himself up. He looks stupid as he does, not stupid enough to make Megumi outwardly laugh, still he looks stupid.
“Right..yeah sorry I guess?” This feels stupid to him, why the hell should he be the one apologizing for this idiot's actions. “Honestly this is more your fault than mine so maybe you should be the one apologizing. Don't you agree, Yuuji?” Megumi specifically said the last part with more force to emphasize his words,
Yuuji laughs, he laughs right in Megumi's face and if he didn't have such good self control he would've punched him again. This is the same behavior he’d beat his classmates till his fist hurt. He’s tensing up again just as Yuji starts to speak.
“I mean yeah you’re right I should be the one to apologize. Guess it didn't register in my head that you might’ve had your music volume up to the point you couldn't hear me, I swear dude I called out to you. In my defense you stopped right as I called out your name! Like tell me I’m wrong!” Yuuji blabbers on for longer but all Megumi can think of is how idiotic the man in front of him truly is, a part of him can see where he's coming from but still.
“Okay? You’re wrong.” He spits out the words before he even registered what he’s saying, he hates how cliché he feels at this very moment.
“Uuuhh…what?” Everything about Yuuji pauses in that second like he was confused, for the first time that night Megumi lets a snort escape his nose. God he’s getting stupider the longer he’s next to this guy.
“I said you're wrong. Now if we’re done I’m going to walk away and continue with my night.” He pinches the side of his nose in hope to release some of the pain building in his forehead before turning around with a dismissive wave Yuji’s way and continuing his walk to the convenience store.
Part of him thinks Yuuji will chase after him and demand a longer conversation than what had just gone down between the two of them but he doesn't. Figures Yuuji was to dumb founded by what Megumi said before he spun around to say or chase after him and Megumi is more than happy with that. He wonders if Maki would count their interaction as a fight? Another part of him doesn't want to tell her he’d run into him. Oh well, he thinks to himself, that's a problem he can put off till tomorrow.