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Based on the way everyone talks about it, Megumi always assumed that the hardest part of being an adult was deciding what to have for dinner every night. And, yeah, that definitely sucks. In college, when the thought of making a single extra decision every day made him want to drop out, Megumi opted to only stock his pantry with cans of soup purchased in bulk. It was impossible to not know what he was going to make for dinner every night if there was only one option.
Now that he's finished with school, he's got a little more room to breathe. The vet's office closes at 6:00PM every day, so Megumi knows exactly when he's going to be closing out his last patient reports and heading home every night. All his responsibilities are off his plate the second he clocks out at a respectable 6:26PM and starts walking toward the train.
And this is where those people, the ones who thing that deciding on dinner is the hardest part of adulthood, would start to get antsy. Those thirty minutes of commuting home where he has nothing better to do than think about what to have for dinner.
But, see, in those thirty minutes, Megumi can have anything. Homemade pasta. A full steak dinner. Sashimi with seven different kinds of fish. Yeah, he can't exactly make any of that super well, but it sounds incredible.
Megumi will turn over idea after idea until something sounds just right. The perfect meal that will sate his hunger and leave him comfortably full and whose flavor will sit on his tongue and make him go damn that was good.
Once he gets an idea in his head, it's hard to let go of. He likes to fixate on things. Yuuta says it's gonna give him an ulcer, but only one of them went to medical school and it wasn't Yuuta (yeah, Megumi wasn't studying humans in vet school, but whatever — animals can get ulcers too). So Megumi feels confident that his pension for thinking a little too hard about what he's gonna have for dinner is totally fine.
The moment the idea clicks into place on the train, Megumi is already mentally cataloguing what he has in his pantry. Thinking if he needs to stop to pick up any last minute ingredients on his way home. Planning the order he's gonna prep the ingredients in. Imagining how it'll taste when it all comes together.
Then he opens the door to his apartment. Begins climbing the two flights of stairs up to his unit. Gets to the landing for his floor. Walks past his neighbor's door. Smells what said neighbor is cooking for dinner. And, like clockwork, it smells really good.
They have to be a chef. Regular home chefs don't go to that much effort for dinner on a random Tuesday.
So it's as he unlocks the door to his apartment after a full day of work, dinner plans already decided for the evening, that Megumi experiences the actual hardest part of adulthood.
Realizing that whatever he had his heart set on for dinner isn't as good as what his neighbor is making.
They just moved in a few weeks ago, but every night since has been Megumi's personal hell. It's like they have a sixth sense for coming up with dinner plans that he can't replicate. Whether the meal calls for an ingredient that he just used the last of yesterday or is the exact kind of food they serve at the restaurant Gojo had talked him into trying the next night or uses a technique that's beyond his mediocre abilities as a cook, their meals are always just slightly unobtainable enough to drive Megumi crazy.
This evil neighbor is directly next to him. They share a wall. The smells of whatever fresh herbs and spices they use permeates into Megumi's kitchen every night as he mechanically cooks the dinner he decided on during his commute. He made a plan and he's going to damn well follow it. Even if the smells wafting from next door make the primary flavor in all of Megumi's dinners jealousy. He tries to distract himself by reading or watching something while he eats dinner. Praying that whatever media he's consuming will be interesting enough to make the food he's consuming fade into the background.
Every night as he crawls into bed and tries to fall asleep, Megumi hears his stomach growl. And he curses his neighbor for ruining yet another meal.
/////
It's not often that Megumi thinks about quitting his job, running off into the woods, and attempting to live off the land (or throw himself off a cliff — whichever comes first). Today is one of those days.
The alarm on his phone didn't go off, so he doesn't wake up until seven minutes before he's supposed to be getting to work. As he's texting his boss that he's gonna be late, an email from the building pops up. Apparently something is wrong with the hot water heater so they're shutting off all the water in the building for a few hours to fix the problem, but expect to have it figured out by this afternoon.
Which does Megumi absolutely zero good, because showering is now out of the question. He throws on a pair of scrubs and resigns to his future of brushing his teeth with one of the two liquids he can find in his apartment — vegetable stock or a half drunk Gatorade (he picks the Gatorade).
He gets to work an hour late and incredibly disheveled. His first patient of the day is a seventeen year old dog, who was brought in by a kind old woman and her three year old grandson, and Megumi has to break the news to them that their dog is doing worse than they thought and they need to say their goodbyes.
None of his other patients are that somber, but it definitely sets the mood for the whole day. All the animals can sense he's in a bad mood and instead of comforting him in his moment of weakness, they take it as an opportunity to wriggle out of whatever treatment they're in for. All the cats won't stop clawing at him and bolting from the examination tables. All the dogs bark loudly in his face and won't let him anywhere near their heads. He walks into one appointment and there's a potbelly pig oinking at him from the examination table. Megumi writes the owner a referral to a local exotic vet.
He doesn't end up taking a lunch break because he got in so late and still has to fill out all of his documentation, which eats up any spare moment he might've had to shove a granola bar down his throat.
So when 7:49PM rolls around and his last tasks for the day are done, Megumi is bone tired. And so fucking hungry.
The only thing that is getting him through the train ride home without causing an Incident is the knowledge that he's already decided what he's having for dinner when he gets home.
He's been thinking about it all day.
Yuuta is a sucker for a farmer's market and passed by one the other day, where he found the biggest piece of ginger Megumi has ever laid eyes on. When Yuuta gave it to him, he thought he might pass out. He's been waiting for a chance to recreate the ginger chicken Tsumiki made for them growing up, and this was a golden opportunity.
He'd followed her process exactly, making the marinade for the chicken the day before and letting it sit for a full twenty four hours for maximum absorption. The carrots were already sitting in the fridge, waiting to be roasted in the oven and topped with hot honey.
A perfect side dish to a perfect meal.
Megumi's train finally lets him off after they have to wait fifteen minutes on the tracks for a "schedule adjustment" (he can literally see the platform he's getting off at when they stop — why they couldn't pull up four feet and let him off the train then wait is beyond him) and he practically sprints home. The end of this rancid day almost in sight.
Then he opens the main door and walks up the stairs to his apartment. He's about to unlock the door to his apartment when he smells it.
His neighbor is cooking burgers.
Burgers.
It's the exact opposite of ginger chicken. Where ginger chicken is light and balanced, burgers are all indulgence. Completely different cultures. Completely different culinary profiles. But it sounds just right. He's had a shit day. And sometimes nothing can turn a bad day around more than a meal that feels like saying fuck it and leaves your fingers and cheeks greasy.
Of course, because his neighbor clearly has a flair for excess, it's not just burgers. Megumi can hear the pop of hot oil and the smell of potatoes being turned into fries. Alongside it, there's the aroma of warm, buttery bread and melted cheese and caramelized onions. Not just sauteed onions — caramelized onions. The kind that take hours of standing over the stove, but are worth every second because they really do taste so much better.
Who the fuck does this person think they are? Taking away the one good thing Megumi had been looking forward to all day and souring it until he can't even enjoy it anymore. Because the whole time he's attempting to cook his ginger chicken, he'll be smelling burgers through the walls and it can't possibly compare.
It's … it's …
He's not sure why he does it. There was a point in his life where Megumi was known for giving other people a piece of his mind, but this was different. This was a stranger's home. Someone he ostensibly had to run into when coming and going from the building or switching over his laundry in the basement.
But, he thinks if he can just get this out of his system. Say he tried to go in there and ask whoever lived next to him what the fuck their problem was, but that it didn't work, so he might as well give up because what else is there to do.
It shouldn't work. It really shouldn't. Because who the fuck doesn't lock the door to their apartment?
Then Megumi's wrist twists, and the doorknob twists with it. His knees bend to propel him forward and the door moves in tandem. Creating an opening. An opening that Megumi launches himself through until he goes to the kitchen and —
"What the fuck is your problem?!"
The guttural shout, the expelling of weeks of frustration, leaves his lips just as he finally lays eyes on the stranger who has been …
Goddammit.
Of course he had to be hot.
Being the source of the best culinary smells Megumi has ever experienced in his whole life apparently wasn't enough. He also had to have giant brown eyes, a perfect smile, a pretty face, and forearms that looked really, really good when the muscles were engaged in whatever knife cuts he'd been in the middle of when Megumi let himself into the apartment.
Unbelievable.
"I'm … sorry?"
The man tilts his head to one side. His stupid brown eyes somehow get even wider. It makes the dimples under his eyes even more pronounced than they just were. Because of course the hot neighbor also has fucking dimples.
"I don't mean to be a problem. Really. Was the smoke bothering you? I turned the fan onto high when I started frying, but I can totally open a window too. Or was it …"
Was this man really not going to say anything about the fact that Megumi just barged into his apartment unannounced and started berating him? It's all Megumi can do to stare at him as the man just thinks of more and more reasons that he should be apologizing to Megumi.
"No, you idiot," Megumi interrupts his rambling. Also maybe not the most polite thing to call a stranger an idiot. But whatever. "You keep cooking dinner."
It seems that Megumi has finally started acting crazy enough for the man to register that this situation is in fact crazy. Megumi expects the yelling to start now. For this man to finally tear into him or kick him out or —
"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you have, like, food allergies or something? That's so rude of me! I should have asked. What are you allergic to? I promise I'll never cook with it again."
But it doesn't come.
How is this guy so nice?
"It's not — I'm not allergic to anything. Except for pineapple." The man starts looking around the kitchen for pineapple. "But that's not — look, I just came in here to say that whatever it is you're cooking in here smelled really good. That's all. Goodnight."
"Wait!" The guy sputters, coming to stand in front of Megumi and block him from leaving. "Let me make you a plate."
Megumi blinks, like, really hard.
"Really, it's no trouble! You said that you were hungry and I've got a ton of extra food — my grandpa always said it's a shame I'm single because I've never been able to master the art of cooking for one." He makes really intense eye contact with Megumi, then keeps talking. "But yeah, I haven't been in the building super long so I don't know anyone yet. Plus you seem really, uhm, really …"
Really rude, no doubt. Or weird. Or seriously lacking in the people skills department.
God, the guy's so embarrassed that he can't find a way to gently break the news to Megumi that he's a basket case that he's blushing. Blushing.
(The blushing is the thing that makes Megumi register that the man has pink hair, since the the shade creeping down his cheeks and onto his neck matches. It makes him wonder how far down his chest the blush extends.)
This has gone too far.
Megumi steps past him, "I should go."
"Some other time then?" The stranger's voice calls, far to kind and earnest for the interaction they just had.
Megumi shuts the door behind him and lets himself into his own apartment as quickly as possible.
Well, that couldn't have gone worse.
Megumi goes through the motions of making dinner, but he isn't really paying attention. The smells coming from the apartment next door making him wish that he was devouring a burger right now. He sits at the table and stares forlornly at the food in front of him. He moves it somberly around his plate for a whole three minutes before he stands up and throws the whole thing in the trash.
/////
"Hey! You're the guy who broke into my apartment the other night."
Megumi's shoulders immediately pinch up to his ears. No one's ever in the laundry room at 10:00AM on a Monday. Megumi only is because he works Saturdays, so he gets Mondays off in exchange. It's the ideal time to do laundry because everyone else is at work, so all the machines are free. Or, apparently, everyone should be at work. Because standing in the doorway to the laundry room (blocking his only exit point) is —
"I'm Yuuji. It's nice to officially meet you …" he prompts, waiting for Megumi to introduce himself in return.
"Fushiguro."
"Fushiguro," Yuuji parrots, with far too much admiration and tenderness for the name of the person who started their first conversation by saying (quote) What the fuck is your problem!
"This is great! Now I don't have to refer to you as 'that guy' in my head when I'm thinking about you."
He's been thinking about him? That's … allowed, Megumi supposes. It's kind of a hard interaction to forget. He's probably been drafting an email to send to the leasing office all week to get Megumi evicted for breaking and entering.
Yuuji walks up to one of the washers and starts loading it with clothes from the laundry basket propped on his hip.
"Ya know, you never answered my question from the other night." Yuuji pretends like his only focus is loading the machine, but Megumi catches him sneaking glances. "Would you wanna come over for dinner sometime?"
Megumi's answer is automatic.
"Pass."
"Oh, come on! Why not?" Yuuji laments. "I'm a great cook. I promise I'll make it worth your while."
And that's exactly the problem. Yuuji's cooking has been the bane of his existence for months. Megumi can't just let himself have dinner with the enemy. He's gotta hold the line or whatever.
"I'm not interested."
"Not interested in dinner or not interested me?"
And now he's talking in riddles like some sort of bridge troll? It's too early for this.
"What?"
"Because I also make a mean breakfast if that's more your thing."
The bridge troll winks at him and Megumi's heart does not get the memo that this guy sucks and has been ruining his life ever since he moved in, because it decides to flutter. Flutter.
Megumi clears his throat.
"I don't eat breakfast."
"Fushiguro!" Yuuji gasps like he's in a soap opera. "It's the most important meal of the day!"
"Uh huh."
"So that's a no to breakfast?"
"What do you think?" Megumi challenges, ready for this conversation from hell to be over.
Yuuji looks him up and down. Really takes his time with it. He's not even trying to be subtle as he studies the way Megumi holds himself. The way the muscles around Megumi's jaw are wired shut and the ones in his forehead furrow between his eyebrows.
After approximately thirteen seconds of tense silence, Yuuji shrugs. "Eh, I'm not worried. I'll get you over to my place one way or another." He takes a step closer. Gets right up in Megumi's face and smiles as he says, "I look forward to it."
Megumi blinks several times in rapid succession, trying to clear the shock from his gaze. When his eyes finally regain focus Yuuji is already gone.
Who does Yuuji think he is, acting so cocky like that? Just deciding that he knows Megumi better than he knows himself. Assuming that because he's persistent and a good chef and confident and hot that Megumi will fold like a house of cards and come over just because he asked. If that's the case, then he certainly has another thing coming.
Megumi makes a decision. He is never setting foot in that apartment again. And he sure as hell won't be going over for dinner.
/////
Yuuji is not getting the memo that Megumi is ignoring him. Or really, he knows that Megumi is ignoring him, but he can hold a conversation with a brick wall and doesn't care that Megumi is attempting to shut down the conversation at every turn.
There are days when they pass each other in the hallway and Yuuji will start monologuing about how whatever weather they're having is making him crave some specific dish that he had as a kid. Megumi knows more about his grandpa's cooking habits than he ever thought possible, seeing as how he doesn't even know Yuuji's family name.
Other times, Megumi will be on his way to work and Yuuji will pop his head out of his apartment to tell him good morning and that he'll see him tonight. Then he'll shut the door before Megumi can correct him that Yuuji in fact won't be seeing him tonight.
He's just always around. A nagging, pestering presence that Megumi can't stop thinking about. Constantly wondering when he'll turn up next. How he'll next try to persuade Megumi to come over. What he'll make for dinner that night. What he wears while he cooks. If he had a good day. When Megumi will see him next.
It's stupid really.
/////
Megumi ignores the first two knocks on his door. If it's someone from the building, they can send an email. If it's literally anyone else they can figure it out themselves.
The third knock is annoying, but he can hold out. He's not going to cave. He's pretending he isn't home. Teaching whoever thinks they need him some self sufficience. They can deal with with whatever they need on their own.
The fourth knock is when he begins to suspect that whoever's making all this noise is too stubborn to give up. Even when Megumi is doing a great job of pretending that no one's home. This even further confirms that the person knocking must be Yuuji.
By the time the fifth knock comes, Megumi is ready to start setting things on fire. He throws his book down on the couch and marches over to his door, slams it open and yells, "What do you want, Yuuji?"
Yuuji at least has the decency to blush in Megumi's doorway, arm still raised as though he was about to knock a sixth time.
"Aww, you knew it was me," he beams.
"Do you need something or did you just come over to stare at me?"
"Was that an option?"
"No."
"Shame."
He completely ignores Megumi's warning that staring at him is in fact not an adequate reason for banging on his door. Eyes lingering on Megumi's erratic hair, the hollows of his collarbones, the lines of his t-shirt. Megumi has half a mind to smack the dumb grin off his face, but Yuuji starts talking again before he gets the chance.
"Anyways, can I borrow some butter?"
Megumi's brows pinch. "You .. ran out of butter?"
"Mhm." Yuuji nods.
"I don't have any."
It's a lie. Megumi absolutely has butter. He just doesn't want to give butter to a certain neighbor who might take that as an invitation to keep coming over and asking for things.
"Mmm, I better check and make sure."
Yuuji breezes past him, and suddenly he's in the apartment. Running his fingers along Megumi's picture frames and looking through the books on Megumi's shelves and poking all of Megumi's throw pillows and just generally touching all of Megumi's things.
"What are you doing?"
"I told you. I'm looking for butter."
"Well, it's not gonna be in the living room, dumbass."
Megumi should probably feel worse about how rude he is to Yuuji than he does. It's not like he wants to be rude to him. Yuuji just … he drives him crazy He's always saying stuff that gets under his skin. It's infuriating.
"You never know," Yuuji shrugs. "Some people are strange."
Like that. Yuuji's trying to piss Megumi off. He has to be. There's no other explanation.
"I'm the strange one?"
"You broke into my apartment."
"How is that different than what you're doing right now?"
"Duh. You let me in."
Yuuji's got this stupid, cocky grin on his face that Megumi can't stand the sight of. Like he's backed him into a corner and won this round of whatever game the two of them play. Megumi's brain goes into overdrive thinking of all the the ways he could get rid of that dumb smirk. He could grab him by the collar and drag him back to his own apartment. Tell him to fuck off and go bother someone else. Pin him to the wall and kiss him until he can't breathe and —
What the fuck?
Megumi flinches away from the thought. That's not … he doesn't actually want to kiss Yuuji. No way. Megumi hates Yuuji.
Desperate to focus on literally anything else, Megumi returns to butter. He starts walking toward the kitchen and asks over his shoulder, "Are you sure you don't have butter?"
Yuuji's always cooking. There's no way his kitchen isn't fully stocked at all times. He absolutely has butter.
"Nah, I ran out." He opens Megumi's fridge and begins poking around for butter himself. "I was already running low when I decided on butter chicken, but then I decided I wanted to make naan too. So, kinda a lot of butter on the menu tonight."
Megumi narrows his eyes. Despite the name, there isn't actually that much butter in butter chicken. Naan might have a little more, but still the whole meal can't use more than a stick of butter at most. Which, again, Yuuji's fully stocked kitchen definitely has. This whole thing is back to seeming incredibly suspicious.
"How much are you making?"
Maybe he's trying to meal prep for the week or something? That's the only reason Megumi can think of that would fully drain his kitchen of butter.
Yuuji's eyes turn so bright Megumi almost has to look away. His smile is so handsome and disarming and genuine. It's not fair. "Enough for two."
Unbelievable. Yuuji has a date tonight and he's using Megumi to make sure it goes smoothly. Something stubborn in him wants to refuse even harder after realizing that's what his butter would be used for.
"Ooh, found it!" Yuuji snatches a stick of butter out of the back of Megumi's fridge. "Thanks, Fushiguro. You're the best."
Megumi huffs and dutifully avoids eye contact. Yuuji doesn't seem to notice. Already heading back to his own kitchen without a care in the world.
/////
The smells coming from Yuuji's apartment today are so strong that Megumi's hit with the wave of it as soon as he crosses the threshold of the building. Two stories below where their apartments are. How was that even possible? It's not like he can just make food smell stronger through sheer willpower alone (right?). What gives?
He's definitely making something with butternut squash. Maybe soup? Or ravioli? Yuuji's been on a big pasta kick recently, so it could be that.
Megumi makes his way upstairs, already lamenting how lackluster his udon is going to taste, when he gets his answer.
The door to Yuuji's apartment is wide open.
The smell wafting out of it is all-consuming. If Megumi was a cartoon character, he'd be floating a two feet off the ground and flying nose-first into whatever delectable concoction Yuuji is cooking up.
If this is his latest tactic to get Megumi to come inside, it's not not working. Yuuji's food has always been tempting, but this is on a whole other level. It would be so easy to go inside. To see what he's cooking for dinner. To swallow his pride and ask Yuuji make him a plate. To let him win the —
Megumi slams his apartment door shut harder than is strictly necessary.
/////
It shouldn't be a surprise at this point. But Yuuji is annoyingly persistent.
Every morning when Megumi leaves for work and every night when he gets home, Yuuji's door is wide open. He's pretty sure Yuuji doesn't ever close his door now. Even when he's sleeping.
It's bad enough that he's still committed to getting Megumi to come over for dinner, but the complete and utter disregard for his own personal safety is a step too far. He considers going to talk to him about it, but that would mean that Yuuji wins and Megumi doesn't want to reward bad behavior. So he settles for writing a note instead.
I've noticed that your apartment door is frequently left open. Keeping your door closed, and preferably locked, is the best way to maintain your privacy, help keep your apartment clean, prevent theft, and stop the spread of fire should something happen. In conclusion, please close your door.
Megumi almost signs it with his own name, but then thinks better of it, opting to leave the note anonymous instead. He tapes the note to Yuuji's door and hopes that will be the end of it.
/////
The next morning, Megumi goes to lock his apartment door when he sees a note taped to it.
if you're so worried about it, why don't you come over & check on me :)
He grimaces, stares at Yuuji's (open) door for exactly seven seconds, steadfastly ignores the smell of fresh brewed coffee, then shoves the note in his pocket and starts walking to the train.
/////
Megumi trudges up the stairs to his apartment after another long day of work. There's a suspicious lack of smells, but hopefully that just means Yuuji decided to shut his damn door. He expects to smell anything as he makes it to the landing, but there's … nothing. The only thing waiting for him is an insulated cooler the size of his welcome mat sitting on the ground right in front of his apartment.
It's heavier than he expects when he picks it up to bring inside. For a second, he assumes that someone must've meant to leave this in front of someone else's apartment. It's probably best to just leave it here until whoever it belongs to realizes their mistake and moves it to the right spot. Then he sees the handwritten note tucked into the front pocket.
hey neighbor :)
i'm visiting my grandpa for the weekend and didn't want you to miss the smell of my cooking too much while i'm away. feel free to keep the tupperware — the cooler i do want back though! even if i have to return the favor and break into your apartment to steal it back (i mean this in the least creepy way possible btw) (not that when you did it it was creepy! i'm totally chill with you breaking in whenever, i just know you like your privacy!!)
<3 yuuji
Megumi blinks hard at the note then brings the cooler inside and unzips it. It's stuffed full of enough food to last Megumi a week — not just a weekend.
There's a whole quiche, a dozen muffins, and a bowl of fresh cut fruit all labeled "BREAKFAST". The offerings labeled "LUNCH" include four different types of onigiri, two different types of curry, and some sort of chicken. The "DINNER" offerings are where it really starts to get excessive. There's steak with several different sauce options, pork katsu, a plastic bag with whole fish sitting in a marinade and cooking instructions written in sharpie on the outside, roasted broccoli, glazed sweet potatoes, miso soup, a big salad, green beans. And chocolate covered strawberries for dessert.
Megumi stares slack jawed at the feast that's now taking over is kitchen. Yuuji did all of this … for him?
There's … it's … really warm all of a sudden. Megumi's whole face is too flushed. The palms of his hands too sweaty. The center of his chest too fond and full. The muscles in his cheeks keep trying to pull his lips into a smile, but he can't do that. He can't let Yuuji know that he's getting to him. That his persistent, annoying, optimism isn't a total waste. That he just —
Then he remembers that no one else is here. He's alone in his apartment. Yuuji is kilometers away visiting his grandpa right now. Megumi can do whatever he wants. So he lets himself smile just a little as he puts the fish into the oven and starts sorting through everything he isn't eating tonight. Once all of the food is put away, he takes Yuuji's note and sticks it to his fridge with a magnet.
The fish and the roasted broccoli Megumi decides to have with it are perfect. He savors every bite and doesn't even think of turning on the TV — the meal in front of him deserving of his full, undivided attention.
That night, for the first time since Yuuji moved in next door, Megumi's stomach doesn't growl at him as he tries to fall asleep.
/////
Megumi has never had so much amazing food in his whole life. Yuuji really thought of everything when he put this together. It's … considerate. Kind, even.
Kind and incredibly fucking annoying, but some things are both, he supposes.
Because no matter how precisely he follows Yuuji's instructions, how good the food makes his apartment smells, how perfect everything tastes, it's never quite right. He's dreamed about Yuuji's food for months and now it's finally in his grasp — in his kitchen. And he doesn't have to deal with Yuuji trying to lure Megumi into his apartment in order to enjoy it. What else could he want? Megumi eats the last of the fruit and hopes he'll figure it out soon.
/////
Yuuji returns from his visit with his grandpa on Sunday night. Megumi assumed that the first sign of his return would be the smell of him cooking once again ruining Megumi's life. Instead it's Yuuji taking the loudest phone call Megumi's ever heard.
"It's not my fault I can't make you cookies whenever you want anymore! I wanted to keep being roomies, but nooo. You just had to move in with your girlfriend."
He's still committed to leaving his door open, so Megumi can hear every word as he unlocks the door to his own apartment.
"I rebuke that," a woman's voice retorts. "It's actually your fault for refusing to use real measurements when you write recipes down. Like, how is 'use enough ground ginger' supposed to help anyone?"
"It doesn't matter that much."
"It's ginger molasses cookies, Yuuji — of course it fucking matters!"
This catches Megumi's attention. He doesn't have much of a sweet tooth, but ginger molasses cookies are really good. Yuuji's a great cook. It can't hurt to just … listen in which he gives this recipe to his friend. For research purposes.
Megumi leaves the door to his apartment cracked open. Just to make sure that he doesn't miss any key ingredients or steps.
"Ok, first I'm gonna make you gather all the ingredients. I don't wanna get half way through just for you to realize you're out of butter or something."
"Isn't that your move?"
"Anyways!" Yuuji is quick to interrupt.
Megumi tsks his tongue. He knew Yuuji had butter that time he came over to borrow some.
Yuuji starts rattling off the ingredients for his friend to gather up. It's pretty standard stuff. Flour, sugar, butter, eggs, baking soda, ground ginger, molasses, salt, some other warming spices. Actually, it's all stuff Megumi has in his apartment right now. Even the molasses, which is weird because he can't remember buying it. Megumi doesn't believe in signs or anything like that. He doesn't think the universe is talking to him through his pantry ingredients. It just seems a shame to have everything on hand and not make the cookies.
Baking is usually pretty straight forward, with it being an exact science and all. It's a bit more tricky when Yuuji is giving the recipe. He likes to give incredibly unspecific units of measurement like "some" and "half a bowlful" and "the right amount".
Thankfully, his friend is just as perturbed by this as Megumi is. Making Yuuji remeasure everything until he gives an actual unit of measure, like tablespoon or cups. Grams would be much more useful, but clearly he isn't working with a food scale, so Megumi's forced to make do.
Soon a bowl of questionably measured ingredients turns into veritable cookie dough. Megumi scoops them onto a baking sheet. All that's left to do now is pull the cookies out of the oven when they're finished. Megumi feels confident be can do that step all on his own. He should probably close his apartment door now. Go back to another quiet night at home. But …
It's just that, it's nice to listen to Yuuji talk to his friend. For someone who seems so flighty at first glance, he's surprisingly attentive. He remembers small details about things going on in her life and asks her specific questions about them. When she asks for advice, he's surprisingly wise in his responses. He cares about her a lot.
They've clearly been friends for years, if the comfortable rapport with each other is anything to go off of. They know just what the other will find funny and go out of their way to make them laugh. Megumi even catches himself chuckling out loud a few times.
Megumi starts to smell the cookies from the oven, which is as good a sign as any that they're done. He pulls them out of the oven and marvels at the fact that they turned out so well. Megumi's a passable cook at best, but these look like they're straight out of a bakery.
"Damn, Yuuji, you really missed your calling. If fire fighting doesn't work out, you can always open a bakery. Or become a private chef or something."
Megumi feels his eyes bulge out of his head. He's a firefighter.
"Nah, I'd get bored too easily."
There's a moment of silence from the other apartment.
"Alright, I should probably let you go now. I've got dinner plans."
"Again?"
"Yep. Every night."
Oh?
That's … fine.
Megumi's not sure who those dinner plans Yuuji apparently has every night could be with, because Yuuji leaves his apartment door open all the fucking time and Megumi never hears any conversation coming from next door. Just Yuuji cooking alone. But whatever. He's allowed to invite whoever he wants over to cook them dinner. It's not like Megumi cares. He just … doesn't wanna have to listen to it.
Megumi sighs as he closes the door to his apartment. If his dinner tonight has to be mediocre, at least his dessert won't be.
/////
Megumi almost makes it through switching over his laundry uninterrupted when he hears Yuuji's bright voice behind him.
"Hey there neighbor! What did you think of the cookies last night?"
Megumi freezes. How did he know that Megumi made those cookies? Was he just making assumptions? Wishful thinking? He studies Yuuji, but there's no gloating in his tone over the small victory he scored in this not-bet that they've entered into. He's just excited to talk about baking. Megumi pretends not to notice how endearing he is when he rambles about something he's passionate about.
"If I were gonna make them again, I'd probably coat the dough in more sugar before I bake it. Ginger's not my favorite, so I'm kinda biased I guess, but I thought I used way too much, so I'd probably only use like half —"
"No."
Why did he say that? He should shut up. He should leave now and never say another word to him again. But Yuuji's looking at him so expectantly, like he's genuinely interested in Megumi's opinions and what he has to say and —
"I really like ginger so I probably would've added more. Or used some fresh ginger too. Or something. I don't know."
This is so embarrassing. He hates talking. Why does he keep finding himself talking to Yuuji? Clearly, Megumi can't be trusted around him. He turns to walk out of the laundry room, but Yuuji puts a hand on his elbow to stop him before he can.
(They're touching. Have they ever touched before? Megumi thinks he would remember if they had, but he doesn't know why.)
"You like ginger. Good to know. I guess I'll have to get better at cooking with it."
It's supposed to be sweet, but Megumi's stomach sours at the thought of Yuuji learning to cook with ginger, only to give the food to whoever comes over for these mysterious dinner plans he allegedly has every night.
"Won't that ruin your dinner plans?" he asks more bitterly than he intends to.
"Nope," Yuuji says coyly. "If anything, I think it'll make them even better."
It's all the warning Megumi gets before Yuuji gathers up his clothes and saunters out of the laundry room.
Well. That settles it. Yuuji has got to be the single most confusing person Megumi has ever met.
/////
Megumi comes home from work and feels like he's walking into a dream. The whole building smells like ginger. Fresh ginger, pickled ginger, ground ginger. Several different varieties too if his nose is to be trusted.
It has to be coming from Yuuji's kitchen. But Yuuji doesn't like ginger. He said so the other day. So why is he using so much of it right now? Is it …
No. That's stupid. It can't be that.
Megumi tip toes up the stairs. Worried that if he starts sprinting like he wants to, the whole thing will fade away and he'll realize he was just imagining things.
By the time he makes it up the two flights to their floor, Megumi is willing to stake all of Gojo's life savings on the fact that this isn't a dream. Someone is cooking with an insane amount of ginger, and that someone is Yuuji.
The door to his apartment is left open as always. Megumi stands in front of it. Wondering for the first time what would happen if he went in. From the little of it can see, it's so much more inviting than Megumi's apartment.
All of the lights are diffused and warm. There's music playing in the kitchen that Yuuji is softly singing along to. The walls are covered in art and post cards and pictures of Yuuji at various points in time, surrounded by people who are clearly important to him. He can just barely see into the kitchen. Megumi wonders what he's making for dinner.
He decides he wants to find out.
As quietly as he can, Megumi takes a step forward.
Then another.
Then another.
More details of the kitchen become clearer the further in he makes it. There are piles of cookbooks and pans on every burner and stacks of tableware that don't match, but somehow all go together.
It's not too late to turn back. To pretend that he isn't curious. That this didn't capture his attention. That he doesn't want to spend time with Yuuji.
He takes another step forward.
This step puts him fully in the kitchen. He can see Yuuji now. His mouth quirked off to one side as he puts his full attention on the pan in front of him. Apparently when he's focused he sticks his tongue out just a little bit. Yuuji's so focused, in fact, that he doesn't notice Megumi standing just a few feet away.
"Umm," Megumi starts. "Hi."
Yuuji almost drops his spatula in surprise. Adrenaline spiking at the interruption. Then he sees that it's Megumi, and his whole being softens.
"Oh hey!" Yuuji smiles. "You're home."
And Megumi really shouldn't be blushing at something so simple. Must be the heat from all the appliances Yuuji has going. He averts his gaze, hoping that it will give him a chance to get his face in check. The first thing his eyes land on is Yuuji's kitchen table.
It's impeccably decorated. There are fresh flowers in shades of orange and yellow. A few pillar candles already lit, with wax dripping down their sides. He's even brought out a table cloth. But the thing that demands Megumi's attention the most is the fact that there's two of everything. Two sets of plates. Two sets of silverware. Two wine glasses. Two chairs. He can't quite make sense of it all.
Megumi turns back to Yuuji, hoping for clarity, but for the first time ever, Yuuji seems almost shy.
"Oh, uhm," Yuuji scratches the back of his neck. "I may have been making you a plate every night since you broke into my apartment hoping that you'd come back. Guess it finally worked."
Is … is Megumi the person Yuuji had dinner plans with every night? That's the only explanation that makes sense based on what he's saying.
"Sorry it took me so long to realize."
"That's ok," Yuuji smiles. "I've got a feeling you're worth the wait."
How does he have so many ways — so many combinations of words — that make Megumi feel like his heart is moments away from bursting at the seams? That at any second he could become so full that the weight of it becomes all that he is. Consumed with … something.
Feelings are tricky. Megumi isn't super familiar with this one. But there are clues. Evidence. Little bits of context that point him in the right direction. Toward putting words to this thing that his body clearly knows, but his mind can't quite explain just yet.
Yuuji helps. His persistence is also patience — willingness to give Megumi a chance to figure out what's happening at his own pace. He gets the sense that Yuuji has known what it is the whole time.
"Wait — is this … is this a date?"
Yuuji laughs at whatever befuddled expression must be painted across Megumi's face. "I mean, I want it to be a date, but if you don't I promise to be normal about it. I just … wanna be around you, if that makes sense? In whatever way you want me. You seem like a really cool guy, Fushi—"
"Megumi," he interrupts. Then promptly chokes on a little bit of spit and has to clear his throat before he can keep talking. "Megumi is fine."
Yuuji's lips part as he inhales sharply, forming into a toothy smile. It brings out the dimples by his eyes.
"Well, Megumi, I've been flirting with you for weeks. I figured you knew, but were just really committed to making me work for it."
"That was … you were flirting?"
Yuuji nods slowly at him and it is in that moment that Megumi realizes he's an idiot. Both for missing what was, in retrospect, some really obvious flirting, but mostly for it taking him until right now to realize that he does not hate Yuuji.
Megumi has a crush on Yuuji.
From the first time he laid eyes on him, he's known that Yuuji's attractive. That part's kind of hard to miss. If Megumi had to describe his ideal man to a sketch artist, he would come away with a portrait that bears a striking resemblance to Yuuji. The kind eyes, the disarming smile, the broad shoulders, the dimples.
But then he opens his mouth and somehow Megumi realizes he hasn't been dreaming big enough. Because Yuuji challenges him. He's quick witted and perceptive and just as competitive as Megumi. Not to mention, he's thoughtful and kind and considerate — he goes out of his way for people even when he doesn't have to. He's everything Megumi could ever want.
Now Megumi is here. Standing in the apartment of a man who made him a four course dinner spotlighting his favorite ingredient, just on the off chance he might come over. And isn't it a shame that Megumi hasn't done anything to let Yuuji know he's not alone in this? He should. Do something, that is. It becomes the only thought banging around in his skull. A primal need to show Yuuji that he wants this too. Yeah, words are an option, but Megumi's never been very good with those. Besides, Yuuji has done so much for Megumi. He wants to match him in that.
So Megumi does the first thing that comes to mind. He cradles Yuuji's cheeks in his hands, pulls him close, and kisses him.
There wasn't any time between realizing that he wanted this and deciding to do it for Megumi to imagine what kissing Yuuji would be like. But even if he'd had the chance to, Megumi's certain his expectations would pale in comparison to the real thing.
Everything about Yuuji is warm. His cheeks, his mouth, his presence, his hand that wraps around Megumi's waist and presses their chests and stomachs together. His other hand drifts up to Megumi's cheek. Pulling him even closer. They're already so close. Already pressed together. He can feel the frantic thrum of Yuuji's heart as it beats against his chest and forces Megumi's to rush to keep up. Megumi doesn't want to stop. Needs more. But this is so much. It was just supposed to be dinner and now —
"Sorry," he stammers, breaking the kiss. "That was impulsive. I should have … I uhm —"
"Do that again."
Yuuji sways in his arms, unsteady on his feet as he looks up at Megumi. His eyes are glossed over in a drunken haze. Megumi slots a thigh between his and Yuuji melts even further into him, letting Megumi take more of his weight. Yuuji makes a noise in the back of his throat and Megumi needs to hear it again.
He goes straight for the source of the sound, kissing the juncture where Yuuji's jaw meets his neck. The sound is back and it vibrates straight from the column of Yuuji's throat into Megumi's mouth. It tastes even better than it sounds. It spurs him on for more.
Yuuji lolls his head back and Megumi is eager to make use of the new space. Kissing every inch of it, taking particular interest in the now mottled spot at the crook of his neck, before missing his mouth.
Even in this, Yuuji's telltale confidence colors everything he does. Meeting and deepening the kiss at every turn. Keeping Megumi as close as he can. Nothing about the weeks they've spent dancing around each other would lead him to believe that Yuuji's the type to let Megumi get away with setting the pace for too long. He doesn't disappoint.
Two strong hands bite into Megumi's hips. Using them as an anchor point to guide Megumi back into —
Either Yuuji miscalculated slightly or forgot that the table was fully set for dinner when he tried to pin Megumi against it. All of the glass on the table clinks against each other. Threatening to fall and shatter. They both try to adjust to catch everything. The angles are awkward, but they manage to prevent anything from toppling to the ground.
The sounds of jostled tableware subside until the only noise in the room is both of them trying to catch their breath. Yuuji isn't looking at him. Too preoccupied with making sure they didn't accidentally break anything on the table. Megumi wants to change that.
"So do I have to eat breakfast out here tomorrow or will you bring it to me in bed?" The question grants Megumi his wish, Yuuji's full attention snapping to him the second it's out of his mouth.
In Yuuji's eyes is something ravenous and eager that tells Megumi he can have whatever he wants.
/////
By the time they finally get around to eating, dinner is very, very cold.