Chapter Text
“Megs, look!”
Megumi is brought out of his thoughts by a shove on his shoulder. He pulls off his headphones and sighs as he turns his head to look at the white-haired man beside him.
"What?" he grunts, already exasperated.
"Look at all the palm trees around the landing strip! That’s not something you see every day in Tokyo!" the man, Gojo, says excitedly, pointing out the small circular window of the aircraft.
Megumi leans over to follow his finger, entertaining the man's excitement as the ground comes closer into view and the plane continues its descent. He settles back into his seat as the flight attendant begins her welcome announcement.
The flight had been uneventful, a quick two hours from Tokyo to Miyazaki, where he and Gojo would be spending the next week together, despite his protests. It's the summer of Megumi's senior year of college at Nihon University, and instead of spending his break with the friends he's made there, he's stuck with his family in a distant coastal town. 'We'll have the sun, sand, and sweet family time!' Gojo had exclaimed when he booked the trip a few months prior.
He reaches down to grab the small, black carry-on backpack he stashed under the seat in front of him. Opening it, he removes his headphones and places them in the pocket next to his laptop, chargers, and class notebook he brought along. Shifting in his seat, he also pulls off the dark blue hoodie he's wearing, revealing a black Western rock band tee that he paired with his gray-blue baggy jeans. He messes with his spiky black locks that had been smushed from his headphones, attempting to school his hair into a more presentable form.
Gojo leans over, not wanting to talk too loudly over the flight attendant speaking on the intercom. "Told you you'd get too hot in that dumb hoodie," he says, nudging Megumi playfully. "It's the middle of the summer, and we're literally at the beach."
Gojo is dressed in a black button-down shirt and light linen trousers, which he deemed to be the 'perfect summer outfit' according to the ‘trends these days.' The man, thirty-three years old, still had a best-dressed superlative to defend, apparently even during flights. The round, dark sunglasses he wears conceal his eyes as he continues to shuffle uncomfortably, as he had done for the majority of the flight, his long legs bent awkwardly from the tight fit of airplane seating.
"I still don't understand why we needed to fly all the way out here to tour the school.” Megumi huffs, “ I've looked at the hundreds of pictures you kept sending me when you would find an 'epic hangout spot' or lunch option."
Miyazaki is home to the University of Miyazaki, one of the many schools he's been accepted into for graduate school. He had insisted to Gojo that he practically knew the campus by memory from the pictures he had seen—each sent with a plethora of corresponding emojis or a 'look at your potential new home!'. Of course, he didn't look at them all, and once Gojo had sent the tenth photo of the cafe down the street, he stopped reading his texts, going back to ignoring everything the man sent him like during his high school days.
"We've had this conversation like twenty times, Megumi. Just because it's not your top choice doesn't mean it's a bad school! Plus, you got deferred from the University of Tokyo," he pauses. "Ah, no offense. But there's no reason not to check it out! And if we stayed in Tokyo for the summer, there's no way you would leave your tiny apartment, which I still hate by the way," Gojo says, pointing a finger in his face and smirking.
As much as he would like to deny it, Gojo wasn't completely wrong. Although the University of Miyazaki's graduate veterinary program wasn't as strong as the University of Tokyo's, it ranked a respectable 11th in the country. And as hard as it was to accept, he was deferred from the University of Tokyo, a surprise that he received earlier in the month. While it had upset him at first, Tsumiki encouraged him to remain enthusiastic for his likely acceptance, which would be announced in December.
As for the apartment comment, the small two-bedroom he shared with Nobara Kugisaki, an outgoing girl he had met in his freshman-year calculus class, was Megumi's haven away from Gojo, much to the man's demise. Even though Megumi had never imagined he would willingly live with someone like Nobara, the thought of returning to the Gojo household after living in his dorm freshman year sounded stifling. But the two had made it work—Nobara learned the extent of his patience, and he, in turn, had become 'noticeably more social,' as she claimed one night at a random house party. Hearing this, he threatened to leave her at the party before she grasped onto him, batted her eyelashes, and claimed that he loved her too much to do such a terrible thing.
Basically, Megumi had moved in with a shorter, slightly less intense, and younger female version of Gojo, yet it didn't bother him as much as he would've thought. Now, if he sits on that topic for more than a minute, he may reach some uncomfortable conclusions that leave him shivering in his seat.
The two men stand, collect their two suitcases from the overhead storage, and begin to exit the plane.
The airport, not nearly as large nor as busy as Tokyo International Airport, is still bustling with people weaving in between lines to make it to their terminal on time. As he walks, Megumi is harassed by the sight of other tourists with bright, floral shirts and an obnoxious number of rolling luggage being dragged behind them. He sighs, looking at the man beside him, knowing that he has a similar shirt stuffed into his bag, the one that Megumi threatened to rip to shreds if he wore it on their flight over. Gojo, oblivious, rejoices over stretching out his legs after being cramped up for so long.
As they exit through the airport’s large glass doors, the two men are instantly hit with the salty, humid air of coastal Miyazaki. Grateful he had removed his hoodie beforehand, Megumi shifts the backpack on his shoulders as he rolls his suitcase to where Gojo is now leaning against a column, looking out for a free taxi.
Successfully hailing one down, they shove their suitcases into the trunk and give the driver their hotel address. During the ride, Gojo chats with the driver to learn about the city's must-sees and must-dos. Megumi stares out the window, watching bright flowers and palms flutter in the wind. Outside, families walk to and from the beach, loaded down with chairs, floaties, umbrellas, and coolers. Teenagers roll by on skateboards, whooping as they take in their days of summer vacation before heading back to textbooks next month.
Upon arriving at the hotel, Gojo thanks the driver and pays the fare as Megumi steps out of the car and grabs their things. The sparkling blue from the ocean is visible from where they stand at the entrance. Gojo nudges Megumi, also looking out at the horizon, before turning on his heel to enter through the doors.
Megumi has never been a 'beach-goer.' In fact, he despised being dragged to the beach by his sisters when he was younger. Who wants to sit in the hot sun, sweating, as coarse sand gets in your hair and clothes, when you could instead sit inside with the cool reprieve of the AC blasting in your face? And the salty water has never agreed with him either, always leaving his eyes red and irritated, no matter how careful he is not to get any water in them. Mimiko and Nanako, his younger twin sisters, had always poked fun at him for demanding his goggles even when standing in only knee-deep waters. He would then retaliate, splashing water up into their faces—goggle-less—which, admittedly, even at his young age, was a bit of a low blow, but he had to show the purpose of the necessary measures he had to take. Of course, he would always be scolded by Tsumiki for picking on the two younger girls, but the moment would be forgotten as soon as a pretty shell was pulled from the wet sand.
As they reach their suite on the fourth floor, Gojo unlocks and pushes open the door with a 'home sweet home!' to purposefully irritate Megumi, who lethargically follows him inside.
The suite is spacious, with a kitchen, a living area, and three bedrooms. Megumi walks down a short hallway and enters the first bedroom on the left. Shrugging his backpack off his shoulders, he walks over to the large bed in the center of the room and sets it down. He begins to empty it, pulling out his laptop and notebook, setting them on the desk against the wall. He drags his suitcase to the dresser and unpacks his clothes, placing neatly folded pants and shirts in the drawers. Atop the dresser sits a huge flatscreen TV, cycling through photos of the ocean and beaches. Storing his suitcase under the bed, he stands and approaches the glass door to the room’s attached balcony. The ocean is not even a mile away. Megumi slides open the door and steps out, listening to the crashing of the waves below and the squawking of the gulls above. He snaps a photo to send to Tsumiki when he hears his name being called from the room over.
He walks into the living room to find Gojo clad in the aforementioned offensive floral shirt that he brought. Holding a large towel, he looks Megumi up and down.
"Get changed, we're heading down to the beach."
"We just got here. We have all week to go to the beach," Megumi rebukes.
"Oh, c'mon, today's the only day we don't have anything planned! Let's go down and enjoy the beach before we have dinner," he says, looking at his watch. "It's three now, so we'll only go for about two hours."
Megumi, not wanting to argue, turns and heads back into his room with a sigh. He grabs his sunglasses, a book, and a pair of sandals. As he walks back to the entryway, Gojo throws an umbrella over his shoulder and happily marches out the door.
The two leave the hotel and make their way to Aoshima Beach. It's a short ten-minute walk to the shore. The beach is lined with umbrellas and families sprawled out enjoying the sun. They walk a little way down the beach, weaving through groups of people until they find an open area to settle down.
Gojo rolls the umbrella off his shoulder and starts opening it.
A sigh, "Dang."
Megumi looks down to see an annoyed Gojo messing with the shaft of the umbrella.
"What?"
"The umbrella won't stay open. I think the pin that holds it open got knocked out of place during the flight over here. I mean, we could attempt to try holding it when the wind gets bad…" he looks up expectantly, meeting a pair of disapproving eyes. "Yeah, you're right. I'll run back to the hotel to look for it. You, uh, just hang out here, I guess!"
With that, Gojo hops up and quickly walks away, not wanting to discourage the other vacationer any further. Megumi sighs, grabs the umbrella and large towel left lying on the ground, and looks for a shaded area to retreat to while waiting for the older man to return. There's a lifeguard shack only a few meters away, so he decides to go and stand in the shadow cast by the building.
Resting the useless umbrella against the wall and the towel near the base, Megumi leans back, opening his phone to scroll a little while waiting for Gojo to return, in hopes it makes him look less abandoned and more nonchalant. Endless stories play on his phone from Nobara at a party she went to last night, the flashing LEDs and deafening music making him glad he was busy packing for the beach instead.
Nobara's face appears on the screen, mouthing words that get lost amid the sheer volume of the party. Her blunt, short brown hair is littered with hair clips and a large amount of glitter, embracing whatever nonsensical theme the party had been named with. Megumi laughs to himself, shifting his hold on his phone and book as he begins to message the girl to ask how her very likely hangover was this morning, when—
"Ah, sorry!"
Megumi finds himself sprawled in the sand, lying next to the umbrella. Blinking, he dusts off his face, listening to a voice that's apologizing for the new and unfortunate layer of sand that is now covering his entire body.
"Sorry, I totally didn't see you there! Are you alright? I was coming around the corner and, boom, there you were. Why are you back here anyway?" his attacker rambles.
Megumi turns and is met by a tanned hand offered out to him. His eyes trail up to bright, shining amber ones, slightly crinkled by the small smile on his face, which stretches the scar that hugs the corner of his lips. Short, windswept pink hair sits atop his head, matching the slight sunburn on his cheeks, which are haphazardly slathered with sunscreen.
Coming out of his stare, Megumi quickly scrambles to stand up, not taking the outstretched hand, and brushes off the sand clinging to his clothing. "Sorry," he mutters.
"No worries!" the stranger says, pulling back his hand, eyes moving to the ground. He reaches down and stands back up, holding Megumi's phone and book, "You dropped these."
While he tries not to gawk at the sight of the man in front of him, the tanned and toned body of this stranger is hard to ignore. Standing a little shorter than Megumi, he's muscular with broad shoulders, classic gym-bro build. Though they both stand in the shade of the lifeguard shack, the contours of his muscles are obvious. Wearing a tightly fitting white t-shirt, snug against his biceps and chest—even his abs showing a light outline through the material—and bright red swim shorts, he looks like he came straight out of a beach movie with the way he looks like 'background lifeguard #1.’ He's even got the plastic red whistle hanging around his neck—c'mon, how much more tacky can one be?
He makes eye contact with the man, who still looks at him with a kind smile, and Megumi realizes he's still yet to take his belongings out of his hand. Feeling a slight heat blossoming on his cheeks, Megumi grabs his things and offers thanks before thoroughly investigating his phone's speakers to check for sand, or something like that; anything to get his mind off the built man in front of him.
"So what were you doing back here? You can't exactly see the water from behind a building."
Megumi, deciding that his phone would in fact survive this slight tumble, slides it into his pocket before looking at the stranger—pointedly at his face this time—which still proves to be a bit of a challenge. His eyes shine so brightly, a stark contrast to the dark of the shadow they stand in.
"I'm waiting for someone," he says briskly.
"Right.”
He's clearly waiting for Megumi to offer more to the conversation. The conversation he does not want to currently be having, but he guesses that's the price he pays for standing in an inconspicuous spot where people round the corner at full speed.
He's never been one for conversation, something that anyone who spends more than two minutes prying him for information figures out quickly. It's not that he hates talking to others—or actually, no, who is he kidding? That's exactly it. He can't stand the back-and-forth, meaningless chit-chat most people find necessary in every interaction. He can understand the grueling feeling of awkward silences between strangers, sure. But does the silence have to be filled with throwaway comments that have no real depth and will be forgotten the second the two part ways? He wishes people would just allow interactions, like this one, to just be dismissed so he could be swept away like the tide, rather than anchored in his place, looking at this pink-haired stranger. Let him shrug it off with a self-diminishing laugh and walk away so he can kill himself out of embarrassment later.
And despite everything, he finds himself filling that silence.
"You're a lifeguard?" he asks, nodding at the plastic whistle hanging from his neck and the 'lifeguard-ness' of his attire.
Though he admonishes himself internally for the question that has a very obvious answer, he finds it's all he can think of to say back to the other.
"Yeah!" the stranger replies, perking up, and gestures behind Megumi. "I was actually coming around to the back to grab my board. A little girl lost her goggles, so I was going to paddle out and look for them."
He quirks a brow, "Aren't you supposed to be, you know, saving lives? Not goggles from the ocean floor?"
The lifeguard laughs, "I mean, you're not wrong. But she seemed pretty upset about it, so I couldn't help but want to make her happy again. It's my job to help others, no matter what way they need to be served."
The way the lifeguard said that so matter-of-factly gave Megumi pause. Of course this overly cheerful lifeguard would consider looking around for a pair of cheap goggles that could easily be replaced for next to nothing at a nearby convenience store. It was a level of earnestness that he wasn't expecting, especially regarding something so menial and insignificant. Had the girl approached him with her cries, he figures he would just shrug and tell her where to buy more, maybe give her some cash if he was feeling extra kind. But this tanned, upbeat stranger treats this girl's misfortune as something that he needs to solve, for reasons unknown.
"So, what brought you to Miyazaki? You don't seem familiar…" the lifeguard ponders aloud, bringing Megumi out of his introspective analysis.
"School. I'm touring the university here, and my family thought we would stay for a week since it's a two-hour flight back to Tokyo," he explains, finding that the words leave him before he thinks about what he's saying to this complete stranger.
"Oh, you're from Tokyo? Cool! I've always wanted to go, but haven't had a chance to. What are you studying? Wait, are you in high school?" the lifeguard practically rambles, getting more eager as the questions flow.
Nevertheless, he found himself answering once more. "Veterinary sciences. And no, it's for my master's. I'm finishing my undergrad this spring."
"Oh, that's awesome! I—" he begins, but is cut off by a booming voice.
"Brother! We're waiting for you! Get back to work," a large man who towered over the other lifeguard appeared with his arms folded across his chest. He's dressed similarly, a white tee with red shorts, but the lifeguard 'charm' is not found in the more intimidating-looking man, who has a large scar over his left eye and dark hair pulled into a bun.
"Ah! Right," the pink-haired lifeguard says, rubbing the back of his neck apologetically. He walks past Megumi to grab his board, tucking it under his arm.
As he follows the larger man, he turns and gives Megumi a wave. "It was nice to meet you! Hope you enjoy your stay!"
Left standing in the shadow of the guard shack, Megumi is at a loss for words. The exchange that lasted no more than two or three minutes with this lifeguard had his head reeling a tad. Not one to chat, he realizes that he had actually added to the conversation, keeping the two rooted there rather than finding an excuse to walk away from the bright individual. Although the lifeguard didn't seem the brightest, the kindness behind his eyes and genuine responses made up for it.
Nope, nope, what is he thinking? The way the lifeguard had spoken so openly and positively had startled him. He shakes his head, forcing the conversation out of his mind. He'll never see him again, so there's no reason to dwell on that whole interaction. Isn't that like his whole mantra anyway? No point in getting held up on the surface-level conversation he had with a surface-level, easy-going lifeguard who Megumi is never going to run into again, because he won't be hanging behind any more lifeguard shacks for the foreseeable future.
Wanting a distraction, he returns to the message he had begun to type out to Nobara before being collided into. However, he stares at the half-written text, mind wandering back to the moments before.
All he knows about this guy is that he's a lifeguard. A fit one at that. And apparently part of some lifeguard-duo with his brother. Though he was much taller and larger. So, probably a gym-bro too, which makes Megumi shiver. Those kinds of guys are the absolute worst, only focusing on gains and lifts and posing in front of mirrors. The kind of self-obsessed guys who make their daily upper-body routine everyone's business. However, this lifeguard seemed different from the other. Though obnoxious in appearance—wild pink hair and cheeks smeared with sunscreen—he was inviting, somehow drawing Megumi out of the defenses he has up most of the time, the ones Nobara had spent the better part of their sophomore year whittling down. However, he's a bit too chipper for Megumi's liking. It reminds him too much of a certain white-haired someone…
"Hey, there you are, Megumi!"
Speaking of the devil, he turns to see Gojo walking down the beach towards him, holding a plastic convenience store bag in one hand, and an ice cream that was already beginning to melt down the stick in the other hand.
Megumi rolls his eyes at the sight, of course the older man stopped to get an ice cream and likely a plethora of other snacks while Megumi waited for his return to the beach. He bends down to grab the towel and the knocked-over umbrella that had been disregarded during the interaction with the stranger. He steps out of the shade created by the building, deciding to leave behind whatever thoughts he had about the lifeguard whom he met in the shadow. He walks towards Gojo, following behind him as he searches for space along the coast to set up their umbrella.
The not-long-abandoned thoughts come crawling back as he looks out to the water and sees the pink-haired lifeguard floating out on his board, head down, peering into the blue below. He pauses for a moment before sliding off with a splash, re-emerging with pink goggles in hand and a triumphant whoop. A young girl jumps by the shore, waving and smiling at her savior. The lifeguard paddles back over, lifting the large board and tucking it under his arm while he walks out of the water. He hands the goggles to the girl, who thanks him repeatedly before pulling them over her eyes and darting straight into the ocean.
He peels his eyes away from the scene as Gojo calls him over.
Landing at an opening between a family of four and an older couple, Gojo motions for Megumi to plant the staff of the umbrella into the sand as he fumbles in the bag for the pin that he had left to find.
"Not going to ask what's in the bag, Megumi?" Gojo asks, attempting to plant some interest in the man.
"Don't need to ask because I know it's filled with sweets you just had to stop to get on the way over," he says, bored. He continues to shove the stick deeper into the ground, twisting to embed it securely.
"Oh my dear Megumi, you know me so well," Gojo says in a sing-song voice, as he slowly rummages through the bag with one hand due to the ice cream that's still being nursed in the other.
Megumi sighs, "Hold the pole," as he grabs the bag and quickly rifles through the abundance of snacks and sweets before finding the small silver rod that belonged to the umbrella.
He sticks it into place and jostles the pole to gauge its resilience and meets enough resistance to feel confident leaving the umbrella. He grabs the towel that they had brought and lays it down in the shade to create a sand-free area to sit. The small shadow created by the umbrella will be a tight fit for the two men to share, especially since Megumi is determined to shield his entire body from the heat.
"You know, Megumi, you could relax a little; not everything needs to be done in a rush. The whole point of this trip is to enjoy your break from school and the 'city-life,'" Gojo states, finishing his ice cream before throwing the stick into the plastic bag and hand re-emerging with another sweet. Gross.
Sitting down on the roughly smoothed-out towel, Megumi places his sandals on the sand next to him before pulling his legs into a cross-legged position to keep them completely out of the rays of the unforgiving sun. "The whole point of this trip is to tour the university, which I didn't want to do in the first place," he huffs. "You're the one who extended what could've been a one-day feat into a week-long endeavour."
He opens his book to the place where he had stopped reading during the flight over. He finds sand between the pages, reminding him of the fall he took behind the lifeguard shack. He shakes out the pages, hoping to remove the gritty grains of sand from the creases. When satisfied with the removal process, he begins to read, but first shoots a 'what do you want now' glance at the man beside him, as he had watched him the entire time.
Gojo sighs, "You're not wrong, Megs, but wouldn't it be nice to enjoy a break? You're going to be busy with graduate school this time next year, and this was a great opportunity for all of us to spend some time together. Geto and the girls were even jealous that they had to wait another three days before coming!"
Megumi didn't answer, letting the sounds of the crashing waves, playing children, and screeching gulls fill the space between them. Resuming his reading, the older man sprawls on the large towel beside him, letting his legs be exposed to the sun as he stretches out. Folding his arms behind his head, he lets out a contented sigh and begins to hum a radio-hit pop song softly.
Time passes peacefully for the two men, the atmosphere being occasionally interrupted by a cry from a young child with sand in their eyes or the wind flipping book pages unprovoked. It truly was a relaxing setting; Megumi could feel himself unwinding slightly, tension in his body being undone by the sound of the ocean and warm air. He looks out to the expansive blue sea in front of him, watching the waves peak and roll onto the shore, inching closer with the incoming tide. The sparkle of sunrays hits deeper waters, offering an enchanting backdrop for the people swimming and splashing in the shallow end. Turning his head, a small grin appears on his face as he watches a woman apologize to a young boy, handing over a slobbery frisbee that was snatched by the large dog on a leash, who is proudly waving its tail.
A ring erupts from Gojo's phone, who sits up to read the screen.
"It's Suguru," he says with a smile.
He answers the call and lifts the phone to his ear, "Suguru, hey!" He nods, listening along to whatever is being said on the other side, "Yes, yes, the flight was fine, and we're at the beach now. Don't you hear the soothing ocean?" he jokes.
Megumi listens to Gojo talk to Suguru Geto—his husband—on the phone for a little while before setting his book down, stretching his legs out, and standing up. Gojo looks at him, tilting his head, to which he replies, "I'm gonna go for a walk," as he bends down to grab his sandals. He nods, continuing his conversation on the phone, gesturing charismatically.
Leaving behind their spot, Megumi begins to stroll aimlessly down the beach—choosing to walk behind the rows of families closer to the mainland rather than near the incoming tide so he doesn't have to dodge the crashing foam every time a wave rises on the beach. And to avoid unnecessary encounters with sand castles, shell collections, or shouting children. He passes by the guard shack and sees the surfboard has been returned to its place against the wall. He pauses, glancing behind to look for… something, before continuing on his way.
The warm sand cushions his feet as he walks closer to Aoshima Beach Park, a bustling area that the taxi driver had been sure to rave about to the two during their ride. Numerous benches and tables sprawl under the limited shade provided by the palms swaying in the breeze. He slides on his shoes before passing under the banner hanging overhead and stepping onto the brick pathway. The air is filled with savory smells of grilled chicken and slightly sweet takoyaki, dampening the saltiness from the ocean. Past the food vendors, music spills from the speakers atop the small stage, a band playing a swaying rhythm in time with the nearby collection of hammocks rocking. The female vocalist sings gently over the instrumental. A group of teenagers carrying surfboards passes him as they walk towards the water, chatting about their plans for summer break.
Megumi sits on a vacant bench and takes in the scene around him. While much more lively than the spot he and Gojo had made in the sand, it isn't overwhelming. Everyone seems at ease and lighthearted, enjoying the mild ocean wind, the cool refuge under the palms and sun shades, and delicious foods from vendors. He watches a young girl with sunburnt pink cheeks rush past him with a large ice cream cone, giggling, as the dog from earlier chases after her.
Though not a quiet area, he closes his eyes and rests, feeling the serenity of the moment, which he would never confess to Gojo. Admittedly, this was much more enjoyable than the week he had planned originally, which primarily consisted of increasing his hours at the veterinary hospital where he interned. Of course, he would do that for the rest of the summer before getting back to the grind of his senior year of college, so missing a short week wouldn't be life-ending. And, it allowed Nobara to throw the 'ultimate' house party she had been begging for Megumi's approval to host since the start of their senior year, which he wanted absolutely no part in. Not being able to escape a mob of people in your own house sounds like the plot of a nightmare he never wants to live. He just hopes that she keeps up her promise to completely clean the living room and barricade his bedroom from stumbling drunks.
Thinking back to his high school days—years of teachers' warnings of 'trials and tribulations' faced by college students while experiencing their first taste of true independence—Megumi can admit that he's changed more than he had anticipated. He hadn't made many friends in high school; most students were too irritating or downright stupid for him to bother spending time with. So, he was often alone. Not that he minded, in fact, the lack of distractions brought by solitude was how he found himself at the top of his class for all three years.
He remembers how his classmates would enter the room on Monday mornings, boasting about their karaoke high scores and basketball victories over the rival class's team, the numbers increasing each time the story was told, though Megumi would pretend not to listen. He would be seated at his desk, textbook open, actually studying for the day's quiz.
Megumi has always been considered independent, even at a young age. Adults would praise him for being so diligent in his tasks, often congratulating Gojo for his 'job well done' with the boy. A joke, since Gojo, only 13 years older than Megumi himself, took very few things seriously, especially academics, as Megumi was applauded more for winning a fight than the 100s he scored on exams.
His middle school days of delinquency hung in the shadows of his past. Often attributed to his 'unconventional upbringing,' there were a few years where he found himself pummeling students into the ground if they spoke about him or Tsumiki. Of course, Tsumiki would scold him every time he wound up in the office with split knuckles, before Gojo would show up, asking Megumi if he had won the brawl.
Thankfully, this tendency was left behind at his middle school graduation ceremony.
Moving into college, he found true independence, away from the overbearing (yet somehow totally uninvolved with everything in his life) Gojo. He had made Gojo swear to text him as infrequently as possible (Gojo interpreted this as once a day) and never to attempt to 'surprise' him on campus (Gojo learned this meant he shouldn't wait outside the dorm for Megumi to show up after class).
He continued in his ways of solitude for the first semester of freshman year, only somewhat friendly with his roommate and a handful of classmates. He thought this was just how it was going to be for the next four years.
That was before he met Nobara.
He immediately disliked the girl the moment she entered his life. On the first Monday of their calculus lecture, she had barged into the hall fifteen minutes late, shuffled past students, and landed in the empty seat beside Megumi. Disruptive in everything she did, heels clacking loudly with each step down the stairs and apologies offered to the students who had already settled into their seats, all topped with a sigh as she plopped down in her seat. She had turned to Megumi, who had pointedly avoided all eye contact with her as he focused on the professor who was going over the syllabus.
"Do you have a pen?"
He stared ahead.
"Psst. A pen?"
He flipped over the syllabus he had printed out the night before, following along as the professor discussed exam dates and times. He'll have to put that in his calendar later.
He was noting down the location of the professor's office when he felt a sharp poke in his shoulder. He whipped his head over to shoot a glare at the girl, who had smiled at the success of her prodding.
"Nobara Kugisaki. Got a pen for me?"
Normally, he wouldn't respond, but the way the girl had flipped her hair and inspected her painted nails as if it made perfect sense for her to ask her classmate for a pen on the first day of class, which she had been late for, drove him to whisper back an insult.
"No. You should've been more prepared it seems."
"Oh, c'mon, I know you have some. Probably super fancy pens that are smudge-free and multicolored. Ooh! With the squishy grips and clicky clickers that are super satisfying to click over and over when you're studying and stressed."
As if this girl studies enough to have the time to click a pen over and over, Megumi thought, rolling his eyes.
As she droned on and on about the pens that Megumi supposedly had, he found it increasingly hard to ignore—especially with the annoyed looks the people nearby would shoot at him. Relenting, he reached into his bag and pulled out a pen and shoved it in her hand.
She gasped, "I knew it would be fancy!", before finally turning in her seat to listen to the professor. She clicked the pen. And didn’t stop for the remaining thirty minutes of the lecture.
When the class was dismissed, she went to return the pen, but Megumi was already standing and shouldering his bag. "Keep it," he said gruffly before darting away as quickly as he could.
He had hoped that he would never interact with her again, fading into another nameless face in the large student body. Yet the following Wednesday, she walked into class (on time, surprisingly) and sat beside Megumi. He ignored her, but that didn't stop the nagging and questions, which he would always respond to in short, curt answers. This happened every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a month before he gave in and told her his name.
Thus began what Nobara calls their beautiful friendship. Megumi thinks a parasitic being clinging to an unwilling college student host is a better name for their dynamic. She sits with him at lunch, calls him late at night to inform him about the latest fashion trend, steals his calculus notes, and forces him to hold her bags for her at the mall when she successfully drags him out of the library. He'd even found himself carrying her out of a party, nearly blacked out and muttering nonsensical things.
And despite it all, Megumi found he didn't mind having her around. In fact, he might've actually enjoyed the time they spent together, though he'd never let it show, lest he fuel Nobara's already stupidly high ego. Yes, the time he spent in the quiet of the library or his dorm, surrounded by his schoolwork, was where he felt most comfortable, but the disruptions Nobara brought into his life were a welcome change. By the end of their first year, they could bicker back and forth like siblings, Megumi coming up with witty remarks and Nobara punching him on the shoulder. And when she forced the same fancy ink pen into his hand and slid a lease for a two-bedroom apartment across the table, his hand automatically signed his name on the dotted line, next to Nobara's own loopy signature.
Suddenly, the life of intentional solidarity that he had envisioned in high school was no longer the lifestyle he longed for.
After drifting in his thoughts for a while, Megumi looks up as the band begins to wind down, thanking those who had listened in. He stands and checks the time; it's now nearly six, an hour after Gojo said they would head back to the hotel. He didn't realize he had sat on the bench for that long, but time seemed to fly by. Deciding to return to the beach, he makes his way back down the brick path and out toward the sea.
Approaching the umbrella in the sand, Megumi stands over Gojo, who is lounging under the shade with arms crossed behind his head.
His face with sunglasses concealing his eyes looks toward Megumi, cocking slightly. "You're back! What took you so long?"
"I just went on a walk, I told you that."
"Right, right. But look at you, mister 'I hate the sand and the sun and Miyazaki and all things good and fun' extending our beach day," Gojo says in a voice that is apparently supposed to resemble Megumi's, but it sounds more akin to a pouting twelve-year-old.
"I don't sound like that."
"Oh yes you do, little Megumi. So what kept you out for so long? Good food? Some kind of game? Or… Ooh! Don't tell me you got hit by a volleyball and a dashing young prince ran over and made sure you were okay while you locked eyes, and now you have a darling beach crush to fantasize about for the next week! Oh Megs, tell me all about it!"
Rolling his eyes, Megumi bends over and rips the umbrella out of its place in the sand, shocking the older man with the sun's beams. This is why he doesn't go along with Gojo's bantering; it always leaves him more infuriated than before, which isn't surprising, since it's Gojo he's talking about. Sighing, he fumbles with removing the collapse pin on the umbrella for a few moments before it swishes closed, and he pockets the pin to prevent it from getting lost again. He looks down at the man still sitting on the towel beneath him, who looks up with a confused expression.
"I'm leaving," he says, bending down to pick up the book he had left behind earlier, before turning on his heel to leave the beach.
Gojo, quickly catching up to him with the towel and snack bag in tow, tries to ruffle Megumi's hair while offering a light-hearted half-apology. Megumi dodges the attack, grumbling. The two make their way back to the hotel, no silence shared between the two men due to Gojo's constant narrating of the passerbys, followed by a minute-by-minute re-telling of his phone call with Geto earlier.
Arriving back at their room, Megumi heads to the bathroom to shower off the sweat and sand that he's collected. He can already see sand dusting the floor of their suite, adding to his long list of grievances against beachside vacations.
Stepping into the cool water, he washes away the heat and grime that the mere two hours of being outside had attached to his body. How do people live in a place like this? Tokyo could get pretty warm during the summer, hot enough that even Megumi, who enjoyed staying indoors, could become restless with the amount of time he had to spend in front of the AC to escape the sweltering heat. The first summer he and Nobara shared in their flat was one to remember—the AC unit had sputtered out in the middle of the night, forcing the two to throw open every window in the apartment while hoping for a breeze that could lull them back to sleep before the repairman could come in the morning. Delirious, Megumi had even followed Nobara in a chant and ritual to appease some kind of wind god that she was sure to work. It didn't, or maybe the 'wind god' was some sick sentient being that enjoyed watching the two sit in front of the fridge, the only light in the room coming from the wimpy lightbulb inside, while profusely sweating.
Feeling refreshed, he turns off the shower, dries himself off, and gets dressed. Leaving the bathroom, he moves to his room and sits at the desk, determined to get a little work done to continue to stay ahead in his last classes of his undergrad. His courses had been difficult, but his relentless focus for the past four years had kept him afloat. Even in his organic chemistry class during junior year, he had managed to pass with a B, which was nothing short of a miracle. Megumi, neither religious nor a believer in rituals, had thanked the gods above (nonresponsive wind god excluded) that his organic professor, Dr. Ieiri, had been so gracious with her grading.
He puts on his headphones and turns on music. The soft rock fades into the background as he reads about macro- and micronutrients in the average animal diet. He draws example carbohydrate and lipid shapes in his notebook, noting the structures and atomic makeups of each and how these affect their digestion.
At some point, the words on the screen turn into a blur.
Satisfied with the amount of progress he had made in his Animal Nutrition class textbook, he shuts his laptop at the same time his stomach lets out a soft grumble. Looking at his phone, he realizes it's now nearing eight, and he hasn't eaten yet.
Standing, he stretches his arms over his head while walking to the living room to find Gojo watching some foreign low-quality movie on TV while snacking on the same sweets he had bought from the convenience store earlier.
He looks up, "Hey nerd, want to watch Sharknado?"
And while Megumi would absolutely love to watch a movie about sharks flopping on land with an embarrassingly bad Japanese dub, he rolls his eyes. "How old are you again?" he asks the man, who then makes an offended face, as if actually in disbelief at Megumi's words, acting like he isn't guilty of this child-like behavior nearly every moment.
"So I'm guessing we're not eating dinner?" he says, gesturing to the collection of sweets on the coffee table.
That makes the overgrown child spring up from the couch. "Yes! I'm starving! Let's head down and see what we can find nearby."
He snacks all day and is still hungry, Megumi thinks to himself while turning to follow Gojo, who already has one foot out the door.
The two walk around before landing at the same convenience store Gojo had raided earlier, since all other food options had closed for the night, understandably, since it's past eight; however, some restaurants had closed at six. Apparently, no one needs to eat once the sun begins to set here. Megumi logs this as a new entry to his growing list of complaints.
Leaving the store with two bags of food—dinner for tonight and a breakfast in the morning before they go grocery shopping to cover the rest of the week—they head back to the hotel. As they enter the doors to the lobby, Megumi nearly drops the bag he's holding when he catches sight of familiar pink hair. The man turns, and warm brown eyes meet green.
"Hey vet guy!" the lifeguard from before calls out, from behind the reception desk.
Megumi's heart drops a little as they approach the desk. He wants to sprint away, but Gojo's marching full-force up to the guy, intent on introducing himself to the mysterious lifeguard-turned-receptionist. So, he apprehensively walks behind him, not wanting to speak to the person behind the counter, but also feeling that he should be there to defend himself from whatever falsehoods Gojo can, and likely will, spew about him.
"Who's this?"
Megumi goes to respond, but is quickly interrupted by the pink-haired man, who offers a wide smile and bow while introducing himself.
"I'm Itadori! We ran into each other at the beach earlier. Or really, I guess I ran into him! I'm a lifeguard, and I was coming around to grab my board when I ran into your, uh, son?" he says a tad awkwardly, looking between the two like he's trying to clarify their relationship. "But then I had to go back to work, so we didn't talk too much. I actually never caught your name…"
With that, he leans over to be directly in front of Megumi, waiting for him to offer his name to the man who's much too energetic for it being eight pm. Megumi doesn't budge, staring back for a moment before glancing over to Gojo, who's wearing a smug grin as he takes in the scene before him. He turns to Megumi, ruffles his hair, and heads toward the elevator while waving goodbye over his shoulder.
"I'll be up in the room, Megumi~!"
He definitely won't hear the end of being called Gojo's son for at least the next week.
Megumi sighs. He could follow Gojo up to the room, but for some odd reason, his feet feel planted to the floor under him. Maybe there's a huge wad of gum under his shoes that's keeping him in place. He looks down to investigate before the lifeguard, Itadori, speaks up.
"So your name's Megumi?"
After lifting both feet to find that they're still perfectly capable of moving on their own, he looks back up. "It's Fushiguro."
"Oh, okay then! It's nice to see you again, Fushiguro. Isn't it crazy you're staying at this hotel? We keep running into each other!" Itadori says, still wearing that impossibly large smile from before.
"I guess. Do you work here?" Megumi asks.
Stupid question. Of course he works here. He's standing behind the counter, with a nametag, idiot, Megumi thinks, berating himself. Is it that obvious he doesn't usually willingly engage with others in conversation?
"Yeah! Only part-time, though. I really only help out on nights when I'm not super busy, which is most nights, to be honest. I met Nanamin, the owner, three or so years ago when he was renovating the hotel, and I offered to help out. So when I wasn’t at the beach, I was here painting the walls or moving furniture! And I've just kept on working here since. Not as often anymore since he has, like, real employees now, but Nanamin likes me enough to keep me around," he finishes with a wink.
While talking, Itadori held a fond look on his face, recollecting the memories that landed him at the hotel. His hands ran along the top of the counter, feeling the finish of the wood that was a deep chestnut color. Megumi looks around the rest of the lobby.
The hotel's lobby is small, fitted with a reception desk and a seating area. Directly across from the desk, a few chairs and a plush, short sofa sit around a coffee table that matches the color of the desk. The flooring is a soft brown tile that pairs well with the cream-colored walls and ceiling, which has wooden beams running along it. Gold light fixtures adorn the wall, casting the room in a soft white glow. The desk has a simple chandelier hanging above it with a smaller lamp beside a service bell. A few pictures are hung, showcasing Miyazaki monuments and what appears to be the hotel before some very necessary modern alterations. To the right of the desk, down a short hallway, are the two elevators that lead to the rooms above. To the left are the first-floor rooms and the dining area for guests.
"So is that your dad?"
He turns back to face Itadori with a look of repulsion, which he quickly schools back into his normal look of indifference. "No—er, somewhat, I guess."
Itadori furrows his brow at that, looking unsure at his response.
A sigh. "Adopted. Took me in as a kid. My parents weren't around."
A frown. "Ah, I'm sorry to hear that," Itadori says, rubbing the back of his neck apologetically.
This is why I don't tell people things like this; it always makes the situation awkward, Megumi thinks to himself, before letting out a small 'it's fine' to reassure the other. It's a song and dance he's performed many times, since it's a common reaction when learning the person you're talking to has a deadbeat father and a poor excuse for a guardian instead.
The two stand without saying anything before Megumi looks down at the bag he's still carrying. Reminded that he hasn't eaten anything since the lunch he and Gojo had at the Tokyo airport, his stomach longingly grumbles.
"Well, I'm going now," he says, lifting the bag into his arms as a departing statement of sorts.
"Oh, right. It was nice to see you again, Fushiguro!" Itadori says, with a smile.
Megumi hums, turning to walk towards the elevator to finally get back to his room and eat the crappy ramen and other assortment of foods he bought from the convenience store. He pushes the button to call the elevator before his eyes wander back to the desk.
He finds Itadori already looking at him.
Itadori lifts a hand and waves. "Goodnight, Fushiguro! See you tomorrow!"
Ding!
The doors open. Megumi gives a brisk nod, walks into the elevator, and pushes the button for the fourth floor.
He leans against the cool metal of the elevator’s walls as it rushes upwards. He sighs, feeling the weight of a day full of traveling, being at the beach, and reluctantly interacting with receptionist-lifeguard Itadori, who somehow had enough energy to rival Gojo. Seriously, how was he still kicking this late while having worked out in the sun as a lifeguard earlier and now as a receptionist? Just being at the beach for three hours zapped the life out of him, though the time he spent studying didn't help.
The doors open to reveal the hallway of the fourth floor, and he pushes off the wall.
See you tomorrow, Itadori had said.
Whatever, he'll just ignore the guy if he sees him around again. He'll stay clear of the lifeguard stand and walk directly past the desk without looking to see who's standing there. No point in getting all friendly when Megumi's leaving in a week to go back to—and stay in—Tokyo. That would just be a waste of his time here, which he is determined to spend studying when not being dragged around by his family to go sightseeing or souvenir shopping or whatever it is people do on vacation.
Goodnight, Fushiguro, Itadori had said.
Megumi stops in front of the door to the suite.
The simple farewell repeats in his head, with an emphasis on the way Itadori said his name. The way it sounded coming out of his mouth, stretched into the grin that seemed to never leave. It's just his name, but, for some reason, the warmth in Itadori's voice lingered in his mind like the warmth from the sun he could still feel heating his skin. It sounded natural coming from Itadori, like they've known each other for years, fond memories fueling the friendliness in the way he said it.
He grabs the cool door handle, shaking the feeling off.
No, this is stupid, he thinks.
Why is he getting caught up on his name, of all things? He's had it for the past twenty years, and he's heard it be pronounced—and mispronounced—in a multitude of ways. Who cares if a stranger knows it and calls him by it? That is what a name is for after all.
Deciding to leave the matter behind him, he pushes open the door and enters the room, ready to fill his empty, ravenous stomach and finally crash on his bed after an exhausting day.
He pulls out the ramen and pours in the hot water that Gojo had made with the kettle. Surprisingly considerate of the man to leave some for Megumi. He turns and is met with bright blue eyes staring straight at him.
"Welcome back, son! Not going to thank your kind, considerate, awesome, wonderful dad for making you some hot water for your ramen?"
Whatever pleasant thought he might've been holding towards the man is immediately thrown out by whatever theatrics he's trying to play at now. Cursing Itadori and his horrible judgment, he pushes past Gojo with ramen cup in hand, grabs the bag full of other food, and retreats to his room, locking the door for good measure.
He sets the bag on the desk and collapses into the chair. He slips on his headphones and eats, using the music to drown out anything Gojo may shout through the door.
Once finished, he changes into pajamas and slips out to brush his teeth in the bathroom. The other man has seemingly retired to his own room, a sigh of relief escaping him as he returns to his bedroom. He closes the curtains to the balcony, which had let in a few lights from neighboring buildings.
He sinks onto the edge of his bed, the mattress dipping with him as he lies down, covering himself with the comforter. He stares at the ceiling before closing his eyes to finally get some much-needed rest. Before he realizes it, the echo of 'Goodnight, Fushiguro' slips into his subconscious.
His eyes fly open as he scowls into the dark.
Nope, he's not doing this.
He aggressively flops over onto his side to face the wall.
Not tonight.
Not ever.