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Turns out Itadori is popular. Actually popular. In a ‘people want to be around him’ kind of way. Not the kind of popular Megumi was growing up and certainly not the kind of popular he is now. Inumaki-senpai says he’s ‘intimidating,’ which is a way to be popular but not the pleasant, charming way Itadori is.
One girl with a crush turns to three turns to seven. To Megumi having the same conversation with every single, same-aged female he ever comes across. Kugisaki calls him because Kugisaki hates the popular Itadori is and loves sharing this misery with whoever will feel it most.
Megumi, apparently, because he is “basically one of the girls,” apparently.
“That’s patently not true,” Megumi tells her over coffee, one of rare times they’re not consoling some broken-hearted, Itadori fangirl.
“Physically,” Kugisaki sips her fancy frappe. “But... you know.”
He doesn’t know and he’s fine not knowing. He’s fine being the middleman to Itadori’s love life. He’s fine with whatever friendship he and Kugisaki and Itadori have.
He has never asked for much in life but if he were to start now, it would be for things to stay the same for as long as realistically possible, with Itadori, dozing off on his lap, and Kugisaki, leaning into his side, and Gojo-sensei’s weird movie collection playing as they all pretend to watch.
What kind of girls (do you/does he/do girls) like? — is a question Megumi has heard three hundred percent more times this year than in his sixteen years of life. And he was raised by a man whom all the girls wanted, who should have taught him a thing or two about girls, and girls liking, and which girls to like.
Gojo-sensei likes no girls “in theory” but “hot girls in practice.” Megumi was right to have never mentioned it to him before.
It’s not something Megumi thought about until he met Todo, and Kugisaki, and Itadori’s harem of girls wanting to be the girls he likes. Now he thinks about it semi-constantly because everyone else seems to know.
“Jennifer Lawrence,” Itadori says, smiling, and they watch the movie where she’s supposedly sixteen (“Like us!”) and sent to die in some death match (“Like us!”), and Itadori says, “She’s so cool!”
Then turns to Megumi late after they’ve binged through the whole series—four things of two hours and not enough death for a death-match movie franchise—and blinks at Megumi with honey-colored eyes.
“What about you, Fushiguro?” he asks, biting his lower lip.
Megumi wants him to get off his lap before the unforeseen issue happening inside his pants becomes more obvious of a problem.
It’s the thought. The thought that ‘he likes girls’ is a sexy thought and therefore, he had a sexy reaction hearing it.
This is completely normal, Gojo-sensei says, walking him through some cursed hallway. Megumi doesn’t have to be here but Gojo-sensei says he misses taking him on missions and Megumi needs to tell him about how shitty his life has gotten since he started having thoughts.
“Telling me about it? Not normal.” Gojo explodes a nearby grade four. “I don’t want to think about your dick.”
“Because I’m a guy?” Megumi asks. “And it’s weird to think of another guy?”
“Because I met you when your dick was the size of a walnut and that’s weird.”
“That is weird,” Megumi agrees, making a face before thinking back to when they met—he was seven—and how he had an average-sized penis. “I had an average-sized penis. For a kid,” he shares.
“You look at lots of kids’ dicks for comparison?” Gojo-sensei grins.
Megumi punches him in his old man gut. He’s getting fat. All that not moving makes his ‘souvenirs’ go straight to his ass. Looking at another man’s ass is probably weird too.
Gojo-sensei pets his hair. “Look, I don’t know what we just talked about but I’m glad you’re figuring things out.”
It’s not The Thought.
It appears it’s any thought. He has thoughts, occasionally, every once in a while, and if those happen when he’s around Itadori, they tend to become... things, and he tends to become... a closeted pervert.
This is all mortifying and unacceptable. He’s gonna cut his dick off, dick seppuku.
In occasions like this, Gojo-sensei recommends the nip-it-in-the-bud approach. Just get it done and over with. Go with the direct hit.
“Do you get boners?” Megumi asks Itadori, directly over second dinner.
“Yeah,” Itadori says, directly around a piece of shrimp, sucking the juice out of the head and Megumi’s sanity out of his erection. “Why?”
Maybe he should consider the repress-it-till-you-die approach.
“No reason,” he mumbles, lowering his head in shame. Unfortunately, his ears still work and slurp-slurp-slurp sounds a lot like slick-slick-slick around his dick-dick-dick.
“You have a boner?” Itadori asks, giving him whiplash. Megumi breaks his neck to look at him. “Right now?” Itadori smiles cheekily.
Well now he does. “Well now I do.”
Itadori grins, making everything much, much worse. Megumi would do anything for him. Anything but stand. He physically cannot stand without the whole world seeing that though he has never been camping, he can sure pitch a tent.
“Wanna do it together?” Itadori asks.
‘What are we doing?’ and ‘Oh, it’s done, thanks to that comment’ run through Megumi’s brain but he settles for, “Yeah.”
They masturbate side by side on the bed, watching porn—or rather the porn watches them watching each other. In a predictable way, like dudes, from the corner of their eyes, very casually, for comparison. Recon. How does a person who is not me do this thing I have only done with myself?
“You have the biggest cock I have ever seen!!” is Itadori’s first and only comment when Megumi shoves his sweatpants down to his knees and cups himself in one hand, very casually, at the base, showing off how his dick practically hits his bellybutton, casually though.
“Big... cock... seen...” Megumi’s brain glitches.
Itadori’s is acceptable, acceptably long and deliciously thick, acceptably pretty like the rest of him.
When they’re ‘doing’ the ‘together,’ Megumi thinks of nothing but how strange it is that Itadori’s pubic hair is pink like his locks, which Megumi assumed were dyed. And how strange it is that he rubs only the tip of his dick roughly. And how strange it is that Megumi feels so much so quickly, and his hips snap up, fucking into his hand as he spills over Itadori’s sheets, thinking Gojo-sensei’s Unlimited Void has nothing on an Itadori-induced orgasm.
“That is the biggest load I have ever seen!!” Itadori compliments with wide-eyes that squint shut as he speeds his hand to catch up. He has the thick arms of a man but makes squealing noises when he shoots far enough to get it on his face.
Megumi reaches to wipe the white off Itadori’s cheek and thinks of kissing him on the mouth. Immediately yanks up his sweatpants, sprinting out of the room.
“Gojo-sensei, open the door, I’m gonna kill myself.” He bangs on Gojo’s door, well-aware it’s probably one am and Gojo’s probably four shots into ‘marinating his brain with depressants.’
“Good luck!” Gojo screams from somewhere behind it. Judging by how far his voice is, probably the bedroom. Megumi lived with him briefly when he was too young to live alone.
He slams his fists against the surface. “Thought you might want to say bye,” he yells. “I am after all, not gonna be alive soon.”
The door clicks open and Gojo’s bed-hair and tequila-outfit of nothing but a ratty band t-shirt greet him. “Nice knowing ya,” he yawns.
“Ew, old man, put on pants.” Megumi lets himself in.
“You come to my house and disrespect my legs?”
Megumi stands in his living room, lost for words, just a shell of who he once was pre-Itadori-orgasm. “I... have to die.”
“I see,” Gojo-sensei rubs his chin thoughtfully. “That’s very reasonable of you.”
Megumi gives him The Eyes—the ‘let’s eat cookies for breakfast, lunch and dinner’ eyes, the ‘you don’t understand I need every action figure, they’re collectibles’ eyes.
“What?” Gojo-sensei sighs. “Here I prided myself on making sure you wouldn’t have an angsty teen phase. Guess I spoke too soon.”
“I... first of all, this is sperm,” he shows Gojo his hand.
“Fantastic! Now I have to die too,” Gojo-sensei says. “And it’s semen, not sperm.”
“It’s cum,” Megumi says.
“There are easier ways to get me to kill you.”
“It’s not my cum,” Megumi tries to get him to understand why death is the only solution to this problem he has gotten himself into. “I wiped it off Itadori’s face after he got it there with his dick.”
Gojo-sensei looks shattered. “Why are you doing this to me?”
They meet outside like a town sherif and the hot outlaw trying to end his career—face to face with a seriousness that would have everyone around shutting their wooden windows and covering their little children’s eyes.
“Sorry,” Megumi says.
“No, I’m sorry,” Itadori says.
“Why are you sorry?” Megumi says.
“I’m sorry I have a small dick,” Itadori says, looking sad.
Megumi blinks awake from the comma he had put himself in to handle what was coming. “Huh? No, you don’t. Your dick is fine.”
“You like it?” Itadori perks up.
Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. “Sure.”
“Are we friends still?” Itadori asks, bright-eyed, the thing that got Megumi into this mess and of course, Itadori Yuuji would have four. He excels at whatever he needs, naturally strong, naturally brave, naturally charming, naturally everything Megumi isn’t and is naturally drawn to.
“Are you friends still, with me?” Megumi asks.
“Of course. You’re my best friend.”
Heart seppuku.
“You’re my best friend too,” Megumi replies, smiling.
His hand cups Itadori’s chubby cheek, thumb tracing where he usually goes red, right underneath the scars from his second set of eyes. Itadori nuzzles into his palm like the divine dogs do when they’re happy, all shut-eyed and bleppy mouths.
Megumi thinks of kissing him or hugging him or saying, “This is where the cum was...” which, out of all the options, is objectively the worst and definitely the one he chooses.
Itadori goes bright pink like his hair and his lips. Megumi thinks of kissing him.
“I’m leaving,” he turns around and speed-walks away, uncasually because no one in the world has ever casually speed-walked anywhere.
“Fushiguro!” Itadori calls back. “Still on for lunch?”
“Sure,” Megumi shrugs.
This is a special-grade problem that needs a special-grade nuisance to exorcise.
Kugisaki is helping him make a list of similarities between himself and Jennifer Lawrence because it’s like that. It’s the most like that it has ever been. Kugisaki claims she’s a pro at this, despite zero of her plans working out for anyone and her dating coach reviews being nothing but Itadori’s crying ex-classmates.
Megumi has no plan, clearly, or he wouldn’t be flopped over a table, mumbling, “We’re both tall, I guess.”
This plan of hers will fail. First of all—“I’m not a girl,” Megumi points out the elephant in the room. “He likes girls, which I am not and Jennifer is.”
“Jennifer,” Kugisaki doesn’t seem bothered. “Since when are you two on a first name basis?”
“Since Itadori made me watch all her filmography,” Megumi groans. Kugisaki looks confused. “Filmography? Film discography? Suburbians,” he scoffs.
“He could be bi,” Kugisaki says, ignoring him. “I’m bi.”
“You don’t think it’s strange that in a team of three, two people are bi?” Fushiguro asks.
“Hmm,” Kugisaki thinks on it. Statistically, it makes no sense. “Maybe cursed energy makes you gay?”
“He doesn’t have that,” Megumi reminds her. Before Sukuna, Itadori was an average dude. Before Itadori, Megumi was depressed, but also an average dude.
“Maybe Sukuna made him gay,” Kugisaki posits, reading his mind. “What’s your excuse?”
“I was born like this?” Megumi asks, not really sure himself. “What’s yours?”
“Women.”
“I don’t understand,” Megumi says.
“That’s why you’re gay,” Kugisaki diagnoses. It’s about as much explanation as Megumi has had about anything in his life so it checks out. He’s gay.
“We need more information,” Kugisaki stands, nodding in determination. “I will accept your mission.”
“Thank you,” Megumi nods back. They shake hands to make it official.
Gojo-sensei catches them on top of Nue, noses pressed against a glass window, Itadori’s dorm room, glass window if he’s going to be specific.
They are outside of Itadori’s dorm room, looking into said dorm room, with Itadori in his dorm room, in his bed at first, where Megumi spurted sperm on those same, unchanged sheets, where they were close enough to touch thigh-flesh, where he held Itadori’s soft cheeks and looked into his soft eyes—
“Who are we creeping on, kids?” Gojo-sensei asks, floating beside them.
“Nothing!” Megumi squawks, almost falling off. Nue adjust his large wing to balance him.
“Itadori,” Kugisaki replies easily. “We’re trying to find out what he likes.”
“I see,” Gojo-sensei says, and he too starts ‘creeping.’ “And why is he getting naked?”
“Nothing!” Megumi squawks, wishing Nue would just let him drop.
“He’s about to take a shower.” Kugisaki is undeterred, eyes glued to where Itadori dances to the music on his headphones, giving them an inadvertent, awkwardly-hot strip tease, clothes dropping to the floor, hips swaying to the music, thick, bushy happy trail leading into his pants.
Megumi clutches the middle of his chest, panting. “I’m gonna have a gay panic attack.”
“Not everything is about you being gay, Fushiguro,” Kugisaki says.
“You’re gay?” Gojo-sensei leans over to look at him. “Congrats!”
“You didn’t tell your dad?” Kugisaki turns to Megumi, who’s likely, probably, foaming at the mouth from every single molecule in his body seizing in embarrassment.
“He’s not—” he stutters.
“I’m not—” Gojo-not-his-dad stutters.
“I was trying to—!” Megumi accuses.
“He was. He actually was. This one is on me. I fuck up too, I’m not perfect, we know that.” Oh no, it’s a Gojo-sensei ‘I’m not perfect, I’m too perfect’ rant. Does no one cares he’s having a gay stroke?
“Help your son then.” Kugisaki stops him.
“I thought you touched his semen?” Gojo-sensei remembers.
“What?!” Kugisaki screams loud enough to penetrate the dorm room glass window, and the headphones, and Itadori’s thick skull.
Itadori turns around to make direct eye contact with all three of them but mostly Megumi.
Megumi feigns fainting, much to Nue’s frazzled screeching.
“Gojo-sensei, you pervert!” Itadori points, having lined them up in his hallway like they’re about to face the shooting squad. Megumi would have loved if that were the case.
Itadori should have taken the time to put on clothes too if he didn’t want anyone (Megumi) ogling his super fit, slightly wet body.
His finger moves to Kugisaki and they both make the same disgusted ‘ughghgh’ sound at the same time.
He gets to Megumi last, who’s holding an ice-pack to his head because ‘he fainted.’ Itadori was comically screechy ‘reviving him.’ Kugisaki was borderline heroic suggesting Itadori try ‘mouth-to-mouth.’
“Hi.” Itadori smiles.
“I didn’t see anything,” Megumi blurts. “I went blind—it happens to me sometimes—in fact—I am blind right now—who are you?”
Itadori rubs his squishy cheek, confused, showing off his arm-muscle. The towel on his slim waist drops approximately 1.7 inches. Megumi becomes approximately 100.7 times more attracted to him.
“You have seen it all, ha-ha,” Itadori laughs.
“Ha-ha,” Megumi mirrors. “Ha-ha-ha.” Oh god, he can’t stop ha-ha-ha-ing.
“Ughghgh,” Kugisaki and Gojo-sensei mention.
It’s Itadori’s turn to host movie night but they’re both too tired to commit to anything but laying in bed, doing a shit-ton of nothing.
Itadori plays with his hair, shoving it down to watch it spring back up.
“Do you think Gojo-sensei is my dad?” Megumi asks out of the blue.
“I wish he was my dad,” Itadori laughs.
“He could be.” Megumi says. Itadori has no one and Megumi has no one. They can both share Gojo-sensei. “He could be both our dads.”
“Yeah!” Itadori cheers. “Then we’d be brothers!”
Wait. No.
“I don’t want to be your brother,” Megumi mutters.
If Itadori didn’t have him trapped in his arms, he might have considered this the moment he claims exhaustion and goes back to his room.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I wanna keep doing this.” Megumi shrugs.
“Me too.” Itadori grins, pulling him closer so he can use both hands, the one holding his phone and the one wrapped around Megumi’s body, to type.
Megumi doesn’t know how to burst his bubble—‘hey, by the way, you’re cuddling me in your bed.’ It’s physically impossible to want to do things that hurt Itadori.
“Look at this guy falling down the stairs,” Itadori says, clicking on a video and holding the phone for both of them to see.
“You know the punchline is supposed to be me not expecting that.” Megumi watches as the guy falls down the stairs. “That’s what makes it funny.”
Itadori giggles through twelve consecutive loops.
Megumi has to at least try to prepare himself for how little to hope for. “Why do we touch all the time?” he asks.
“Cause we want to,” Itadori answers.
It’s about as much thinking as Megumi does over anything so it checks out.
He adjusts his arm over Itadori’s waist to do what he has wanted to all night, pull him flush against his body and cling to his presence, head tucking underneath his chin.
Itadori sleeps with his arms around him and his nose in Megumi’s hair.
What if I want to kiss you, runs through Megumi’s mind the next few nights of him sleeping alone.
Not something he would take note of before having experienced being in the same bed as another body, hugged and cradled, cared for.
Hearing and feeling and smelling Itadori all around him, watching him sleep and then sleeping so well he woke up rested for the first time in years.
Their hands brush walking home from a fast but dirty mission. Megumi should grab Itadori’s fingers but he probably won’t. It’s probably not a good idea to be out in public, holding another boy’s hand.
What a joke to have to fight curses to save the very people who won’t even let you be with the one you love. This is how people become disillusioned. This is what happened to him. Gojo-sensei doesn’t speak of it but Megumi knows.
Just as he knows he can never be like him for Gojo-sensei’s sake. He can soak in this or swim out and move past it. Itadori, like a life raft, skips with every step, goodness personified, his constant, his reminder.
“Lets watch a movie,” Megumi decides.
“Okay,” Itadori replies.
“A real movie. In the cinema.” He started so he might as well see it through. “I’ll take you out. Pay for it and stuff.”
“Really?” Itadori asks. “Okay!”
“Just us two,” Megumi warns him.
Itadori laughs. “Who else would it be?”
“Don’t stalk me from the bushes,” Megumi says as soon as he sees Kugisaki on the other side of his door in a blond wig, wearing giant, plastic sunglasses.
“Hah,” Kugisaki says, “As if I’d choose such a lame disguise. Behold.”
She gestures grandly to the side. Megumi pokes his head out of his room to catch sight of Inumaki-senpai in a dress and Panda-senpai naked, well, in Panda fur. “Hello, Fushiguro-kun!”
“Why is he wearing a skirt?” Megumi asks, looking at Inumaki-senpai’s pale legs. His eyes move to Panda-senpai. “This is a panda.” Not a disguise.
“What else would he be?” Kugisaki brushes it aside. “We’re a bunch of girlfriends hanging out in Tokyo for fun. Unrelated to you and your date,” she squeals that last word before coughing to make her voice ultra-serious again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We had these plans since last week.”
“Girlfriends,” Panda confirms, giving Megumi a thumbs up.
“Salmon,” Inumaki nods. He should model pantyhose with those knees.
“Stay away from me.” Megumi tries closing the door.
Kugisaki sticks her big foot in, stopping him. “You will need me,” she utters like a prophecy.
“I need you to stay away from me,” Megumi says through the slit in the door, trying to force it shut but Kugisaki is stronger than she looks.
“Is that... what you’re wearing?” she strains, pushing the door open so Panda-senpai and Inumaki-senpai can see his decided outfit of black sweatpants and black sweatshirt.
“Yes,” Megumi shoves it shut.
“Are you going to an athletic funeral?” Kugisaki asks.
“Fuck you, my life is a funeral!” Megumi screams back.
“Salmon,” Inumaki agrees somberly.
“We’re going anyway,” he hears Kugisaki announce when she realizes the only way through the door is to knock it down, which Megumi wouldn’t put past her. “This man needs all the help he can get and I vowed to help him.”
Megumi knocks his forehead against the wall, smiling. He changes into an orange sweatshirt with Naruto on the front. Now he’s going to an athletic nerd show.
So maybe, in hindsight, Megumi does need her. Or he needs to find new hangout spots because showing up at the same coffeeshop he and Kugisaki always go to makes it entirely too easy for one of their past ‘clients’ to find them.
“Can I join you guys?” the girl interrupts, smiling at Itadori.
“Uhhhh, I think we’re busy,” Itadori laughs.
“I’m sure your friend won’t mind.” The girl unhooks her purse to settle in the chair, facing them.
Megumi, the ‘friend,’ had picked the chair beside Itadori so they’d be close enough to hold hands if the time came. Not so they could both interview his future wife prospects. This is a disaster. He is literally watching the boy he asked on a date be on a date with a girl.
“Megumi minds,” Itadori insists, staring at the girl, who Megumi never remembers meeting but Itadori probably knows; he’s lovely like that. “He minds a lot,” Itadori pushes.
“I don’t mind—” Megumi lies because Itadori sounds angry and he can’t have that, not if it’s Megumi’s own damn fault. “It’s fine,” he shakes it off.
Itadori turns towards him with a strained smile, talking through his teeth like it’ll make it any less obvious they’re trying to ignore her. The table is tiny. “I thought this was just us? Is this another setup date or something?”
“No,” Megumi says. “No, it’s us, just us, it’s, I didn’t—”
“He didn’t know,” the girl interjects quickly. “I just spotted you guys and thought I’d say hi... but I see now it’s not the right time.” She leaves as quickly as she came in.
“Sorry,” Itadori breaks the silence, sounding embarrassed like he didn’t save the whole night. “I thought...” he struggles. “I thought we were on like—”
“We are. We’re on a date. I’m taking you on a date.”
“This is the date,” Itadori confirms.
“Yes, and the rest of the night can be the date too if you want.”
“After the cinema?”
“Yes.”
“After second dinner?” Itadori asks more hopeful. He loves second dinner. Megumi is gonna be so, so broke, dating him on dates.
“Yeah. I wanna take you places.”
“I wanna go places,” Itadori repeats. He has not blinked in minutes. His big, shiny eyes, so big and shiny. Megumi gulps, oh god.
He should have researched more places. He knows no places but places Gojo-sensei used to take him as a child and places he and Gojo-sensei have blasted halfway to oblivion. He doesn’t know fun places, romantic places, date places, kiss-worthy places, places where he can kiss a boy on the mouth and have the boy kiss back.
“And, uh, after the places,” Itadori replaces his current panic for a fresh one. “After the places, we can go to your place but have it still be the date?”
‘Yes’ and ‘Yes’ run through Megumi’s brain but he settles for, “Fuck yes.”
The next time he thinks about how he should kiss him, he does.