Chapter Text
There’s a theory in physics called supersymmetry that says for each particle in the universe, there’s a partner particle with a spin that differs by half a unit. Supersymmetry can explain how the tiniest, most elementary parts of the cosmos work.
It also might explain why every one of Megumi’s cells was drawn to Yuuji Itadori from the moment he first saw him all those months ago. It was like each atom in his body found its match when that nameless, pink-haired man stood before him, clutching at his resume a bit pitifully, but also, adorably.
There was an undeniable boyish charm to him, something that drew Megumi in. Something that made him want to know dumb things like what toppings he liked on his ice cream or how his hair fell when he woke up in the mornings. He refrained from asking him whether the bubblegum pink hair was a result of dye or whether he was some sort of freak with a natural-unnatural hair color. There was a movie star quality to him, a magnetic field that sucked Megumi into his orbit until the only thing left was to circle him around and around for the rest of eternity.
However, most importantly, Megumi wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to be nervous. But what came out instead was, “How can I help you?”
Lo and behold, Yuuji was searching for a job.
Megumi spent all last week interviewing applicants for the position. He was planning on calling one of them today to offer them the job.
Things rarely ever go as planned, because instead, he offered it to Yuuji on the spot.
It might have been a bit selfish to do, but he deserved to be selfish every once and a while. This was his bookstore after all, and he could staff it how he saw fit. Besides, Yuuji seemed to have a good head on his shoulders and he proved himself to be a reliable, fun coworker to have around.
In fact, he made Megumi come out of his shell.
The rest of the day after he hired him was spent in a partial panic. Was this a smart thing to do? Having a guy he was so clearly attracted to working for him?
So, he did what he should arguably do more often and FaceTimed Nobara.
It rang an obnoxiously long time before she picked up. She was in her pajamas even though it was only 6 p.m. with a towel wrapped around her hair and a bottle of red nail polish in her hand. A carafe of wine was in clear view on the table behind her, alongside a lipstick-stained glass.
“Yo,” she greeted him, tongue poking out of her mouth as she carefully painted one of her toes. “Is the world ending? Why’re you calling me? You never call me, ‘Gumi.”
Megumi held back on rolling his eyes—hyper-aware that it wasn’t a phone call and Nobara could see him making his usual faces at the ridiculous things she’d say.
“I hired someone.”
It appears the same respect can’t be given back because Nobara actually rolled her eyes.
“Okay? What’s the big deal?”
Megumi took a deep breath before he responded. “He’s really f*cking hot. Like, insanely hot. Like, I haven’t stopped thinking about him since he left today hot.”
A wide grin split Nobara’s face and he immediately regretted telling her about Yuuji. The last thing he needed was for her to be a little sh*t about it, and based on her reaction, she was speeding full force down that route.
“Oh my god, what’s his name?”
Megumi hesitated.
“Yuuji Itadori.”
Nobara’s jaw dropped.
“No f*cking way, Megumi. I so know who that is. He was the same year as me in college. I doubt he’d ever recognize me, but I used to see him at some of the parties I went to with Maki. He was on the college basketball team and was the best player on the team. I don’t give a sh*t about sports, but people talked about him so often even I knew that. He is such a hottie.”
Oof. This whole hiring him thing is sounding worse and worse by the second. They’re such polar opposites.
Then again, that age old adage ‘opposites attract’ existed for a reason.
“So, he was super popular then?”
Nobara laughed. “Oh, yeah. Used to hang out with this Todo guy and his crew. Had girls all over him at every single party I saw him at. I think he might have a girlfriend, too…last I heard he was taken. I don’t know if they’re still dating.”
Megumi's stomach sank. Several times he had to remind himself to snap out of it. He just met the guy, he doesn’t know him, and he had no right to have such a possessive, borderline-concerning claim on him.
“Standard player, then?”
“Yeah, I think so, ‘Gumi. I’m sorry,” she said with a half-hearted shrug. “He should be a good guy to work with, though! I’m sure he has an excellent work ethic from all his years playing sports and I’ve heard he’s unbelievably sweet. One time I saw him helping a freshman home from a party when she got too drunk and someone tried taking advantage of her—so like, he was definitely raised right at the very least.”
“That’s good.” The bottom of his lip was chewed raw at this point in the conversation and he had half the mind to hang up. f*ck. This is so f*cking humiliating. “Always good news whenever I make one positive decision regarding a man.”
“Give yourself a break,” Nobara scolded him, adding a mean scowl that pierced through him. “At least you aren’t still chasing around your toxic ex and making out with random girls in the bar whenever she doesn’t pay enough attention to you.”
“True. Could always be worse.”
“Hey!” Nobara angrily shoves the nail polish brush back into the bottle. “You aren’t supposed to agree with me. You’re supposed to tell me what I’m doing is perfectly acceptable and understandable given the circ*mstances.”
“Sorry.” (No, he wasn’t.) “I’m gonna go now. I have to bother Gojo about getting the new hire paperwork ready. God knows how long it’ll take between now and when it finally gets done.”
“Okay. Well, call me if you ever wanna chat. I can’t wait to hear about how it is to work with Yuuji.”
It was just Megumi in the dark, empty bookstore after the call ended. His eyes were fixed on his reflection in the brand-new espresso machine for a long time after he called Nobara. It would be better for him to go home and stop overanalyzing this any more than he already had.
Tomorrow, he can form a better opinion of Yuuji.
xxx
There were two things Megumi hated most in this world: mornings and all the random girlies who came into the bookstore on a daily basis to flirt with Yuuji Itadori. Sure, it could be argued that they brought in valuable business because they always ended up ordering obscenely complicated beverages and spending extra time Instagraming their latte art, but if Megumi had to hear one more girl say the words “Yuuji, do you have an Instagram, so I can tag you in this post?” he was going to have a f*cking aneurysm.
And no , it wasn’t jealousy. Even if part of him preened at Yuuji’s subtle swerving, well aware that he just wasn’t attracted to any of those girls. At least, Megumi was fairly positive that must be the case. Why else would a good-looking guy reject countless good-looking women?
He could have a girlfriend already, an evil voice in the back of his mind would always remind him. Still. Wouldn’t Yuuji have said something by now about one? Even just one little hint?
Some of the aforementioned women were extra bold and asked him out straight to his face, yet not one word of a potential girlfriend had ever been in his rejections.
The consistent reason he’d give was being ‘too busy’, but like, too busy with what? What could a 21-year-old guy who worked at a bookstore possibly be too busy with? Whenever Megumi asked him what he did over the weekend, it was usually the same answer. Either ‘nothing’ or ‘hung out with my brother’.
Megumi only realized later why he was rejecting all the women flocking to him. He didn't notice for a few weeks, but once he did, he felt stupid for not noticing sooner.
The depression. The pain. The grief plaguing Yuuji was poignant. It was in everything he did.
Megumi recognized it because he had been there himself. It weighed heavy—so, so heavy on his shoulders after Tsumiki died. Nothing in the entire world could make it better except time.
This theory was supported by Choso the first time Megumi met him.
Yuuji excused himself to the bathroom, leaving Megumi and Choso in the kitchen together the first time he was over at their apartment. After what amounted to a few minutes of tense, awkward silence, Choso waved him over and began whispering to him as though he was telling him a conspiracy.
“You like my little brother, yeah?”
Megumi simply nodded, unsure where the conversation was supposed to be heading.
“Yeah, he’s a good friend.”
Choso shook his head and sighed.
“No. I’m asking you if you like-like my brother. In a more than friendly way.” At the expression of confusion and slight dread on Megumi’s face, Choso continued, “Don’t worry. I won’t tell him, even though it’s super obvious. I wouldn’t blame you for liking him, Megumi. My little brother is the best person in the world. Now, I’m asking you again—do you like Yuuji?”
“Yes. I do. A lot.”
“Good. Listen up, then.” Choso stirred the pot of soup and waited until Megumi was giving him his undivided attention. “I’m sure Yuuji has told you by now that our grandpa died three months ago. Well, he hasn’t been the same since. And not in a ‘my grandpa just died’ kind of way, Megumi. He doesn’t…” There was a pause, and Choso swallowed before he was able to keep speaking. “He doesn’t do anything anymore. He doesn’t leave his room unless he’s going to work. He doesn’t eat much, doesn’t sleep much. He won’t admit it, but I think he’s clinically depressed. Something happened once Gramps died. He’s not someone who isn’t used to grief, yet I’ve never seen him so lost.”
“My point is…Yuuji is sensitive. Too giving and sacrificial for his own good. But I think you’re making him wake up from his coma, and I guess I just wanted to ask you to be patient with him. Can you do that?”
“Of course, I can.” Then, quieter this time, Megumi asked, “So, you think there’s a chance?”
The corner of Choso’s mouth quirked up at the corners, but before he could respond, Yuuji entered back into the kitchen, his eyes narrowed in suspicion at the two of them.
“What’s going on?” Yuuji asked, taking a seat at the counter again. It looks like he spent the entire time he was gone trying to pull out his hair.
Fortunately, Choso answered for the both of them.
“Nothing. Just giving Megumi the recipe. Food’s done, too, so set the table.”
xxx
Gojo was in town. Even worse than that, Gojo was in town and it was his birthday.
It was a big one, too. Thirty-five.
This had the potential to be a horrible night for Megumi. Gojo was the king of the world on a normal day, and somehow the narcissism and delusions of grandeur grew worse on this particular day.
Consequently, he invited Nobara out with them, and Megumi knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was about to get peer-slash-guardian-pressured to drink until he was sick.
There was a time in Megumi’s past when he used copious amounts of sex and alcohol to cope with his day-to-day life, so getting drunk wasn’t high on his list of priorities. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he got drunk and he’d like to keep it that way.
It goes without saying that didn’t happen that night, though.
“That’s seriously what you’re wearing tonight?” Nobara asked, brow raised in half-disgust, half-amusem*nt. “Megumi, you have a cute ‘lil figure. Why don’t you show it off a bit?”
Megumi gaped at her and glimpsed down at his outfit. What the f*ck is she on? He was wearing a perfectly standard outfit—something he has been seen in countless times before. There wasn’t anything wrong with it according to his knowledge.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. This is what I wear every day.”
“Exactly!” she exclaimed and clapped her hands in mock encouragement. What a bitch. “This is what you wear every day when you go to your job at a bookstore, where you sell books and other boring merchandise—“ She raised her index finger, already foreseeing Megumi’s attempt to argue with her. “But we aren’t going to a bookstore tonight, ‘Gumi. We’re going to a club where the dress code is a bit more casual than your standard button-down. I mean, Jesus Christ, you look like my old youth pastor. At least loosen some of those top buttons.”
The beginnings of a blush crept up Megumi’s neck, but he tried to will it away. The last thing he wanted was for Nobara to notice. “I don’t own anything else.”
“No, you used to not own anything else,” she replied, procuring a bag from underneath his bed. When and how did she put that there? “Now you do. Courtesy of me…and Gojo’s credit card.”
His jaw almost dropped when he pulled the first article of clothing out of the bag.
“Nobara…this is…”
“Super duper cute? Hot? Just your style?” she supplied—unhelpful.
“That isn’t quite what I was going for.”
It could be a hell of a lot worse. Hanging from Megumi’s grip was a simple crop top, emphasis on the ‘crop’ part, that would only cover his chest at most. His abdomen would be on full display, every single curve of it. He had never worn anything remotely like this out in public, or private, before.
“You’re wearing it, though, right? Come on, Megumi. If you won’t do it for yourself, then do it for me.”
Nobara gave her best pair of puppy dog eyes, complete with a pout. It was enough to convince him to try the thing on, lest he never hear the end of it. She was the type to never let this sort of indiscretion (in her eyes) go. In other words, it was easier to appease her and just wear the damn shirt.
The more he stared at himself in the mirror, the more he liked what he saw. It made him irritated. How annoying was it to feel joy from anything Nobara did for him? How vexing it was whenever she was right.
“You love it,” she accused, grinning at him like a maniac. “You’re feeling yourself, Megumi. And you should. You look like a million bucks. Even my gay ass is eyeing you a little.”
Megumi glared at her, thoroughly considering the merits of kicking her out of his apartment while he still could.
“Shut up.”
Ignoring that, she gave herself one more look over in the mirror and ran her fingers through her hair before she turned to him, watching him expectantly.
“Put the new pants on, brush the rat’s nest on top of your head, and let’s go before we’re late.”
“Fine.”
The club they went to that night was two towns over, a city Gojo preferred to stay in whenever he visited the area. It’s more populated and a hell of a lot more gayer than the one Megumi lived in. Plus, as per Gojo’s words, the bartenders are sexier.
“Megumi, Nobara,” Gojo shouted as soon as they entered the club. It was busy for a Sunday night. The entire venue was all neon lights, thudding bass, and sweaty, sweaty bodies.
Gojo was lounging at the bar in his usual all-black attire, complete with a tiny pair of round sunglasses. Judging by the littering of empty glasses around him, he must have been on his fourth or fifth co*cktail by the time they arrived.
sh*t.
“Looks like you guys gotta catch up with me,” Gojo told them as he waved the bartender over. There seemed to be a preset agreement between them because the bartender instantly brought over a chilled bottle of champagne, along with three flute glasses. Once the bottle was corked with a loud pop, Gojo held up his glass and said, “To me.”
Nobara and Megumi exchanged a look.
“To you,” they both said in unison.
About half a bottle of champagne, two co*cktails, and one beer later, Megumi was properly sh*tfaced. Intoxicated to the point where Nobara had to help him pull his pants back up after he peed in the nasty club bathroom. Drunk enough to ask her whether she thought it was a good idea for him to call Yuuji and tell him his true feelings.
Fortunately, Nobara was not drunk enough to agree to it, and she certainly wasn’t going to let him do it by sneaking away. So, she confiscated his phone and gave it to Gojo.
However, Gojo promised he’d give it back on one condition—Megumi had to dance with him and Nobara for a couple of songs. He readily agreed. It sounded like an excellent exchange at the time.
Well, with all the alcohol coursing through his veins, those couple of songs turned into a couple of hours of songs. And soon enough—too soon, really—it was 3 a.m. and the club was closing.
The bite of cold in the air was more refreshing tonight than a nuisance. And the outside of the club smelt like cigarette smoke and piss as they waited for a cab to take them to the house Gojo rented for the week.
“So, what you’re sayin’ is that I definitely shouldn’t call him up,” he reiterated to Gojo and Nobara, who were staring at him like he just asked them whether or not he should lick the sidewalk.
“Megumi, it’s three in the morning. Think about how embarrassed you’re going to be tomorrow if you call him,” Nobara replied.
“But think about how funny it would be if he did it,” Gojo added and fished Megumi’s phone out of his pocket with the intention of handing it over.
“Nope,” Nobara said and snatched the phone out of Gojo’s hand before he could deposit it into Megumi’s grabby, little fingers. “Even if Gojo and you are massive idiots, it doesn’t mean you must follow in his footsteps. Do better, be better.”
“No, no, no,” Gojo said, wagging his finger in Nobara’s face. “I disagree. Monkey see, monkey do.”
Nobara slapped Gojo’s hand away.
“That’s terrible advice. Do not listen to him. Besides, I’m not giving you your phone back until you’re infinitely more sober, so it doesn’t even matter. If you wake up in the morning and still want to call Yuuji and confess your undying love, go for it. But until then, you need water and sleep.”
“My undying love ? Nobara, listen—“ To make absolute sure that she was listening, Megumi grabbed her by the shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. At this point, he doesn’t give a sh*t who might be overhearing this conversation. “Listen to me, okay? Are you listening?”
Nobara rolled her eyes. Nevertheless, she still nodded.
Gojo was even interested enough to take his sunglasses off, giving Megumi his full attention.
“I don’t want to confess any undying love sh*t, okay? No. What I want is something far simpler. I want Yuuji to f*ck me until my entire body is numb and I’m begging him to stop with tears in my eyes—“
“Jesus f*cking Christ,” Gojo murmured, taking a step away from the two of them and rubbing a palm down his face. “You’re starting to sound like me. Maybe it’s not monkey see, monkey do. Maybe it’s twink see, twink do.”
“And I think I speak for the both of us—“ Nobara said as she gestured to her and Gojo, “—when I say that we both want that for you, too. Immensely.”
Gojo nodded along, a grin plastered on his face.
“I think it’ll dislodge the stick that always seems to be up your—“
“I think what Gojo is trying to say—“ Nobara said, interrupting him, “—is that we want you to have some fun. You’ve been cooped up and set in your ways for a while now. It’ll be great for you to branch out.”
“Sure,” Megumi responded, unconvinced by the whole thing, but also unable to find it in himself to give a sh*t.
Their conversation is disrupted by a cab pulling up to the sidewalk. Once they all stumbled into it, the very beginnings of anxiety formed in the pit of Megumi’s stomach.
“f*ck. I have work tomorrow. No, wait. I have work today. I have to be there in less than 5 hours. sh*t, sh*t, sh*t.”
“Just close the damn store for the day,” Gojo told him, sliding his sunglasses back into place. “I can’t believe how bad you’re dickmatized without even getting any dick yet. I raised you better than this.”
“No. I can’t. Yuuji—“
“Yuuji this, Yuuji that. Ugh.” Gojo’s face lost a significant amount of color. Well, as much color as an already pale face could lose. “I think your pining is going to make me sick.”
The taxi driver glanced at Gojo with panicked eyes, already reaching for what must be his supply of barf bags.
“Don’t worry, I’m probably not going to throw up in your car,” Gojo said to the man in the driver’s seat and attempted to smile. It turned out more like a grimace, though. “Megumi, clearly this man means something important to you. So, do something about it. Otherwise, it’s going to drive you, and by proxy me, crazy.”
“I don’t even talk to you about my boy problems except when I’m drunk, Gojo.”
“Exactly.” Gojo’s hand reached back from his position in the passenger seat and then squeezed Megumi’s knee. The jury’s still out on whether it was supposed to be comforting or not. “Which means you’re extra annoying or gross about it. Besides, with your track record, how do I know this man is worth all this lamenting? He could look like a mole rat and have the personality of a cardboard box for all I know.”
“Nah, I can vouch for this one, Gojo,” Nobara cut in. “Unless a lot has changed between now and when I graduated, Yuuji is exactly like your classic boy next door stereotype.”
Gojo’s grimace grew into a frown, gaze withdrawn like he was recalling something in the distant past.
“Ah. Be careful with those, Megumi. Trust me on that. They’re overwhelming sweet until they finally do something that breaks your heart.”
xxx
Nobara was with him when Megumi received the text from Yuuji inviting him over to Junpei’s house. It was surprising at the time. When he initially read the text, his heart jumped all the way into his throat, and Nobara stopped her usual yapping to ask him whether he ‘just sh*t himself or something’.
“What? No. Yuuji just texted me.”
She reached for his phone and grabbed it before he could protest.
“Ooh, asking you to hang out? You should go.”
“I’m hanging out with you right now, though. It’d be sh*tty of me to ditch you.”
“Not if I was planning on ditching you first,” Nobara said, bowing her head in shame. “Sorry, Maki texted me an hour ago and…well, ya know.”
“And you try to tell me that I’m the one who makes poor choices. Yet here you are, gallivanting around with a woman who won’t commit to you for longer than five minutes.”
Nobara’s expression became frighteningly deadly. Sharp enough to look like she could slash Megumi’s trachea with just the power of her mind.
“That woman is your cousin . And that’s super rich coming from you. Not all of us go to therapy and fix our commitment issues, ‘Gumi. Cut her an ounce of slack—you know better than anyone how sh*t of a family she comes from.”
“Having a traumatic past doesn’t excuse present behavior.”
If Megumi sounded more than a little petulant about it, then that’s just an unfortunate product of being set in his beliefs. Sure, he was spouting Therapist 101 bullsh*t, but truthfully, sometimes the things they say are simply correct.
“Not all of us cut people off as soon as they do something we don’t like.”
That took Megumi aback. Quite frankly, it stunned him. Was that what Nobara thought about him?
“I do not do that.”
“‘Gumi, I say this with love,” Nobara said and scooted closer to him until they were side-by-side on his couch—really getting all up in his face about it. “Not everyone is out to get us. Not everyone’s hurtful actions are direct attacks on us. Sometimes people hurt others not because they want to, but because they don’t know how to express their feelings in a healthy way. They don’t know how to process their emotions and channel them into something that doesn’t hurt others. But in doing that, they continually harm themselves. Sometimes…we need to treat the people who hurt us with kindness if we care about them. Especially if we love them. Because they’re hurting, too. If I can be some else’s pillar of strength when they need it, then I will. If I can forgive someone, then I want to.”
Megumi stared down at his lap, picking at his cuticles, feeling properly chastised.
“You make it sound so easy.”
Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she gave him a sloppy kiss on his cheek, all lipgloss and pure affection.
“When you love someone, it can be that easy.”
xxx
Megumi learned later that night how delightful Junpei and Momo were. It was some unknown time after dinner and Megumi was in the living room with Momo, who was painting his nails black and playing some of the music that she, Junpei, and Yuuji had recorded over the years.
Yuuji was in the kitchen with Junpei, nursing beers, and talking in hushed tones with each other. As usual, Yuuji appeared to be exceptionally earth-shatteringly cute tonight, cheeks tinted pink from the beer, smile after heartbreaking smile flitting across his face. There were times Megumi liked to pretend that he could count each individual freckle on Yuuji’s face, but it was always just an excuse to gaze at the splattering of them across the bridge of his nose and the apple of his cheeks.
Whenever Yuuji’s laughter filled the air, his heart temporarily stopped, and it wasn’t until he heard Momo’s melodic giggles right next to him that he was thrust back down onto earth.
“He’s wonderful, isn’t he?” Momo said, less question-like and more rhetorical.
Rather than expose himself, he went with his usual response.
“He’s alright.”
“He really likes you, you know.” The grip that Momo has on his hand tightened ever so slightly as she concentrated on the black polish she was painting on his ring finger. “He adores you, Megumi. Honestly.”
“I—uh, are you sure about that?”
f*ck. Even this small piece of information that may or may not be true is enough to leave him tripping over his words. Pathetic.
“Yes,” she said with emphasis this time and blew on his nails, hardening the polish. “Over the years I’ve seen Yuuji in a few relationships here and there, but I’ve never seen him so utterly fixated on anyone like he is with you. I don’t know what you have going on in your personal life, but if you must let him down, let him down easy, okay?”
Not quite believing his ears, he went the further clarification route.
“He’s…into me?”
Momo stared at him blankly for a few moments and then laughed, her cheeks dimpling.
“Oh, you two are perfect for each other.”
xxx
Turns out, Momo was right about that particular fact. Being idiots was a Yuuji and Megumi specialty, and it seemed that the idiocy grew exponentially the more time they spent together.
Although, Megumi wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
Being with Yuuji is more natural to him than breathing. There have been times when he’s had to will his lungs to work while he was around Yuuji. The way his heart throbbed and his chest ached whenever he looked at him should be studied in a lab.
Maybe it was too soon to have such thoughts, but Megumi was certain that no one had ever, or would ever, love anyone else in the world in the way that he loved Yuuji Itadori.
Frankly, he was tired of beating himself up about it. It’s something he felt deeply—unequivocally—and he refused to do anything else except feel it. Feel it from the tips of his hair, all the way to the marrow of his bones.
Yes. He loved Yuuji Itadori, but he couldn't tell him. Not yet, at least.
No matter how much Yuuji opened up to him, there was a constant shield around him—a barrier that wasn’t going to come down easily, if at all. Anyone with more empathy than a tablespoon’s worth could see it.
There were other insecurities too. Namely, after the first time they had sex, Megumi wanted to ask him whether he considered f*cking him to be just as good as any girl he’d been with. He refrained, of course, scared of what the answer would be.
Is my body enough for you?
Do you miss the feminine qualities I can’t give you?
Slowly, those fears evolved into something else entirely.
Can I tell you that I love you? Can I trust you with my heart?
“You’ve been so quiet tonight, baby,” Yuuji mumbled in his ear, half asleep as they lay in that beach house bed, the linen duvet scratchy on his sunburnt skin. “Is everything alright?”
“Maybe I’m being quiet because I’m tired,” he whispered back, snuggling further into Yuuji’s neck, eyes shut tight. Hoping that it wasn’t going to invite further conversation.
“Maybe…” As Yuuji carded his fingers through Megumi’s hair, he sighed. “Not very convincing, though.”
Megumi placed distracting kiss after distracting kiss along his jawline, loving the taste of his body. Loving every single minuscule aspect of his being. “You’re reading too much into things. I’m fine. I promise.”
Rather than verbally responding, Yuuji pressed his lips against Megumi’s, his mouth warm as he caressed Megumi’s cheek. And this. This . This was what Megumi adored. Their connection. Especially when Yuuji held him down, persistent yet relaxed, his head between Megumi’s thighs while his hands held his.
And then, later on, as Yuuji snored softly beside him, Megumi told him, “I love you,” as he slept.
Perhaps he was a coward for it.
But for now, this was the best a coward could do.
xxx
Megumi barely made it out of the front door before the tears really came. The ground was blurry with them, and upon reaching the stairs of the apartment building, he fully broke down. Hot, wet, salty tears rolled down his face, and rather than tackling the stairs in his current state, he elected to sit on the top step, arms wrapped around himself in a tight hug.
“You’re okay,” he told himself over and over again, unable to trust it no matter how many times he uttered those words.
“You’re going to be okay.”
There. That was something significantly more believable.
The coolness of the stairwell contrasted sharply with the heat on his face, while the sound of distant footsteps and muffled voices outside of the building barely registered in his mind. He felt stripped bare, his defenses shattered.
He pressed his forehead against his knees. The isolation of the stairwell provided a cocoon of sorts, a place where he could fall apart without judgment or hopefully, any interruption. As the minutes ticked by, his sobs began to subside, leaving behind a hollow sense of exhaustion. The initial torrent of emotions had given way to a quieter, more insidious kind of sadness. The kind of sadness that lingered, wrapping itself around his heart like a persistent, unwavering fog.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, steadying himself.
“You’re going to be okay,” he repeated, the words a fragile lifeline. He knew better than anyone that it wasn’t a magical cure, that the pain wouldn’t simply vanish because he willed it, but it was something to hold onto. Something small and flickering—something akin to hope.
As he stood, the world seemed to tilt, his vision still fuzzy. He clung to the railing for support, and even though the steps below were daunting, he knew he couldn’t stay here forever.
He’s stronger than this. He’s been through worse, and he’s survived it.
With that, he took the first tentative step down, the stairwell echoing with the soft sound of his descent. Each step was the smallest of victories, an insignificant testament to his resilience. Even when he felt like he was anything other than resilient.
By the time he reached the bottom, he was filled with a weary determination. The world outside was still the same, indifferent to his pain.
Life goes on.
That was a comforting, terrifying fact.
xxx
Thinking back on it, the expression of sheer horror on Yuuji’s face after his confession triggered every single tiny insecurity in him. If he knew that at the time, he probably would have stayed. He would have at least wanted to have a conversation about it—a proper one. A more official end to whatever it was they were doing.
It’s contestable whether or not it would have helped him with the dissolution of their relationship. The unadulterated pain it has caused him. But still, it could have. It probably would have resulted in something better than this.
Most importantly, he would have seen Yuuji’s reaction for what it was—a panic attack.
If he reflected too much on it, the guilt would eat away at him. He left Yuuji when he was at his most vulnerable. Left him to do what exactly? Have his own panic attack no more than 50 feet away? How f*cking stupid is that?
Although, arguably, Yuuji left him hanging during his most vulnerable time, too.
Megumi buried his face in his hands. f*ck.
The silence between them now felt like a chasm, an insurmountable divide that he couldn’t traverse. And the worst part was that he wasn’t sure if Yuuji would ever want to try. That fear of rejection, the fear of causing more pain, kept him paralyzed—unable and unwilling to bridge the gap.
How does someone fix something that was so irreparably broken?
It was early and he couldn’t sleep. So, instead, he was at the bookstore hours before it was supposed to open—wide awake and tormenting himself through remembering. He remembered Yuuji's face, the way it lit up when he smiled. The way he laughed and his eyes sparkled when he talked about the things he loved. He remembered the way Yuuji had held his hand on their walks home. An all-encompassing safety that was only ever present when he was wrapped up in him—breathing the same air.
“You’re 22, Megumi. Everything is the end of the world when you’re 22,” Gojo told him the other day. He thinks it was some sort of misguided attempt at making him feel better.
And in a way, it did.
It passes. Time passes. That’s the only certainty there is in the world. And generally, feelings fade as it does. So, if Yuuji comes back, he’ll be back. And if he doesn’t come back, then eventually, it won’t hurt so bad anymore. One day, Megumi might even fully heal from it. Possibly look back on it with fondness, rather than the raw anger and grief that permeates his entire being.
He wandered the aisles of the darkened store, the familiar smell of paper and ink providing a small degree of comfort. Running his fingers along the spines of books, he considered whether to use one as a temporary escape from the reality he was struggling to accept.
The memories of Yuuji, so vivid and painful, clung to him like a second skin.
Then, he sat down on the floor, his back against a bookshelf, and closed his eyes.
It passes. Time passes.
Yet in these early hours, time felt like an enemy. Each second dragged on, stretching the distance between him and Yuuji.
The bookstore, once a haven, felt more like a mausoleum these days. A relic of a happier time. It wouldn’t always be this way, he knew that.
The first light of dawn began to filter through the windows and cast a gentle glow over the rows of books, highlighting the patches of dust on the shelves. As the rays inched across the floor, it served as a further reminder that the world outside was still moving forward, even if he felt stuck.
xxx
“So, yeah, that brings us to now,” Megumi says, chin resting on his knees as he sits in front of a familiar gravestone.
Tsumiki Fushiguro is written on it in a simple font—plain, yet elegant.
“What do you think I should do, Tsumiki?” he asks, hands fisting the grass, pulling it up by the root. “Not that you can respond, but…” He sighs. “I wish you could. I miss you all the time.”
He stands up and brushes the dirt off his pants, lingering at the gravestone.
The wind rustles the nearby branches, filling the silence with a gentle, soothing sound. The weight of his thoughts feels lighter here. He can speak freely, even if no one is listening. The sun is casting dappled shadows on the ground—it’s stunning—a stark contrast to the anxiety plaguing him.
“I’ve messed things up,” he admits, kicking a stray rock with the toe of his boot. “With Yuuji, with everything. I keep replaying that night in my head, wondering what I could have done differently. How I could have been better.”
He places a hand on the tombstone, running his fingers along the smooth surface.
“It would be nice to get even an ounce of your wisdom. I know that you’d know what I should do. You were always better with people than me…”
Sighing, he bites his bottom lip hard enough to taste copper.
“But I guess I’ll just have to figure it out on my own.”
