Chapter Text
act i: it was a slam dunk
It starts with a bang.
Or—maybe two bangs. Possibly three. Yuuji wouldn’t know; he’s long since buried the habit of investigating mysterious sounds. Some Conjuring type of shit happens, you book it and run. Maybe this hallway is haunted, the thought strikes him with spine-chilling clarity. Bummer; it was going so well, too. This is the best place in school where he can play his Switch uninterrupted.
Aw, fuck you, ghost! I found this place first, Yuuji thinks. His headphones feel cold around his ears. The music isn’t as relaxing to listen to anymore.
And then: the sound of footsteps. If Yuuji had to hazard a guess, he’d pick north. Whoever is running, they’re frantically headed northbound. Towards him. But—why?
Malevolent poltergeist. Murderer. These are two thoughts that present themselves with gory definition in his head. The image goes something like this: some poor soul running away from a freakshow of an eldritch abomination. In which case, now is the time to get a grip. Run. Monsters fear no men.
“I shouldn’t have watched that movie with Kugisaki,” Yuuji groans to himself, slipping his headphones into his backpack before hurrying down the stairs. This is bad. His imagination really has to stop going into overdrive.
He makes it about four steps into the hall below, when a hand is suddenly shoving him up against a wall, like this is some tension-laden locker room scene between a boy and his sworn rival.
“Don’t. Move,” a voice whispers into his ear, and the sound is a straight-up dropkick to Yuuji’s jugular.
Yuuji’s heart starts jackrabbiting very, very fast beneath his ribcage. He doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know who it is. But they’re open, anyway, treated to a disarmingly up-and-close view of Fushiguro's stunning gaze.
Holy shit. Somewhere, the little people running the show in his brain have begun to jump ship. Because mayday, code red: all systems are now inoperative.
“Um, Fushiguro?” Yuuji breathes out, hyperaware of the distance between them—or lack thereof. “Didn't know it was pin your friend against a wall day or something.”
“Please just give me a moment,” Fushiguro says, shifting the positioning of his arm so that it looks like he’s bracketing Yuuji’s body—which is ten times worse, by the way. “I’ll explain everything later.”
Yuuji sputters. Just a minute ago, he thought a murder was underway. Fast forward to the present, it transpires that the reality is something else entirely. “Later? I want you to tell me now,” he hisses, before he’s immediately silenced by Fushiguro placing hand over his mouth.
That’s when he hears it—giggling noises. They’re coming from around the corner. The volume increases, before crashing into an abrupt hall. There’s the sound of a gasp, of pens clattering. A vehement shushing follows. Yuuji turns his head slightly and catches the tail-end of a ribbon trailing in the air before it slides out of view.
Fushiguro’s hand drops away. His eyes flash with relief. “Good. We’re in the clear,” he says, backing away.
Yuuji sputters. Fushiguro has no idea what he’s done. “In the clear? With the way you were all over me, it probably looked like we were in the middle of, well, you know!”
Fushiguro stares, largely unfazed. But he’s blushing, too. His fingers fiddle with the collar of his uniform.
“C’mon, say something,” Yuuji demands, and oh.
The realization sinks in. The girls. That whole against-the-wall scene. Fushiguro’s face, just mere inches away. The fact that they’d been close enough to—
Yuuji's mouth forms an O. “You wanted it to look like that, didn’t you?”
Fushiguro looks away.
The situation is this: some girls confessed to Fushiguro. He turned them down and lied about being taken. They didn’t believe him, because he got confessions, like, every week and had so far shown no signs of actually being in a relationship.
Up until that point.
It's a funny story, really.
act ii: we make a good team
It’s a solid plan. So solid, the execution will surely put to rest any remaining doubts.
“No,” Fushiguro says, slamming his book shut.
Yuuji stares. If anything, the idea should’ve come from Fushiguro. He is the one stuck in a bind, after all. Not Yuuji. “Seriously, man?” Yuuji snorts. “You really think that that one-time stint is gonna fool anyone?”
Fushiguro starts putting his things away with prim efficiency. The girls who asked him out are staring at him from the corner. It’s become quite apparent he really didn’t think things through. The flaws in the act are starting to show.
“I’m sure that it had the desired effect,” he says, but there’s an edge of doubt in his tone.
Yuuji gives him an amused look. “Oh, sure. No kidding. Because if I were them, I’d totally believe it. It certainly couldn’t have been just an argument where you pushed me flat against the wall out of sheer annoyance.”
“Keep talking, and I’ll do it again,” Fushiguro says dryly, standing up to leave.
Yuuji’s pulse rate quickens. He ignores it. “Hey, where are you going? We were still in the middle of a discussion!” Yuuji whines, following him out, wondering why Fushiguro is so bothered by the idea.
And then.
Fushiguro comes to an abrupt halt. No surprise that Yuuji crashes into his shoulder.
“I swear, if you did that on purpose,” he grumbles, following Fushiguro’s line of sight.
There’s a boy in front of them. A giggling group of students—probably his friends—are standing at the staircase some distance away. In the boy’s left hand there’s a note, and his right is placed sheepishly at the back of his neck.
The rumours didn’t have a chance to spread yet. Therefore, the circulating assumption is that Fushiguro is still in the market. So much for turning down Yuuji’s amazing idea.
“Um, Fushiguro-san,” the boy stutters out. He throws a brief glance behind him.
His friends make encouraging gestures.
This can’t be good. Yuuji looks at Fushiguro’s face. His expression is placid, but Yuuji can feel the tension where their arms are pressed together. He seems tired. He seems like he’s in desperate need of help. Or maybe Yuuji is just imagining things. But still. He can’t, in good faith, ignore a call to arms.
“Megumi,” Yuuji says despite the burn in cheeks, slipping his arm around Fushiguro’s own. “You didn’t tell me you were meeting up with someone else!”
He’s really in for it now. There’s a chance Fushiguro might kill him. His odds read fifty-fifty. The end draws near. Goodbye world, it was nice knowing you.
And then: Fushiguro’s fingers wrap themselves around Yuuji’s wrist. His touch could almost be identified as insistent.
“I wasn’t.”
“I’m sorry, I guess you caught him at a really bad time,” Yuuji says sheepishly, to the boy who is now staring at them both wide-eyed with realization. “He gets, um, really cranky when he’s hungry!”
Silence.
Yuuji places his chin on Fushiguro’s shoulder in what he hopes is an affectionate gesture. “Ahh, isn’t he just so cute?” he says, and this is code red territory, but he can’t stop now. It’s all or nothing. “Again, I’m really sorry about this, but you’ll have to excuse us, we’re about to head out somewhere. You know. Just the two of us. Nobody else.”
Fushiguro’s breath hitches.
Quickly, the boy steps to the side, hiding the hand with the letter behind his back. Yuuji guides Fushiguro outside, and they pass by the boy’s friends, who have started to whisper amongst themselves.
Once they’re outside in the courtyard, it’s surprisingly Yuuji who removes his arm from Fushiguro’s; he expected Fushiguro to push him away the precise moment they were out of sight.
“So that went A-okay,” Yuuji says, rolling his shoulders. “We looked totally in love back there, wouldn’t you say? Pretty sure your admirers are all going to leave you alone after that.” And then, because his mouth is getting ahead of himself, he adds: “It’s what you get for being such a pretty boy.”
Yuuji glances at Fushiguro. His face has turned a bright shade of red. Alarmed, Yuuji wonders if he might have crossed an unspoken line somewhere, said the wrong thing, but all Fushiguro does is steer Yuuji away again.
“Well?” he huffs.
Yuuji echoes blankly, “Well what?”
“Nothing. Let's go get food. You know, together. Just the two of us. Alone." He says this all in a dry tone.
Yuuji exhales a large sigh of relief, because that? Could have gone a lot worse.
When the whispers make the news, it’s a sad day for Fushiguro’s admirers.
act iii: that three-letter word
It’s a stupidly attractive shot.
“Stop looking at that, it’s embarrassing,” Fushiguro snaps, sliding the magazine out of Yuuji’s reach.
“But I wasn’t finished looking!” Yuuji whines, trying to make a grab at it.
It is, by all accounts, an epic fail of an attempt. No punches were held back, Fushiguro being that determined to deprive him of a victory.
Unfortunately for him, the magazine leaves his grasp in a swipe of manicured nails. With one hand perched on a hip, Kugisaki begins reading aloud the masthead and coverlines, an amused grin tugging at her lips. Her eyes take on a wicked glint.
“Shit,” Kugisaki says, evading Fushiguro’s reach with an expert sidestep. “I can totally see why Itadori is sweating bullets over this. The pouty mouth thing you got going on? Fever dream material.”
“It wasn’t by choice,” Fushiguro protests. “It’s not that great, anyway.” His jaw tightens, and a shadow forms between his brows.
Yuuji almost chokes. The sight should honestly be illegal. The Zen’in charm, Kugisaki had once called it. Now would be a super good time to become one with the floor.
“Not that great? He’s just being modest,” Yuuji says once he gets over the initial shock, placing a palm on Fushiguro’s shoulder. Like the action itself can mask the fact Yuuji’s heart is pounding harder than a twenty-one-gun salute. “Right, sweetheart?”
Kugisaki drops the magazine right there and then, like it’s an open flame. Fushiguro’s face stares thoughtfully from the glossy magazine cover for a second before Fushiguro hides it out of sight.
“S-Shut up,” Fushiguro tells him, just as Kugisaki makes a gagging sound.
“Aw, stop being gross, Itadori. Not in front of my salad!” She settles down on the seat across from them. “Anyway, Fushiguro, you’re fighting a losing battle. I could probably ask someone in this room for a look of their copy.”
She’s right. The whole school gets this way whenever someone’s featured in the news coverage or something. Great for Maki and Mai, who thrive in the limelight. Bad for Fushiguro, who does not.
“I can’t believe everyone now knows you two bozos are together,” Kugisaki says. “Wonder what brought on the change. The fame was probably getting a bit much. All those letters. Giggling lunatics.” She shoots a look at Fushiguro, who just rolls his eyes pointedly.
It’s a little confusing, Kugisaki’s choice of words. “Now knows.” Because it implies that they were together even before the “grand” reveal. Which they certainly were not.
Before Yuuji can ponder too hard what she meant by it, Kugisaki lightly kicks his leg underneath the table. “Hey, grab me some iced tea, I’m dying of thirst over here.”
Yuuji considers retaliating—but she’d probably come up with a scathing remark. So agreeing to her whims, it is.
It’s a short walk to the concession stand. The line isn’t long, just a queue of five people. Soon enough Yuuji’s at the front, grabbing iced tea, and then there’s a light tap on his shoulder.
“Hey,” Ozawa greets him, smiling. “It’s been a while.”
“You mean a week.” Yuuji laughs. “What’s up?”
“Came to give you your notes back.” She hands out a notebook. “They really helped me out a lot for my test. Thanks a lot.”
“Kinda surprised you could even read my writing.”
Ozawa shrugs. “It wasn’t that bad.”
They continue to talk for a bit, about that one teacher they’re sure has it out for everyone; what they did on the weekend; the trials and tribulations of Yuuji’s murderous pet cat. The conversation is nice. Inevitably, it heads towards the subject of Yuuji’s love life.
“So, you and Fushiguro,” Ozawa says, her eyes warm. She idly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Um. Congrats! Can’t say I didn’t see it coming.”
Yuuji tries his best to plaster on a smile. “Uh, right! Thanks. Yeah, um, we’re both so totally into each other, and uh, I guess it was time.” Truly a miracle he didn’t wince throughout the entire sentence.
“You’re happy with him,” she continues, oblivious to Yuuji’s inner turmoil. “And I can tell he really likes you. It’s sweet.”
Yuuji laughs, awkward. “Eh, he’s got a funny way of showing it. But sure.”
A cough. Ozawa gives Yuuji a sheepish smile, pointing at the air. He turns around and is accosted by a piercing gaze, the sharp line of a jaw.
“Missed me already?” the sentence escapes Yuuji before he has a chance to think it through.
Fushiguro’s eyes narrow ever so slightly. He gives their surroundings a hasty look. The set of his shoulders is tense. “We need to talk.”
Uh oh. That can’t be good. “Guess I’ll be seeing you later,” Yuuji tells Ozawa, as Fushiguro begins to lead him away. “What can I say, he can get a little too needy sometimes.”
Ozawa shakes her head, laughing nervously for him. “Ah, no, that’s fine! I totally get it, and um … Yeah, see you later!” she says, before heading in the opposite direction.
“Getting a little possessive there, aren’t we?” Yuuji jokes once they’re both out of the cafeteria, Fushiguro’s grip tight on his arm. “Not sure if it’s common knowledge, but you could’ve had me by just asking nicely. You know, a simple, ‘Oh Yuuji, I missed you, please hold my hand.’”
Fushiguro sends him a look so arctic the ninth circle of hell would be jealous.
Yuuji clears his throat. “Go ahead,” he says, sober.
Fushiguro’s grip loosens but remains on his elbow. His gaze softens. “It’s about Gojo-sensei,” he begins.
“Okay.”
“He knows about us,” Fushiguro says.
“So?”
Fushiguro’s expression turns pained. Like he’s bitten the inside of a lemon. “Kugisaki told me Maki invited her to our family gathering. Big event.” The pale arch of his throat bobs. “Knowing Gojo, he probably tattled about us to everyone already. They’ll probably grill me with questions about you. And um, it’s not a far-off assumption that they’ll be expecting me to bring you there. Tsumiki especially.” He mumbles this last part so low Yuuji almost misses it.
“Fushiguro, are you asking me to meet your family?” Yuuji gapes. Because, like, this is a big step, fake relationship or not.
Fushiguro’s tone is straightforward. “Yes.”
“You’re nervous.” Yuuji can’t help but tease him a little. He really is so cute. Yuuji’s spent so long playing with fire, being burnt should no longer be a pressing concern. “Duh, of course I’m going! How could I ever say no to spending time with you?”
“You mean the free food,” Fushiguro says dryly.
He makes a mock gasp. “Right, the food. How could I forget?” Then he puts on a show of puppy-dog eyes. “Babe, I just love how you know me so well.”
Fushiguro scowls. “If you call me that one more time,” he threatens.
“You’ll what?” Yuuji smiles serenely. “Honey.”
Fushiguro’s gaze darkens. “You don’t even know the half of it.”
Those eyes, that mouth, the cut of his jaw—he’s so handsome, it’s painful. The effect is only enhanced by the shadows around them. Yuuji is going to die. He has to dial back. “Okay, geez,” he says, feeling very flustered now himself. He didn’t expect to get this far.
It might just be his imagination, but it seems that Fushiguro is closer than he was before. Also, his fingers are most certainly now around Yuuji’s wrist. Not his elbow.
The world sharpens with dizzying clarity. Yuuji is aware of everything: the weight of Fushiguro’s gaze. The warmth of his hand. The perfect slope of his mouth—
“No making out in the hallways,” Gojo interrupts from seemingly out of fucking nowhere.
They spring apart. Gojo looks at them both with a smug expression.
“We weren’t even doing anything, sensei,” Yuuji points out, embarrassed.
Fushiguro says, irritated, “I hope you weren’t spying on us.”
Gojo places a hand on his heart. “I can’t believe you think so lowly of me, Megumi!” And then he adds: “Also, yes, I was.”
“You should call me Megumi, by the way,” Fushiguro says later on, when they’re hanging out in Yuuji’s room, a movie playing idly in the background. “I mean, that’s what makes the most sense. Since we’re supposed to be together and all.”
“Yeah, of course,” Yuuji says, breaking open a cup of pudding. “By the way, what should I wear to the party? I don’t wanna show up wearing rags and stuff. More importantly, what are your relatives like?” He waves his spoon. “Anything I should brace myself for? Any crazy cousins, serial killer uncles? Maybe it would be a good idea to, you know, have a pep talk beforehand! So we’re always on the same page.”
“Don’t worry about the outfit.” Fushiguro tilts his head up to face the ceiling. “And as for the other question … you’ll see once you get there.” He lets out a big sigh.