Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

act iv: so i met this boy

The Zen’in estate is huge. Impressive doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“Dude, your family is loaded!” Yuuji gasps, gesturing in the direction of the koi ponds and vibrant cherry blossom trees.

Kugisaki rolls her eyes. She’s trying to come off as nonchalant, but it’s clear the atmosphere of this place is also getting to her. “They weren’t featured in fucking Vogue for nothing,” she scoffs.

Yuuji clings to Megumi’s arm. “What the hell! It’s seriously gonna take me a while to process this.” His vision is experiencing a sensory overload. There are so many colours. It should be borderline criminal, the mountainside view of the city skyline. The skyscrapers look like remnants from a dream, their peaks half-shrouded by cloud.

“Let’s just get this over with.” Megumi lets out an annoyed sigh, heading inside with Yuuji in tow.

The interior is just as commanding. Old money practically drips from the walls, ceilings, the light fixtures lining the halls. Somehow, it is both oil-painting ethereal and sharply modern. A few twisting turns lead them to a garden area that’s even more immaculate than the front.

That’s where the party is in full swing. Based on what he’s seen, Yuuji expected—oh, he doesn’t know—flute-bearing servers, some guy playing Vivaldi’s Four Seasons on a violin, jewellery-clad women discussing property acquisitions and timeshares.

But the reality, as it transpires, is a lot less imposing.

Food, everywhere. Screaming kids darting around the rich-people version of a playhouse. The 5.1 surround sound blasting some Top 100 Hits song. And of course, Zen’ins everywhere, all of them ridiculously attractive. Of course their outfits were probably taken straight from a runway. If this event is their idea of what casual means…

“Chocolate fountain.” Yuuji gawks. He feels the weight of a stare on his face. It’s Kugisaki’s; there are stars in her eyes. And like, he gets it. His expression must be the same.

“Chocolate fountain,” she mouths in agreement, before she’s lead away by Maki.

“Megumi!” a pretty girl wearing an ivory turtleneck calls out.

She seems familiar. “My sister. Tsumiki,” Megumi confirms, before he’s swept up in a hug.

“I thought you’d be late again!” Megumi’s face is a portrait of mild annoyance over her shoulder. Tsumiki pulls away and gives Yuuji a wide smile. “Is this the boy you’ve been telling me about?” She practically shrieks this part out.

Yuuji can feel a sense of fluttery nervousness settling in. He’s not sure how he should be acting. Megumi had been annoyingly unhelpful until the last minute, intent on keeping Yuuji in the dark as much as possible.  “Hi, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” he says.

“Aww, he’s so sweet, you must be Yuuji!” Tsumiki squeals. “You’re even more handsome than what Megumi said!”

Yuuji runs a hand through his hair nervously. “Haha, just like him to say nice things about me.” He hopes to God he doesn’t start sweating bullets then and there. What exactly has Megumi been talking to them about?

Tsumiki loops her arm around Yuuji’s. “You have to meet everyone now, they’re all so excited to meet you!” She starts leading him towards the direction of the patio tables where numerous people are gathered around.

Megumi stares, incredulous. “You can’t just steal him away.”

“I can, and I will.” Tsumiki snorts. “You have no objections, right?” The last part is directed at Yuuji.

He just laughs. It’s not like he has a choice. But he honestly doesn’t mind; he really is excited to meet the Zen’ins in their natural habitat. Within the bubble of the party, their publicized glamour seems entirely separate.

Tsumiki drops Yuuji right in the middle of the gathering. All eyes are on him in an instant.

“Ehhh, Megumi’s got a boyfriend now? I can’t believe this. Not when he’s always had a stick up his ass,” a boy with sea-glass green eyes says, taking a loud sip of his drink.

“Don’t be rude, Shichiro,” a woman admonishes him with a slap to the back of his head.

Shichiro scowls. “Hag!”

Yuuji bows. “H-Hi! It’s so nice to meet everyone!”

“It was so hard to needle him for information,” another cousin says, her gaze piercing beneath the artistic cut of her fringe. “I can totally see why Megumi wants to keep you all to himself.”

An uncle in a sharp suit lets out a booming laugh. “You don’t have to just stand there. Sit, boy.” A hand shoves Yuuji down into a seat.

“Is it true you can run fifty metres in three seconds?” A little girl pitches forward on the table, face shining.

Someone makes a thoughtful sound. “He does look like the type to play sports.”

“Try some panna cotta!” A plate is placed in front of him.

Yuuji’s palms are sweating. This must be a test, right? An evaluation! To see whether he’s worthy of being here. There’s just so much to take in. All these questions and statements, fired from every direction. But beneath the jitters that come with meeting your (fake) boyfriend’s family, he’s actually kind of pleased. It’s nice. Overwhelming, but—nice.

“You’re all so embarrassing,” Megumi says, cheekbones flushed with high colour.

This statement is met with snide laughs.

Tsumiki shoos him away. “Go, get the truffle platter!”

“You’re hiding here, too?” Yuuji whispers.

Kugisaki throws a surreptitious glance around the corner. “They’re a chatty bunch,” she admits grudgingly, and Yuuji raises his palms, because hey, he’s not here to judge.

There’s the sound of laughter. They see the head of the Zen’in clan, Naobito, berate a giggling Gojo, who is obviously drunk out of his mind. It’s complicated and weird, Gojo’s relationship with this family. They don’t seem to get along, most of the time. The hate runs deep. But yet he’s still here. Certain facts sure boggle the mind.

Kugisaki rolls her eyes. “He probably just came for the daiquiris.”

“You’ve had some?”

Kugisaki gives him a scandalized look. “What? No! Do we look old enough to drink?” She examines her nails. “Well … maybe just a sip.”

Yuuji’s head is buried in Megumi’s shoulder. “You have to help me!”

“They finally got onto your nerves?” Megumi snorts. “You didn’t even last half an hour.”

Yuuji draws back, so that he can adjust the chair. “No! They’re all so super nice,” he says, “but it felt like my mind went into overdrive. Y’know. I didn’t know where to concentrate. Sooo many questions. It was like—verbal tennis!”

“Mhm,” Megumi mumbles around his spoon.

“What are you eating?” Yuuji says, looking at the delicious dessert on Megumi’s plate.

“A cake. Vanilla, with mango filling, I think.”

Yuuji nudges him with an elbow. “Hey, can I try some?” He’s not sure if he meant this question jokingly; all he knows is that he doesn’t expect Megumi to actually agree.

But Megumi does, and he does it in a way that has his pulse rate spiking up. He holds Yuuji’s jaw and feeds him a bite of cake. This is new. This is unexpected.

“Aww, that’s so sweet of you, babe,” Yuuji teases, and there’s a tender sort of ache in his heart. His face is warm, so so very warm. “You really are the best.”

Megumi rolls his eyes. “Here we go again,” he says.

“Shh, not another word. I know you secretly love it,” Yuuji continues smilingly, unable to stop, “because I know that I—”    

Megumi feeds him another bite of cake to shut him up.

There’s the sound of giggling. Someone hisses, “Don’t bother them, they’re clearly having a private moment!”

“Oh, nice work. Guess they’ll be leaving us alone for a while,” Yuuji says, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

Tsumiki gives a wave. Yuuji turns his attention back to Megumi.

“We look so convincing together, that you’re finally free of all those dating speculations, huh?” he says brightly, taking Megumi’s spoon from his hand to finish the plate off. “But it looks like they’re probably gonna ask you a lot more questions instead of less,” he manages around a mouthful of cake. “Like, a lot lot.”

“I don’t mind.” Megumi uses his thumb to brush off the crumbs on Yuuji’s mouth. “You’re a messy eater,” he murmurs.

“It’s one of my most charming traits.”

Megumi’s mouth twitches. “I highly disagree.”

“Um? Ouch.” Yuuji pretends to wince, and when he focuses back on Megumi, there’s an actual smile on his face. And it’s a soft one. Warm. Yuuji’s entire body burns so hot he could melt a hole in the ground.

“What’s up, kiddo?” a voice says, and it breaks the mood.

They turn towards the sound’s direction. It’s a man, and he has Megumi’s features. Same eyes, mouth, hair. But older. Rougher. There’s a scar on his face. He’s built broad. The man clears his throat, smirking. “Looks like I’m interrupting something.”

Yuuji whispers in Megumi’s ear: “Hey, is that your dad?”

Megumi slaps a palm over his face in response.

“Ugh, finally. I don’t think I could take another bite,” Yuuji says somewhere at the end of the party, watching some drunk uncle belt out random songs at the karaoke machine.

It’s loud, the music. The subwoofer’s doing its job a little too well. But they’re far enough they don’t need to shout to talk. The fading sun paints dappled shadows on the walls.

Megumi hums. “Maybe you shouldn’t have finished the entire onigiri tray.”

“No way, I’d do it all over again. Also, who knew your dad was, um, really interesting to talk to?” Yuuji knocks their knees together.

Megumi snorts. “Nah, he isn’t. He’s mostly an asshole. You just happened to meet him on a good day.” He gives Yuuji a long look. His profile is sharp against the sky. “Did you have fun today?” he says, his tone suddenly a lot softer.

“Of course I did! I had a great time.” Yuuji leans up against him, and there’s no one around they have to put on a show for, but it feels right, anyway. Instinctively, he loops his arm around Megumi’s. “Thanks for bringing me along! Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

Megumi lets out an amused sound.

“So…wanna get back to where everyone is?” Yuuji says. “I’m sure they’ll all be missing your presence—”

“No,” Megumi cuts in. “It’s better here anyway.” He grabs Yuuji’s wrist. “I’m not letting you leave, so don’t even try.”

“I wasn’t about to,” Yuuji complains. Instinctively, he huddles in closer. “Always knew I was your favourite person,” he says jokingly. “It’s cute how you want me all to yourself.”

He’s not sure if he’s allowed to say that. He half-expects Megumi to scowl, push him off, but Megumi lets it slide this time.

If anything, he seems to lean in closer, too.

act v: yearn

Objectively, the second picture was better.

“No way,” Megumi says, wrinkling his nose. The ice clinks mutely against the plastic. He sets his cup aside. Brown-sugar tea with salted cheese, just the way he likes it.

“Yes way. Look, the trending page says it all. I told you so, Yuuji says, taking a long drag of his drink. His straw scrapes the bottom. All the tapioca pearls are gone. Bummer.

Megumi’s phone shuts off with an audible click. “I’m not arguing with you anymore about this.”

Yuuji sneakily grabs Megumi’s drink.

They’re in a bubble tea store somewhere in Shibuya. The Instagram page boasted a new flavour Yuuji thought looked really great, and there was no better reason to go. Megumi tried his best not to look conspicuous. It’s been working, so far; no eyes are on them. And to think Megumi called the sunglasses a stupid choice. At this point in time, they’ve cycled through about three different conversations. Their supremely enlightening discussion about one of Twitter’s current top ten hashtags has just ended. The latest one is now this:

“Do you ever read any posts people make about you?” Yuuji says, moving around the straw.

Megumi’s eyebrows knit together where they’ve been left visible by the glasses. “And why would I do that?”

“Because these are gold!” Yuuji waves his phone in Megumi’s face. “Like, look at this: they collated some of your pictures into a fancam.” He allows the video to play in continuous loops. “Not the choice of music I would’ve gone with, but sure.”

“….”

“Maybe I should make a fan account. And it’s going to be all about you. One of many!”

Megumi finally puts aside the glasses. The slant of his eyes is dangerous. “Don’t you dare.”

“But no one else knows you the way that I do. See, someone here complimented your eyes. Watch: I’m going to wax poetic about you so hard, they’re so going to lose!”

Megumi places his chin on his palm, tilts his head away. Maybe Yuuji really should stop teasing him so much.

He spends so long staring at an unknown point in the distance, that Yuuji begins to wonder what’s gotten him into an “application.exe has stopped working” state. He suspects it’s what he said.

“What are you looking at?” Yuuji says. And then, because he still can’t help himself: “See someone cute? That potted plant is looking awfully pretty, if I do say so myself.”

Megumi finally, finally sets his eyes on Yuuji again. “Yes.”

“What? Really?” Yuuji is kind of jealous right now. He looks around. There are so many people in the store, it’d be hard to identify them. He never thought the day would come where he’d actually have to compete for Megumi’s attention. “Who?”

“You.”

It’s kind of silly, how Yuuji almost can’t take what he dishes out. “Wow, Megumi, if you say things like that, I’d probably have no choice but to fall in love with you for real,” he says with a nervous laugh.

“Good.” Megumi’s gaze is unflinching.

“Ha. Right.” Yuuji takes a long drag of Megumi’s drink so that he has an excuse to not add anything else.

The conversation pretty much returns to normal after that. They don’t mention the exchange again. But the weight of it can still be felt. Solid. He’s not sure what to make of it. Or—maybe he does, and there’s a part of him deep in his core that knows, that feels all of this acutely. Because what are they exactly? They’re just friends, right? Friends who hang out together; who share food and sweaters; who hold hands—okay, Yuuji knows how that must look, how it must sound, but. It must be normal behaviour. It has to be. Right?

It’s only when they’re outside, the world a soft faded blue around them, that Yuuji thinks: it is friendship, yes. But a very different kind, at that.

act vi: all shades of pink

Megumi’s room is always so cold.

“Not sure if I’m getting this question right,” Yuuji says glumly from where his head is resting against Megumi’s shoulder, looking at his notes. They have a test coming up—and it’s not great. It’s bad. He wants to give up.

“Stop worrying about it so much. You’ve gone over this like twenty times now,” Megumi says, and, wow, it’s easy for him to say, he’s actually doing well in this class.

Yuuji tosses aside his notes. He’s done for the moment. His mind is so drained, any more time spent mourning his circumstances will only yield marginal gains. A well-deserved break awaits. He gets out his phone and decides to go on YouTube. It’s when he’s cleared four videos that he notices Megumi hasn’t actually spoken much the entire time, even more silent than usual.

“You’re thinking sooo loud,” Yuuji whines, hyperaware of Megumi’s soft breaths against his hair, of the warmth of Megumi’s body against his arm. “I can practically hear your thoughts, dude.”

“Yuuji,” Megumi begins.

“Mhm, I’m listening.” Yuuji adjusts his position; his legs were starting to get numb.

“I like you,” Megumi says.

Yuuji yawns. “I like you, too.”

“That’s not—that’s not what I meant.” Megumi lets out a frustrated sigh. “What I mean is that I don’t want to do this anymore.”

For a moment, the silence is just the hum of the air-conditioner and the sharp clashing of swords. Yuuji sits up properly, gets a good look at Megumi’s face. He blinks blearily. “Uh … you mean the fake dating thing?”

Megumi nods. “I’m tired of pretending.” Just before Yuuji has the opportunity to consider the meaning of those words, Megumi’s fingers tug at his wrist, insistent. “I want you to be my boyfriend. For real.”

Yuuji doesn’t know how long he spends staring. At some point, the medieval battle video ended, and Oblivion’s Harvest Dawn started to play in low volume. He must look stupid; like—like an absurd Bethesda glitch. It is the world’s least romantic thought. Face red, he shuts off the music. “Oh, wow. Really?” he sputters out.

“Really,” Megumi says, and the sound of his voice, combined with the depth of his gaze, knocks the absolute wind out of Yuuji’s sails.

It’s not as if Yuuji hasn’t thought about this before. He did wonder about what it would be like to be with Megumi before, captivated by those dazzling eyes and cheekbones, but then the pretend dating thing happened, and that train of thought kind of just went away. He never needed to wonder after that, anymore. It all seemed real, because—because it was real, all of it. The holding hands thing. The sharing food thing. Everything.

Huh. The thought strikes Yuuji with disorienting clarity. They were pretty much together from the start. “Well…um, I think I’m kind of already yours,” Yuuji says, and he doesn’t know why the words stun him, coming from his own mouth.

Megumi blinks, like he’s not sure what he expected. “Oh. Okay,” he says, looking so stupidly handsome, that Yuuji can’t help but lean forward and press the most obnoxious kiss to his cheek.

“Megumi, you really are so very cute,” Yuuji says, grinning, because he’s sure he’s allowed to do this now, as much as he wants, limitless, “that it’s hard for me to not feel shy around you.”

Megumi idly pulls at the drawstring of Yuuji’s hoodie. “I change my mind. Let’s break up.”

“What? Nooo, it was going so well.” He pouts, to show Megumi how wounded he is. “You’re—you’re playing with my feelings! It’s cruel, and yes, my heart is totally broken now—"

“I’m going to kiss you,” Megumi says, and Yuuji can only look at him dumbly, his brain pulling down the shutters, because how he is expected to take this non sequitur in stride, not when Megumi’s gaze burns like that, like it is alight with something, flashfire, gunpowder maybe, the heat of it hot enough to singe.

Megumi’s hand cups his face. Firm, gentle. His touch is an ember. “I'm going to stop if you keep acting like this,” he says, probably mistaking Yuuji’s stillness for hesitation.

“Stop being such a tease and just kiss me already,” Yuuji laughs, and then Megumi is surging forward to steal the sound off his mouth.

“Hey, I just realized something,” Yuuji says, breaking away with a gasp.

Megumi presses a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “What?”

“You totally had a crush on me way back when!”

An amused huff against the skin of his neck. “It took you this long to realize?”

 “Yes—I mean, no! Who do you think I am, just because you confessed first doesn’t mean—”

Megumi brings their lips together again and kisses him harder.