Work Text:
today, picnic table in a public park, 1pm
Gojo simply will not butt the fuck out, and Megumi has had enough. His own love life’s in shambles because he won't act on the mutual pining thing he’s got going on with the guy from the coffee shop, but that's no excuse to wreak havoc on Megumi—not that he ever needs an excuse, the tall bastard.
“Megumi, he’s not even ten centimeters taller than you,” Nobara interrupts.
It’s six actually, because of his last growth spurt, but he decides against pointing that out because it is besides the point, and in any case, he’s pretty sure he’s just about done growing now.
He scowls down at the dragonfly patterned coffee sleeve he’s shredded between his fingers. “Noh, I need your help.”
yesterday, Gojo-Fushiguro home, 9:27pm
“This displacement is beneath you,” Megumi decides, handing Gojo a plate to dry and shelve. “You're only investing in my love life—”
“The lack of it, actually,” Gojo chirps.
“—because you're too much of a coward to do anything about your own.”
“Joke’s on you ’cause I'm already dating someone.”
The fact that Megumi was successfully adopted by an honest to God child means at least three people deserve to lose their jobs. The lie is too transparent to even entertain, but Megumi still sighs, “Really.”
Used to his lackluster responses, Gojo only doubles down. “Yes. The only reason I haven't brought them around is because—”
Megumi decides the saucepan should soak and moves on to the utensils. “They don't exist.”
“Is because I'm a responsible adult,” he ignores the instinctive snort Megumi lets out in derision, “and you're like, my kid. It’s a big step to introduce the two of you!”
“Then take it,” he baits. It’s been boring around the house since Tsumiki moved out; he might as well derive some entertainment from one of Gojo’s famously harebrained schemes. “I want to meet them.”
Gojo doesn't even flinch, which must be the number one plus side to having no brain-to-mouth filter. “I’ll introduce you to my partner when you introduce me to yours.”
“You don't have a partner. Why should I find one just to learn something I already know?”
“I do, too, have a partner,” he lies, clearly having decided to make his last stand on this hill. “Maybe I just don’t want you to die old and romantically alone, ever think of that?”
Megumi is twenty-three years old. He deadpans, “Maybe take a look in the mirror first, old man.”
He narrows his eyes, forgoing a defense of his age to smirk, “Just say you can't do it, Megumin. We’ll put this whole thing behind us. You’ll never meet my partner, of course, but if you can't find one yourself, I wouldn't want to—”
Stirring the pot should never be so labor-intensive. Megumi should be rapidly rethinking his course of action, but he’s never been able to walk away from a challenge. It’s definitely the combined influence of both of his dads, biological and otherwise.
“Nice try. I’ll find a partner in a week, someone even better than whatever fool you have to pay to pretend to date you.”
“Oh, really? Since you're so confident, let’s make a bet out of it. Winner decides the penalty afterwards, no holds barred.”
“Ten day penalty period. A group date next Saturday. Deal?”
today, 8 minutes later
“Yeah, so that’s the gist of it.” Nobara is staring at him in something like horror. Megumi takes a sip of his coffee. “I need to destroy him in this bet.”
His best friend folds her hands in front of her face and straightens her shoulders. “Let me get this right. You two are competing… to see who can find the best fake partner?”
Matter of factly, Megumi elaborates, “I need a fake partner to expose the fact that Gojo has a fake partner, thereby winning the bet. I don't want to imagine the types of penalties he’d make up for ten days, so my fake partner has to be a better fake than his.”
“Right.” Nobara looks like she’d rather be shot. “Why do I need to be involved with this in any way?”
“I need a—”
“Do not say it again.”
Megumi adjusts only out of necessity—he needs to stress that he is not looking for a real partner, but he also does not want her to finally snap and leave him hanging. It’s nothing short of a miracle that she’s even stayed for this long. Actually, that's not true; Nobara thrives off drama and loves to rag on other people’s bad decisions, so this should check all of her boxes. Doesn't mean she won't try to make him grovel, though, and Megumi very much prefers not to do that.
“I need a temporary partner, and you know everyone in a thirty mile radius of here. Help me find a single guy our age who isn't a complete jackass and is also willing to help me out here.” She just blinks at him in silence, so Megumi adds, “Also, I have eight days.”
“There are easier ways to ask me to help you get into the dating scene.”
The smirk she isn't even trying to hide means he isn't in danger of the most important part of his plan walking out on him, but it doesn't bode well. She’s scheming. He knows her help is always a double edged sword, and as futile as it may be, he still tries to stress, “My situation is temporary.”
“That’ll be taken into consideration, yes.”
He sighs. Whatever; she can't actually force him into a relationship, and neither she nor Gojo will actually press him about it if he seriously puts his foot down. It’s annoying, mildly inconvenient, but he ultimately trusts them both.
“Just remember that this charade is all for Gojo. Once I expose him, we can work on his debilitating fear of abandonment and then find him a real partner.”
“I’ll say this in case you really don't know.” Nobara takes his coffee out of his hands and adds cream and sugar to her liking. Megumi had not noticed that she brought those little packets from the cafe. “There are easier ways to show that you love each other.”
also today, Cursed Caffeine, 2pm
“Riko-chan,” Satoru whines as he enters his favorite coffee shop, “are you sure there's no liquor behind the counter? I will pay you extra to spike my drink—and I'm a lightweight, it won't even take much!”
“The great Satoru-sama day drinking? I'm shocked,” Suguru’s teasing voice comes like a balm.
Riko rolls her eyes and takes over the customer’s drink that Suguru was supposed to be making, communicating something to the patron silently that Satoru doesn't bother paying any more attention to. It doesn't matter anyway, not once Suguru comes over to attend to him.
“Suguru, I've dug a hole for myself. I successfully goaded my kid into entering the dating scene, but it backfired and now I gotta find a fake partner in a week in order to make sure that my son has a partner. Why would he give me a deadline? It’s ridiculous.”
“Yes, it is,” Suguru agrees, one hundred percent not talking about the same thing, but that’s fine, too. “Does your son even want a partner, Satoru?”
“Yes. At least, he doesn’t not want one. He just has an aversion to vulnerability and a fear of intimacy, but if I win the bet we can start working on it!”
In the background, Riko mouths the bet. The patron she's helping puts a tip directly into her hands. Oh—he recognizes that person actually, the regular with the awful bangs. Riko is either making friends or hustling unassuming customers, and Satoru is supportive of both endeavors.
“Sure.” Suguru sets Satoru’s drink on the counter. “And what about you? Why don't you just find a real partner?”
That trips him up for a second, then Satoru snorts. “Very funny. Suguru is as hilarious as always.”
He grabs for his cup, but Suguru tugs it back out of reach. “You don't want one?”
“This is about Megumi, and we’re getting off track. The track being, of course, this establishment’s unwillingness to help me, your handsomest, most loyal, well-paying, and best-tipping customer, drown my sorrows. Or come up with a better idea.”
“This is going to be a trainwreck.” Suguru appears to do a calculation in his head and makes a face before nodding, “I want in.” Satoru blinks uncomprehendingly at him because he must not mean what it sounds like he means. That would be insane and utterly foolish, and Suguru is no fool. But then he nicely clears up any ambiguity, leaning across the counter to say, “I’ll date you, and help you win the bet.”
This, Satoru recognizes immediately, is a very bad idea. However, there's a saying about gift horses that he thinks applies well enough in this situation.
“You’re sure? I’ll owe you big time! Only,” he clears his throat sheepishly, “I can't pay you.”
Suguru laughs. “Why would I take your money? Riko, I’m stepping out for a moment, but if there's a sudden rush—”
“I’ll handle it.” The glare in the young woman’s eyes is at odds with her very polite customer voice, “Please have your conversation where I cannot hear it, unless you can double my pay.”
Suguru rolls his eyes and leads Satoru over to a table in a darker corner of the cafe that Satoru favors not only because it’s a respite for his overly sensitive eyes but also because it allows him to maintain some lighthearted conversation with Suguru as he works and Satoru enjoys his diabetic concoction. It is certainly too close for Riko’s preference, but he’s sure it’ll be fine.
Reclining comfortably in his seat, Suguru teases, “There’s a joke to be made about soliciting prostitution here with the nature your dilemma, but I’d rather not. And I really don't need or want your money. I won't take it.”
“But you’ll want something in exchange for dealing with me, right? Tell me whenever you figure it out. It just can't be money because if Megumi does come with a date and finds out I paid you, I’ll lose the bet automatically. We can't lie to my son.”
“Didn't you already lie to him? About having a partner in the first place, I mean.”
“And we see how that turned out. Anyways, he’d ask you, and you're not allowed to lie to him.”
Suguru makes a curious noise, then shrugs it off. “I won't, so that shouldn't be a problem.”
“Good. It’s the only thing he really hates.” And if this… agreement that they are coming to had anything to do with his real feelings, he would say something about his own hatred for being lied to, but it doesn't, so he won't, and it’s all whatever.
Except that's not really true, so Satoru adds with a seriousness in his tone that Nanami advises him to use more often in the courtroom, “I can't date someone who would lie to him. With the story I told him, I mean, but also just… generally. I can't associate with that type of person.”
“Speaking of your story, what do I need to know for this,” he points between them, “to work?”
“Nothing much, just that we have to have been dating for whatever amount of time adds up to enough dates to justify being exclusive partners. Less than a month but longer than two days, you can choose.”
“Two weeks, then. And I’m clearly the one who asked since you're so… the way you are.”
Satoru frowns, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Selectively oblivious,” he grins. “It’s endearing, don't worry. Anything else?”
He shrugs and slurps some more of his drink. “Ground rules?”
“Anything that works in a new relationship,” comes Suguru’s answer, illuminating absolutely nothing. “Like it’s real. Everything is fine with me.”
Satoru does not know what everything constitutes in Suguru’s mind, and if they have different definitions history will only repeat itself. He is so very good at so many things, but navigating interpersonal romantic relationships just happens to not be one of them, as he’s been made aware. His hectic work schedule makes him too hot and cold, and when he’s present he’s too much, too clingy. It used to embarrass his ex whenever they were out in public together.
But he doesn't want to think about that ex at all right now, so he laughs. “You’ll change your mind when I mess up. This next week will make you wish you defined your terms better.”
It’d be nice if their definitions are the same, Satoru thinks. Like the return of the gift horse, probably. Then again, he might be getting the horse sayings confused, since there’s another one about a Greek gift horse, and that one was no good. Time will tell.
“I’m not too worried about it.” Suguru reaches across the table, offering his hand, and Satoru only hesitates for a moment before he slots their fingers together. “I like PDA, so nothing like that will bother me, and if anything comes up, we can always talk about it then.”
“Yeah,” he nods, relaxing into the idea. “Okay. Deal. Here, I’ll give you my number. Save me as something salacious,” he winks.
“Sure, Satoru.” Contact information successfully exchanged, traffic into the cafe picks up enough that Suguru decides he needs to clock back in. “I’ll text you after my shift ends to set up our first official date.”
Satoru makes a sound of agreement, hiding the details of his face by taking another gulp of his liquidized sugar that smells vaguely like coffee. It doesn't work; Suguru doesn't laugh, but there's a knowing twinkle in his eyes. “Don't get shy on me now. There's no need to hesitate.”
Then Suguru tilts his face with a grip on his jaw to plant a lingering kiss on his cheek, his laughter ringing out as Satoru blushes bright pink and flees Cursed Caffeine, praying to every deity he's ever heard of that Megumi isn't home yet.
T - 8 days, Gojo-Fushiguro home, 7pm
Megumi is more polite about it than Satoru honestly expected. He waits until after dinner to say something about the way Satoru’s glowing uncontrollably.
“My partner is excited to meet you,” he explains.
“Does this mean you're over the coffee shop guy?” Megumi’s tone is rather judgemental. “Don't let him find out about your fake partner before I can prove they're fake.”
It had started as a joke, bringing up Suguru that first time however long ago, to tease Megumi and gush with Tsumiki, but then Satoru couldn't stop bringing him up, plotting the seeds of his own ruin, as is apparently his habit. He cannot admit that his fake partner and his cafe crush are the same person because there’s no way Megumi won't know, and then Satoru will really be in for a lecture. Worse, it would put him at a serious disadvantage for the bet.
Satoru likes maintaining a level of plausible deniability, so he says, “There's nothing—”
“Your voice changes when you talk about him,” Megumi interrupts, nonplussed. He holds up a finger and continues to list, “He makes you a new specialized drink everyday you go—which probably means every day, period. He is so overtly into you that I caught on weeks ago without having ever met him. You're so protective and possessive of him that you won't even tell me his name or where he works.”
“Can you blame me?” Satoru grins. “You would try, probably successfully, to track him down if I gave you a single identifying feature. Honestly, I shouldn't have told you he’s a coffee shop guy in the first place. You're a tad bit obsessive, Megumi-chan.”
“Maybe if your ex,” he spits the title of the individual who does not deserve to be referred to by name ever again with such visceral hatred that Satoru feels pleasantly vindicated, “wasn't such a dumpster fire that took advantage of how surprisingly kind you are—”
“Rude.”
“I wouldn't have to vet your potential partner so seriously.”
Megumi gets the stubbornly protective look in his eyes that often preceded a fist fight when he was younger, so Satoru ruffles his hair and pinches his cheeks, cooing, “Aww, look at my son, so cute!”
After a brief (tied) spat, Megumi huffs. “But seriously, don't do anything that makes you feel unsafe. I get that you're doing the stereotypical parent thing trying to make sure your kids have everything in the world, especially a romantic relationship, but you don't have to rush. I won't lie and say I’ll seriously consider pursuing a serious relationship now, and I am not forfeiting the bet, but, you know,” he finishes stiltedly, “I care about your well-being.”
“That is so sweet. Tsumiki-chan told you to tell me that, didn't she?”
“Nobara ratted us out. Tsumiki was not impressed. Also, she’s expecting a call from you tomorrow, so I assume I’ll get a similar speech myself then.”
Satoru knows that was way too much emotional vulnerability for Megumi to offer at once—his method of showing he cares is much more action based—but he also knows the siblings share the same intent. He acknowledges that with a small smile and a nod, his heart soft and full.
Then he grins, slipping back into their usual dynamic. “I won't have to deliver a speech to you because I am going to destroy you in this bet.”
“In your dreams, old man. Be ready for your penalty.”
T - 7 days, Gojo-Fushiguro home, 11:08am
“So,” Nobara sings, far too chipper for someone intending to drag Megumi out of the house so early. “Since we both know Gojo is likely planning something absolutely awful with this dating scheme, we shouldn't miss this chance to bully him!”
She pulls a stack of papers out from behind her back, presenting them with a manic grin. “You said there's a coffee shop guy, right?”
“Is this a meme or something?” Megumi frowns down at a cartoony rendition of Gojo blushing and clutching his chest. Surrounding him are various generic cafe images and a smiling stick figure man with a name tag that says coffee shop guy in Nobara’s neat script. The bubble text title reads GO FOR IT, GOJO! “What’s it from?”
“How have you never seen this before? It’s some gay manga.”
Dubious, he looks again. “Not porn though, right?”
“No.” She scowls like he's an idiot to ask, then like she’s bitten into a lemon unexpectedly. “I actually don't know for sure.”
Megumi feels faint. “You printed fifteen different sized posters of my dad in this meme and didn't think to make sure it wasn't from porn?”
“You are the most sex conscious aspec person I know, what the hell, man.”
His paranoia is the result of being the butt of a few too many sex jokes during his formative years, as she well knows. She is only grumbling now because she’s getting flustered, but Megumi does not care because he is three seconds away from an aneurysm.
“Kugisaki Nobara.”
“I mean, it wouldn't be such a popular meme if it was from some—actually, the internet is a godless place, so I still don't know.”
Vaguely sick, he stands abruptly. “I’m gonna burn these and forget this ever happened.”
“No!” Nobara snatches the stack from his hands and holds it protectively. “I spent good money on these—well, Maki’s useless father’s money, but whatever. I’ll look up the original and make sure it’s PG, and then we’ll put them everywhere Gojo will see them. Don't be such a drama queen.”
Suddenly, he lacks the energy to start screening potential fake partners; Megumi has just about maxed out his energy for the day. Sensing as much, Nobara starts shuffling him through the door, promising a pit stop at Cursed Caffeine, her treat.
When they arrive, the twins are the ones on shift instead of the long haired man and the girl that Tsumiki went to high school with, so Megumi does two complicated and distinct handshakes. Nanako and Mimiko have adopted him as a sort of brother figure with all the time he’s spent at the cafe. Ah—that's a misleading explanation; neither cared at all about his existence until he showed up one day with a shiner and he had to correct their assumption that he got his ass beat. He might bruise like a peach, but Megumi has yet to lose a real fight.
They go to his old high school, which embarrassingly still talks about his numerous fights starting from elementary school, so upon realizing he's the same Fushiguro Megumi, they've decided he’s pretty cool. He has tutored Mimiko in English and literature, and he has taught Nanako his foolproof methods to escape the more serious consequences of fighting on campus.
“You good, senpai?” Nanako smirks without any concern, chewing gum.
Mimiko smiles mockingly at him. “Bit early for you, isn't it? It’s barely noon.”
Despite how much he's done for them, Megumi knows neither will ever let him live it down if they find out what he has let Gojo drag him into. “I need a black coffee with enough caffeine to kill a small horse.”
“Typical,” Nobara huffs. He glares at her meaningfully; in addition to paying, she should know to also keep her mouth shut about the finer details. She rolls her eyes, swinging for the back of his head. “What would you do without me?”
“Do you want Snyder’s cut or SparkNotes?”
“Senpai!” Mimiko interrupts. “On the house. Both in case it kills you, and also to avoid someone calling the cops to deal with,” she gestures at the way Nobara is taking off her heeled boot to threaten him with, “this.”
With that sendoff, Megumi and Nobara amble out onto the streets. They're meeting the first candidate, Itadori Yuuji, a couple intersections away from the picnic table from before, the unofficial office of idiotic scheming favored for its relative isolation and minimal foot traffic. It’s where the interview will be.
Nobara said she told Itadori to meet up with her and the story is that she’s coincidentally run into Megumi first; this is because, apparently, the real story is “too fucking bizarre to to spring on anyone without warning.” Which is clearly an exaggeration, and coming from her, it’s an offensive one, too, because he would bet a small sum on Nobara being at least sadist-adjacent.
Megumi sees the guy ambling his way over, waving enthusiastically at Nobara and turning his kilowatt smile onto the stranger beside her without hesitation.
In a fraction of a second, Megumi manages to talk himself out of his own plan. Or at least, this Itadori guy’s potential role in it. He doesn't think he could be himself around someone who seems so nice; Megumi will be too mean one time and the guy will probably cry, and Megumi won't be sorry but he doesn't like to see people cry but he’s even worse at consoling them.
Nobara catches on before he voices anything. “This was literally your idea.”
“This one isn't gonna work. It won't be believable.”
“You cannot and will not,” she holds him beside her with a fierce grip on his belt loops, “bitch out before we even begin, Fushiguro Megumi.”
The process is very draining, more so than Megumi feared it would be. The trio exchange greetings and Nobara tells her story. Itadori explains why he was running late—six minutes is nothing to mention, but Gojo has left Megumi desensitized to such transgressions. Apparently something happened with his brothers, but Megumi mostly isn't listening to the story full of names he doesn't know and is instead contemplating a Plan B that doesn't necessitate speed friending to fake dating.
An alternative does not come to fruition and the immediate benefit of abandoning this scheme all together does not outweigh the horror of losing the bet, so Megumi sighs softly. Itadori asks him something he should answer, but Megumi just turns to Nobara. “He’s not the worst option. Let’s just go with him.”
Itadori frowns, looking between the others across the picnic table. “Sorry, what?”
“He’s the first option,” Nobara corrects with a scowl. “I have three more people coming.”
Megumi blanches. “No, absolutely not. I'm not doing this again. Itadori Yuuji, you free this coming Saturday?”
Itadori watches Nobara put her face into her hands to, poorly, stifle a groaning scream of frustration. When she’s done, he flicks his eyes back to Megumi and says, “Yeah. After ten.”
“Cool.” Megumi feels immediate disgust at socializing before noon in any context, but he sets that aside. “I need your help around three. You down?”
“Sure,” he grins. “You seem like a good dude, Fushiguro, and you're friends with Nobara, so yeah. I’m down”
“Great,” Megumi begins to push himself up from the table, “then—”
Nobara gets a vice-like grip around his wrist. “Yuuji, do you even know what you're agreeing to?”
“I was about to find out?”
He was not. Megumi was going to tell him the dress code and location, but Nobara indicates that Itadori is, in fact, going to be subjected to the finer details of this impending disaster. “Basically, I need you to come with me to a… meeting with my dad, so I can expose his fake partner.”
Itadori nods. “Yeah, okay. One more time, please?”
“It actually gets worse the more details you know.” Gleefully, Nobara provides them. “This guy’s father tricked him into dating because Megs doesn't know how to walk away from a fight. They've got a bet going and Gojo’s gotta conjure up an imaginary partner that outperforms Fushi’s date—you, in this case, if you're still agreeing.”
“So you need me for a group date? Wait, so am I supposed to be like your—”
“No,” Megumi interrupts. “That guy is the one with a fake partner. I just need you to pretend you like me enough to be willing to go.”
Earnestly, Itadori interjects, “But I do like you, Fushi! You're cool.”
Megumi narrows his eyes. Is this a red flag? Well. Probably not; it’s weird, but he’s already resolved himself and this is the only plan. “Okay, then. So you're in?”
“Yeah.” Itadori beams, “I’ll help you!”
“Yuuji, just remember to microdose the affection and affirmations or you’ll freak him out.” Itadori nods and Megumi tries not to scowl too aggressively as he side-eyes Nobara. She finally releases his wrist and he flexes his fingers to aid in returning blood flow. “Megs, keep an open mind and don't shut him out.”
“Sure.” He huffs, but drops the issue; he sees no reason to keep an open mind about a bet, but he needs to be gone before more people get here and he’s unnecessarily roped into socializing all day. “Noh will give you my contact info, and I’ll see you Saturday.”
Is what he said, but Itadori contacts him that evening.
Nobara told Itadori to text Megumi as soon as he got back home. She told him to annoy Megumi into being friends, within reason. She did not specify what that means, nor did she clarify why that would be necessary.
Megumi knows this because it’s all in the first texts (plural because Itadori uses the send button as a substitute for punctuation) that the pink haired young man sends. He respects the honesty though, so he takes a few deep breaths and targets his annoyance at the correct individual.
As soon as the call connects, Megumi says, “I said I would have a date. I don't understand why I have to be all buddy-buddy with this guy.”
“You said you’d have a partner,” she corrects, “and no one who knows you would think you’d call a complete stranger your partner. We knew each other and regularly hung out for six months before I was an acquaintance.”
In his somewhat feeble defense, that was because he had assumed she only tolerated him because she’s been half in love with his cousin since they met. Once she and Maki got together, he was pretty sure that she wouldn't talk to him anymore. He was glad to find that wasn't the case, but it’s not like he’s going to admit to any of that, so he just sighs.
“And what's your point,” he asks, very much knowing her point.
“Gojo will accept winning on a technicality, so do the bare minimum here and buck the fuck up.”
Nobara hangs up to give Megumi some time to come to terms with his present reality. He does feel better though, having recharged alone for a while now, so texts Itadori back and figures they’ll go from there.
T - 6 days, public park near Cursed Caffeine, 1pm
Hanging out with Suguru outside of the cafe is very new and a part of Satoru hates it. Of course, the cafe lighting doesn't have anything on the natural sunlight accentuating his tan. And the uniform doesn't exactly hide how broad his shoulders are, but the shirt he’s in now does a much better job. And, yes, the soft breeze teasing at the hairs escaping from the half of Suguru’s hair tied up in a bun now occupies a dear place in Satoru’s heart, but—he’s getting off track. The point is, Satoru is not quite prepared to see him out of uniform. Suguru notices and teases him immediately over it.
“I actually do own an entire closet of clothes that aren't an apron with my logo on it, you know.”
Satoru didn't know it was his logo, as in he designed it, as in he owns Cursed Caffeine, apparently. They know a few of the mundane details of one another’s lives—pet peeves and positions on some social issues from conversations in the cafe, as well as favorite snacks and drinks and seasons and colors, but nothing too personal. They—well, Satoru, at least, he knows enough that he feels like he knows nothing, knows enough that he only wants to know more.
Hoping Suguru feels similarly, Satoru tells him a little about his own occupation as a lawyer practicing a random assortment of types of law, much to Nanamin’s utter exhaustion, but Satoru likes being very good at many things. Jack of all trades and master of all; he’d be bored if he simply stopped when there’s more that can be done. With enough dedication, human potential is essentially limitless, and Satoru sees no reason to curtail his ambitions.
“Sounds like you're on a fast track to overworking yourself.”
“Got close, but a support team came out of nowhere and pulled me back,” Satoru admits. “You have them to thank for my beautiful presence today.”
“I’ll name a drink after them at the cafe,” Suguru smiles. He went to law school, too, for a while, before trying to change the world burned him out. Satoru is wildly glad he chose his life over his ideals. “I switched to business and here I am, law free aside from occasional would-be kouhai reaching out.”
He can tell Suguru was probably rather prodigious himself but too under-resourced in the beginning to ever be given the title. Satoru doesn't think he should say that, though; he’s learned some tact over the years, and he personally knows the title to be little more than a burden, whatever ego rush it might have given a younger version of himself.
“Well, we have to deserve each other somehow,” Satoru jokes instead. “As a lawyer and a business major there's some solidarity, right?”
Suguru smirks, “But now I’m just a fun guy who works at a cafe, and outside of the employees, you're the only one who knows I’m the owner.”
“I’ll snitch,” he lies.
“I don't know who’s gonna believe a lawyer, but you can try.”
Satoru laughs, sharp and bright. “Rude! You were so much nicer to me before we started going out, Suguru.”
“About that,” he looks around them. “What are we doing?”
“Walking through the park,” he answers succinctly.
There’s a lovely walking trail and a large water feature, street food vendors spread throughout the grounds, not too many people around but not deserted enough that one worries about being ax-murdered by an acquaintance. Satoru thinks it’s a great location.
Suguru arches his brow, amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. “Like old people?”
“Speak for yourself,” he sniffs, “I’m the picture of youth. This is your fault anyways.”
The amusement gets more pronounced. “Is it?”
“You texted to set up a date and didn’t actually set up the date,” Satoru explains. “We couldn't go to another cafe because you work in one, and that doesn't leave any other first date options.”
Suguru suggests, “Karaoke is a staple date.”
“But I’m a lightweight, and that’s no fun on the first date.”
“You don't have to drink to badly sing along to popular songs, Satoru.”
“First of all, I’m not bad at anything. Secondly, it’s about the experience, Suguru.”
“Oh, excuse me, Satoru-sama,” Suguru mocks. “And what disqualified the movies?”
Shamelessly, Satoru returns, “I talk too much and look up spoilers before, so it’d be a waste of money to watch anything in the theaters.”
He does not add that he has a room in his home decked out like a theater for a cheaper and more comfortable movie experience only because he is not ready to prematurely run into Megumi. Plus, consistent crush for, ahem, a while now or not, Suguru is still mostly a stranger, and Satoru doesn't want to deal with the risks and implications of taking him home on their first fake date.
Suguru hums in acquiescence. “I do like hearing you talk and I would hate to waste your money, so I guess that’s fair.”
“My money? We’re going halves on all the street food, nice try, mister businessman.”
“Do you even eat real food?” Suguru questions, scanning the food carts they can see from where they’ve posted up near a green tree. “I wasn’t going to ask about your ungodly sugar intake because I am mildly complicit, but please tell me you know what a vegetable is.”
Satoru grins, “They’re the food group that sings stories to teach kids about Jes—oh my god. Suguru, you're a Disney princess, and you never told me!”
As he initially began to respond, a yellow butterfly came awkwardly floating nearby the pair, and predictably Satoru’s eyes latched onto it as his mouth continued to run. Suguru followed his line of sight and reached out a hand, and to Satoru’s utter amazement and delight, the little insect actually landed on his fingers.
He does not find this nearly as impressive as the city boy, rolling his eyes. “It’s just a butterfly, don't tell me you’ve never—”
The butterfly is immediately startled off Suguru’s fingertips when a crow decides the man’s extended arm is a perfect perching post. The pair of men freeze in shock, watching the black bird slowly bob its way down, tracing a path to Suguru’s shoulder. The butterfly returns, apparently not scared too far away, and lands daintily on his nose, immediately forcing a loud laugh from Satoru.
It breaks the ice, and Suguru says, “Yes, it’s all very hilarious, Satoru, but get this bird off of my shoulder before it pokes my eyes out.”
“I don't know if crows actually eat butterflies.” The crow is looking very intently at the butterfly, but the insect is either suicidal or knows it is not prey. “But let’s not risk your pretty eyes on that.”
He shoos the butterfly away first, then gently deals with the crow—they remember faces, he knows, and he would prefer not to be later attacked by a murder for Suguru.
“My knight in shining armor,” the man deadpans when Satoru tells him as much.
Satoru would teasingly retaliate himself, to keep the back and forth, but Suguru also clutches his hand in a way that makes him expect a kiss to his knuckles, so he’s waiting for that in order to think of a proper response. Naturally, it’s then that they're interrupted by a phone call.
Suguru loses his light and teasing demeanor to seriously answer, and Satoru thinks probably he should give him some privacy, or at least the semblance of it. But Suguru makes the decision for him. They remain right next to each other, Suguru intertwining their fingers lightly enough that Satoru can pull away if he wants but also knows he can stay. It’s as good a time as any for Suguru to find out he’s a real nosey bastard; Satoru stays where he can overhear the conversation and he does not pretend otherwise, content in knowing his date does not seem to mind.
He tightens his grip instinctively when he hears the worry in Suguru’s tone as he answers, no greeting, “What happened?”
“We wanna rent a couple movies and have friends over after going to the mall.” The voice over the phone is casual, young. Feminine. “Would that be alright?”
Immediately, most of the new tension leaves Suguru’s frame. “Of course that’s fine, just be safe.”
A different voice responds over the phone, still young and feminine but more surly. Teenagers, definitely. “Yes, yes, we know.”
He rolls his eyes. “I know you know, but you also know you should text me if you don't want to give me a heart attack, yet here we are.”
“We didn't know if you were gonna check your texts during your date,” the first voice reasons.
“I would hope your date is at least pretty enough to keep you distracted from your phone,” the second one translates with derision.
Suguru laughs, flicking his eyes over to catch Satoru’s gaze. “Yeah, more than enough.”
Don't flirt with me when you're on the phone with someone else, Satoru mouths. Suguru only grins, then says to the teens on the line, “Still, text me when you get there and when you’re back.”
They exchange I love you ’s and quick goodbyes, the teens eager to get to their plans, and Satoru asks, “You’re a dad, too?”
“Not exactly,” Suguru hums. “But, hypothetically and off the record, I guess I am.”
Suguru takes care of a young set of distant cousins, twins who, as far as he knows, for legal reasons, have not run away from their shitty hometown and do not decorate missing child platforms in said shitty hometown and surrounding locales.
As of a little less than a year ago, the twins live with him in his two bedroom condo, hypothetically. They go to Megumi’s old high school and are Suguru’s pride and joy. Despite his assurances of the opposite, they also pick up shifts at the cafe for fear of being a burden, so he says maybe Satoru has even seen them around before. Suguru is paranoid that someone will trace them here and ruin all the growth and happiness the trio has experienced, but the twins will be eighteen soon enough, he reasons, clearly trying to console himself, at which point they can cleanly sort everything out back in their little town because no one will be able to force them to stay.
And in the middle of being blown away by how much trust Suguru is displaying by being so open with him, Satoru knows he can help with that.
He doesn't want to overstep his bounds. The ex hated when he would—well, they always said it felt like he was showing off, bragging about his background and family wealth and clan prestige. They said he made them feel small, and he doesn't want to make Suguru think he's looking down on him or something, so maybe he shouldn't say anything at all.
Except he knows he can help, if Suguru will accept it.
And he also knows the ex is wrong, for the most part. It’s been a long time since Satoru was locked in a relationship with them, and he’s definitely mostly moved on from it and healed or whatever, but some of the criticisms linger. The ex was constantly trying to undermine him and took everything to the excess, yes, but it was mostly based on Satoru’s true failings. If it wasn’t, everything would have been dismissed out of hand immediately; there was enough truth in the unending criticisms that Satoru cannot wholly ignore them now. He’s still working on that part.
Suguru isn't the ex, though. Suguru is actually (hopefully) about as far as one can get from the ex. He did say he would tell Satoru when he does something wrong, and he said he wouldn't lie, so maybe Satoru should trust that. He has no reason not to. In any case, he would like to confirm sooner rather than later that Suguru is infinitely better than the ex, and he’s not too vehemently opposed to a trial by fire. He prefers it to a cold war.
It’s still mildly nerve wracking to begin, so he doesn't quite make eye contact. “You know, I didn't exactly acquire my son in the most strictly legal sense possible, so if you want help expediting that process, like. I won't say no. As in, I'm offering to help, if you want.”
“Explain.”
Which is fair—the stilted response was not his best work—but it is also way too vague. Lacking enough overt tonal and physical indicators and too anxious to read between the lines for the subtleties, Satoru does what he always does and talks until he has nothing to say.
“Well, Megumi is kinda in witness protection because of some complications with his birth father, but I dunno how much he remembers because he was only five when it all happened. It’s not like he’ll ever have to actually go to trial, and no one stopped me from letting him keep his real name. It’s obvious that Toji isn't stupid enough to get caught or evil enough to kill his own kid, and nobody else knows he’s his.”
Ah, well, that's not strictly true, but the Zen’in clan likes to pretend and that works in Satoru’s favor.
“Technically Megs also isn't allowed contact with his birth family, but like,” he shrugs, “kids, you know? Gotta let ‘em have a childhood. Toji’s clan’s the worst, so that was whatever, but a no-contact order blindly followed would've separated him from his sister and that would have been a whole mess. And he only has two cousins from his clan that he cares about and they aren't exactly all that entangled in its politics, so that’s easy to hide.”
Suguru, squeezing his hand because, oh yeah, they’re still holding onto each other, says, “I meant for you to explain how you could help with the twins, not to out your whole legally suspect family situation, but you look calmer now, so that's good, too.”
“Take a page out of my book and use more words, then, you ass,” Satoru returns, clearing his throat. Suguru laughs, and Satoru pretends he isn’t flustered. After a second, more genuinely, he adds, “It seemed fair, given your hypotheticals. We can work out a plan, if you want. I have a dense caseload right now, but it should open up in a few weeks. If that’s too long though, we can—”
“If you've got a lot on your plate, you don't—”
“No. Well, I mean, I want to help. And I know I can, so,” he shrugs, “so I offered. I also don't want your money, and I'm not doing this because you're helping me with my thing. It’s not like a blackmail type of situation, I don't mean to pressure you and I'm not expecting anything else.”
Satoru figured it was best to cover his bases, but the moment of silence that follows leaves him wondering if he’s said too much while Suguru is still processing.
When the other does respond, it’s not anything close to what Satoru expects. “Your ex must have been something awful.”
Satoru is shocked about that nonsequitur at first; he doesn't know what he said or did that clues Suguru in, and now he tastes too much sawdust in his mouth to feel any type of way about anything. There's only space for exhaustion.
“Yeah.” He tries to swallow, baring his teeth in imitation of a grin. “I'm much more eloquent in court, promise.”
Suguru telegraphs his movements, turning Satoru’s face with his free hand to make eye contact properly. “You should tell me, too, if I do something wrong or you need anything from me.”
He waits for him to nod in acknowledgement and agreement, and he doesn't allow him to look away afterwards. “I’d love for you to help me make sure the twins don't have to keep looking over their shoulders, and I trust you. We can take our time.” He laughs suddenly, boyish and pretty. “But first, let’s finish our date.”
Satoru feels like he's a half step behind, both metaphorically and physically as the other man takes a step forward, but Suguru doesn't leave him there.
“The twins aren't going to want me back until their friends leave or fall asleep to stay. So now you're stuck with me all day.” He grins over his shoulder, their hands still connected despite the small distance between them. “I’ll be in your care.”
Satoru bridges the gap, offering his own grin. “A terrible decision, really.”
Suguru rolls his eyes and pulls him closer. “I doubt that, prince charming. Come on.”
T - 5 days, Itadori home, 1:44pm
It’s strange.
It is strange, the rate at which Megumi gets closer to Itadori. Nobara said it’s by design. She thinks their best shot at being better than Gojo and his fake partner lies in recreating the atmosphere of reality TV love shows: by making them spend as much time together as possible, they’ll be a surface level couple in no time even with his “shitty acting.” Megumi told her that doesn’t sound healthy, but she said the alternative was to do the forty questions to fall in love or whatever, so he chose the lesser of two evils.
Even still, he’s comfortable.
Conversation with Itadori flows easily, and he doesn’t seem to mind that Megumi needs space and sometimes takes a long time to respond. Granted, it has only been two days. There’s a nonzero chance that he just hasn't outlasted his patience yet, but Megumi is in a generous mood, so he’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. Itadori exudes a calming presence, all kindness and softness and something unflappable. Megumi likes it; it reminds him of Tsumiki maybe, leaves him feeling settled like after winning a fight with Gojo. Itadori has the potential to be as close a friend as Nobara, which is as nice as it is shocking, so Megumi wants to believe in him.
That’s why he accepted the invitation to learn how to make hotpot at his house. This is the first time they’re hanging out in person since they first met, but the series of texts exchanged and calls made since then have eased Megumi into things—it isn’t daunting at all. And he still doesn’t regret it, even though Itadori’s brother demands to fight him on sight.
Itadori—he said he could call him Yuuji around his brothers, and Megumi is still getting used to that—shoves Sukuna bodily out the door, trying to also keep Megumi behind him as he is not opposed to a fight himself.
“Fushiguro, you are not helping.”
He hasn’t fought anyone in a while, and he would hate to be rusty. This is a no-stakes spar, so Megumi sees no reason to deny the challenge. “The worst that can happen is one of us loses.”
“That’s the spirit, Megumi!” Sukuna laughs, ignoring his doppelgänger of a brother’s terse, Don't call him that! “Learn something from this kid, punk.”
“Don’t you have someone else to bother?” Impressively, Itadori doesn’t sound out of breath despite the fact that he’s been trying to shove his older brother out the front door for the better part of fifteen minutes. Maybe Megumi could spar with him one day; it would be nice to expand the friendly fight club he and some friends have. “Aniki!”
“Choso can’t save you,” Sukuna taunts. “He’s asleep.”
Itadori had explained earlier that Sukuna is technically the oldest, but he’s more like a deadbeat dad, coming and going as he pleases. Choso is effectively the eldest though he’s second born, and he has run the household since their grandfather passed.
“I’ll tell him you broke Kechizo’s sewing machine and spilled soda on his paper mache props!” That's the brother who is into cosplay and made Panda his namesake hoodie, Megumi remembers. “And I’ll tell him you’ve been selling Eso’s favorite protein powder to drunks like it’s cocaine!”
“You little snitch—I’ll tell him you took a cut to buy your silence!”
“As if he’d believe you!” Which is not a denial of accepting a bribe, Megumi mentally notes. He’ll ask about it later. “Aniki! Aniki, come get your brother!”
Megumi is not such a meathead that he has to fight, so he’s long lost interest in having a spar right now. He looks around the living room while Itadori is otherwise engaged, taking off his shoes and neatly piling them with the others in the doorway.
It’s a smaller place than his own house, naturally, given the Itadori family is not disgustingly and immorally rich. Not too small, though—five adult brothers live here, at one point with their aged grandfather. The kitchen looks big and lived in, but Megumi doesn’t make his way over without Itadori.
“Listen, you snot-faced—”
“We have the same face!”
“If you don’t leave now, Uraume will be upset,” a new voice intones, just outside of Megumi’s field of vision. Startled, he freezes, then flicks his eyes over to observe the newcomer. Tall, two messy buns, eye bags to end all eye bags. “They are not a patient person, Suku-nii.”
Do all of Itadori’s brothers have tattoos? Face tattoos? Sukuna is clearly more extensively tatted, but Choso’s thick band across his nose is not subtle. Megumi wonders if the body mods came before or after Itadori got those scars under his eyes.
Sukuna’s face pinches, glancing at the time. “They’ll wait for me.”
“But you respect them, don’t you? Don't make them wait arbitrarily. I’m sure the two of you can find others to fight outside, individuals who are not dear to our otouto.”
“Oh, dear to the brat? You’re dear to our Yuuji-kun?” Sukuna questions with a lecherous grin.
Megumi frowns, “What’s it to you? I thought you were leaving.”
“Ha! I like this one.” Sukuna ignores his brother grumbling that nobody asked, but he also stops pushing to get inside, stepping across the jamb of his own volition. “Don’t think you’ve won, brat,” he stops Itadori from slamming the door behind him. “And this isn’t over, pretty boy. I’ll be seeing you, Fushiguro Megumi.”
“Sorry about him, Fushiguro-kun.” Choso bows slightly to Megumi, holding back a yawn. “I’m Choso, Yuuji’s older brother.”
He returns the greeting. “Nice to meet you, Choso-san.”
Choso looks nothing like Itadori, so maybe they take after different parents. Sukuna looks just like the youngest, only with longer and redder toned hair, and if the framed picture on the mantle Megumi spies now is their late grandfather, the two of them look just like him. Actually, if the other two brothers are the ones in the group photo beside Itadori-san’s portrait, only Sukuna and Itadori look related. There was probably a series of adoptions and/or remarriages, but it’s curious that there are no pictures with any of their parents at all.
He ends up leaving them alone pretty soon afterwards. Choso and Itadori exchange a quick check in, asking about work schedules and a girlfriend who is coming for dinner in a few days, before the elder disappears up creaking stairs—seriously, how the hell did Choso sneak up on him?—to go back to sleep before a night shift.
Itadori lays out the ingredients and supplies to make their hotpot, standing with his hands on his hips and grinning. “Okay, Fushi. What’s your cooking background look like? Any questions?”
“Abysmal,” he snorts, not one to lie. “Can I ask you questions about your brothers?” When his face doesn't quite shutter but definitely loses some of its shine, Megumi continues, “You can say no.”
“It’s not that, it’s just,” he sighs, shaking his head. “It always comes up eventually. We’re kinda known around here for being, uh, eccentric? Less traditional, I mean. But I love my family, so I don't mind talking about them.”
So Itadori is sensitive about his home life, likely having grown up facing derision for it. He seems the type more prone to internalizing than fist fighting, Megumi would guess, so that might explain why the implied so don't look down on us is a plea rather than a threat.
He raises his eyebrow. “Yuuji, you can tell me to fuck off. We can just make this hotpot thing.”
Laughing, he asks, “And lose my reputation as the nicest brother?”
“And set healthy boundaries for yourself,” he corrects.
“It really is fine that you wanna know.” He leans back against the counter, probably trying to show how at ease he is, but he doesn't have to bother. Megumi knows Itadori is an adult; he made his decision and he’ll live with the consequences.
“So there’s five of us brothers. Aniki, who you just met, and Kechizo and Eso, who are both out with friends right now, they all have different moms but the same biological dad, my late mother.” Megumi blinks, frowning, and Itadori nods. “Yeah. They were awful though, so don't think about it too hard.”
The more he thinks about it, the more his head hurts, so he’s amicable to the suggestion. “Okay. And Sukuna?”
“Why do you look like you're—oh,” Itadori snorts, “never mind, I get it. You thought the brothers that didn't look alike had a simple story, and now you're worried about how confusing that guy’s background is gonna be, huh?”
“Can you honestly blame me?”
He shrugs, “That is the common reaction, yeah, but you just seem more unflappable than that, I guess.” When Megumi glares at him in annoyance, he waves his hands in halfhearted acquiescence, a wide grin barely keeping his chuckles in. “Sorry, sorry. Well, Sukuna is the real mystery, since no one knows who either of his biological parents are. Apparently Grandpa brought him home one day when Aniki was a baby and he just never left.”
Megumi snickers. “You make him sound like a stray dog.”
“You met him just now, didn't you?” Itadori teases. “God, and he’s the worst,” he complains, a smile on his face. “We were practically inseparable when I was in high school, doing all types of reckless shit I shouldn't get into now. And we look so much alike that teachers used to flinch when they saw me out of the corner of their eyes, thinking I was him, even though it had been nearly two decades since he was their student. He was—is a terror.”
Megumi had the opposite problem. Tsumiki was such a saint that all the teachers expected great things from him. And they got them, in the academic classroom, for sure, but the disciplinary team may have gotten more familiar with his face than any of them expected. His sister was president of their little snitching committee and he was their number one problem, but Megumi would still say a majority of the school staff remembers him fondly.
He doesn't say any of that because his delinquent days really are behind him, but he still laughs softly, imagining Itadori’s school life and remembering some of his own. “Sounds like it was a lot for you growing up.”
“Yeah,” he scrubs at the back of his head. “Sorry again, by the way, about Kuna earlier. If I knew he was gonna be like that, I would've brought you over later. Or not at all,” he mutters at the end.
Knocking playfully into his shoulder, Megumi says, “You're about to be subjected to my dad in a few days, Yuuji. And Sukuna wasn’t that bad.”
He’s being honest; he was curious about Itadori’s brothers, but he doesn't think they’re anything too strange. Besides, Megumi is in no position to be a dick about a nontraditional family. His resting face leaves much to be desired in terms of consoling others, so he offers a truth about his own messy family in return.
“Full disclosure, my biological dad is a contract killer,” he announces.
Itadori squints at him. “Are you messing with me? I really can't tell if you're joking.”
“He’s not the one we’re meeting, so don't worry. And my sister and I obviously don't live with him anymore, not in a long time. I don't exactly know how Gojo got custody of us, since he's not a blood relative or prior acquaintance, but I'm pretty sure it’s all mostly legal,” he shrugs. Gojou is all of fifteen years older than him, however, so the adoption was probably less about the letter of the law and more about the characters in his family name and the zeroes in his accounts, but Megumi can't say he’s unhappy with the result.
“Wait, wait, wait. Your biological dad is actually a mercenary?!” Itadori is clearly using all his willpower not to yell in shock. He slaps his hands over his mouth, “Sorry, I should probably be cooler about that since you—”
Megumi waves him off. “Yeah, he is. We don't talk much, but he sends birthday cards randomly to let us know he’s alive or whatever, even though I probably wouldn't recognize him if I saw him on the street. God, don't make that face, I have Gojo. And anyways, I brought this up to ask you something.”
He frowns, “I thought you brought it up because I talked about my brothers?”
“Yeah,” he says, because that’s true. Itadori offered some familial truths, so Megumi did the same, and now he has a request. “But also because I wanna know if you can fight.”
Itadori is such a people pleaser that he must be good at fighting. It’s the only way he can imagine the guy making it to his twenties still this vibrant rather than burnt out. But Megumi can also kinda imagine someone trying to pick on little Yuuji and looking up to see a series of older brothers over his shoulder daring them to move, and the thought makes the corners of his lips twitch. Cute.
“Uh,” Itadori stutters, confused by the seemingly abrupt transition. “I mean, Sukuna I guess taught me by surprise attacks and I learned through trial and error. And I'm the youngest, so I've always had a pretty decent battle sense.”
Megumi nods; it’s what he expected. Gojo is the one who taught him how to fight—well, Toji taught him how to fight, but the first time Gojo saw him, he snatched Megumi up by his collar and asked, Are you trying to go to prison? Are you trying to send me to prison? Then he taught him to fight again. Which isn’t to say he’s forgotten his lessons from Pa; he still fights dirty.
Itadori shakes his head, pointing at the man opposite him. “Wait, you're not trying to fight me, are you?”
Megumi hums, “Well, yeah, kinda. Join our fight club.”
“I confused you one time, and now you just won't quit, huh?” Megumi laughs at Itadori’s pout, making the pink haired man sigh. “So, you have a fight club? Who’s in it?”
“We get together and spar a couple times a month, just for fun and fitness. My cousins, some of their friends. Noh goes, even though that’s mostly to ogle her girlfriend,” he rolls his eyes. The rest of the reason she goes is to fight Mai, but that is neither here nor there. “You know Toudou Aoi, that big bastard flexible enough to keep his foot in his mouth every waking moment? He started it a few years back.”
Megumi joined when Toudou forced him to do so, back in the beginning. He said that since Megumi’s type as well as he himself were both so boring, he needed to be more interesting, so why not join a fight club? His responding thought process went: yeah, I want to punch this guy in the face, so why not join a fight club? He told Toudou he’d try it out, and they set a date.
Mai sent Toudou back to Megumi a few days after their first spar. His head was head down as he apologized for accidentally being an asshole, not understanding his sexuality and chargained about coming across like an insensitive jackass. While grateful, Megumi just laughed. He had fun sparring, and he hasn't stopped since.
Itadori bursts out laughing. “Yeah, yeah, I know Toudou. That’s a pretty good description of him.” Megumi smirks because he knows it is, and Itadori’s eyes twinkle. “How do we know so many of the same people, yet we only recently met?”
“I'm a social recluse,” Megumi deadpans, repeating what he knows Nobara has already told him.
“A social recluse in a fight club,” Itadori says. “You know what? Sure, I’ll go. At least to try it out.” His voice gets softer as he makes purposeful eye contact. Megumi resists the urge to fidget; purposeful eye contact always precedes the types of conversations he avoids. “And thanks, Fushiguro, for being so chill about my weird ass family.”
Megumi relaxes. That wasn't nearly as bad as he thought it would be, but, jeez, Itadori must have grown up around the most closed minded people to ever walk the earth.
“I don’t think they're that weird, though? Gojo’s probably desensitized me anyways. Plus, I know you well enough by now, and you're a product of them, aren't you?” Megumi shrugs, “They can't be all bad if they helped make you like this.”
Itadori freezes with a gasp, wide eyed. “Is that a compliment?”
Narrowing his eyes, Megumi hesitates but doesn't lie. “Sure.”
Laughing brightly, Itadori cheers with jazz hands, of all things. “So we’re friends for sure, right?”
And Megumi has to think about it, because of course he does, but Itadori doesn't look uncomfortable with the lack of an immediate answer. He waits a little longer anyways, testing his luck now that there’s no screen between them to disguise his reactions.
Eventually he sighs, but it does nothing to hide his small grin. “Yeah. I'm comfortable with you.” He waits for Itadori to do a cheesy little fist pump, then asks, “Now can we cook, or are we still having a moment?”
“We can do both!”
T - 4 four days, Getou condo, 11:30am
“Of course your sweats are designer,” Suguru rolls his eyes. His own outfit consists of a white shirt and brandless charcoal gray joggers. “Why is it so difficult to look at?”
“It's Dolce & Gabbana,” he informs him as he slips out of his matching shoes. “And I’ll have you know, I purposely wore this one from three seasons ago because I knew you’d be like this. You should be happy it was even still part of my closet.”
“It should have never been in your closet in the first place. It’s atrocious, Satoru.” He shows him where to set down his shoes, and Satoru doesn’t miss the wince he directs at their design. “These can’t be comfortable.”
“There’s no accounting for taste with you, obviously.” Peeking into the condo and assuming Suguru did the decorating, he knows that’s not true. Lush green plants, because of course Suguru has a green thumb, are paired nicely with off-white paint, dark toned woods and baby pink accents. It’s more colorful than Satoru would have expected, but it suits him; everything looks soft and comforting, and he adores it.
He leans forward slightly, hoping for a kiss on his cheek since it’s become Suguru’s habit. “You should be telling me I’m pretty! Look at the little veins of blue,” he points at his clothes. “And how the summer tones make my eyes pop.”
“Looking at eighty colors at once is going to make my eyes pop.”
“Alright, you big baby.” He takes off his jacket to reveal a perfectly plain and silky soft black shirt underneath. “Happy?”
“Are you? You dress like a midlife crisis,” Suguru frowns, “or a beginner’s epoxy project rendition of it.”
“Better than being a colorless grouch, like somebody I know.”
“At least when Reesees comes to me, I’ll be able to see her on my lap.”
“Where is the little peanut butter cup?” Satoru glances curiously around Suguru’s condo, trying to spot Riko’s five month old Bengal kitten. Suguru is pet-sitting while she and the twins go to a concert in Kyoto for some DJ he has never heard of and did not care to research.
“You hear her crying?” Faintly, the sound of demanding meows can be heard from somewhere deeper in the building. Leading him to the couch where the TV is paused on a familiar show, Suguru sighs, “She's trying to eat my peace lily like it’s not going to kill her. I had to lock her—my lily, I mean, in the bathroom.”
Satoru thinks he has some nerve to say the kitten will camouflage into his clothes like the man isn’t living in a certifiable jungle. He doesn’t even know what any of these plants are, just that they make the space bright and green and apparently toxic to cats. A two-toned bushy one with tiny flowers sticking out from it on dainty vines catches his eye, and Satoru reaches out to touch it.
“He’s my spider plant,” Suguru explains, laughing at the face he makes.
“Is he toxic to the little kitty, too?” Satoru asks, amused by the anthropomorphism. He can’t catch a scent from the flowers, so he loses interest in them.
“I’m guessing no,” Suguru scowls, “since she hasn’t tried to eat him. She doesn’t want the fucking cat grass, no, she wants my devil’s ivy and my lily. At least my snakes are safe in the bathroom.” He shakes himself, his tied up hair swaying with the motion. “But you don’t want to hear me rant about my plants.”
“Megumi and I couldn’t keep Tsumiki’s snake plants alive once she moved out,” he admits. He doesn’t say that he wants to listen to Suguru talk about any and everything that crosses his mind. “She had orchids, too, and a maidenhair fern, I think it was called. They didn’t survive, either. Megumi and I are really good at plastic plants, though.”
Suguru squints, “Is there a way to be bad at taking care of fake plants, Satoru?”
“Yes! I’m very diligent about remembering to dust them. Megs even found this product you can spray on them so they smell real. Yeah, so,” he adds as Suguru grins, “watch yourself. It’s serious business.”
As he sinks into the middle cushion of the couch, the meowing abruptly cuts off, replaced by a fast paced jingling of a belled collar as the bengal finally comes into view. She makes a beeline to the arm of the couch, staring Satoru down as the two of them try to get a feel for one another.
Animals either love or hate him, no in between. Reesees seems to deem him acceptable at the same time that Satoru decides he will be able to tolerate her, their heads simultaneously returning to the proper upright positions. She presses her paw gently, claws retracted, against the spider plant’s flowers, so he informs her seriously, “It doesn’t smell.”
The kitten makes a small rumbling sound at the offense, then lounges beside him to clean her paws. Suguru snorts and takes his seat beside him. Ignoring Satoru’s hand in her fur, Reesees immediately gets up to resettle in his lap; Satoru can’t blame her, but he also can’t stop himself from watching her out of the corner of his eye in envy.
He’s somewhere between maliciously glaring and simply looking at the kitten, so he’s caught slightly off guard when Suguru pulls him closer. The cat meows at the annoyance but easily settles again, which is good because Satoru would have no qualms about putting her on the floor to keep his new position. He is comfortably—heart beating a little faster and mildly pink cheeked, but semantics—pressed into the other man’s body heat, wrapped around him as best he can while both are seated.
As he leans into Suguru’s side, he reminds himself that this is a fake relationship so this is fake touching—rather, practice touching, so that they’re naturals in front of Megumi. Yeah. (The reminder does not reduce the heat in his cheeks or the warmth in his chest.)
It's a couple episodes later that the doorbell rings. A stray cat on the screen inspired Reesees to leap from the couch rather suddenly; Suguru is still chasing her down as her zoomies have given her the confidence to make several attempts on his plants. Satoru goes to answer the door, thinking it’s the food they ordered.
It is not.
“Oh?” Ieiri Shoko stands in the doorway, her eyebrow raised up. “God, I wish I would’ve seen this coming.”
Satoru wishes for that foresight as well, but for reasons more about his own survival rather than amusement. “Shoko? What are you doing here?”
Before she even speaks, the glint in her eyes tells Satoru that she’s not leaving before Suguru comes back like he’s been silently praying for. “I’m waiting for the coffee shop guy to make me a coffee.”
Said man comes around the corner, a bundle of fur in his arms, and freezes minutely. Shoko catches it and smirks. “Hey, Suguru. You should remember that I like my coffee black, two sugars.”
“I’m not at work?” He opens his arms for Reesees to drop down and greet the woman who has just closed the door behind her. Suguru tries, “This is my home.”
“And this is the dumbass, isn't he?” Shoko asks, pointing at Satoru. And Suguru goes, grumbling from the kitchen about whether or not he even has coffee beans.
“Oh, my nephew is going to have a field day. Good for him.”
Ignoring the content of that entire exchange, he asks, “You two know each other?” Satoru’s never had a nightmare like this, but he imagines many more of them in his future. “You and Suguru?”
“Oh, yes.” She looks up distractedly from her squat, offering Reesees the pets she’s demanding. “But not nearly as well as the two of you apparently know each other.”
And he has to disagree; he could never show up unannounced at Suguru’s place. But this is a good thing, Satoru tells himself, he can salvage this.
They did practice touching earlier, right, but that isn’t all that helpful since no one can see them here, locked away in the privacy of Suguru’s apartment. With Shoko here, they have an audience. Everything they do will be a trial run, to see if they can really pull this off come Saturday. This is a great idea, so long as Satoru ignores the inconvenient anxiety in his gut.
Suguru returns with a mug of her preferred drink and explains, “We met just before I dropped out of law school. She’s probably one of my closest friends.”
He looks exhausted with the confession, and Satoru can relate. “We met in undergrad,” he offers, then turns to her. “And you never introduced us!”
“Nope,” she pops the p, unrepentant. “Looks like you took care of that on your own. How long?”
Satoru can be casual and vague, ah, we’ve known each other for a few months now, or he can admit that he’s been taken by the seemingly reserved coffeeshop guy since day one, one hundred and twelve days ago. He’s still trying to decide what would be more in character if they were actually dating when Suguru speaks up.
“Satoru came in one day asking for something that would in no way taste good and therefore could not be attached to my name, so I made something else with enough sugar and sweetener that it’d be ruined for anyone else in the world. The dumbass kept coming in and eventually learned to just accept what was given instead of trying to create his own recipes on the spot.”
“I still maintain that it would taste so good if you just—”
“No.”
Shoko looks delighted. “God, look at your faces. Megumi really is going to walk all over you. He’s so good at weaponizing his affection, and Suguru is going to be weak to that, too. I should congratulate him now.”
Satoru is itching to disagree, but Shoko doesn't give him the chance. “Don’t play dumb, Satoru,” she rolls her eyes. “He’ll call you Dad to your face and you’ll buy him an apartment if he asks, never mind the fact that you know he calls you his dad behind your back all the time.”
“He can get so closed off! It’s good to reward him when—”
“You’d spoil him rotten if he wasn’t naturally such a good kid.” She walks over to the sink, shooting back the entire mug of coffee to wash the dish herself. Reesees follows her with something approaching devotion. “But, hell, he needs some of that every once in a while. You’re a good parent.”
Satoru returns to his seat on the couch, crossing his arms. “I’m the best parent he’s ever had.”
Suguru comes and joins him, repositioning him so they sit back to chest and uncrossing Satoru’s arms so that his own can replace them. He has the sense that he’s being used as a physical shield, but Satoru is too comfortable to care. He lets his head fall back onto Suguru’s shoulder.
“Yo, mister politician. Don’t think you answered me when I asked.” Letting her mug air dry, Shoko eyes them. “How long have you been dating?”
Under absolutely no circumstances can Shoko know the truth. Aside from being the unknowing guinea pig for the test run Satoru has decided this visit is, she would be insufferably smug about the whole thing.
Accordingly, he says airily, “I started dating my first year in undergrad, but I was too focused on my studies to be serious about it.”
He can’t see it, but he knows Suguru rolls his eyes. “A couple weeks or so. We’re going out with Megumi-kun on Saturday so we can be introduced.”
“So you are dating,” she smiles. “Properly, I mean. With the way we left things last time I talked to you two, I thought it was hopeless.”
Satoru flinches slightly, and he knows that Suguru notices because his thumb starts making reassuring circles on his side. It’s nice, but his cheeks are still red and his shoulders a little tense because Shoko has just unknowingly humiliated him in front of his fake boyfriend. The timeline isn't ruined—he last spoke to her about his hopeless crush six weeks ago, but be that as it may, he doesn’t know how he’s going to play this off.
That is, until Suguru responds, “Clearly it wasn’t. Your advice helped.”
Wait. Wait, so Suguru has talked to Shoko about him? A dozen reasons why that could be the case flash through his mind. It feels dangerous to jump to conclusions—the ex’s voice in his head saying, always so fucking vain—but hope does what it does without fail. Satoru tries to put a lid on it regardless.
“It’s good that neither of you tried to do some stupid jealousy plot,” she's saying now. “Not that it wouldn't work, because Satoru can’t hide his emotions and Suguru would fall for it even watching it be set up, but still. I think you’ll last, especially since you started out right.”
He doesn’t think he’s imagining the way Suguru pulls him minutely closer. “That’s the plan.”
Satoru smiles, natural and instinctive. Maybe it’s not too much of a leap, the conclusion he’s coming to, maybe it’s more of a medium sized step. That, or Suguru is a very good actor, overly committed to the bit. He kisses Satoru’s temple, so Satoru decides it’s a conundrum for later, leaning into the touch.
“I’m happy for you, truly, but I'm annoyed, too. I know I’m gonna be stuck listening to your lovesick whining again, just like I listened to all the pining.”
“I wouldn’t say—”
“You’re not fooling anybody, Satoru, and I can’t even give you a pity nice try.”
“Don’t laugh at her mean jokes!” Satoru swats at the hand still wrapped around his waist. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I didn’t lose my sense of humor just because I decided to stand by your side, Satoru.”
Decided to, huh? He pretends his bones aren’t warm from the thought because this is fake. It's all fake. He squawks, “And what of your loyalty? We’re meant to be a united front, Suguru!”
“Gross, stop right now. What are you doing with your face?” Shoko sits cross legged on a dining table chair. “You’re making your guest uncomfortable.”
“The uninvited guest, you mean?”
“The one who demanded coffee on Suguru’s day off?”
“Oh, you two are going to be so annoying. In your case, that means even more than usual.” As if in agreement, Reesees purrs loudly, looking uncaring at the offended grumbling Satoru responds with. Picking the cat up, Shoko says, “I don’t even want to look at them. Ugh, and he’s so possessive that he must love how clingy he is.”
“I am not,” he grouses, scandalized because he thinks he’s been very good about obeying his personal rule to wait for Suguru to touch him first.
At the same time, Suguru simply agrees with Shoko. “Yeah.”
Satoru boxes the small implosion that causes and shoves it into the darkest corner of his mind to pick apart later while Shoko ignores them both, continuing over their interruption to talk to the kitten. “I just know they’re insufferable in public. They’re both shameless, so they’ll definitely terrorize the rest of us.”
“Terrorize is a bit loaded,” Suguru disagrees. “We’re not that bad.”
Reesees meows with perfect timing, sounding just as contemptuous as her species is stereotyped to be. Shoko looks knowingly at the cat before turning back to the men. “Doubt it. I should tell Kento now, actually, so he has time to prepare for Satoru’s separation anxiety the next time he’s trapped in the office.”
Satoru scoffs, “You make me sound like—”
“You don’t want me to correct you, trust me. Anyways, I’m leaving. Keep your cooties to yourselves.”
“Give Utahime my regards!”
“She still hates you.” Shoko flicks her gaze across the couch, amused. “Both of you.”
“That’s because she’s impossible to please,” Satoru grumbles.
“I don’t know,” her eyes shine mischievously, “I seem to be doing just fine.”
And then she’s gone, his call of Gross! ignored as the door closes behind her. Reesees curls up in her abandoned seat and promptly goes to sleep; Satoru wishes he could escape that easily, too. He doesn’t want to examine whatever emotion will rise up when Suguru lets go, the act dropped, so Satoru gets up first, moving to lock the door and trying to lose some of his anxious energy now that their audience is gone.
He can’t justify staying over there indefinitely, so he laughs awkwardly. “Good job! We fooled Shoko with our acting.”
“Acting,” Suguru says.
“Ah, sorry I made you lie to someone you know. Small world, I guess, just like in that one movie, right? We’re all within six degrees of separation from everyone else in the world. Guess for me and you it was way less, but you get the idea,” he rambles until he loses some steam. “And on the plus side, we should be able to win the bet easily if even she thinks you actually like me.”
“Okay,” Suguru says after staring in silence for a moment. Satoru is using all of his considerable willpower to keep from fidgeting, a respectful few inches between them. “This is getting ridiculous,” he declares and leans in, pressing an open mouthed kiss to his lips.
Satoru blinks. “Oh.” Satoru smiles so wide his face might be splitting open. “Oh. You should do it again, I wasn’t ready that time.”
He huffs and rolls his eyes, but Suguru kisses him again as asked, so sweet that Satoru wants to draw it out. He follows Suguru when he pulls away, full on pouting when he’s held still. “Satoru, I never said I would fake date you.”
“Oh, so you like me like me,” he teases, pulling out Suguru’s hair tie so the tresses fall heavily down his back, free for him to run his fingers through. It’s easy now that he is on this giddy high of knowing; he doesn’t feel the need to second guess anything. “You had a crush on me, didn't you? How embarrassing.”
“Yeah, for you, who didn’t notice anything for nearly four whole months,” Suguru complains.
“And so, what? Are you gonna whine about it some more or—”
He kisses him hard on the mouth. “You are such a brat.”
“Yes, well,” he hums, “I've been led to believe you like that about me.”
“God only knows why,” he mutters, but he’s unapologetic about making the pizza deliverer wait.
T - 3 days, community park by Panda’s apartment, 3:15pm
“What the fuck, Yuuji,” Megumi interrupts, still a little red in the cheeks. Itadori splutters—he’d been spinning some explanation that went in one ear and out the other. Megumi turns to Nobara. “What the fuck.”
She straightens out the disposable tablecloth. “You're gonna have to fill me in, babe.”
“He threw a shot put like a baseball nearly twice the distance of the world record. As a warm up .”
“You heard the coach say I could do it however I was comfortable! I don't know the rules about how I was supposed to do it,” he defends, clearly embarrassed as he fidgets with the tape holding together multiple boxes of canned soda.
“Yes,” Megumi says, setting the cases of water on the picnic table. “Because that's the weird part.”
“That’s old news, Megs. As a first year in high school, he threw it over thirty meters on his first try.” Itadori sets the sodas down and avoids eye contact, hiding his face, and Nobara smiles. “Junpei told me.”
Megumi was supposed to meet Yoshino Junpei today, but they bailed at the last minute to go see a horror movie with their mom; from that fact alone, he trusts their word, even if it is coming from Nobara secondhand. He narrows his eyes, studying Itadori as he flinches beneath the weight of his gaze, muttering about tattletales. “You went easy on the coach just now, didn't you?”
Nobara snorts when he doesn't answer, as if that isn't response enough. She adds, “I watched him put his fist through a concrete wall to get to a dog stuck on the other side. He wasn't injured.”
“It wasn't even reinforced!”
Megumi chokes. “That’s your defense?” And then, because he’s not sure anyone’s ever told him so, “Itadori, normal people cannot punch through concrete and then suffer no injuries.”
“There was a puppy, so maybe it was just hysterical strength or something. That's a thing, isn't it?”
“It’s not a thing that prevents injuries,” Megumi levels a disbelieving look at the pink haired man. He doubts Itadori was anywhere close to hysterics when he saved the dog; the guy’s deceptively levelheaded. “Superhuman strength aside, your PE teacher from middle school recognized you on sight from a distance and chased us for three blocks to see you throw a shot put, Itadori. Noh, you set me up with a super jock.”
“Don't pretend you're not one yourself, Fushiguro Megumi,” she scoffs. “Yuuji, don't let him fool you. I have so many stories. Remember that fight when you—”
“I never did anything like that.”
Itadori sighs, grabbing Megumi’s hand. “Can we not point at me like I'm not here?”
“And he’s a morning person,” Megumi whines. “What the hell.”
“And an extrovert,” Nobara smiles. Megumi grumbles.
Taking that as agreement, Itadori pouts. “Are you gonna keep listing my traits that offend you or can we move on?”
“I'm self aware enough to know I need to keep some extroverts around,” Megumi allows, and he is unsurprised that it makes Itadori beam at him in response. “Nobara would be shit out of luck otherwise.”
She grins like Cheshire, “Don’t worry about your super strength either, Yuuji. Megumi has a strength kink.”
“No, I don’t,” Megumi disagrees instinctively. Then he frowns, thinking. “Wait, do I?”
“Don't think about it too hard,” Itadori says, pulling a tupperware out of the bag on his back. His grin makes it seem like the container was packed tightly enough that the food is intact despite their impromptu run. Megumi spares a thought for the inevitable soda explosions from all that shaking; they’ll have to make an announcement or something. “Here, have some meatballs.”
Megumi doesn't look up as he stabs the short skewer handed to him through several meatballs at once, but he knows they both know he’s annoyed. “I am not a child you can distract with snacks.”
“Yes, yes. I put extra ginger in these ones, too, so tell me what you think.”
“It’s good,” he answers immediately, food pushed to one side of his mouth. He takes the tupperware from Itadori. “I’ll hold them.”
Nobara holds out her hand. “Absolutely not. This is a potluck, Fushi; we’re supposed to share.”
“Bold words from someone who came empty handed,” he snorts. “I brought drinks,” he adds, pointing. All they need is the iced coolers Toudou is supposed to bring along with the alcoholic beverages.
“I saved this table for us!” Nobara declares, offended.
He knows she also planned this entire thing, but he only snorts. “We can't eat a table.”
Before she can attack him for correcting her with unbiased facts, Itadori smoothly interrupts. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I also have onigiri since Inumaki likes it so much.”
“His favorite part is simply offering them to others,” Nobara sniffs, “because he is just kind and giving that way.”
“Toge is the biggest shit in this entire friend group,” Megumi deadpans. “Just say you want to try a meatball, Noh.”
She crosses her arms and huffs. “I want to try one, so share with me, you jerk.”
He looks her in the eyes. “No.”
And that’s how Panda stumbles upon them: Megumi protecting his food while Nobara makes an attempt on his life, Itadori’s melodic laughter in the air around them. Maki is with him and carrying a knife while Panda lugs the excessive amount of fruits she insisted on, so she ends the fight.
“Go for the hair spikes, babe!” she calls, promptly absorbing all of Nobara’s attention.
Which is perfect. Everyone looks like they’re coming over now, so they should probably go offer their greetings. Megumi seals his tupperware and returns it to Itadori. Very seriously, he demands, “Yuuji, guard this with your life. Don't give it away.”
“Megs,” he laughs, “that one is for you. I made another batch with less ginger for everyone else.”
Oh, of course—Nobara aptly described him as having ‘malewife’ energy, but he's also the youngest sibling, so Megumi shouldn't have worried; Itadori knows what to do. He’s appropriately touched when the second platter is presented to him, hiding his own back in Itadori’s bag. “You're my favorite person here, Yuuji. Stick with me.”
The pair of them move closer to the table Nobara has claimed, dropping off the communal platter of meatballs. Maki and Mai have devolved into their usual competition, trying to outclass one another as they cut up the fruit and arguing about how the different dishes should be organized. Nishimiya and Nobara only add fuel to the fire while Panda and Toudou walk back and forth from the parking lot to retrieve a comical amount of cutesy picnic blankets and lawn chairs.
Megumi doesn't want to be around the twins while knives are being waved, so he looks around for something to do. Since he isn't allowed near the food, he has to socialize. Which he doesn't mind, not here; this is a big get together that they can only pull off a few times a year, and it’s nice seeing everyone. That, however, is not the same as it being easy to socialize with them. He isn't as close to Mai and her friends as he is to Maki and the Tokyo gang, mostly because the former spends most of her time in Kyoto but also because Mai and her closest friends confuse him.
Like Toudou and Mai’s whole dynamic—he can't tell if they’re together and angry about it or just upset that they apparently overlap considerably in their taste in women. Then there’s the little one, the one that is always cosplaying a broomstick witch whenever Megumi sees her, today being no exception. Nishimiya fits into that dynamic somehow in ways he tried to ask Maki about once, but his cousin laughed so soundly in his face that he gave up. So, yeah; he’s not going over there.
“Do you already know everybody?” Megumi asks, bumping Itadori’s shoulder with his own.
He looks around. “Uh, those two with the portable grill. I don't know them.”
“Hakari Kinji and Hoshi Kirara,” he identifies, wrinkling his nose. “I'm not drunk enough to start a conversation with them. You’ll get along with them, though, I think, even though Hakari will definitely gamble you into destitution.”
“You don't know I'm bad at gambling.” At his knowing stare, Itadori throws an arm over his shoulder, pulling him into something approaching a huddle. “I think between the two of us, we could avoid going broke.”
Adrenaline junkie, Megumi snorts. “Not against Hakari.”
“You're just scared to lose in an emo contest against that Hoshi person.”
“Thin ice, Itadori,” he narrows his eyes.
“Aww, but you’d be hot with some piercings,” he laughs. “If not there, tell me where you wanna go. Who are we gonna go see first?”
Miwa is determined to help push Muta’s wheelchair along the sidewalk but too nice to ask the group of kids playing there to move and make space for them. He sees how every confession the two of them attempt fails with even the smallest obstacle, but Megumi will never genuinely understand it. They're both just blind, he guesses.
Speaking of, Yuuta and Toge, as usual, move around each other like they don’t think they’re allowed to be together. They're self-aware enough to catch themselves every time they act coupley, but somehow they never notice the way Rika, Yuuta’s childhood ex and very best friend, is rather unsubtly trying to get them together. Megumi says a silent prayer for her; she’ll have to help them grill the meat and vegetable kabobs to keep them from burning, so there’s no escape for her.
He doesn't want to interact with either of the budding couples just yet, so his options narrow further. Megumi usually refuses to talk to Kamo until he’s seen him have one of Rika’s jello shots—the only time the conglomerate heir loosens up enough to actually be tolerable company. That only leaves Hakari and Kirara, who are never exactly tolerable, however, so he makes a quick decision, pulling Itadori along with him.
“Come on,” he says, marching towards the sidewalk. “I’ll buy you dinner if you can get these two idiots to properly confess.”
T - 2 days, Gojo-Fushiguro home, 10:57pm
Megumi finds his phone in his blanket to see he missed three texts from Itadori almost two hours ago.
> sukunas dragging me around all day tmrw [][][]
> something to do with a competitive eating competition? idk
> but im still good to go for our thing on sat! []
good luck
> also!!
The immediate response startles him a bit because he didn't expect Itadori to still be awake, but he settles into conversation easily. He watches the typing bubble pop up and waits.
> we never talked about what happens after
after?
> after the double date with your dad
oh
> like
> are we still gonna do this
> talk and hang out with the others
Megumi frowns. He thought he already clarified that he considers Itadori a friend, and there have been no changes on his side. There's no reason he can think of that should make them stop spending time together once this bet is settled, unless something changed for Itadori.
do you want to?
> yeah
> do you???
yeah
> and what about the other stuff
> like when its just us
> are we still gonna do that?
> i mean even after we “ break up ”
Megumi doesn't understand the distinction Itadori is trying to make. He spends a handful of minutes trying but comes up with nothing, so he just goes with his original answer.
yes
> then do we have to break up at all?
His first thought is maybe Itadori needs a fake boyfriend for some reason. He dismisses that idea quickly though because there's no reason he would pick Megumi—unless his brothers can't know about it, that is, since Megumi did already meet them. But he has no reason to lie to his brothers, and even if he did, he lacks the constitution to deceive at all, so the whole premise is nonsense.
That only leaves the anxiety-inducing conclusion that he needs to call his sister right now for some guidance. Megumi doesn't know what to do or how to explain the whole situation, but Nobara has been keeping Tsumiki up to date on everything already in their gossip sessions, so that's one problem solved immediately. Having that win under his belt already is great for his confidence.
She answers after six rings, sounding sleepy and on her way to frantic. “Megumin, it’s nearly midnight! Are you sick and dying? Is Gojo? Do I need to go to the hospital or—?”
“No. Nobody is sick or dying that you need to worry about. I'm sure there’s a stranger somewhere, but they should have their own friends and family worry about them.”
She sighs her usual you're such an asshole but does not say the words because she tries not to swear. “You have four seconds to justify calling me in the middle of the night, little boy.”
“I’ve been taller than you since I was fourteen,” Megumi reminds her. He doesn't feel bad about disrupting her sleep, firstly because he needs her, and secondly because this is a preemptive retaliation for the teasing he’s going to be subjected to. Not right away, she’s too nice for that, but Megumi knows he won’t live what he says next down. “And I need advice.”
“Any decision you make at midnight is probably wrong. Sleep first.” As he makes a displeased sound, Tsumiki smothers a yawn. “Or is this a crisis? I’ll try to help, but I barely understand what’s going on in your head during normal business hours. You’ll have to tell me if I say something insensitive.”
She isn’t special—he, too, struggles to understand himself—but she does usually help. “It’s about Itadori Yuuji. I think he wants to date me.”
“Ooh,” she sings, no longer displeased about her abrupt awakening. “The fake boyfriend. He’s cute, isn’t he? Do you want to date him?”
Itadori is handsome, but that doesn't mean anything. “I have known him for less than a week.”
It’s not much of a response, but she knows what he means. “So you don’t know if you’ll be romantically attracted to him. But, you know, it’s enough to want to know him. It’s okay to date in order to get to know someone like that. Not everything has to happen all at once.”
His face pinches, though she can't see it. That seems backwards to him, full of unnecessary steps. “I wouldn't want to waste my and my partner’s time just to figure out a month down the road that I don't even like them like that.”
Tsumiki hums, “I wouldn't call taking a chance a waste of time.” He scoffs and she changes directions with a sigh. “Think of it this way. Do you feel like you're wasting time when you're with your friends?”
“Of course not,” he rolls his eyes, trying to be patient. “I like my friends. We have fun.”
“Then why would you feel otherwise with Itadori?”
He wouldn't but Itadori might, and that's part of the problem. They’re friends, and even if Megumi would feel awkward for a bit if things didn’t work out, he doesn’t want to give that up. He enjoys hanging out with Itadori, but at the same time he doesn't want to disappoint him if he can avoid it.
Really, he doesn't want Itadori to see him as a waste of time. He doesn't think Itadori only spends time with him to one day get into his pants, but it would certainly break a piece of his heart if that were the case.
It’s a new friendship, but it’s different—faster than his other friendships came to be and all under the weird context of fake dating—so Megumi has nothing to compare this to. Even his past romantic relationships, few as they are, have not prepared him to deal with this. And he isn't close friends with any of his exes, which doesn't exactly inspire the confidence he needs to risk it all with Itadori when they’re having a perfectly good time as friends right now.
Oblivious to his inner rumblings, Tsumiki adds, “And don't tell me you're not friends—you’ve already outed yourself by calling me to figure out what to do.”
“The whole context is different, and you know it.” Megumi huffs; he may be a little emotionally incompetent at times, but he isn't that unavailable and repressed. “With a relationship like that the issue is more about what the other person expects from me. If I create an expectation and then can't meet it, we wouldn't be able to go back, right?”
That’s really a question for Itadori, not his sister, but he isn't ready for that conversation yet.
When he slows down and thinks logically about things, he knows Itadori won't drop him as a friend if he denies this… request. He knows Itadori will continue being his friend if they never actually date. But if they were to seriously try dating, Megumi would be shocked if the same is true after they break up for real. So, if he’s really going to risk it, he has to be sure that guy has a chance in the first place. Friendship is too important to him to sacrifice needlessly.
But is he being too fatalistic and inflexible? Is he being true to himself? Megumi chews on his lip. Did he start his other relationships wrong and that’s why they soured, or is his usual method sound? Is he supposed to make an exception for Itadori? Because there’s the other side of this, too. If he shuts him down now, is he missing out on a future opportunity? It’s not like he romantically dislikes Itadori.
He frowns, his brow pinching. This is why platonic relationships are so much easier. No second guessing and having to decipher the feelings in his chest, only straightforward enjoyment of one another’s casual company. Romance is so unnecessarily complicated that sometimes he wishes he had no inclination toward it at all.
Maybe he could ask Itadori to wait for him, but it feels presumptuous. He doesn't know if he’d be making him wait for nothing. It would be needlessly cruel to get his hopes up, so maybe he should just say yes, we should break up. Because he doesn't know how to do this without more time and information. Because he can't promise an outcome Itadori will like, and he isn't ready to lose him.
What Megumi really wants to do is square up on the pink-haired dude for making him think about all of this right now, springing this conversation on him out of nowhere.
“Make your concerns a part of those expectations,” Tsumiki answers simply, the voice of wisdom cutting through his spiraling thoughts. “I'm not trying to force you to give him a chance, but either way, you have to talk to him, Megumi.”
After several beats of quiet, he nods. “Okay. Yeah. Thanks, Neesan.”
“Megumi,” she hesitates. “If you're bending over backwards to justify your answer, it matters if you're trying to talk yourself into giving him a shot, or out of it. Figure out what you want first. And don't get hurt or else I’ll have to come back to jump that boy.”
He snorts. “Who you should worry about fighting is whoever is leaving hickeys on Gojo’s neck.”
Tsumiki gasps, letting him change the topic and demanding that more details about the no longer entirely imaginary partner be delivered to her soon. She’s tentatively happy for their guardian, but she doesn't need to remind Megumi to watch Gojo’s back. It’s been almost four years since the ex was last seen, and Gojo has dated a bit since then, but some wounds linger.
They catch up on each other’s lives for long enough that he can put the whole thing with Itadori out of his head, and then he goes to sleep, leaving the text thread open on his phone. He finally responds in the afternoon, once he’s sure Itadori is too busy with his brother to text him back.
no
not necessarily
> Itadori Yuuji is typing…
Saturday, the date, 6:28pm
Satoru gasps, “Oh, he’s here!” From the corner of his eye, he sees Suguru look at him rather than through the restaurant’s window at Megumi, laughing softly. He faces him properly, quite serious. “Megumin postponed the date by three hours, so I think we have the advantage. We need to win, Suguru.”
The doors open, and it takes no time for his son to clock the pair at a table with the least offensive lighting and best view of the doors. A pink haired young man sticks to his side, so Satoru sizes him up as Megumi does the same to Suguru.
With extreme disdain, Megumi raises his eyebrow in a silent glare that speaks volumes. Satoru doesn't know what’s offended him, but he isn't making his red flag face, so the elder only returns the most obnoxious face he can make without opening his mouth. It’s a technique he’s perfected that relies heavily on his eyes and superior height. And Megumi is basically done growing, so Satoru can and will use it until he starts shrinking with old age.
Pulling Suguru to stand with him to glide over to Megumi and his date, Satoru comes to a stop when the other man’s phone rings. The face he makes tells Satoru he has to answer.
“Don't pout,” he kisses him. “I’ll be back in two minutes, and we can troll you kid then.”
“Mm, but you'll owe me.” The phone stops ringing and immediately starts again.
Their faces are still so close, the laugh Suguru breathes sets off his nerve endings. “Oh, no.”
Suguru greets Megumi and his date—Itadori, he thinks he remembers overhearing when he caught Megumi on the phone the other day—first, stepping just outside the restaurant to scowl impatiently on the phone. He wants to sneak a photo to make fun of him later, but Satoru focuses on the task at hand.
“Eight whole days and this is what you came up with?” he teases, looking between his son and the pink haired young man as they arrive at the table. “The goth-sunshine pair?”
“He’s growing on me,” Megumi shrugs, and the other grins excitedly. “But seriously, old man? You picked your crush to fake date? That’s some real coward shit.”
Oh, shit. “What ever do you mean, Megumi-chan?”
He levels a flat look at his guardian, pointing over his shoulder at Suguru. “That’s Getou from Cursed Caffeine, the cafe Noh and I always go to. You’ve had a crush on a coffee shop guy all year—like hell you're gonna cheat on him with a different one. It has to be the same guy.”
“Fine.” Satoru sniffs. Well, Suguru does own the best cafe in the city, so at least Megumi has good taste. “But Suguru actually asked me out. Both times.”
“Of course he did. I told you he was into you.” Megumi has probably already surmised that the only reason Suguru had to ask twice was because Satoru missed it the first time. “So he’s staying?”
“Yeah,” he answers. “I want him to. He wants to.”
Megumi studies him with shrewd eyes before decisively nodding. “Good. Guess I’m glad I didn’t have to worry about you taking the jealousy route to figure it out. Tsumiki will be proud of you for not self-sabotaging.”
“Speaking of, I thought you’d find a straight guy, not gonna lie.”
“I considered it but you're too good at spotting them,” Megumi allows. “Nobara helped.”
Satoru laughs. “So Mr. Sunshine is staying, then?”
Megumi arches his brow at his own date, letting him speak for himself. “As long as he’ll have me. Oh! I’m Itadori Yuuji. It’s nice to meet you.”
Sweeping over his figure with a critical eye, Satoru lets his face become serious. Itadori doesn't flinch, he keeps his hand out waiting for the returned greeting.
Over the last week, Satoru has watched Megumi texting this kid and spending more time out of the house, one time even catching him socializing with him before noon. That’s an obvious sign of genuine acceptance; the line in the sand separating Megumi’s friends and family from the rest of the world clearly includes Itadori now. A promising sign, but not romantically set in stone.
Looking at them together, though, he thinks they're cute. Itadori already looks so endearingly besotted, and though it might take Megumi time to decipher his own desires due to being better at analyzing others than reflecting on himself, he always figures it out in the end. Once he finds someone and decides to try, he tends to fall rather quickly. If they can maintain their momentum for another month or so, he’ll probably get a boyfriend out of it. Satoru will be rooting for him either way.
“The pleasure’s mine,” he smiles, shaking Itadori’s hand. “Gojo Satoru, Megumi’s favorite father. He’s scowling because he can't contradict me.”
“Actually, no,” Megumi frowns harder. “This is a waste of time,” he declares. Satoru knows what he’s talking about immediately but he lets the announcement hang in the air for a second anyway, assessing. Itadori looks at Megumi and makes a confused sound, waiting for him to expand. There's no anger, but Megumi softens his expression. “In terms of the bet.”
Satoru tuts, “The bet is about whose date is better. Ergo, this is a great use of our time.”
Even as he allows himself to be shuffled into his seat, Megumi argues, “But that’s too subjective a metric, and we knew that when this started. Yuuji is better because he can cook, Getou is ‘better’ because he enables your terrifying sugar intake—”
The air quotes are definitely rude, but Satoru can't jump in before, having just returned, Suguru clarifies with a grin behind him, “Decaffeinated, if that makes you feel better.”
Satoru happily accepts the hand around his waist as Suguru comes around the table, taking his own turn to be shuffled gently into his seat. Megumi makes a considering face, waiting for them to settle. “He actually ate a vegetable the other day, and I’ll assume that’s your influence as well.”
It was a handful of raw carrots and Satoru will not be doing that again. Suguru’s teasing smile in the corner of eyes won’t change that, either.
With his seated body angled slightly toward Megumi, Itadori questions, “Why did you bet in the first place if there was no way to prove you won?”
Satoru is very tempted to chirp that the real bet was the relationships we built and strengthened along the way! It has the benefit of annoying Megumi, but the drawback of admitting that the bet was just a very roundabout way of looking out for his son (and his son looking out for him). Megumi knows that already, so there’s no point in embarrassing the both of them about it now.
“Everything was really predicated on Gojo’s partner being fake,” Megumi explains.
“But I'm not,” Suguru interrupts pleasantly, “so doesn't Satoru win?”
Satoru nods. “That is what it sounds like to me as well.”
“No,” Megumi holds up a finger. “Technically, you didn't have a partner when we agreed to the bet—and for a while afterwards you thought it was still fake, so I didn't really lose, because I was right. And I have a date here with me now, so you also technically didn't win—”
“Besides bagging Suguru,” he adds helpfully.
“Gross, but I’ll let you have that. Ergo,” he echoes with an eye roll, “the bet is void because the terms don't apply. You're happy with the result, though, aren't you?”
Fair. Satoru doesn't have a rebuttal to that, and he doesn't feel like making one up, either, not with Suguru’s soft laughter at his side. He didn't do this so that his son would find a romantic partner—he was really only hoping the young man would make a friend to laugh about this whole thing with. Since Megumi and Itadori seem to be getting along so well, and since Satoru instigated this solely to get Megumi to make connections and stop being such a shut-in, technically his aims have already been met.
Maybe Itadori knows Megumi pretty well by now because his voice is doubtful when he eyes the other young man to ask, “So, no penalty for anybody?”
The father-son pair don't immediately answer, both somewhat committed to the penalties they had planned. Sure, Satoru’s original intent has been captured, somewhat, by the present result, but… why settle?
Suguru tangles their fingers together, knowing just what to ask. “What was the penalty you planned to enforce?”
Satoru answers, “Speed friending.” Simultaneously, Megumi says, “Therapy.”
“Why?” They recoil in tandem, Megumi in scorn and Satoru with confusion. Then they register the other’s question and answer, “You know exactly why.”
Satoru points at him, staking claim on speaking first so they finally get out of synch. “Megumin, you gotta open yourself up to new people! Broaden your social network and have new experiences!”
“You have to stop pretending seven seconds of the bridge in Hey Ya! is enough self-care,” he returns. Satoru elbows Suguru for snorting because he is supposed to be on his side, not laughing as Megumi attacks him. “Your job mandated therapist is a capitalist and a quack who only wants you to be able to work, not be well, so we’re going to go shopping for a better one.”
“I don't know,” Suguru hums, pressing his thumb into Satoru’s pout to reshape it. “Sounds like he’s making a good point, Satoru.”
Yes, he tends to do that. He groans theatrically. “If I have to do your penalty, you have to do mine.”
“Alternatively,” the dark haired young man grimaces, “I can just prove that my date is better than yours and win the bet.”
“Full offense Megumi, but I doubt that. No offense, Itadori-kun,” he smiles at the other. “We already decided the whole thing is void, like you wanted, and so I say we’re compromising on the penalties, too, so everyone suffers equally.”
“You don't even like Gakuganji.” Megumi grouses, “And Yuuji has four brothers.”
Itadori laughs, “Don't pout.”
He continues, both pouting and speaking, “I've already increased my socializing enough.”
Satoru sticks out his bottom lip. “But I'm supposed to be there.”
Megumi looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Like I'm going to sit in on your sessions?”
Suguru leans closer, whispering loud enough for the entire table to hear, “Your son is kinda silver-tongued. Does he get his sass from you?”
Itadori unsubtly bites his knuckles to keep his laughter in. Megumi jerks his gaze to Suguru in horror, then aims a glare at Satoru for his loud cackling. “I take it back.” He points across the table, “I don't like him.”
Clearing his throat and making an attempt at deescalation, Itadori suggests, “We can set something up so we can all hang out. Probably not with Sukuna, though. He’ll want to fight you, Gojo-san. You, too, Getou-san. You both have that energy.”
“What energy?”
He shakes his head. “I’m just pretty good at recognizing it. It gets awkward real fast when I don’t.”
“He wanted to fight me, too,” Megumi frowns, studying Itadori, “but we still met.”
“I didn't expect him to want to fight you. You're not like anyone else he’s wanted to fight. You're strong, but you're also very,” he flicks his eyes across the table, hesitating with slightly pink cheeks, “polite.”
The moment of near silence at the table bursts when Megumi laughs, turning to smirk at the older adults across the table. “Yuuji is saying your personalities are awful. Kuna will want to fight you to prove his personality is worse.”
Itadori squawks something in denial, but Megumi puts a hand on his arm. “S’okay, Yuuji, they needed to know. It didn't hurt their feelings, probably only confirmed that they deserve each other.”
“You are the rudest child I have ever had. Tsumiki would never do this to me.”
Itadori interrupts, “Maybe we should order food now?”
“The exhibitionists are leaving,” Megumi says. Satoru thinks that’s a little overboard—he’s only mostly in Suguru’s lap. It’s hardly that noticeable when they're sitting on benches anyways and the lighting in here is so dark, so Satoru stubbornly leans more into Suguru’s embrace. The slight smile on Megumi’s face is the only reason Satoru doesn't retaliate by bringing up how the younger pair has intertwined their hands. Interwoven fingers, not simply clasped hands, and the sight makes him privately recalibrate the timeline he outlined earlier. “They’ll finish their date elsewhere, I'm sure. After Gojo leaves his card.”
Fair enough, Satoru decides, knowing Suguru is amenable. “Tsumiki-chan is more manipulative than you, but you’ve learned under her well.”
“Love you, too, Dad.”
“Then don't sign me up to fight some kid.”
“He’s at least forty.” Megumi waves as they leave, “Welcome to the family, Getou-san.”
“That means you're fighting, too,” Satoru informs him, an arm thrown over his broad shoulders.
Suguru smiles, “Never a dull moment.”
And then he reaches up, pulling him in for a kiss, and Satoru wants to look forward to this forever.