Chapter Text
Guntersville, Alabama.
That’s where his father decided to move them mere days after his junior year of high school ended.
To say the move was a culture shock would be the understatement of the century. Transitioning from San Francisco, California to some small town nestled in the Appalachian Mountains is equivalent to the shock one might get by touching an industrial, live wire. The change is unwelcome and extreme. Emphasis on the unwelcome.
Megumi would have left by now, run away to the nearest city if he must, but there’s just one small problem. Another emphasis on the small part. Like, it’s literally tangibly small. More or less the size of a fig at this stage.
He’s pregnant.
With a baby.
He’s 11 weeks and 5 days along to be exact.
He knows that for a fact because that’s the last time he’s had sex. It was a week or so after he arrived in Guntersville. By pure coincidence, he ran into a girl at the local grocery store who also wasn’t from around these parts. She’d been living here awhile, though, and invited him out to a party the local high schoolers were hosting around the lake.
In hindsight, he should’ve said no. He had no business going to that dumb fucking party, just like he had no business fucking the star football player at the only high school in town. Loved, adored, revered Yuuji Itadori.
But dammit, he took one long look at him with his 6’5” frame and all those muscles and folded. Okay? He folded like a fucking idiot. He folded like a man who stumbled across his first oasis after spending months in a desert. Because that’s what Yuuji is, a tall, tall glass of water, with tan skin and dimples and freckles, an easy smile, and kind eyes.
They don’t make ‘em in San Francisco like they do in Alabama.
And fuck, he was so lonely. Lonely and bored and craving human connection. Someone who could touch him and make him feel good—make him temporarily forget about the shitty situation his father forced him into.
Even though, at this point, he’s certain there isn’t any feeling better about it. No. He’s stuck in a town with a population of a whopping 8000 people, with a father who couldn’t give less of a shit about him or his feelings, and a fig in his uterus that’s surely going to change the course of his life. A human the current size of a fruit that’ll ruin his plans and any semblance of a relationship he had with his dad once he grows the balls to tell him about his unfortunate predicament.
Oh, and it’ll out him, for sure.
It isn’t like he’s forthcoming about his gender here. He’s always passed well, considering the illegal hormones he used to buy in the city made his voice deeper, distributed his fat differently, and gave him other traditional masculine features. It helped that he was fairly tall himself, much shorter than Yuuji, but tall nonetheless. His skinny frame meant that he didn’t have to bind his chest because there wasn’t much tissue there to begin with. As such, for all intents and purposes, Yuuji—classic all-Americana boy, Yuuji—shouldn’t have been interested in him.
Therefore, this whole situation isn’t Megumi’s fault.
It’s Yuuji’s fault. Entirely. For being attracted to him. For fucking him on the outskirts of a party. For spreading Megumi out in the bed of his old truck and giving him the best …
Ugh.
Yuuji should have stuck with whatever Southern girl on the cheerleading squad he was undoubtedly dating before he met Megumi. Someone who goes to church and was taught how to bake a mean apple pie. Someone who wants to settle down at 18 and pop out ten kids. Someone who appreciates the mountains and the nearby lake and the wilderness. Someone who doesn’t want to leave and never return.
Not someone like him.
Not someone who’s about to be found out as a freak by every narrow-minded person in this community—of which there’s plenty.
Not someone who has significantly different aspirations than raising a child at this point in his life.
“Megumi, he’s looking at you again,” Nobara tells him, startling him out of his thoughts. She’s sipping on a juice box and flitting her eyes between Megumi and the guy sitting across the cafeteria. “He keeps doing it. When are ya going to tell him? Y’all haven’t spoken since the party and you’ve been avoiding him ever since, no matter how many kicked puppy-dog expressions he sends you. Now you’re withholding super, major information from him. Put him outta his misery. It ain’t right.”
“This is more than just ‘super, major information’, Nobara,” he responds and pulls the hoodie he’s wearing further over his face in an attempt to dissuade Yuuji from paying any more attention to him. “What do you want me to do? Go right up to him and say, ‘Hey, I know I’ve been avoiding any interaction with you since that night you gave me a creampie three months ago, but I have to regrettably inform you that I’m pregnant and we’re going to be parents’. Like, do you realize how bad that sounds?”
Nobara squints at him, as though trying to parse out the meaning behind his words.
“Megumi, all I’m hearing is the literal truth. Also, gross. You don’t gotta give me the mental image. Just ‘cause you’re suffering, doesn’t mean you gotta make me suffer with ya.”
“Well, the truth is bad.” Then, thinking more about it, he amends his statement by saying, “Hell, the truth is worse than bad. The truth is catastrophic. I don’t even know if I want to tell him.”
After she sucks the last of the juice out of the box, she crushes it in her hand and throws it into the nearby trash can. All the while, she maintains a carefully neutral face like she’s trying not to alienate him. However, it's quite evident she has an opinion that differs from his own. Still, he appreciates the effort and mentally prepares himself for whatever comes out of Nobara’s mouth next.
“He has a right to know. You can’t keep this from him, Megumi. I know I’ve said it before, but I’m gonna say it again—it ain’t right. Even if ya don’t end up keeping it, he has the right to be involved in that decision. He’s a good guy, and you’d see that if you gave him a chance to react for himself. You got no idea what he’s gonna say or what he wants. None. Zilch.”
“How would you even know how great of a guy he is?” He mumbles it, rather than articulates it, crossing his arms over his chest in annoyance. “I know you’re right. I’ll tell him, okay? Just give me a little more time. I found out less than a week ago and I’m still trying to process it, too.”
When he stands up, his eyes lock on Yuuji, who’s laughing at something his friend is telling him. Seemingly possessing a 6th sense, Yuuji’s attention turns back to him, and when they make eye contact, Yuuji fucking waves. Paralyzed for a moment, all Megumi does is stare until he can finally will his body to move again. Giving him a curt nod, he throws his untouched lunch in the trash and leaves with Nobara in tow.
“Wanna ditch the rest of today?” Nobara asks as they’re roaming down the hallway aimlessly, waiting for their next class to start. “I’m fuckin’ bored and it’s hot and I wanna go swimming. Plus, my Mama gave me the car to use this week while she and Papa are away.”
Megumi breathes his first sigh of relief in days. His next class is with Yuuji, and even though they sit on opposite sides of the room, he doesn’t know if he can handle another day of running into class at the first bell and then running out as soon as the teacher dismisses them.
“I’d thought you’d never ask,” he answers, already beelining for the door to the parking lot.
Taking special care not to peek at the Ford the little fig was conceived in, he makes it to Nobara’s car before she does. Since he’s safely outside, he slides his sweatshirt off, almost moaning in relief when the air touches his skin. It isn’t cool air by any stretch, but it’s better than the thick cotton restricting any airflow to his upper body.
“Why’re you wearing that? You’re not even showin’ yet and it’s hotter than the gates of hell this month,” Nobara says, unlocking the car on her side and then scooting over the bench seat to unlock the passenger side.
“No, but I feel like I am,” he grumbles in response, slamming the car door shut. “I’m already swelling up, Nobara. I’m swelling up like a fucking balloon.”
“We’re all swellin’ up, dumbass. It’s over a hundred degrees out.”
Ignoring her, he instantly fiddles with the air conditioning as soon as the car’s engine starts, desperate for some kind of breeze in the otherwise stagnant, hot air.
As Nobara pulls (more like screeches) out of the parking lot, she slaps his hand away and turns the AC on herself.
“Sometimes I think you only hang out with me because I own the only car with air conditioning around here.”
“You’d be correct,” Megumi tells her flatly. “Why else would anyone want to be around you otherwise?”
Nobara side-eyes him, a wicked smile on her face—never taking offense to any rude thing that spills out of his mouth. It’s impressive at this point.
Nobara is a national treasure for it, honestly.
“I’d punch you for that, but it’s generally frowned upon to hit pregnant people.”
“Ouch,” he says out loud, then cringing because he didn’t mean to voice that. “The less you remind me of it, the better.”
“Alright, alright. I won’t utter the words ‘baby’ or ‘pregnant’ for the rest of today. I’ll even tell ya you look hot when you take your shirt off and it won’t be a lie.”
Megumi sighs at that and averts his attention out of the window, watching as the trees blur by. Most of the trees are sugar maple, or just ‘sugar trees’ as Yuuji called them that night. They have that classic leaf shape—the one people always picture when someone tells them to think of a tree. But the closer they get to the lake, the more oaks there are—still green despite the impending change of seasons.
At times, he does like it here. It’s peaceful in a way the city never was.
The quiet stillness is a stark contrast to the relentless hustle of San Francisco. Here, the air is crisp and carries the faint scent of pine and earth. A far cry from the city’s mix of car exhaust and salty ocean breeze. In Appalachia, the horizon is a rolling expanse of green and gold, punctuated by vibrant hues of wildflowers. The landscape is dotted with rustic cabins, old homes, and weathered barns.
San Francisco’s beauty is undeniable, but it’s a beauty that demands attention, while the beauty of Appalachia asks for nothing but presence.
Here, it's like being wrapped in a blanket.
“Do you ever miss Georgia?” he asks, genuinely curious. Surely she must miss her hometown—the big city, the people, the places.
She shrugs and rests her cheek in her palm as she speeds along the empty road.
“I miss my friends, I suppose. I hated it here at first, too, Megumi. It ain’t all that bad, though. I’ve come to appreciate the simplicity out here and I get to visit Atlanta over school breaks. I’ve been here for a long, long time. It’s home for now.”
“So, you aren’t leaving when we graduate?”
When we graduate.
Shit. That stings.
It’s not likely he’ll graduate anymore—at least not when he is supposed to. If ever.
There’s so much he wants to do with his life. So much he wants to accomplish. So much he could accomplish if he didn’t have this thing growing inside of him.
Tears prick at his eyes, but he doesn’t allow them to fall.
Instead, his expression hardens and he clears his throat at the same time that Nobara responds, “Dunno yet. I’m applying for colleges, of course. We’ll see if anything sticks. What about you?”
“Yeah, places back in California mostly.”
Megumi sinks lower in his seat, no longer wishing to continue this conversation. It’ll depress him. He most likely has a few more weeks until he has to worry about people noticing the you-know-what, and that isn’t nearly enough time to figure his shit out.
Then there’s his dad. It wouldn’t shock him if Toji kicks him out of the house, unwilling to support another mouth he has to inevitably feed. Toji already doesn’t like being responsible for his kid, so there’s no way he’ll appreciate another one under his roof.
A kid raising a kid.
There must be something in Megumi’s voice, because Nobara reaches over and squeezes his hand, her eyes softening as she briefly diverts them from the road.
“It’s gonna be okay. I promise.”
How the fuck would you know? he wants to ask, yet refrains, well aware that this is what people do for each other. They lie and give them false hope in some ploy to make themselves feel better about the whole thing. Nobody wants to watch another person in pain, just as far as it makes them feel bad.
“I don’t want your pity,” is what he says instead.
“My pity?” Nobara spits out, eyes narrowing at the dirt road they recently turned onto. “Is that what ya think this is? Maybe I’m reassuring ya ‘cause I care about you. Have ya ever thought of that?”
Unlikely.
“You gotta chip on your shoulder bigger than that state you come from,” she continues as the lake comes into view. “People are gonna wanna help you, but not if you don’t ever accept it. ‘Kay? Now take your clothes off and at least go swimmin’ with me or I’m ‘bout to get real mad.”
The water is refreshing, just what he needs to boost his mood.
At the very least they’re blessed to live next to the largest lake in Alabama. It stretches out endlessly around him—a vast, tranquil expanse of crystal-clear water. Floating on his back, he feels the warmth of the sun on his face and the gentle buoyancy of the water supporting him. The sounds of the world are muffled, but he can still hear the sound of Atlanta Rhythm Section flowing out of Nobara’s boombox along with her gentle singing.
“I can’t believe you haven’t stared at my tits this entire time,” Nobara says, half-teasing, half-not-so-teasing. “I’m startin’ to think there’s somethin’ wrong with them.”
Megumi scoffs and then swims toward the shore. Emerging, the droplets of water cascade down his body, shimmering in the sunlight like tiny jewels.
“Please, not all of us ogle people’s boobs like it’s an Olympic sport.”
“Really?” She sounds sincerely amazed by this piece of information. “I’ve never met a pair of tits I haven’t excessively ogled.”
And he can’t help it—he starts laughing.
“You ever thought you might be gay?”
Nobara chews her bottom lip, contemplating.
“Nah. That can’t be right. I kissed a boy when I was in the 6th grade and I think I remember it bein' alright.”
“It feels more than alright whenever I kiss a guy.” He lays out next to her on the boat dock. The wood is perfectly toasty on his skin and he’s calm…content, even. “It was like everything slid into place when I kissed Yuuji, ya know? All the tectonic plates in the world shifted, the tides stopped…the moon revolved around the sun instead of the Earth. Shit like that.”
“Ooh, that’s so romantic,” she gushes with a grin on her face. “Maybe you like him more than ya think, eh?”
“We shared one night together almost 3 whole months ago. Besides, there’s no way he’d ever like me. Everyone loves him, Nobara. Everyone wants him. I can’t—I can’t be with someone like that.”
“He can’t help it. That’s kinda shitty to blame him for that.”
“I’m not blaming him for it. I’m being realistic. Guys like him don’t settle down with people like me, and vice versa. I don’t even want to settle down, either. I’m 17. I should be touring colleges and crying over my crush rejecting me—not growing a whole ass human inside of me. Yuuji can still have all of that. I won’t be the one to take it away from him. We’re also just…total opposites in every single way two people can be.”
That same grin is still plastered on her face, and his face flushes at her next words.
“Sure, let’s say you’re right, even though you’re not. You still never denied liking him.”
“I. Don’t. Like. Him,” Megumi bites out, considering the pros and cons of strangling the girl sitting next to him. “There. Did that get it through that thick skull of yours?”
It’s a lie. It’s a lie. It’s a lie.
I’m a dirty fucking liar. A liar who lies and lies and lies.
Nobara rolls her eyes, unperturbed by the vicious denial.
“Whatever. Say what you will. But I notice your face whenever you look his way, and that ain’t a face people make at things they don’t like.”
Is he blushing this hard or is the sun this intense?
“Shut up,” is all he replies with before standing up and diving back into the lake, escaping the scrutiny. When he resurfaces, Nobara’s expression is just as smug as ever.
xxx
There’s a grand total of two diners in town. He’d be hesitant to describe them as rivals, either. On the contrary, people are so nice around here that there’s zero competition between them, even though they’re right across the street from each other.
Both of them are frequented mainly by high schoolers in the evening. So, when Nobara suggests they get dinner before she drops him off back home, he refuses at first.
It didn’t matter.
“I’ll pay for your supper, Megumi. Lemme be your sugar mommy tonight. Just keep me company, will ya?”
“Fine,” he relents, pissy about it.
Food does sound nice. They’ve been roasting in the sun all day, surviving on water and a random protein bar Nobara found in the back of her car. It’s dark out by the time they pull into the diner lot and as they walk up to the entrance, Megumi spots the exact person he’s avoiding through the window.
Yuuji sits at the corner table, his presence impossible to ignore. As always, he’s surrounded by people. The plain, white t-shirt he’s wearing clings to his broad shoulders and chest, while a well-worn baseball cap is perched on his head. It casts a slight shadow over his face, but not enough to hide his smile as he talks animatedly with his friends.
Megumi nearly walks straight into the door as he studies the way his eyes crinkle at the corners—all boyish charm. The fluorescent bulbs overhead highlight the angles of his jaw and the slight stubble that frames his face.
Fuck you for looking this handsome under fluorescent lighting.
Just as he’s about to tear his gaze away, Yuuji glances up and looks out of the window, catching him in the act of being a total creep. His expression shifts, curiosity and interest flickering across his face.
This is bad.
To make matters worse, Nobara’s holding the door open for him and it’d be extremely weird if he turned around now. His house is too far of a walk, and Nobara won’t be so kind as to help him run from his problems.
“I gotta pee, but you go find us a table,” she tells him cheerfully, and Megumi can’t help but think this is some scheme. Some plot she formulated that puts him in an inescapable situation with Yuuji Itadori.
Fortunately, there’s an empty booth on the other side of the diner, and Megumi quickly sits down, twiddling his thumbs as he begs to every god out there in the universe that Yuuji stays on his side of the diner.
But as usual, the universe is never that generous.
Someone slides into the booth across from him, and Megumi recognizes him based on his smell alone. Doesn’t even need to look up to identify who it is.
Eucalyptus with some citrus mixed in there. It’s a strong, albeit pleasant soap. It’s mingled with whatever additional fragrance that’s uniquely Yuuji.
Point is, it’s the same scent as that night—11 weeks and 5 days ago and it’s wild that Megumi remembers it so well.
There’s a theory in biology that states the people we have the best chance of mating with successfully have a noticeably more pleasing scent than other people. Pheromones. The same is true for someone who’s ovulating—they smell better to people with sperm. It’s primal attraction.
And there’s undeniable, fundamental lust between Yuuji and him.
Essentially, humans aren’t much different than animals, and they’re no exception.
That’s another thing Megumi can blame this all on—scents, smells, and every other synonym of those words.
A.K.A. his lizard brain.
“Megumi,” Mr. Smells Irresistible says, an edge of pleading in his voice, his Southern accent thick. His name sounds melodic on Yuuji’s tongue—like he’s being prayed to every time Yuuji utters it.
God, it sounds so pretty like that.
More of that, pleasepleaseplease.
“Yuuji,” he responds in turn, finally looking at his face.
Oh, Yuuji’s so fucking handsome that his chest hurts from it. It aches. He wants to reacquaint himself with Yuuji’s mouth, slide his fingers through his hair, crawl inside of him and make a home there, maybe…
“Did I…do somethin’?” Yuuji’s brows are furrowed, his hands closed into tight fists on the white, laminate table between them. “You’ve been avoidin’ me and I wanted to make sure I didn’t do nothin’ that made ya uncomfortable.”
“What? Me? Avoiding you?” He chuckles nervously—damningly. “I wouldn’t—I mean, I couldn’t—“
“It’s just, that night, ya know, it was…”
“Amazin’,” Yuuji finishes, at the same time that Megumi says, “A mistake.”
“Huh,” Yuuji breathes, stunned, eyes wide with something akin to despair. It’s breaking Megumi’s heart. Yuuji can’t like him, though. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t. “That ain’t quite what I was goin’ for.”
A moment later, Yuuji starts digging through his backpack. It’s covered in old patches and pins, and Megumi isn’t able to distinguish any of them before Yuuji finds whatever he is searching for and puts it back on the ground.
“Here,” Yuuji says and slides something across the table. “I made it for ya a couple months ago. Wasn’t able to deliver it before now—“ He rubs at his undercut, his cheeks flushing pink. “It’s kinda stupid knowin’ what I know now, but I still want ya to have it.”
It’s a cassette tape.
Unmistakably, a mixtape. ‘For ‘Gumi’ is written on the white label in Yuuji’s sloppy scrawl.
It’s endearing.
It’s enraging.
What does he say? He’s speechless, unprepared to navigate what it means or how he feels about it. Being a dick is off the table, but he also can’t be too grateful, lest Yuuji realize how obsessed he is with him.
Invisible claws grip Megumi’s lungs, relentlessly squeezing them until he can’t properly inhale anymore. It’s like he’s choking, the collar of his shirt suddenly extra tight around his neck.
There’s no fucking way he’s about to have a panic attack over this.
For once, Nobara saves him. When she approaches the table, it snaps the both of them out of their conversation. Megumi has never been so happy to see her in his life.
“Hey, Yuuji,” Nobara greets him and casually leans on the back side of his bench. “Am I interruptin’ something?”
“No,” Megumi replies, his lips tightening into a fine line. “Yuuji was just leaving.”
Yuuji deflates, but nonetheless, he follows Megumi’s covert orders. Taking his backpack, he slides out of the booth and gives them a weak nod.
“I’ll see ya around.”
Once Yuuji is out of earshot, Nobara leans forward and hisses, “What the fuck did ya do? The kicked puppy expression has somehow grown so much worse.” Picking up the menu, she scans over it while gnawing on her bottom lip, aggravated as hell. “You didn’t tell him here, right? I know I told ya to let him know sooner than later, but I don’t think this is the best location.”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t inform him of his imminent fatherhood in the middle of a tacky diner surrounded by our peers. I have slightly more class than that. Not a lot more by any means, but at least some.”
The mixtape weighs heavy in his hand and he rubs the smooth surface with his thumb in an attempt to calm himself. He needs to listen to it as soon as possible. Yet he also wants to shove it in the darkest recesses of his room and never look at it ever again.
“I wouldn’t necessarily call this diner tacky…” Nobara mutters mostly to herself. “There’s a certain tackiness in every diner that exists. Just so happens to be doubly so in this town. Now, what’dya wanna eat?”
xxx
Toji is exactly where Megumi knew he’d be by the time Nobara dropped him off at home: sitting in front of the television watching The A-Team.
It’s funny (and also not amusing at all) that this piece of shit his father calls a television is one of the only items they took from San Francisco. Not anything practical like their pots and pans, or even their fucking kettle. Nope. Toji grabbed their birth certificates and the television. Megumi would’ve packed more, but they left in a hurry—Toji rushing him out of the door one night with the promise he’d explain later.
He never explained it later, but Megumi has an inkling over what could have transpired to work his father into such a panic. Although, it’s nothing that can be confirmed until his father fesses up. Which he won’t. Toji Fushiguro is as much of a communicator as his son. Which means not at all.
“How was school?” Toji asks when Megumi enters the house through the kitchen door. He doesn’t even tear his eyes from the screen—a lit cigarette in one hand and an open beer in the other. No ‘where were you?’ either, even though it’s hours after the school day ended.
It’s the same, old question he asks every day and it grates on Megumi’s nerves.
Like he fucking gives a shit. Or listens for that matter. Megumi could tell him that someone bombed the place and it wouldn’t even register in his mind as different from his go-to answer.
“Fine,” he says brusquely, and hurries to his room, not keen on continuing any more small talk. “Night, Dad.”
Once he’s safely on the other side of the door, he leans against it and sighs. He rubs his eyes with the underside of his palm, tired physically and more than that, tired emotionally.
His room is barren, save for a few posters on the wall from various underground bands he liked in San Francisco. There are some clothes in the closet and a picture of his mom on the bedside table. But otherwise, it’s just enough stuff for him to gather quickly if Toji wakes him up in the middle of the night and tells him to put his shit in the car again.
That, and he doesn’t want to make a home here.
This place will never be home.
Laying on his bed, his clothes sticky against his skin, he watches the circular motion of the ceiling fan as he pats around the bed for his Walkman. It’s here somewhere…
Toji gave it to him as a birthday gift. He’s fairly certain his father robbed their local electronics store for it. Nevertheless, it was a sweet gesture for his 16th birthday.
For ‘Gumi.
He shouldn’t listen to this, but his curiosity is overtaking every other rational part of his brain.
Finally, he finds the damn thing and inserts the tape. It takes him a few extra seconds to untangle the headphone wire, and soon enough, they’re nestled snugly against his ears.
Closing his eyes, pretending to be anywhere else, he presses play and listens.