Chapter Text
Megumi has always known what his life was going to look like. It was laid out for him before he was even born. He was to live prestigiously, earn money for his immigrant parents who moved to America to allow him to live the life they couldn’t. He owed them that much, he was given the opportunity others couldn’t have, so he would fulfill his duty as the only son in his family.
He was only six years old when he moved to Atlanta, Georgia. Like other Japanese children, he didn’t know much English. He didn’t blend in at all with the white kids around him, and there were only a handful of diverse kids, but not one of them were Japanese.
He remembered he was sitting at lunch alone from the other sticky handed children, eating the food his mother packed for him. He had grown used to the obvious eyes pinned on him each time he brought out his chopsticks, as if he were from another planet.
His mother had reminded him that many kids didn’t understand the concept of ‘ethnicity‘, ‘practice’ or ‘custom’. So when he pressed his palms together and bowed his head to silently pray, he listened as the kids around him muttered strange words, one of them sticking out to him since it was repeated so often.
Weird.
It was a funny sound. One that Megumi asked his mother what it meant, but she didn’t know either. He didn’t understand why the people around him couldn’t grow used to his practices when he had to grow accustomed to theirs.
He wasn’t usually interrogated when he brought out his food. He received odd stares, yes, but aside from his first day of school, nobody asked about what he was eating or bothered to learn more about it.
But that day was different.
Megumi sat quietly, as he always did, focused on his lunch. His mother had packed natto today, the sticky fermented beans that he loved, though he knew the smell wasn’t exactly the most pleasant to others. But he didn’t care. His mother had worked hard to prepare his food, and it reminded him of home. He carefully picked up a bit of the sticky beans with his chopsticks, his movements precise and neat, as his mother had taught him.
“What’s that smell?” A boy’s voice pierced the usual chatter around him. Megumi ignored it, keeping his eyes on his lunch, hoping whoever it was would leave him alone. He didn’t want to deal with any questions, much less from someone who clearly had a problem with him already.
The sound of approaching footsteps made him tense. He glanced up, and there stood a blond boy with freckled cheeks and a scowl on his face. A small group of kids had gathered behind him, snickering.
“Hey, I asked you a question,” the boy said, his voice loud and confrontational. “What are you eating? It smells gross.”
Megumi’s grip on his chopsticks tightened. He didn’t like being the center of attention, especially not like this. “It’s natto,” he replied coolly, trying to sound indifferent. “It’s just food.”
“Just food? It smells like something died,” the boy shot back, wrinkling his nose dramatically. The kids behind him laughed. “Why are you eating that? It’s disgusting.”
Megumi clenched his jaw, frustration bubbling beneath his calm exterior. He didn’t want to deal with this. He didn’t want to be singled out, made to feel like he didn’t belong. Not here. Not again.
He met the boy’s eyes, his own narrowing. “It’s better than the soggy sandwiches you bring. Maybe if you weren’t so picky, you’d actually know what good food is.”
The boy’s face turned red, and the laughter around them died down. For a moment, Megumi thought the boy might leave him alone. But instead, the boy’s eyes flashed with anger, and before Megumi could react, the kid shoved him hard, sending him tumbling to the ground. His chopsticks clattered onto the table as his bento box spilled over, food scattering across the floor.
"Say that again, you freak," the boy sneered, standing over him.
Megumi’s heart pounded in his chest, a mix of anger and humiliation surging through him. He glanced at his scattered food, the natto sticking to the floor, and for a moment, he felt the sting of tears in his eyes. But he wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not in front of them.
He gritted his teeth and slowly pushed himself up from the ground, his palms stinging from the impact. His dark eyes locked onto the boy in front of him, and though his voice was quiet, it was laced with ice. “Did you not hear me the first time? I’m not picky unlike you, it’s showing through your stomach.”
His voice trembled, his accent coming through. He hated how powerless he felt. His accent, his slow speech in this foreign place—it made everything worse. In Japan, he was smart, praised, respected by the adults around him. Here, he was just... different. He wondered if anyone bothered to see past his quiet demeanor, they'd realize how much he had to offer.
For a second, there was silence. The boy blinked, clearly caught off guard by Megumi’s words. But then the group behind him started whispering, and the boy’s face twisted with rage. He stepped closer, fist clenched.
But before anything else could happen, a teacher interrupted them before a fight could break out. “What are you two doing? That’s enough of that!”
Megumi took a step back with his fists shaking at his sides, feeling his palms sting the further he pushed his fingers inside.
“Look at this mess! No recess for the both of you!”
He didn’t tell his parents about the incident, and thankfully, his teacher didn’t call home to inform them. She simply sat him down behind her desk and explained to him that kids were going to be mean but that he should just ignore them.
Megumi kept his silence the whole time.
The next day at school, Megumi sat quietly at his desk, still feeling the sting of yesterday’s incident in his mind, his fists clenching involuntarily at the memory.
As the teacher stood at the front of the class, introducing a new student, Megumi half-listened, still lost in his thoughts. “Class, please welcome Itadori Yuuji. He just moved here from Japan.”
The sound of Japan caught his attention, and Megumi lifted his head. The new boy had short, spiky pink hair and big brown eyes that seemed mildly bored at being introduced. A bandage covered his cheek, and more were slapped on his knees. He looked like he was always in trouble. He wore a childish shirt, a white long sleeve under it and khaki shorts that screamed someone not too concerned with rules.
Megumi’s eyes flickered with mild interest, but he quickly returned to his usual blank expression. Another Japanese kid? He silently prayed that Itadori wouldn’t have to go through the same thing he did. He didn’t expect much else from the new kid—just hoped he’d blend in quietly like Megumi tried to.
Recess came, and Megumi found a quiet corner of the playground, away from the chaos of the other kids. He knelt on the ground, drawing on the concrete with a piece of chalk, finding peace in the lines and shapes he traced. He liked to sketch—it was the one thing that made him forget where he was for a little while.
Unsurprisingly, the peace didn’t last.
The group from the day before returned, the boy who shoved him leading the way with a nasty smirk. “Look who’s all by himself again,” the boy sneered. Megumi tensed, his grip tightening on the chalk, but he kept his eyes on the ground, hoping they’d just leave him alone.
They didn’t.
The boy crouched down in front of him, blocking his drawing. “Didn’t you learn your lesson yesterday?” he taunted, nudging the chalk out of Megumi’s hand. “You think you can just say whatever you want and get away with it?”
Megumi stayed quiet, his fingers curling against the fabric of his pants. His heart pounded in his chest, but he didn’t have the words to fight back. His English wasn’t strong enough yet. And besides, what good would it do? They wouldn’t listen.
Before he could react, the boy and his friends closed in around him, backing him into a corner near the fence. Megumi’s breath quickened, his palms sweaty. There was nowhere to go.
Just as he braced himself for the worst, a familiar voice cut through the tension.
“Hey! What’s your problem?”
The group turned around, and there stood Itadori, his pink hair unmistakable in the sunlight. He looked smaller than the other kids, but he didn’t seem to care. His eyes were locked on the bully, and his fists were clenched at his sides, ready for a fight.
“Oh great, another one of you,” the boy said with a mocking laugh, looking Itadori up and down. “What, you think you can come over here and start acting all tough just because you’re from Japan too?”
Itadori didn’t flinch. Instead, he stepped forward, his eyes never leaving the boy’s face. “I think you better leave him alone,” he said, his voice steady, despite the dangerous situation.
The bully scoffed, stepping closer to Itadori. “And what are you gonna do about it, huh? You gonna run back to Japan with your weird freak friend with you?”
Before the boy could say another word, Itadori’s fist shot out, connecting squarely with his face. The bully stumbled backward, falling to the ground in shock. The entire playground seemed to freeze, the other kids watching in stunned silence.
Itadori didn’t say anything more, just stood there, glaring at the boy who was now scrambling to his feet, clutching his nose in disbelief.
The bully’s friends looked between Itadori and their fallen leader, unsure of what to do next. Eventually, they decided it wasn’t worth it and helped the boy up, walking away with their heads down.
One of them stayed back, giving Itadori a mean look as he yelled, “You’re going to pay for that! I’m gonna tell the teacher!” He stuck out his tongue for good measure and scrambled after his group.
Itadori sighed, shaking out his fist before turning to Megumi, who had watched the whole scene unfold, eyes wide.
“You okay?” Itadori asked, his voice casual, as if he hadn’t just knocked someone to the ground with a single punch.
Megumi stared at him for a moment, then nodded. He couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. Itadori had stood up for him. And not just with words—he had fought for him.
“You gotta stand up for yourself more,” Itadori said, his tone not unkind but firm. “If you don’t, those jerks are just gonna keep coming back.”
Megumi blinked, taken aback by Itadori’s bluntness. “I... I didn’t think it would help,” he admitted, his voice trembling slightly, his accent making his words come out slower than he liked.
Itadori shrugged, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Maybe not, but you won’t know until you try.” He glanced down at the scattered chalk and bent to pick it up, handing it back to Megumi. “Besides, you’re not alone. You’ve got me now.”
Megumi took the chalk, feeling a strange warmth in his chest. He didn’t quite know how to respond, but for the first time since moving to America, he didn’t feel so alone.
“Thanks,” he muttered, and Itadori just gave him a wide grin, like it was nothing.
Itadori looked down to see what he was drawing, and then suddenly, he gasped, crouching down in front of Megumi. “Whoa, cool! Is that My neighbor Totoro?!”
From that day forward, Megumi and Itadori were inseparable. They did everything together. Rarely did they speak to each other in Japanese—after all, they needed to get better at speaking English like everyone else. But when they wanted to keep people out of their conversation, especially when a teacher or some kid tried to pry, they’d switch back to Japanese, sharing smug little glances as the others looked on, clueless.
It was like that for years, their silent bond building in a way only two outsiders could understand.
Megumi vividly remembered the first time he brought Itadori to his house. His mother, always kind and warm despite the pressures of moving to a new country, had instantly taken a liking to him. She gushed over Itadori, offering him food, commenting on how polite and lively he was. She even praised his pink hair, calling it “bright like the sakura blossoms in spring,” though Itadori just grinned sheepishly, scratching his head.
His home had always been a quiet place, but when Itadori was around, it felt alive. The two of them would run outside, racing into the backyard where the grass was soft and overgrown. It was the late 2000s—life felt slower, simpler then. The air smelled of freshly cut lawns, and cicadas buzzed lazily in the humid Georgia heat. They would spend hours playing under the big oak tree that stood in the corner of the yard, climbing its branches and imagining they were somewhere far away. They didn’t need much to entertain themselves—a stick could be a sword, a leaf could be a treasure map.
When the backyard lost its charm, they’d hop on their bikes, cheap but sturdy things with the paint scratched off from all their reckless riding. They’d race down the neighborhood streets, Itadori always pushing just a little faster than Megumi, grinning that wild grin of his over his shoulder. They’d coast down the hill toward the convenience store at the corner, their feet lifting off the pedals as they let gravity do the work. The sun would be setting, painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges, the heat finally easing up as the breeze cooled their faces.
The convenience store was nothing special, but to them, it was a world of endless possibilities. The shelves were stocked with all sorts of snacks and drinks, and they’d spend what felt like forever deciding between a bag of chips or some candy. Itadori always went for something sweet, usually stuffing a chocolate bar in his mouth before they’d even left the store. Megumi preferred salty snacks, a bag of chips crinkling in his hand as they wandered outside to sit on the curb.
They’d sit there, talking about whatever came to mind—school, the other kids, whether or not they'd ever get used to living in America. The cars would pass by lazily, and the evening air would start to cool. They were just two kids trying to fit into a place that didn’t always feel like home.
When the sky finally darkened and the streetlights flickered on, they’d ride back, the quiet of the neighborhood settling in around them. Sometimes they wouldn’t even talk on the way back—just the sound of their bikes cutting through the cool night air, the distant hum of crickets in the background. It was peaceful in a way that felt timeless, like those moments could stretch on forever.
Back at Megumi’s house, his mother would insist Itadori stay for dinner. They’d sit at the small wooden table in the kitchen once Megumi’s father came home, the faint glow of a TV show playing in the living room, the smell of home-cooked food filling the air. Itadori always ate with enthusiasm, complimenting every dish like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted, making Megumi’s mother gush at his flattery and offer him seconds.
Those were the days that stuck with Megumi the most—the ones where the world felt just a little bit smaller, a little bit simpler. It was just him and Itadori against the world, two Japanese kids finding their way in a place that didn’t always make sense. Together, they made it feel like home.
[ present ]
Megumi’s hands moved deftly as he typed up notes, his eyes scanning through patient files. The familiar hum of the hospital echoed around him—the distant sounds of pagers, the soft murmur of conversations, the occasional buzz of machines. He’d grown used to the constant noise, finding comfort in the rhythm of it. His work as a doctor had become his entire life. It filled the empty spaces he didn’t care to explore.
Cut off from his family since high school, Megumi had long severed the ties that once bound him to a past he didn’t want to revisit. There were no phone calls, no emails, no unexpected visits. His apartment was quiet—just how he liked it.
The only actual friend he had was Hana, his friend since high school and his sort of ex-girlfriend. To be blunt, their ‘relationship’ was a phase. An experiment for Megumi. He had tried to give heterosexuality a chance, but it just didn’t work out. But they maintained a relationship and found a way to hang out and work together.
He just hoped she wouldn’t still carry feelings for him anymore.
Megumi had built a new life, carefully piecing it together so that nothing from the past could disrupt the foundation he’d laid down. He worked hard. He was good at his job. Patients respected him, nurses trusted him, and his colleagues knew him as a man who didn’t let anything outside these hospital walls affect him.
The door to his office creaked open, and the familiar bright voice of Hana broke through his thoughts.
“Hey, stranger.” Hana greeted cheerfully, leaning down to peer at his screen. She was always glowing with energy, always smiling, as if she could bring a little sunshine into any room. “How’s your shift going?”
Megumi allowed himself a small smile, the corners of his mouth tugging upward for a brief second. “Almost done,” he replied, fingers still tapping away at the keyboard.
"Nice! I was thinking—lunch?" she asked, sitting casually on the edge of his desk, her legs swinging playfully. “There’s this new place nearby, I hear the barbecue’s good.”
“Sure,” Megumi replied, his eyes still focused on the screen, “Just give me five minutes.”
Hana hummed in agreement, and Megumi finished up his last patient notes, wrapping up his shift like clockwork. It was routine—just another day in the life he’d grown accustomed to.
His mind didn’t linger on why he cut himself off from his family or why he hadn’t seen Itadori in years.
He never let it linger.
They stepped out into the cool air, heading towards the hospital entrance when Hana froze suddenly beside him. Megumi turned, his brow furrowed in confusion as he looked down at her. “What’s wrong?”
She didn’t respond. Her eyes were wide, fixated on something—or someone—just ahead of them.
Megumi followed her gaze and felt his heart plummet.
It was Itadori.
He hadn’t seen him since high school. It had been years, but there was no mistaking the man standing not too far away, looking around as if he were lost.
Megumi’s breath caught in his throat as memories he’d buried deep tried to surface all at once.
Without thinking, Hana reacted, grabbing Megumi by the arm and dragging him behind the hospital entrance wall. She shoved him gently but urgently out of sight, her eyes darting nervously.
Megumi, pressed up against the wall, listened with a racing heart. He heard Itadori’s voice, deep and familiar yet different. Older. More assured.
“Whoa… Hana… is that you?” Itadori’s voice came closer. He sounded surprised, a little hesitant. Megumi didn’t dare peer over the wall, he kept still, as if he were to move, Itadori would catch him.
“Uh, yeah! Hi Yuuji!”
“It’s been a while. What are you doing back in Japan?” A smile was heard in his voice, relief surrounding his words. He seemed relieved that he saw a familiar face.
Megumi’s heart pounded in his chest as he clenched his fists. He hadn’t caught a full glimpse of Itadori’s face—just a quick impression—but even that brief sight told him everything. Itadori had grown up. He had become the man Megumi knew he would be, and yet the sound of his voice cut through Megumi’s carefully constructed life like a knife.
“Man, times flies by so fast! It felt like yesterday we were just dumb high school kids.” “Ha, speak for yourself. You were the one jumping off of rooftops and into pools.” “Geez, was I actually that insane?”
He listened to them exchange small talk—reminiscing about their time back in Atlanta. Megumi could tell Hana was uncomfortable. She was trying her best to keep the conversation light and casual, but there was a slight tension in her voice that only Megumi would pick up on.
Then, after a brief pause, Itadori asked hesitantly, “Ah, I know you and Megumi had a thing but, uh… do you happen to know where he lives? I heard from his parents that he’s back in Japan. They’re asking about him as well…”
The bitterness surged in Megumi’s stomach, his pulse quickening. Why? Why would Itadori want to know about him? After all these years—after all the silence—what could he possibly want now? They had walked away from each other’s lives.
They were done.
Hana hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the question. Megumi could almost see her shifting awkwardly on her feet. Finally, she responded softly, “No, I… I don’t know. We lost touch.”
Megumi’s heart ached, a strange mixture of relief and pain swirling inside him as he heard her response. He was grateful, but the sound of Itadori asking about him made everything he had tried so hard to forget come crashing back.
Itadori’s soft “ah” sounded heavier than it should’ve, as if disappointment had filled his voice like an unwanted weight. “Okay,” he said slowly, the hint of a sigh in his words. Then, almost hesitantly, “We should catch up then. Coffee, maybe?”
Hana, ever the kind soul, offered a polite smile, though Megumi could tell she was already looking for a way out. “I’d love to, but I just finished a long shift. I’ve got to get going.”
Itadori hummed again, quieter this time, as if trying to hide his disappointment. “Yeah… sure. I’ll see you around, then.” His voice lowered as he added, almost like an afterthought, “But if you see Megumi… I really need to talk to him.”
And that’s when Megumi felt it—anger flaring up like a wildfire inside him, burning through every attempt he’d made to bury the past. His heart raced, his hands trembling against the wall. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. Why ? Why would Itadori want to talk to him after all these years? After everything that had happened?
It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.
He peeked around the corner, just enough to see them. Itadori and Hana bowed to each other in polite dismissal, but Megumi could see the frustration in Itadori’s face, in the stiffness of his shoulders as he walked away. Each step seemed to echo in Megumi’s mind, stirring up memories and emotions he’d locked away so tightly for years.
His breath hitched. Why now ?
His mind spiraled—racing thoughts crashing into each other. Did Itadori actually have the nerve to talk to his parents? Did they have the nerve to actually ask about him as if they didn’t disown their only son?
Megumi’s parents had been a constant shadow in his life, their strict religious views suffocating him, controlling him. He had spent years trying to break free from their grip, to escape the shame and guilt they had embedded deep into his core. And when he finally did—when he finally started trying to forget about them—it had been painful but necessary. There was no way he could let himself be dragged back into that nightmare.
And Itadori? Itadori, with his stupid grin and kind heart? He couldn’t act like he cared now, like he wasn’t part of the reason as to why he was back in Japan.
Megumi exhaled sharply, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.
Finally, when Itadori was far enough away, Megumi stepped out from behind the wall. Hana was waiting, standing still with an awkward look on her face, as if she could feel the storm brewing inside him.
They stared at each other in silence for a moment. Megumi’s fists were still clenched, his knuckles white, his breath coming in shallow bursts. The tension between them was thick, almost unbearable.
“Why,” Megumi muttered under his breath, his voice strained and barely holding back his pain. “Why is he back in my life?”
Hana gave him a sympathetic smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t know,” she admitted softly, her voice gentle. “But… are you okay?”
Megumi cursed, looking away, his heart still racing. He wasn’t okay. He hadn’t been okay for a long time, but seeing Itadori again—hearing his voice, feeling the memories flood back—it broke something inside of him.
Church was a routine part of Megumi’s life. His parents were religious, though his mother was more so than his father. Sundays were always the same—dressing in their best clothes, sitting in the wooden pews, and listening to sermons that seemed to go on forever. Itadori would tag along sometimes, especially when his grandpa and brother were busy working. They’d all pile into the car, and Megumi’s mother would always beam at Itadori, saying how nice it was to have him join.
Megumi remembered how, despite the solemnity of the church, he and Itadori would quietly cause trouble. They’d whisper and giggle during the service, exchanging subtle jokes about the preacher’s long-winded stories or the way some people would sing hymns too loudly. It was a shared mischief, the kind that made sitting through those hours a little more bearable. Eventually, though, his mother would catch on, her disapproving gaze enough to make them both sit up straight, stifling their laughter. But even then, they’d sneak side glances, sharing silent grins as they pretended to behave.
The thing was, Megumi could never get comfortable in church. He knew all the stories, all the commandments. He knew about the sins people were warned about every Sunday, the rules they were expected to live by. And he wasn’t a bad person. He respected his parents, did well in school, and never got into real trouble.
But there was something that gnawed at him, something that left him feeling out of place, like he didn’t quite belong.
It was about girls.
Megumi had known from a very early age that he wasn’t interested in girls the way other boys were. It started out subtle—how he never cared for Valentine’s Day, never felt excitement over the thought of exchanging cards or receiving chocolates. While other boys in his class would go on and on about who they had a crush on, Megumi stayed silent, unsure how to explain why he felt… nothing.
The girls in his school liked him. He got his fair share of attention, Valentine’s chocolates, and shy confessions. He’d always feel a twist of guilt when he rejected them, especially when their friends would huddle in the background, giggling and whispering encouragement. But he couldn’t force himself to feel something that wasn’t there.
He wasn’t interested in girls, and he wasn’t sure what that meant.
Sitting in church, his mind would wander while the preacher spoke. He knew he was supposed to be listening, supposed to be reflecting on the teachings. But instead, he found his eyes drifting to Itadori. Itadori, who was only mildly interested in the service, his head resting lazily in his hand as his eyes glazed over. Sometimes, Itadori would glance at Megumi, and when the preacher said something particularly dramatic, Itadori would roll his eyes in that exaggerated way, silently mocking the overly serious tone.
Megumi’s heart would skip a beat when Itadori looked at him like that—when their eyes met, and they shared that quiet interaction, like it was just them together with nobody else around them mattering.
And it wasn’t just in church.
It was during the times they rode bikes together, when Itadori’s laughter rang out in the warm summer air. It was in the way Itadori always managed to make everything feel lighter, more fun, like the world wasn’t as complicated as Megumi sometimes thought it was.
He’d catch himself staring, wondering why his chest felt tight, why his thoughts always seemed to circle back to Itadori, why Itadori’s smile made him feel something warm and confusing in the pit of his stomach. It was a feeling he didn’t know how to name yet, a feeling that didn’t fit into the rules he was supposed to follow, into the lessons he heard every Sunday about love and what it should look like.
But whatever it was, it scared him. Because the church told him that love was supposed to be one thing—between a man and a woman. Anything else was wrong. Anything else was sinful. And Megumi had never broken any rules before. He wasn’t bad. He wasn’t mean. He wasn’t rebellious.
But he couldn’t stop the way his heart raced when he looked at Itadori. And he couldn’t stop wondering what that meant for him.
The faint sound of churchgoers chattering behind them faded as Megumi’s parents stayed back to socialize. It was always like that—his parents mingling while he and Itadori snuck off to avoid the awkward small talk.
They went to where they usually hung out to pass the time, the side of the church where an old tree was with a worn out tire swing connected to it.
Megumi made his seat on the swing while Itadori rambled on in front of him.
Megumi let the tire swing twist lazily beneath him, his fingers curling around the rubber edges as Itadori paced in the grass, his sneakers crushing the blades beneath his feet.
Itadori was mid-joke, grinning as he complained about how boring the service had been, using his hands to exaggerate how the preacher seemed to go on and on. Megumi hummed in response, not really laughing but not disagreeing either. His mind wasn’t on the service. Not really.
As the swing creaked gently, he finally asked, “What do you think about girls?”
Itadori smirked, stopping his pacing for a second to glance over at Megumi. “Girls are hot,” he said, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.
Megumi rolled his eyes. “You’re an idiot,” he muttered, shifting his weight on the tire. “I’m being serious.”
Itadori didn’t catch the tone in his voice. He just shrugged, seemingly still in a joking mood. “I dunno, man. They’re just… different from us guys, you know? That’s what makes them attractive.”
Megumi grimaced at the simplicity of the explanation. It didn’t make sense to him at all. Different? Was that really the only reason? He’d been hoping for something more, something that would maybe make things click for him. But he should’ve known better than to ask Itadori—he wasn’t exactly the most insightful person when it came to these kinds of things. They were barely preteens, after all.
With a sigh, Megumi let the swing drift a little to the side. “Never mind,” he muttered, his eyes dropping to his feet as they scraped the dirt below.
Itadori, sensing that he might’ve missed something but not sure what, asked, “What? Do you have a crush or something?”
Megumi blinked, startled by the question. “No,” he said quickly, almost too quickly.
Itadori just shrugged again, apparently not too interested in pressing the matter. The breeze picked up slightly, making the leaves above them rustle, and Itadori started walking in circles around the tree again.
“Dude,” Itadori suddenly said, his voice lighter now, “has your voice been cracking too?”
Megumi paused, caught off guard by the shift in conversation. He felt a flush of embarrassment creep up, though he didn’t exactly know why. “...Sometimes,” he admitted, though it wasn’t exactly true. His voice hadn’t really started changing much yet, but Itadori’s had been noticeably deeper lately, and Megumi wasn’t sure how he felt about it.
Itadori grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, mine’s been doing it all the time. It’s so annoying. Like, I sound like a freakin’ frog or something.”
Megumi couldn’t help but smirk a little at that, the tension from earlier slipping away. He pushed off the ground lightly, the swing swaying as he glanced at Itadori. “Maybe your voice is just trying to match your brain,” he teased, his lips quirking upward.
Itadori laughed, giving him a playful shove on the shoulder. “Shut up, dude. I’m gonna sound way cooler than you in a few months. You’ll see.”
The barbecue grill sizzled between them, the fragrant smoke curling upwards as the meat cooked on the hot iron. Megumi stared down at it, his chopsticks idly picking at a piece, but he wasn’t really paying attention. His mind was elsewhere, clouded by thoughts he wished he could just shake off. He let out a heavy sigh, the weight of everything pressing down on him.
“Are you okay?” Hana’s voice broke through the haze, her concern evident as she glanced up from her own plate.
Megumi clenched his jaw, the harshness in his voice surprising even him. “What do you think?”
She winced, her eyes widening briefly before she quickly looked away. Realizing how sharp he’d sounded, Megumi immediately softened, his anger draining just as fast as it had flared up. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m just… it’s a tense situation.”
Hana waved it off with a small smile, but there was a flicker of something behind her eyes. He knew she understood; she always did. But that didn’t make the tight knot in his chest any easier to deal with.
He exhaled, trying to steady himself. “Why would Itadori want to talk to me after all this time?” He frowned, picking at the meat again, barely registering the food in front of him. “Especially after our last interaction…”
Hana poked at her food, then offered quietly, “Maybe your parents are trying to get in touch with you… through him?”
Megumi’s chopsticks clattered against the table as he slammed them down, glaring at his plate as his anger bubbled to the surface. “What the hell would they want with me? They cut me off. They made their choice when they disowned me because I’m gay. There’s no coming back from that.” His voice cracked with bitterness, but the emotion behind it ran deeper than just anger. “And Itadori… well, that’s a whole different story.”
Hana leaned on her hand, her elbow propped up on the table. She pouted, muttering in frustration, “That jerk, showing up out of nowhere while I’m trying to take you out on a date.”
Megumi narrowed his eyes at her, snapping out of his thoughts long enough to give her an accusatory glare. “You tricked me, didn’t you?”
Hana smiled sweetly, her eyes glinting with mischief as she batted her lashes. “Was it so bad that I did?”
He shook his head, sighing in exasperation. “I don’t want to talk to Itadori,” he said, his voice firm but tired. “At all.”
Hana looked like she wanted to argue, her mouth opening slightly before she closed it again, biting her tongue. She sighed instead, focusing on the grill in front of them, the sound of sizzling meat filling the silence between them. Even without her words, he could feel her disagreement lingering in the air, but she respected his decision. For now.
Megumi stared at the meat, the sound of the grill blending with his thoughts, as his mind wandered back to the past. Everything felt so complicated. Too complicated. And yet, here he was—stuck in the middle of it, like he’d always been.
They stepped out of the restaurant a half hour later and into the cool evening air. Megumi clutched his briefcase in one hand while Hana strolled beside him, her hands clasped behind her back. For the first time that night, he truly noticed her appearance—she was always put together, but tonight, she looked especially radiant. A long-sleeve turtleneck peeked out from under a stylish coat, the fabric hugging her figure, and her skirt and heels added an air of elegance. Hana had always been beautiful, the kind of woman others couldn't help but admire.
Megumi’s thoughts drifted, unbidden. What would it be like to return her feelings? To live a life with someone like Hana—a woman who cared for him deeply, who had once tried to make him love her the way she did for him. He wondered if it would be easier, simpler, to live that kind of life instead of the one he’d been dealt. One where his pursuit of happiness was constantly derailed by a past that wouldn’t let go.
Hana hummed softly beside him, breaking the silence as she gazed up at the sky, her eyes reflecting the glow of the city lights. ”You know,” she said, her voice thoughtful, ”I think you should talk to him. You need closure, Megumi. It’s eating you up inside, and I hate seeing you like this.”
Megumi blinked, focusing on the street ahead. The city lights blurred in the distance, but her words cut through his haze, pulling at a truth he didn’t want to confront.
“And if you do…” Hana turned to him, a playful glint in her eyes. Her smile was teasing, but there was an underlying sincerity in her words. ”If you talk to him and he rejects you, or you reject him, come back to me.”
Megumi raised an eyebrow, bemused by her sudden boldness. “To you?”
Hana nodded, stepping back with a grin. “I’ll treat you like no one else ever could, Megumi. You’ll see.”
For a long moment, they stood there, her words lingering between them. The night seemed to stretch on, full of things unsaid.
Eventually, Hana dismissed herself, ”Well, I’m off. I’ll see you tomorrow, Megumi.” “Wait, I’ll walk you home.” Megumi offered quickly, taking a step forward before she stopped him with a hand. “That would only make me want to take you home with me,” she joked, flashing him a mischievous smile.
Megumi shook his head, watching as she disappeared down the street, her laughter fading into the night. His gaze lingered where she had been, but it wasn’t long before his mind wandered back to her words. Closure. Talking to Itadori. The very thought made his stomach twist in knots.
Bitterness welled up inside him, burning his throat. Could he really face Itadori again, after all this time? After everything that had happened between them? The idea of seeking closure felt like reopening wounds he had tried so hard to bury.
Puberty hit them both hard, but in different ways. Megumi shot up like a weed, his limbs stretching out so fast it almost hurt. His jawline sharpened, and his body grew lankier by the day. It was strange—he wasn’t used to feeling so much taller than everyone else, especially not Itadori, who had always been the more physically active one.
The growth spurts were rough, but Megumi handled them quietly, only wincing when the aches were especially bad. Meanwhile, Itadori hadn’t grown as much in height, but he was filling out with muscle from all the sports he played. Megumi couldn't relate to that. He noticed the way Itadori was constantly sweating from practices and how he complained about his voice cracking all the time. In contrast, Megumi barely broke a sweat, always keeping his hygiene meticulously in check. He couldn’t stand the idea of being gross or unkempt, especially now that everything about him felt bigger and more awkward.
One day, as they were hanging out in Megumi’s backyard, Itadori finally seemed to notice the change in Megumi’s height. His eyes narrowed in suspicion, glancing between the two of them as if measuring the difference. “Wait—how the hell are you taller than me now?” Itadori asked, incredulity thick in his voice. ”I’ve always been taller than you!”
Megumi smirked, leaning back against the tree. “Guess you need to catch up,” he teased, knowing full well that it would annoy Itadori.
Itadori didn’t hesitate—he lunged at Megumi, grabbing him in a headlock and yanking him down. “Oh yeah? Let’s see you catch up to this, punk!” He laughed as he dragged his knuckles against Megumi’s head in a playful noogie, rough but affectionate.
Megumi groaned, halfheartedly trying to wriggle free, but the grin on his face betrayed him. ”Ow! Okay, okay, let go, idiot!” He managed to shove Itadori off, rubbing the spot on his head where Itadori’s knuckles had attacked him, but he couldn’t help but laugh. For a moment, everything felt normal again, like they were still the same kids they’d always been, despite all the changes puberty had brought.
——
With puberty came the inevitable storm of hormones, and Itadori was the first to ride that wave head-on. Megumi wasn’t surprised when girls started noticing Itadori—he was friendly, athletic, and had a way of drawing people in without even trying. But it still stung when one of them finally made her move.
She was pretty in a way that made Megumi irrationally angry. A blonde girl, her hair cascading down her shoulders, approached Itadori shyly during lunch one day, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers. Megumi watched out of the corner of his eye as she stammered out an invitation for Itadori to meet her outside after school. Itadori’s cheeks turned pink as he nodded, clearly flustered. “O-Okay,” he muttered.
When she walked away, Itadori immediately looked back at Megumi with a stupid grin, eyes wide with excitement.
Megumi forced himself to smile back, trying his best to look supportive. “Good for you,” he muttered, hoping his voice didn’t betray him. But the truth was, he wasn’t happy at all. There was a tightness in his chest, a gnawing jealousy he couldn’t shake.
He had always managed to hide his feelings around Itadori, masking his confusion and frustration by talking about girls at their sleepovers, acting like he was just as interested as anyone else. It was easier that way—no questions, no awkward conversations. He even made sure to name-drop actresses or singers he thought Itadori liked so that, if anyone asked, Itadori could back him up. But this... this was different. This was real.
Megumi stood by the classroom window later that day, watching as Itadori met the girl under a large tree just beyond the playground. A few other students were gathered around the window too, giggling and whispering, but Megumi couldn’t hear any of it. His attention was fixed on the scene outside.
Itadori was taller than the girl, his face flushed and eyes wide as he listened to whatever she was nervously saying. Megumi could see her shifting from foot to foot, her hands clasped behind her back. Blonde, he thought bitterly, narrowing his eyes. Probably a dumb blonde. He couldn’t imagine her being good for Itadori. Itadori needed someone who could guide him, someone who wasn’t afraid to tell him when he was being an idiot. And she clearly wasn’t that.
Then, it happened. The girl leaned in, pressing a quick, nervous kiss to Itadori’s lips. Megumi felt his stomach drop. His breath hitched, and a strange, hollow ache spread through his chest. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms.
He turned away from the window, unable to watch any longer.
When Itadori came back inside, he was immediately surrounded by the other boys, their voices overlapping as they bombarded him with questions. “How was it?” “How’s it feel? Was it weird?” “What did she say?”
Itadori shoved them away with a laugh, but that didn’t stop them. “Cut it out guys, it was fine.” “Come on man, was it soft or what?”
Itadori sheepishly grinned, his cheeks still flushed from the kiss. ”Yeah, it was nice.” “My man!” “Hell yeah, Yuuji!”
His eyes sparkled, and for a moment, it was clear that he was riding a high that Megumi couldn’t relate to.
Across the room, their eyes met. Itadori’s grin widened, a pure expression of happiness that was meant to be shared. But all Megumi could manage was a tight-lipped smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. He nodded slightly before looking away, his heart heavy. It was as though everything around him had turned gray, the world losing its color and warmth.
Grabbing his things, Megumi left the room without another word. He couldn’t bear to be there anymore, to watch Itadori be celebrated for something that made him feel so small and insignificant.
When he got home, he sat on his bed, flipping open his phone with trembling hands. He typed out a quick message to Itadori: I’m sick. Can’t hang out today. He stared at the screen for a moment before pressing send, his heart sinking.
It wasn’t long before Itadori replied: Are you okay? Megumi read the message, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he turned off his phone, tossing it aside as tears blurred his vision. He buried his face in his pillow, his shoulders shaking as he cried. He wanted to tell someone—anyone—but there was no one who would understand.
His parents were strictly religious. They’d never accept the way he felt. He could already hear their disappointment, their harsh judgment. He couldn’t tell them. He couldn’t tell anyone.
The city was alive with a quiet energy that evening, the kind that made Megumi feel both part of the world and separate from it at the same time. The winter air nipped at his cheeks as he wandered aimlessly, his breath visible in soft, wispy clouds that vanished into the cold. The lake he passed by was serene, surrounded by cobblestone paths and skipping stones that stretched into the water for people to walk across, perfect for families and couples who came to take photos.
The sight of so many couples walking hand in hand, of children laughing with their parents, gnawed at him. How do they do it ? he wondered. How do they find happiness so easily, just living their lives, with people they love? Megumi had never been able to grasp it. The simplicity of loving someone, of being loved in return—it had always felt so foreign to him. He shoved his hands into his pockets, shaking his head slightly as if that would drive the thoughts away.
He stopped by the lake's edge, picking up a small, flat pebble, and watched the ripples break the smooth surface of the water as he dropped it. The rhythmic flow of the water usually calmed him, but today his mind felt as turbulent as the night before. I don't care if they want to reconnect , he told himself, though the words tasted bitter. They had their chance, and they threw it away. They don't deserve to be part of my life anymore.
He picked up another pebble, weighing it in his hand. He pulled his arm back, ready to hurl it into the water, imagining with some vague satisfaction that it was his past—his family, his memories—disappearing with each skipped stone. But then, his arm froze. Something in his peripheral vision caught his attention, and his heart lurched in his chest.
Itadori.
He was sitting across the lake on one of the rocky steps, his broad shoulders slightly hunched as he leaned forward, staring right at him. Megumi’s breath caught in his throat as their eyes met. Itadori’s face mirrored his own shock, the kind of shock that felt impossible to contain. At first, Itadori squinted, as though he wasn’t quite sure it was Megumi, but then his eyes widened again in unmistakable recognition.
Time seemed to stop, and for a brief moment, Megumi felt like he was back in high school, vulnerable and uncertain, all over again. His heart hammered against his ribcage, panic creeping in. Without thinking, he turned his body sharply away, hoping— praying —that maybe if he moved fast enough, Itadori would think it had been a mistake. That he’d think he’d seen someone else. Maybe he hadn’t recognized him after all. He didn’t see me. He couldn’t have.
But then he heard Itadori’s voice call out. “Megumi?”
The sound of his name, in that familiar voice, shot through him like electricity. His legs moved before his mind could catch up. Run. He had to get away. Run.
“Hey, Megumi!” Itadori called again, louder this time, his voice filled with disbelief, as though he couldn’t quite understand why Megumi would run from him.
Megumi’s heart raced, each footfall a pulse of adrenaline and fear. His thoughts scrambled, trying to make sense of the storm raging inside him. Why now? Why him? He hadn’t seen Itadori in years, and now here he was, his presence dredging up everything Megumi had fought so hard to bury. Every memory, every feeling—Itadori had been the one person he never wanted to see again, the one connection he’d severed that had left him broken.
But still, Itadori's voice echoed after him, filled with the same confusion and hurt Megumi felt deep in his own chest.
Megumi’s breath came in harsh, desperate bursts as he shoved past people, weaving through the crowded street, his heart slamming against his ribs. I can’t do this. I’m not ready to see him. Not again. Not ever. His mind raced faster than his legs, panic coursing through his veins like a fire that he couldn’t put out. The sound of Itadori’s voice calling his name grew distant, then close again as he pushed on, unrelenting.
Behind him, he could hear Itadori, still calling after him, breathless. “Megumi!” His voice cut through the noise of the street, strained and confused. A sharp collision echoed in the air as Itadori bumped into someone, apologizing quickly before continuing his pursuit.
Megumi scanned his surroundings, searching frantically for an alleyway, a side street—anything that could offer an escape. But every street was a dead end, every possible exit sealed off by the flow of people moving in every direction. He risked a glance over his shoulder to see if Itadori was still following, but that’s when it happened—he slammed hard into someone, the impact sending him sprawling to the cold pavement.
Groaning, Megumi squeezed his eyes shut, his body momentarily paralyzed by the pain and the shock of the fall. The couple he had bumped into gasped in surprise, stepping back as they tried to regain their balance. But that was all drowned out by the pounding of footsteps that grew nearer, faster, until they stopped right beside him.
“Megumi!” Itadori’s voice was louder now, edged with worry. There was a soft thud as a body dropped to the ground beside him, and before Megumi could gather his thoughts, he felt the weight of Itadori’s presence pressing in on him, grounding him in a way that made his pulse quicken for entirely different reasons.
Itadori’s warm hand gently gripped Megumi’s forearm, his touch almost cautious. “Are you okay?” Itadori’s voice was softer now, almost tender, like they weren’t in the middle of a chaotic street, like years of silence between them hadn’t just been shattered.
Megumi winced, lifting his head just enough to meet Itadori’s gaze, and that’s when it hit him all over again. It’s really him. His heart dropped into his stomach. The years had changed Itadori. His brown eyes were wide with concern, the familiar warmth still there but somehow deeper, more mature. His thick brows pinched together as he looked at Megumi, his hair shorter now, styled back slightly in a way that made him look older, sharper, more defined. His face—more structured, more grown into—took Megumi’s breath away.
For a moment, neither of them moved. They just stared at each other, both lost in the weight of their shared history. Megumi’s own thoughts spiraled, unable to fully process the fact that Itadori was right here, inches from him, close enough to touch. His own eyes widened as he took in every detail of Itadori’s face, a million emotions crashing together inside him like waves he couldn’t control.
Megumi’s mind screamed, but his voice wouldn’t come. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even breathe properly. It was too much. It was Itadori, after all this time.
Itadori's breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch it. His face twisted with something Megumi couldn't place—half pain, half disbelief. It was like seeing a ghost come to life. His eyes, warm but haunted, searched Megumi’s face, as if trying to confirm that this moment was real.
Then, softly, like he couldn't believe it himself, Itadori whispered, “Megumi…”
The sound of his name, spoken in that voice, after so many years, sent a shiver down Megumi’s spine. He swallowed thickly, feeling the weight of the years between them crash over him all at once. His throat tightened as his own name seemed to hang in the air, the unspoken memories flooding back with every second they stared at each other.
“Yuuji?”