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“Did you hear?”
“What?”
“Noritoshi Kamo asked Megumi out yesterday.”
“WHAT?”
Yuuji spat out his tea in the least graceful way imaginable. If his granddad had seen it, the old man probably would've dropped dead on the spot, more from the sheer embarrassment than anything else. A couple of people at the table next to them shot him dirty looks, but he paid them no mind. He quickly wiped his mouth on his jacket sleeve before fixing his wide-eyed gaze back on Yuuta. “What did you just say?”
“I said,” Yuuta repeated, looking vaguely amused. “Noritoshi Kamo asked Megumi for a date yesterday.”
Yuuji’s jaw dropped. “And he said yes?”
Yuuta nodded. “Yep, he said yes.”
There was a beat of silence, during which, if one listened closely, the faint chirping of crickets could be heard. Not that either Yuuji or Yuuta was particularly aware of it.
It was a pretty decent afternoon—well, as decent as afternoons got beneath the bleak skies of London. Yuuta had dragged Yuuji out for tea at The Ritz, complaining Maki had bailed on him for some last-minute meeting with her professor. Yuuji had agreed, of course; only a complete idiot would turn down free and fancy afternoon tea at The Ritz.
“B-but why?” Yuuji spluttered. He couldn’t believe it. He bloody couldn’t wrap his head around why Megumi, his Megumi, his best friend, would go along with something like this. After all these four years of knowing each other (and Yuuji secretly being in love with him for half of them), he’d always thought Megumi was, well, not interested in anyone like that. Honestly, he figured Megumi didn’t really have emotions beyond grumpiness and mild irritation. He’d just assumed Megumi was asexual and/or aromantic. Nothing wrong with that. Loads of people lived happily without any romantic or sexual relationships.
And Yuuji was fine with it, too. Just being Megumi’s friend was enough for him. It made life easier, really. Megumi didn’t love him as more than a friend, sure, but at least Megumi wasn’t going to love anyone else like that either. Called him selfish, but that was Yuuji for you.
Yuuta looked at him funny from behind his teacup. “Well, he’s a bloke with hormones and all, isn’t he? Perfectly normal to fancy someone.”
Yuuji had to fight the urge to throw a scone at his face. “I’m not daft, lad. I know that.” He rolled his eyes before going back to fidgeting in his seat, trying to hide his anxiety. “I just meant… why Kamo?”
Why not me?
Yuuji and all their other friends had crushes and had been involved in any kind of relationship all throughout university, but not Megumi. Nothing at all, not even a date or anything. Whenever someone asked him about any of it, Megumi usually just waved them off without really commenting anything on it. So when he heard that Megumi had actually (finally) agreed to a date with Noritoshi bloody Kamo, to say that Yuuji was flabbergasted was kinda an understatement. He just couldn't, and wouldn't, understand why Kamo of all people and not someone else...like him?
Yuuta set his teacup down slowly, clearly enjoying himself far too much, before saying, “He’s handsome, is he not?”
Yuuji hesitated. Bloody hell. He couldn’t really argue with that. “Well… sort of…”
“And he’s smart,” Yuuta went on, folding his fingers one by one, as though counting off a list specifically designed to annoy Yuuji. “Very polite, very dignified. The professors love him. Other students adore him. He’s the Union President. And, most importantly, he’s German.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Yuuji asked, utterly baffled.
Yuuta raised an eyebrow. “He’s got a European passport, hasn’t he? Means he can just pop over to France to visit Megumi whenever he likes, no faffing about with immigration queues or anything. Unlike, ahem, you.”
Yuuji didn’t even notice how their conversation had gone completely off track. When you actually thought about it, Kamo’s nationality had absolutely nothing to do with how Megumi felt about that bloke. But Yuuji was too caught up in his own frustration to care. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got—because, really, none of this would’ve happened if Britain hadn’t left the EU. If Brexit hadn’t happened, Megumi wouldn’t have said yes to Kamo’s stupid date.
“Fuck Kamo, man,” Yuuji groaned, slumping back in his chair. “And fuck the Tories, too, while we’re at it.”
“Oh, shush,” Yuuta said, rolling his eyes. “Do you have any idea how many Tories come to The Ritz?”
“Why the fuck should I care about them?” Yuuji shot back, snorting. “My love life’s going to shit because of them and their bloody stupid foreign policy!”
Yuuta casually swirled the tea in his cup like he hadn’t just heard Yuuji declare war on half of Britain’s upper crust. “Mate, I seriously doubt Kamo’s asking Megumi for a date because of immigration policies. Maybe he just, you know, asked him out like a normal person.”
“Normal person?” Yuuji scoffed, flinging his arms out dramatically. “What could Megumi possibly see in that posh twat? Some stuck-up prick with a trust fund and a haircut that screams, ‘My father owns half of Hampshire’? No wonder Megumi said yes. He’s probably dazzled by Kamo’s bloody offshore accounts.”
“You do realise you’re projecting, right? And, just so you know, Megumi’s got a Zenin trust fund if you’ve forgotten.”
“Projecting what?” Yuuji snapped, narrowing his eyes.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Yuuta said, leaning back lazily. “Your ridiculous crush on Megumi and the fact that you’ve been pining after him since second year but won’t do a thing about it because he’s your best friend?”
Yuuji bristled, cheeks flushing a deep crimson. “I am not pining.”
“Sure,” Yuuta deadpanned, taking another sip of tea. “And Brexit didn’t cause a decade of economic decline. Keep telling yourself that.”
He let out a strangled noise, burying his face in his hands. “I hate this country. I hate Kamo. I hate everything.”
Yuuta smirked. “You don’t hate Megumi, though, do you?”
Yuuji peeked through his fingers, glaring. “Don’t push me, Okkotsu.”
The older man just chuckled, patting Yuuji’s shoulder. “Relax, mate. Maybe Megumi’s just seeing what’s out there. If Kamo’s as insufferable as you think he is, worry not, it’ll fizzle out in no time.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Then you grow a pair and tell Megumi how you feel,” Yuuta replied bluntly. “Before Kamo whisks him off to Berlin with his European passport and proposes on a bridge or something.”
Yuuji groaned again, dragging his hands down his face. “Why am I even friends with you?”
“Because I’m the only one who’ll tell you the truth,” Yuuta said with a grin as he put one Scottish smoked salmon with lemon butter sandwich on Yuuji's plate. “Now, stop sulking and figure out a plan. You’ve got better odds than Brexit happening twice.”
“Not reassuring at all.” Yuuji retorted before miserably shoving the sandwich into his mouth.
“Wasn’t meant to be." That annoying git laughed and raised his teacup like he was about to propose a toast. But before Yuuji could snap back, a server appeared at their table with a cake that had Happy anniversary, my love! iced across the top in elegant script.
He squinted at the cake, then turned to glare at Yuuta, who, for once, actually looked embarrassed.
“Me and Maki were supposed to celebrate our anniversary today,” Yuuta admitted with a cringe, guilt flickering in his eyes. “So… yeah…”
Yuuji shot him a dark look before grabbing the knife and going in for the biggest slice he could manage. “Your love life gets a cake, and I get a front-row seat to Megumi dating that walking Waitrose ad. Life really is fair, isn’t it?”
“They’re not dating yet.” Yuuta winced, watching as Yuuji hacked into the pristine frosting.
Before Yuuji could respond, the server returned, now holding a bottle of champagne. “Compliments of the house,” she announced cheerfully, setting it down with a flourish.
“Perfect. Now they’re gonna think we’re celebrating our anniversary!” Yuuji said, popping the champagne with a dramatic flourish. “Well then, cheers to us, love. May our anniversary cake taste like regret.”
Yuuta rolled his eyes, but a small grin tugged at his lips. “And may you finally confess to Megumi before Kamo whisks him off to his family château in Provence.”
“Provence?” Yuuji nearly spat out his champagne. “Why does he sound like the bad guy in every period drama, though?”
“Because he is,” Yuuta stole a bite of his own cake casually. “But hey, every hero needs a nemesis.”
Yuuji sighed, setting his glass down. “If I’m the hero, I’m doing a crap job. Heroes don’t mope over cake.”
“Quite true. But they don’t let posh blokes win either.” Yuuta agreed like he wasn’t some sort of posh bloke as well. “So, what’s the plan now, mate? You’re not just gonna let Kamo off easy, are you? C’mon, I expect better from you.”
Yuuji frowned, glaring at his half-eaten cake like it had personally offended him. “I dunno… But I’m keepin’ the champagne. This stuff’s boss.”
“Keep the cake too, if you fancy it.”
“Nah,” Yuuji muttered, pushing the plate away. “Tastes too posh. Bet it’s got a name like ganache or summat.”
Yuuji was a lad with a dream, and it wasn’t some bog-standard one like owning a big house or making it as a footballer. No, Yuuji wanted to live in Norway.
'Why Norway?' you might ask. Easy: the Northern Lights.
And honestly, if you’ve been born and raised on English soil, Norway sounds like a proper fairy tale. No junkies shouting outside Greggs, no waiting three months to see a GP, cheap as chips electricity, better booze, and if it meant the winters might knock your socks off, so be it. That was still leagues better than dodging rats and stepping over bin bags piled high on some overpriced London street.
So, when his uni dangled a full scholarship for a master’s degree in Norway, Yuuji didn’t just jump at it—he practically flew there in his head.
But, apparently, there was one wee problem.
“Well, since you’re from a non-EU country, the university in Norway will only cover half the scholarship,” Satoru Gojo, his senior in the mechanical engineering department, told him one sunny afternoon.
“WHAT?”
“I said,” Satoru huffed, “since you’re British, the university—”
“I heard you! That’s why I said, ‘What?'” Yuuji grumbled. “But are you sure it’s because I’m British? Not, like, me scores or anything academic?”
Satoru shook his head, firm and sure. “Nope, mate. It’s definitely because you’re British.”
Yuuji wanted to cry. He seriously wanted to bawl his eyes out right there, in front of Satoru. First the whole Megumi and Kamo situation, and now this? Was he seriously going to lose two of his dreams in one go, all because he was British?
Yet, he felt his stomach drop like he’d just been told his local chippy was shutting down. “The letter said it was a full scholarship!”
Satoru leaned back in his chair, casually popping a piece of gum into his mouth like he hadn’t just shattered Yuuji’s dreams. “Yeah, full for EU students. For the rest of us poor sods outside the EU, it’s fifty per cent. Congratulations, though. You’re halfway to your dream!”
“Halfway?” Yuuji repeated, his voice rising with disbelief. “Halfway doesn’t cover housing, food, or, oh, I don’t know, living! Have you seen Norwegian prices? One cup of coffee costs a second mortgage!”
“Then don’t drink coffee,” Satoru replied breezily, blowing a bubble and letting it pop obnoxiously. “Sorted.”
Yuuji’s eye twitched. “How the fuck am I supposed to focus on my degree without caffeine?”
Satoru waved his hand dismissively. “Details. Look, it’s not that bad. You can get a part-time job.”
“In a country where I don’t speak the language? What am I supposed to do, flog fish down at the docks?”
“Or reindeer jerky. That’s a thing there, right?”
"Satoru—"
“Well, you’ve got the arms for it,” Satoru said, gesturing vaguely to Yuuji’s biceps. “And fish don’t care if you don’t speak Norwegian, mate.”
Yuuji groaned and flopped back against his seat, staring up at the ceiling. Norway felt like it was slipping further and further away, a distant star he’d never be able to reach. “I can’t believe this. All I want is to see the Northern Lights and get off this bloody island for a bit. But no, I’m stuck because of what? Being British?”
Satoru tilted his head, studying him for a moment. “Why don’t you just marry some Norwegian, then? Get that sweet citizenship and boom, problem solved.”
Yuuji shot him a look. “Yeah, right, let me just pop down to Oslo, hold up a sign that says, ‘Looking for Love and Cheaper Tuition,’ and see how that works out, eh? Sound as a pound.”
“You joke, but that’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”
Yuuji groaned again. He was doomed. Completely, utterly doomed.
“How come you got a full scholarship, then?” Yuuji demanded. Satoru was just as British as he was and two years his senior, already graduated. He had applied for the exact same program as Yuuji—just in Denmark instead of Norway.
“Suguru.”
“Sorry, what?”
"Suguru." Satoru repeated. “He’s Dutch and my husband. So, I’ve got a European passport now.”
Yuuji frowned. “You’re having a laugh, mate.”
“Why would I joke about that?”
“So… you married him for the passport?”
“Hell no! I married him because I love him,” Satoru snapped. “The passport’s just a bonus, really.”
Yuuji squinted. “Right. So, if he wasn’t Dutch, you’d still have married him?”
“Obviously!”
Yuuji pinched the bridge of his nose. “Should I really marry a European just to get the scholarship, then?”
Satoru shrugged. Yuuji couldn’t quite read his expression—thanks to the bloody sunglasses he always wore. “Have you got a better plan?”
“No.”
“Then do it.”
“Who the fuck am I supposed to marry on such short notice?” Yuuji exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.
Satoru looked thoughtful for a moment, like he was seriously considering it. “Nobara? She’s Italian.”
Yuuji gave him a deadpan look. “And she’s as straight as boiled spaghetti.”
“Fair enough. Yuuta, then?”
“He’s your cousin. And British. And Maki would kill me before the vows. Probably before I even get to the ring.”
“Kinji?”
“I’d rather die.”
Satoru suddenly perked up. “Ooh! What about Megumi? He’s French, he’s single, and he’s been the love of your life for the past few years.”
Yuuji groaned again, but this time with a lot more frustration. “He’s not the love of my… wait—Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. You’re right! Megumi! Why didn’t I think of this? He’s perfect!”
Satoru leaned back with a smug grin, crossing his arms. “Of course I’m right. When am I not?”
Ignoring the jab, Yuuji started pacing frantically, running his hands through his hair. “But hang on! What if he says no? What if he thinks I’m a muppet for askin’ somethin’ so daft? What if—”
“Relax,” Satoru interrupted, chuckling. “Megumi won’t hate you. You’re his best friend! If anything, he puts up with you better than anyone else. And trust me, in his language, that basically means he loves you.”
Yuuji narrowed his eyes at him. “As a friend. He loves me as a friend.”
“Maybe,” Satoru admitted with a shrug. “But unless you’ve got a plan that’s less mental, this is what you’re working with.”
Yuuji groaned for the nth time, rubbing his face as if trying to physically push the panic away. “This is mad, like, proper mad. I can’t just rock up and ask him to marry me outta nowhere! He'd think I'm a whopper for asking something like that.”
“Why not? Isn’t that what love stories are all about? Sudden proposals, dramatic speeches, passionate snogging—”
“This ain’t some bloody romcom, Satoru! This is my real life we're talking about!”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Satoru said, waving a hand at the chaos in front of him. “Look, mate. Just ask. Worst-case scenario, he says no, you run off to Vegas, and I’ll find you a nice Elvis impersonator to officiate your wedding to, I don’t know, some pissed European bloke or dame there. And voila! You'll have your European passport in no time.”
Yuuji threw a paperclip at him. “You’re the worst.”
“And yet, you’re going to take my advice,” Satoru said with a wink. “Now, off you go. Go get your French bride, lover boy.”
“Marry me.”
Megumi glanced up from behind the rim of his reading glasses. “What happened to ‘hello’ and ‘how are you’?”
“Hello, Megs. You look particularly handsome today. How are you? Will you marry me?”
Megumi didn’t respond immediately. He just sat there, still as a statue, his Apple Pencil in one hand and that familiar, unreadable expression on his face. For most people, it might seem blank, but Yuuji could tell Megumi was internally debating whether his best friend had finally lost it or, worse, dying.
“How much booze have you had tonight?”
“What?”
“I said, how many bottles of booze—”
“Wait, Megumi, lad, you think I’m bevvied?!”
Megumi frowned, and Yuuji couldn’t help but notice how annoyingly adorable it looked. “Well, yeah. How else would you come up with a question like that if you weren’t completely smashed?”
Yuuji flailed like a fish out of water. “I’m completely sober, thank you very much! And I really need you to marry me!”
“Hmm…” Megumi barely spared him a glance before returning to whatever he was working on with his iPad, probably homework.
“Wait, is that a yes?” Yuuji pressed with hope.
“A yes to what?”
“To marrying me!”
Megumi tapped his Apple Pencil against his chin, nodding slowly as if deep in thought. Then, without missing a beat, he pointed to the door. “Get out. You’re distracting me.”
“What? You can’t just throw me out! This is my room too!” Yuuji spluttered.
“Oh, I bloody well can,” Megumi said, his eyes glinting with annoyance.
Yuuji gaped at him, utterly scandalised. “So that’s it? You’re just going to reject my heartfelt proposal like I’m some bloke off Tinder?”
Megumi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yuuji, you just walked in here like a drunken pigeon and demanded that I marry you. Have you got any idea how daft that sounds?”
“I said I’m sober!” Yuuji wailed, collapsing onto the bed dramatically. “Do you know how hard it is for me to say stuff like this? I’ve been rehearsing all day!”
Megumi arched a brow, unimpressed. “So, that was rehearsed? Hate to see the rough draft.”
Yuuji sat up, glaring. Why was it so hard to convince his best friend? “You’re a blert. Do you know that?”
“And you’re ridiculous.” Megumi’s tone was flat, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of his lips, like he was trying not to smile.
“Ridiculously in need of that scholarship, maybe,” Yuuji muttered under his breath.
Megumi paused mid-scribble, his pencil hovering above the iPad. His expression didn’t change, but Yuuji caught the slight stiffness in his posture.
“What did you just say?”
“Nothing!” Yuuji blurted, panicking. “Forget I said anything! I’m just knackered, alright? Uni, money—it’s all a bit much. Blimey, you’re right. I just need to get outta here—”
But Megumi wasn’t having any of it. “Sit down.”
Yuuji, ignoring him, jumped up from his bed, already gearing up to bolt for the door. “No, really, Megs. I’ve got to—”
“I said, sit down.”
Something in Megumi’s tone made Yuuji freeze mid-step. Without another word, he plopped down onto his bed with a pout.
Megumi, on the other hand, had set the iPad down with a quiet thud, his full attention now on Yuuji. “Start talking now. What’s this about a scholarship?”
“It’s… it’s nothing! Don’t stress over it.”
“Yuuji.” Megumi’s voice had that dangerous calm that always made Yuuji feel like he was about to be scolded. “Explain. Now.”
With a groan, Yuuji flopped back onto the bed, covering his face with a pillow. “It’s daft, alright? I need to get meself an EU citizenship to qualify for a full scholarship in Norway, and since you’re French and me best friend, I thought maybe—”
“You’d just ask me to marry you?” Megumi finished, crossing his arms.
Yuuji peeked out from under the pillow, his face red with embarrassment. “When you put it like that, it sounds bad.”
Megumi raised an eyebrow. “It is bad. You want me to marry you just so you can go study abroad?”
“Well, I know it sounds bad and selfish, but—yes?” Yuuji groaned, tossing the pillow aside. “I don’t know what else to do, Megumi! I’m desperate, alright?”
Megumi stared at him, his expression unreadable.
Yuuji sighed in defeat. “This is a terrible idea, is it not?”
“Absolutely.” Megumi nodded. “And no, I won’t marry you.”
“Aww!”
“I have a proposition.”
Megumi let out a long-suffering sigh as he stepped out of the building, with Yuuji trailing behind him. Yuuji had been waiting for him outside his Concrete Structures class and had insisted on walking him to the library.
“Don’t tell me this is about the wedding again—”
“Well, of course it’s about the bloody wedding!”
“I’ve already said no.”
“But just hear me out!” Yuuji pressed on, not backing down. “If you marry me, you could get British citizenship!”
Megumi came to a halt, turning to look Yuuji dead in the eyes. “And what’s so special about that?”
“Well,” Yuuji shrugged, “you’d be able to pay your tuition fees as a local resident.”
Megumi raised an eyebrow, clearly unamused. “That’s it? That’s your big pitch?”
Yuuji scratched the back of his head, trying to hide his nervousness with a grin. “I mean, it’s a win-win situation, right? You get British citizenship, I get the scholarship, and hey, you’d get to live in the UK for a bit. You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about escaping France every once in a while. It's not a bad deal!"
Megumi snorted, not buying it. “I like France just fine, and I’m about to graduate, you muppet. I don’t need to pay tuition anymore. Plus, I’m not marrying you just for a lousy passport."
“B-but, Megs—”
Megumi raised a hand, cutting him off. “Besides, if I really wanted that British citizenship, I could always just marry Noritoshi.”
Yuuji’s mouth went dry all of a sudden, a stab of jealousy shooting through his chest.
“Right, Noritoshi.” He spat, trying to appear nonchalant. He fucking couldn't believe himself for forgetting about Noritoshi bloody Kamo. “I heard he asked you out.”
Megumi shrugged. “Yeah.”
“And you said yes.”
“That too.”
“Why?”
A flicker of anger and confusion crossed Megumi’s face. “I dunno. Maybe because he actually likes me and not because he’s trying to get a French passport?”
Yuuji felt like the ground had been pulled out from under him. He couldn’t stop the bitter taste that lingered in his mouth or the sudden rush of frustration and disbelief. “Oh, so that’s it, then?” he shot back, his voice a bit sharper than intended. “You’re just going to go along with him because he’s interested in you?”
Megumi’s expression shifted, his brow furrowing slightly. “Yeah, mate. That’s how normal relationships work. Someone likes you; you might give it a shot. It’s not all about strategic marriage.”
Yuuji clenched his fists, not even sure why it was bothering him so much. Maybe it was the way Megumi just said it so casually, like it was no big deal. Like it didn’t matter. But it did matter, didn’t it?
“Right, of course,” Yuuji muttered, half to himself. “I mean, why wouldn’t you just go for someone else who doesn’t have a ridiculous ulterior motive?”
“Wait, are you for real right now?” Megumi was really fuming, Yuuji could see it from the way his ears were getting redder each seconds and they way his eyebrows furrowed together like he was about to explode at any moment. “Are you upset because I said yes to Noritoshi's date or is it about that scholarship you didn't get? Because neither of those things are on me.”
Yuuji shook his head, trying to clear the sudden flood of emotions that had overwhelmed him. He was already regretting bringing it up like this. But what else could he do? What was he supposed to say?
“You’re right. I’m sorry... I’m just really surprised you said yes to him, y’know?” Yuuji said hesitantly. “You’ve never said yes to anyone else before, and I, um, kinda thought it was impossible for you to show any emotions other than anger and—”
Megumi rolled his eyes, his expression softened, and hit him with his syllabus. “Shut it, you twat.”
Yuuji flinched, but the playful smack made him chuckle despite himself. "Oi, that’s not fair. You know I’m being serious, right?”
Megumi huffed, his annoyance visibly fading. “Look, I get it. You’ve built this image in your head where I’m some cold, emotionless robot. But newsflash, Yuuji—I’ve got feelings. Just because I don’t go shouting them from the rooftops doesn’t mean they’re not there.”
“I know, I know,” Yuuji muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just… I guess I’ve been a bit of an idiot about this.”
Megumi looked at him with a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’re right about one thing. You are an idiot. But I’m not mad. Just… stop overthinking it, alright?”
“Yeah. I’ll try. It’s just… everything feels like it’s falling apart, y’know?” First you and Kamo, and now my scholarship.
“Nothing’s falling apart, Yuuji,” Megumi said, his voice soft but sure. His dark eyes held Yuuji firm in his place. “And about Noritoshi... don’t worry. It’s just a date, nothing more."
Yuuji's whole face brightened instantly. “Is that so? You sure you won't marry him?”
Megumi rolled his eyes again. “Yes, I’m 100% sure. Now, are you going to stop sulking or do I need to throw you out of my sight again?”
Yuuji grinned, finally feeling like some of the tension had lifted. “So, you’re still not up for marrying me, huh?”
“Don’t you fucking start, Itadori.”
“Alright, alright. I’ll behave.”
“If you’re not going to marry me, how about I marry your sister instead?”
"Comment aimer un idiot comme toi?"
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t want an idiot brother-in-law like you.”
“Hey!”
Megumi was tired. Absolutely wrecked. The life of a fourth-year engineering student was a never-ending torment. His miserable life was filled with nothing but assignments stacked on more assignments, and to top it all off, his daily pilgrimage to the laboratory to slog through his final project, a.k.a. the monstrous task that held his graduation hostage.
He glanced at the clock on the lab wall, barely registering how late it was, and muttered a curse under his breath when he realised he had been in the lab for the last 6 hours nonstop. Papers, notes, and half-finished prototypes were scattered across his desk. He was knee-deep in technical drawings, a CAD model glaring at him from his laptop screen, when his phone vibrated with a notification.
A message from Yuuji.
Yuuji: U busy?
Megumi: What do you think?
Yuuji: Need to talk. Urgent.
Megumi sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He really didn’t have time for whatever “urgent” thing Yuuji thought was important this time. But he also knew Yuuji well enough to realise that “urgent” could mean anything from “I set the dorm kitchen on fire” to “I’m having an existential crisis over my choices of pants.”
Still, he found himself replying.
Megumi: I’m in the lab. If it’s life or death, come here.
He tossed the phone aside, shaking his head as he turned back to his work. He tried to focus, but of course, Yuuji was already stuck in his brain. Why did that guy always pick the worst times to pull this? And why did Megumi always let him?
Yuuji: I can’t come in.
Yuuji: Come outside. I brought pastries.
Megumi: I don’t have time for this.
Yuuji: Not even for macarons?
Megumi: …
Megumi: Be there in five
Yuuji: Yay!
“Is this from Ladurée?” Megumi asked while he took a close look at the pink box Yuuji had given him. They were tucked away in the hallway, nestled behind a large pillar, a spot favoured by students for quick lunches or casual chats after long hours in the lab.
“Yep,” Yuuji said, taking a bite of a chocolate caramel hazelnut finger. Megumi couldn’t help but notice that Yuuji had just come from football practice—he was still in his team kit, and a sheen of sweat was still clinging to him. Megumi even had to tear his eyes away from his glistening biceps. “Your favourite.”
Megumi grabbed the pistachio macaron and took a bite out of it. He felt his whole body unwind, just soaking in how good it was. “So, what’s this urgency you want to talk about?”
Yuuji hesitated, fiddling with the edge of the box. “Uh… well… okay, don’t get mad, but I need to ask your opinion on something important.”
Megumi raised an eyebrow, already wary. “If this is about the wedding thing again—”
“No!” Yuuji cut in quickly, then paused, looking sheepish. “Okay, maybe a little.”
Megumi sighed, taking another bite of the macaron. “I’m not marrying you, Yuuji. I’ve already said that a hundred times.”
“I know, I know,” Yuuji said, waving his hands defensively. “But hear me out this time! Uh, you remember Yuko Ozawa?”
Megumi froze mid-bite. “Your ex?”
Yuuji nodded, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, she came by my practice today.”
Megumi felt his heart drop into his stomach as Yuuji muttered those few words. Suddenly the macaron wasn’t all that good. “Oh.”
“She asked if I want to grab dinner together this Friday,” Yuuji continued, his tone uncertain. “What do you think?”
Megumi’s grip on the macaron box tightened, his mind racing. He didn’t want to admit it, but hearing about Ozawa made his stomach twist.
“Well, it’s up to you, isn’t it?” Megumi said, trying to keep his tone casual, but his voice came out a little tighter than he intended. “If you want to go, then go.”
Yuuji frowned, sensing the sudden shift in Megumi’s mood. “You've got a right cob on since you walked through the door, mate. You don’t think I should go?”
Megumi shrugged. He tried to sound as supportive as he could, but jealousy had always been a bitch. “It’s not my place to tell you what to do. If you’re into her again, go for it.”
Yuuji studied him for a moment before letting out a sigh. “I guess I’ll agree to it.” He muttered. “If it goes well, maybe I should even marry her. She’s Spanish, you know?”
Megumi stared at him, unimpressed. “You’re going to say yes just because you’re thinking of marrying her?”
“Well, I’ve been mulling over what you said the other day,” Yuuji admitted. “You know, about how if someone likes you, you should at least give it a chance. If I’m going to marry young, the least I can do is make sure it’s with someone I actually like.”
Mon dieu. Megumi closed his eyes, feeling his head throbbing with a headache. Yuuji Itadori was an absolute fool and Megumi, unfortunately, was helplessly in love with him.
“I can’t believe you dragged me out here for this.”
“I brought pastries!” Yuuji said, gesturing to the box like it was a peace offering.
“Pastries don’t make this any less ridiculous,” Megumi replied, but he took another macaron anyway. Damn, it was good. “You’re way too young for marriage, mate. Why not just find another scholarship?”
“I’ve already committed to this one!” Yuuji shot back. “If I back out now, it could seriously affect our university, especially for the juniors who are hoping to get into this program next year.”
Megumi pursed his lips together to refrain himself from blurting out something he might regret. Yes, he was jealous, alright; there was no point denying it anymore. He didn’t want Yuuji to marry anyone else but him. But at the same time, he also didn’t want Yuuji to marry him just because of some scholarship and stupid French passport. No. If Yuuji were to marry him, it had to be because he wanted him, because he loved him. Nothing else would do.
Suddenly, Megumi began to feel his frustration bubbling up, and before he knew it, he was downright angry. Angry at Yuuji, at Ozawa, at that bloody Norwegian university, hell, even at the Tories for good measure. None of it made any sense, and it was doing his head in. He wanted to yell, he wanted to bang his head on the wall, and maybe drown himself in the Thames while he was at it, just to get it all out. Honestly, he could’ve happily punched Yuuji in the face right then for turning him into this absolute wreck of a person.
Megumi shot up from his seat, practically vibrating with anger. "Putain de merde," he spat, his voice sharp and his cheeks flushed. English had left him and he didn't even realise he was speaking French. "Yuuji, t’es un débile!"
Yuuji was flabbergasted at his sudden outburst. “Huh?”
“Ah, toi, t’es pas le couteau le plus aiguisé du tiroir,” Megumi ranted, gesturing wildly before stopping abruptly as Yuuji just stared at him like he’d just spoken in tongues. He groaned in frustration. “Ugh, tu me casses les couilles.”
"Wait—are you mad or something?"
Megumi exploded. “Moi, je suis fâché?”
“Megs—”
“Moi, je suis fâché? MOI, JE SUIS FÂCHÉ? Non, je ne suis pas fâché. Je pète les plombs!”
“I don’t get it why—”
“Pourquoi? TU ME DEMANDES POURQUOI? TU NE SAIS PAS?”
“Uh…”
“Je t’aime.” Megumi grabbed Yuuji’s shoulders, shaking him like a ragdoll with all the frustration of someone who had finally hit his limit. “J’ai envie de toi, je suis amoureux de toi, moi, je veux t'épouser! Mais je ne veux pas que tu m'épouses pour un passeport. Épouse-moi parce que tu m'aimes!”
Yuuji just blinked at him, his brain apparently taking its sweet time to catch up, clearly on holiday.
Megumi groaned again, throwing his hands up in defeat. "Laisse tomber," he muttered, heaving a deep sigh as if all the energy had been sapped from his body. "Tu me fais carrément chier.”
Yuuji stared at Megumi, his eyes wide and his face all scrunched up in confusion. “What just happened? I don’t understand French, Megs. You know that!”
“I don’t want you to understand.” Megumi snapped.
“What? Why not?”
“Just forget it,” Megumi said briskly, already turning away. “You’ve got that date with Yuko on Friday, yeah? I’ll help you figure out what to wear before I head out. And for the love of God, take a shower before bed. You stink, Itadori. See you back at the dorm.”
“Hold on, Megs—” Yuuji called after him, his voice tinged with desperation.
But Megumi didn’t stop. Holding the box of macarons tightly, he walked off without looking back, leaving Yuuji standing there, utterly baffled and completely lost.
Satoru Gojo was like that pesky little fly buzzing around whose mission in life was to upset and harass Megumi.
Sure, their families were close and all, especially now that Yuuta was dating Maki, but that didn’t mean Megumi had the patience of a saint in dealing with one Satoru Gojo. In fact, he was about five seconds away from chucking the white-haired man out of the study room if he didn’t stop swinging on the back legs of his chair, noisily unwrapping his fourth chocolate bar, and absolutely murdering David Bowie’s Starman.
“If Bowie could hear you,” Megumi muttered as Satoru let out another warbling attempt at the chorus, “he’d sue you from beyond the grave.”
Satoru grinned mid-swing, nearly tipping over. Honestly, Megumi kind of wished he had, just so he’d have something to laugh at for the rest of the day. “Reckon he’d still fancy me, though.”
“Not if he had ears, mate.”
They’d ended up here together because Megumi, like a responsible human being, had actual homework to do. Meanwhile, Satoru, who had no discernible reason to be there other than to make himself a nuisance, had somehow tracked him down like a very annoying, overgrown bloodhound.
“You know,” Satoru said, spinning the wrapper around his finger, “you’re gonna end up with crow’s feet if you keep scowling like that. Not exactly the look for someone trying to be effortlessly cool, eh?”
“Keep wittering on, and you’ll find yourself out the door,” Megumi muttered, not even glancing up from his homework.
'Propose two different mitigation methods for ground improvement or reinforcing the structure against the potential hazards related to the site soil.'
Megumi scowled at the word propose. As if he hadn’t had enough of that nonsense over the past few days.
Satoru gasped dramatically. “Out the door? Me? Your favourite godfather? The glue that holds this family’s emotional well-being together?”
“Honestly,” Megumi glared at the older man, his godfather. “Don’t you have anything better to do? Why are you here, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be in Denmark?”
“Some of us are actually enjoying our winter holiday, Megs,” Satoru said with a smug grin, leaning against the desk like he owned the place. “Not everyone spends their break buried in homework, you know. Ahem, anyway…” He trailed off while giving a pointed look at Megumi’s homework on his iPad.
Megumi rubbed his forehead with one hand. “Fait chier.”
Satoru let out a snort at him, and for a brief moment, Megumi recalled that, unlike Yuuji, Satoru actually understood French.
“Besides, I have to see Yuuji,” Satoru said, breaking the silence. “To talk about his scholarship.”
“Hmm…” Megumi murmured noncommittally, careful not to betray the tension in his shoulder at the mention of Yuuji’s name.
“You see, he might lose his scholarship, you know?”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Just because he’s British!”
“I’m aware.”
“How fucking unfair is that?”
“Right?”
Satoru kicked Megumi’s chair lightly. “You’re no fun. Don't you feel sorry for him?”
“I do feel sorry for him,” Megumi sighed while adjusting his glasses. “He’s my best friend.”
“Then why don’t you marry him?”
Megumi froze and he turned to Satoru with an unimpressed glare, dark eyes glaring into blue eyes, but the older man just smirked.
“How do you—”
Satoru shrugged. “I may or may not have been the one who suggested it to him.”
“Of course it was you,” Megumi rolled his eyes. “I should’ve known better.”
“And yet,” Satoru continued, gesturing at Megumi’s hand, “I see no ring. Ah… you rejected him, didn't you.”
It wasn’t phrased as a question, and Megumi prickled at how easily Satoru could read him like a bloody novel.
“Why?”
“Why what?” Megumi snapped, desperately trying to pretend he wasn’t losing his composure.
“Why did you reject him, Megs, duh?”
“Because it’s ridiculous and silly!” Megumi hissed, shooting Satoru a withering glare. “I don’t want him marrying me just for a bloody passport.”
“Why? Because you want him to marry you for love?”
Megumi’s glare only darkened.
Satoru’s eyes widened in exaggerated horror. “Oh my God, you’re in love with him. You’re actually in love with him. And here I was, thinking you weren’t capable of human emotions.”
Megumi buried his face in his hands with a groan. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”
Satoru leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Because it’s true. You’ve got the emotional range of a brick wall, mate. But now—” he leaned forward, eyes glinting mischievously, “—you’re blushing like some lovesick schoolgirl who’s just been caught writing ‘Mrs. Yuuji Itadori’ in their notebook. This is gold, Megs. Absolute bloody gold.”
“I am not blushing!” Megumi could feel himself blushing.
“You are,” Satoru teased while pointing at him. “Look at you, red as a bloody tomato. It’s actually adorable.”
“Do you ever shut up?” Megumi growled, finally dropping his hands to shoot Satoru a deadly glare.
“Not a chance.” Satoru’s grin only widened. “So, let’s go over this again. Yuuji confesses his undying love—”
“He didn’t say that.”
“—and pops the question—”
“For a passport!”
“—and instead of saying yes, you turn him down because you’re secretly head over heels for him but too emotionally constipated to admit it. That about right?”
Megumi groaned, slumping further into his chair. “Shut up. Shut up! TA GUEULE!”
Satoru laughed, loud and annoying. Then his grin softened into something a bit more sincere. “All jokes aside, Megs… If you’re into him—and I mean properly into him—don’t you think you should tell him? Before he ends up marrying someone else for that stupid passport?”
Megumi’s jaw tightened, his eyes fixed on the desk. “It’s not that simple.”
“Obviously, it’s not,” Satoru said, rolling his eyes. “But it’s better than sitting on your arse forever, wondering, ‘what if.’ Regret’s a real pain, mate, I'm telling you. Besides,” he added, a wicked gleam returning to his eyes, “if you don’t, maybe I’ll help Yuuji find someone else. His ex got in touch again, didn’t she?”
Megumi stiffened, his expression darkening. “What’s your point?”
“I’m just saying,” Satoru continued, “she’s keen and pretty, and Yuuji’s the kind of guy who doesn’t like leaving people hanging. You never know where things might lead between them.”
“Don’t.” Megumi’s voice was low and sharp, a warning.
“Ah, there it is! There's the territorial streak! Look at you, mate, throwing a wobbly just 'cause you can’t stand the idea of Yuuji with anyone else.”
Megumi glared at him, his jaw clenching tightly. “You’re a fucking prick.”
“And yet,” Satoru said smugly, and Megumi wanted nothing but to slap that smirk right off his face. “I’m always right.”
Megumi had been glaring at his ceiling ever since Yuuji left three hours ago.
He’d spent the entire evening feeling restless, though he’d been telling himself it was down to the looming homework deadline, not because Yuuji had been out on a date with Ozawa, his bloody ex. So to burn off his restless energy, he’d decided to clean their dorm room, grumbling under his breath at the state of it. (Honestly, Yuuji and his habit of leaving socks and underwear everywhere, it was disgusting).
Once the room was as spotless as it had ever been, Megumi had moved to his desk by the window, flipping open his laptop and making a half-hearted attempt to revise the homework he’d been ignoring for days. But his brain wouldn’t cooperate. Eventually, he gave up, flopped onto his bed, and resumed his intense ceiling-staring session, waiting for Yuuji to finally come back.
It was just past eleven when Yuuji stumbled into their room, happy and contented. Megumi hurriedly got up from his bed to inspect him.
“Fun night?” Megumi asked. He almost didn’t get the words out, jealousy wrapping around his neck like a rope. His voice sounded hoarse as well, but he blamed this on the cold.
“Eh, it was alright,” Yuuji answered, fumbling with his shoes as he tried to get them off. He looked a bit of a mess, and… was he drunk? “Decent, I s’pose.”
“Decent?” Megumi asked. He was stuck somewhere between baffled and jealous.
“Yeah.” Yuuji finally wrestled off his trainers and then, to Megumi’s horror, threw himself onto his bed with his coat still on. “Oh, this is nice.”
“What d’you mean ‘decent’?” Megumi pressed, narrowing his eyes. “Weren’t you looking forward to this date? Putain. Did she dump you? Mais non. ”
Megumi was feeling pretty proud of himself. Look at him, welcoming Yuuji back from his date and asking questions about it without sounding like a jealous madman.
Yuuji let out a half-snorted laugh. “What? Nah!” His words slurred slightly, and his Scouse accent thickened in a way that almost made Megumi smirk. “It’s just… I dunno. We had a laugh, like. Went to Corsica for a bevvy or two, even chatted about politics, yeah? Proper deep stuff, like ‘What’s your stance on chips and curry sauce?’ But halfway through, all the reasons we broke up started poppin’ back into me head, y’know? Like... ‘Oh yeah, she thinks The Beatles and Bowie are overrated.’ ”
“Oh.” Megumi was at a loss for words. He was really curious about what else had happened during their date, but he would never pressure Yuuji into telling. While he was thinking about what to say to him, though, something crossed his mind.
“So... no second date, then?”
“Doubt it,” Yuuji said with a shrug. “She’s dead set on bangin’ on about immigration policies, and honestly, it proper did me head in. Like, give it a rest, love. Funny thing, though, I bumped into Junpei while I was there, and we’ve agreed to grab a cuppa tomorrow afternoon. Small world, eh?”
Megumi bit down on his inner cheek to not let out any sound revealing his true feelings.
Shit. Another competitor.
'This is not a competition.’ He tried to remind himself, but somehow this made it worse. He didn’t understand why but knowing that Yuuji preferred anyone else over him did hurt not only his heart but also his pride. Had Yuuji really given up on proposing to him just like that? Wouldn’t he at least try again?
“Oh.” Megumi said, for the second time at a loss for words.
“He’s Portuguese, I reckon,” Yuuji continued. “Didn’t look it, I know, but he’s decent lookin’ and, ugh, he’s a fellow Kopite, Megs!”
Megumi snorted despite himself. “Arsenal’s still better than Liverpool.”
Yuuji laughed, tossing a pillow at him. “Shut yer gob. No Champion League title, no opinion.” His cheeks were a lovely shade of red. Megumi didn’t know whether it was because of the cold, the booze, or if he was just feeling embarrassed talking about his date.
Megumi squinted his eyes to watch his best friend more closely. Yuuji was fiddling with the hem of his coat, tugging at it like he didn’t even realise he was doing it, while singing You'll Never Walk Alone off pitch. Megumi recognised that coat immediately—it was a Christmas present from him back in their first year. Seeing Yuuji wear it so often, especially when he went out, gave Megumi a weird sense of warmth. It was nice knowing that his gift was keeping Yuuji warm outside.
But when Megumi looked closely enough, he noticed the dirt stains at the bottom of the jacket. Megumi’s clean freak alarm went haywire. He couldn’t believe Yuuji had the audacity to lie in his bed with a filthy coat on.
Without thinking twice, Megumi rolled off his bed and practically yanked the coat off of Yuuji. He scrunched his nose; Yuuji smelt like booze and cigarettes. “Come on, off, off, off.”
Yuuji grinned lazily. “Megs, if you’re that desperate to see me in the buff, all you had to do was ask—”
“I just changed your bedsheets an hour ago!” Megumi snapped, tugging the coat harder. “And your coat’s vile, Itadori. Take it off, or I’ll burn it with you still in it!”
“Nah,” Yuuji muttered, slumping further into the bed. “Too much effort, darling.”
“Yuuji…” Megumi growled exasperatedly.
After a few minutes of what could only be described as a wrestling match—more like Megumi strangling Yuuji out of his coat—they were both lying on Yuuji’s bed. The dirty coat had somehow ended up on the floor, but Megumi didn’t give a toss about it for now. He’d deal with that disaster tomorrow.
Yuuji was clearly out of it, drunk enough that Megumi was half-expecting him to face-plant into the bed and choke on his own vomit. Without wasting a second, Megumi scrambled off his bed, muttering to himself as he went to grab a glass of water, some ibuprofen, and, just in case, a bucket.
As Megumi leaned over to tuck Yuuji in, slender fingers curled unexpectedly around his wrist.
“Megs?” Yuuji called, his voice just above a whisper.
Megumi could barely speak through the lump in his throat. “What is it, Yuuji?”
“Why won’t you marry me?”
The pure look of devastation on Yuuji’s face hurt Megumi more than anything he’d ever experienced. He watched as his best friend was staring at him with big, forlorn eyes, and Megumi weakened visibly.
“Yuuji—”
“Is it me?” Yuuji interrupted, his voice cracking. “Am I that minging you won’t marry me?”
“Oh, mon cœur… ” Megumi sighed as he ran his thumb from the bridge of Yuuji’s nose to his forehead to offer him some comfort. “It’s not you. Believe me, there’s nothing wrong with you.”
"Is it because I'm British, then? Because you can’t be bothered with all that immigration faff?"
Confused, Megumi blinked his eyes at Yuuji. "What are you yapping about? Your nationality's got nothing to do with—"
“Then why?” The pink-haired boy pressed, frowning, his half-lidded gaze still managing to pierce right through Megumi.
Megumi took a deep breath before answering. “You’re my best friend. I can’t do that to you.” I can’t do that to myself either, was what he didn’t add.
“But isn’t that a good reason to marry me?” Yuuji countered, his stubbornness flickering faintly beneath the exhaustion.
“It is, yes.” Megumi agreed. “But not enough.”
“What do you want then?” Yuuji propped himself up on his elbows, leaning closer as he stared at Megumi. “What more do you want, Megs?”
Megumi stared back. He was repeatedly, convulsively swallowing at their proximity. Yuuji was so close, too close. Close enough for Megumi to see every detail of his face now. The arch of his eyebrows, the noticeable scar between his two eyes, the gentle curve of his nose, the flushed redness painting his cheeks, and his lips. Fuck. They were wet. Yuuji must’ve licked them.
They froze for a moment. Yuuji’s grip was still firm and secure around his wrist as he caught his breath, and Megumi just stared at him. If he leaned in just a fraction more, he could kiss him. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to kiss Yuuji’s flushed cheeks. He wanted to kiss his sweaty forehead. He wanted to kiss those ridiculously tempting lips. He wanted to kiss Yuuji so hard that neither of them could think or breathe or even remember why they hadn’t done this before.
“I don’t want you to marry me because you need that stupid passport,” Megumi confessed in a shaky breath. “I want you to marry me because you need me.”
Yuuji lifted his one hand to cup Megumi’s right cheek with a tenderness that sent shivers down his spine. “But I do need you,” he whispered.
Megumi shook his head. “You need me for the passport.”
“No,” the single word was both breathless and high-pitched. “No, I need you like I need air to breathe.”
That was all Megumi needed, really.
His sister often said Megumi was impulsive. Megumi had never really believed it, except when he surged forward to kiss Yuuji; only then did he think that maybe Tsumiki was right all along.
He was kissing Yuuji.
And Yuuji was kissing him back.
When he pulled away from the kiss, wide-eyed and shocked at what he had done, Megumi cleared his throat a little as he stared at Yuuji in a flurry of total daze. Yuuji did not look upset. Probably a good sign. He stared back at Megumi, a thousand emotions flickering through his eyes, and his lips were parted, allowing access for air as he lightly panted.
Megumi’s lips were trembling at the sight; he was aching for more.
Then the air was completely knocked out of Megumi’s lungs when Yuuji closed the distance between them, cupping the back of his head while clenching the hair and crashing their lips together once more.
His lips were soft, so soft, and he tasted of alcohol and sugar. Megumi had kissed other people before, but this was different. Yuuji’s kiss was wild and desperate. His grip on Megumi was firm as he explored his mouth thoroughly with his and Megumi’s head was spinning, unable to process anything but the feeling of Yuuji’s lips against his own.
Megumi could no longer keep his hands at his sides. He reached to cup the back of Yuuji’s neck, to tangle his fingers in the bright, silky waves of his hair, to feel his pulse hammering against his palms. He gasped when Yuuji’s arms tugged his body forward so he could climb on top of his body. He then adjusted his legs to straddle Yuuji, who grabbed onto his neck to keep him in place while they kissed each other breathless.
Megumi was out of breath, but it didn’t matter; nothing mattered except the way Yuuji was kissing him. When their tongues curled around one another, he couldn’t help but fucking whimper and felt Yuuji’s hand tighten on his waist. Every inch of his skin burnt at the places where Yuuji’s hand was touching him. It felt so good. Everything felt so much better when all he could feel was Yuuji. Yuuji’s hand on his waist, his other hand on the back of his neck, his body heat, and the small noises that escape his lips as they kissed and kissed.
Yuuji broke off the kiss but didn’t let Megumi go. He was still holding him against his chest, and his face—merde, Megumi had never seen him like this, eyes burning and lost to desire, his pupils wide and dark.
“What…” Megumi rasped dizzily. “What did just…”
“I believe,” Yuuji choked out. “I believe we just snogged.”
Right, snogged.
Realising he was still half sprawled on top of Yuuji, Megumi jolted upright in panic, scrambling back like his life depended on it. His frantic movements sent him tumbling onto the mattress, where he landed with a thud, propped up by his trembling hands. His breaths came quick and shallow as he stared at Yuuji, his heart hammering in his chest.
His best friend, on the other hand, looked slightly dazed but unmistakably sober, his lips a little swollen, his cheeks flushed, and his gaze steady in a way that made Megumi’s stomach twist uncomfortably.
Yuuji let out a slow sigh and sat up properly, closing the gap between them so they were face to face. “You alright, love?” he asked gently, his tone cautious, his brown eyes searching Megumi’s for any sign of distress.
“Huh? Uh…” Megumi stammered, his mind blanking because of that stupid nickname. “Ouais, bien.” His brow furrowed as he caught himself. “I mean, yeah. I’m fine.” Then, after a few moments of silence, he added. “You’re a good kisser.”
Yuuji blinked once, then twice, before he laughed. It was a real laugh, the one you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to, and Megumi, despite everything, found himself smiling. God, it was lovely. So ridiculously lovely to see Yuuji laugh like that. Even better, knowing he was the reason for it.
“Well then,” Yuuji said at last, his laughter fading into a grin that lit up his entire face. “That little show enough to change your mind, or what?”
The cheeky glint in his eyes made Megumi groan, though the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. “You’re gonna have to do better than a good snog and British citizenship, chéri. What else have you got?”
Yuuji leaned in, his grin widening. “Alright then, how about this? You could take my surname. Fancy being Megumi Itadori? Rolls right off the tongue, eh?"
Megumi raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”
“And,” Yuuji added, his tone softening as he reached out, fingers brushing against a strand of Megumi’s hair. His touch was featherlight, but it sent Megumi’s heart racing. “And you’d get to spend the rest of your life being loved by me.”
Megumi froze, his breath catching as Yuuji’s words hung in the air, simple yet devastatingly sincere.
“I’m in love with you,” Yuuji began, his voice steady but tinged with nervousness. “I’ve been in love with you since you punched Mahito in the face for me back in our second year. It was... well, it was hot, Megs. You have no idea how good you looked. That’s when I realised I’m tragically, hopelessly attracted to mean people like you.”
Megumi stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. “You...” he started, his voice caught somewhere between disbelief and exasperation. “You saw me punch someone into oblivion, and the only thing you could think about was how hot I was?”
Yuuji winced slightly, the tips of his ears turning pink, almost the same shade as his hair. “I mean... yeah, uh... I don’t even know why meself. When I saw you back then, me brain just short-circuited, alright? And it was a really good punch! You can't really blame me for being a little turned on by justice and, y'know, your face.”
“T’es idiot.”
“Uh… I get the ‘idiot’ bit, but—”
Megumi let out an exasperated huff, but his lips curved into a grin despite himself. He reached out, cupping Yuuji’s face with both hands like he was about to deliver either a heartfelt confession or a scolding. “You’re an idiot,” he said, his voice soft but laced with amusement. “Mostly because I’ve been in love with you since our first year—yeah, remember when you got #KenjakuIsATory trending on Twitter? That was the moment. And somehow, you never noticed. You’re as oblivious as you are annoying.”
Yuuji, who always seemed to have a quip ready, opened his mouth only to close it again, utterly speechless. His grin stretched wide, though, as he reached out to pull Megumi into his arms. Megumi didn’t know, or care, who leaned in first. All that mattered was that Yuuji was kissing him. They were kissing again, and again, and again, and Megumi’s heart, which had been pounding relentlessly moments ago, now felt so full it might burst.
“Je t’aime,” Megumi murmured, his forehead resting against Yuuji’s as their breaths mingled. He huffed a laugh when he saw Yuuji's confused face before repeating what he said again, but this time in English. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Yuuji whispered, his voice tinged with awe. He leaned in once more, capturing Megumi’s lips in another kiss, and just like that, Megumi forgot how to string together a single coherent thought entirely.
"Huh, so you found me attractive when I got too political?" Yuuji asked after a while, his grin as cheeky as ever.
Megumi broke away from him, just to glare at Yuuji, whose eyes were shining with mischief.
“I—what? No!” Megumi spluttered, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. “That’s not... I meant—”
“Admit it," Yuuji said, eyeing him. "You saw me ranting about tax reforms and thought, ‘Phwoar, that’s the one. That's the love of my life.’”
Megumi opened his mouth to retort, to shut him down, to regain some dignity—but it was too late. The absurdity of it all finally caught up with him, and before he knew it, he was doubled over, laughing so hard he had to clutch at his stomach.
Maybe, just maybe, Megumi thought as he wiped tears from his eyes, being British wasn’t the end of the world after all.