Chapter Text
It all happened because Megumi wanted a motorcycle.
More specifically, he wanted a license. He already had the motorcycle, an obscenely expensive thing from Italy that Gojo had gifted to him on his last birthday. But Gojo had forgotten that he was turning fifteen, not sixteen, and he couldn’t apply for a license until the following year.
It had made for an awkward evening, and the cake (store-bought, Megumi knew, because he’d seen the plastic casing in the trash; he didn’t know what to say when Gojo insisted he’d baked it himself) tasted foamy when he explained this. Megumi told himself he’d never use it.
Not until Yuji had seen a photo of it on Megumi’s phone.
They were outside, the hot sun burning their scalp as they sweat through their summer uniforms. Air rose off the ground in waves. The AC units in the dorm had broken, so they elected to sit on the steps outside and watch the clouds pass.
“This thing is insane!” Yuji swoons. “Do you know how to ride it?”
Megumi shrugs, then takes back the phone so he keep scrolling through Instagram in peace. Beside him, Yuji continues to chatter.
"You should learn. It's not that hard! And think about it--you can go anywhere you want, whenever you want."
"I don't have anywhere I need to go."
"What about that boba place? Or the mall?"
Megumi can hardly justify the amount of time that would need to be invested in driving school just so that he could go out for junk food on his own timetable. But he doesn’t say this. Instead, he rolls his eyes.
"There's Ijichi."
"But he's not always available. And why wait around for someone else if you can do it yourself? Imagine how nice it would be to just take a long drive by the coast." Yuji's eyes widen, consumed by some daydream, and he pans hands out in front of him as if the air were a canvas. "Wind in your hair, salt on your skin, not a care in the world. Doesn't that sound awesome?"
"You watch too much TV."
"What does that have to do with anything?" Yuji retorts. There’s no bite behind it. "It could save you a lot of time! Plus you always complain about how slow Ijichi is. With a motorcycle you wouldn't have to worry about that! You could go anywhere you want!"
Megumi's response doesn't come on time, and Yuji’s words end up sinking in. The ability to go anywhere, to visit the beach as he liked, to get take-out without having to beg Ijichi to drive them…
"You're thinking about it!"
"Not really," he replies, and he's scrolling through Instagram again. Nobara passes by a minute later, inviting them over for a game of Smash Bros, and the conversation is forgotten.
Yuji dies and comes back before Megumi starts taking the idea seriously.
Shoko is the first person he talks to.
He knocks on the door to her office. To his surprise, she's there; the door opens with detached curiosity, and she peers at him through the space.
Her smile is polite and small. A lollipop sticks out from between teeth, chemical red leaking onto her lips. She doesn’t tilt her head to look up at him; her focus stays on the vague space around his shoulders. Megumi finds it relieving. Familiar.
"Ieiri-san."
Her smile grows a little larger. She seems to be studying him, and the faint smell of antiseptic curls around the door.
"You're taller."
"Yes," he replies, unsure what the appropriate response is. "I was wondering if you could help me with something."
She doesn't move from the space between the door and its frame. There is no invitation for him to step inside, but the door doesn’t close. He takes it as a sign to continue.
"I'm thinking of attending driving school. I'm missing some of the documents I need, though. Like a birth certificate. Or proof of residence. I was wondering if you might have something like that."
Her eyebrows arched, and she looked up at him through her lashes. The glitter of her eyeshadow caught on the light.
"Aren't you a little young to drive?"
"It's just driving school. I’ll apply for the license when I turn sixteen. And it’s for motorcycles. I have one already."
Her mouth works around the lollipop. She doesn't crunch it, like Gojo does, and the coloring darkens her lips.
"Mhm. Is this some kind of coping mechanism?"
"No," he says, but the idea of driving around the coast sounds nice. Much nicer than it did before he saw Yuji bleed out in front of him.
There was a moment of silence, and the door opened. She beckoned him inside. He followed.
"I may have something. Take a seat," she says, gesturing to her windowside desk. There's no guest chair, so he hovers in the space around it as she disappears into the adjacent room. The click of her heels grows distant.
If Megumi were honest, being here made him feel a little uneasy. It felt like a breach of propriety to be in the intimate working space of someone else. Especially if her relationship with him was, at absolute best, that of a distant aunt.
Her office was just as sterile as her operating room. There were no pictures or candles on her desk. Everything was filed away, and the room was white and spotless. Clean. Organized.
Megumi decides that he likes it.
Shoko returns a moment later, a folder tucked under her arm. She realizes that Megumi’s still standing, hunched over, hands in his pockets as he stares out of the window.
She studies his silhouette. His hoodie looks a size too large, and his sweatpants pool around his ankles. He’s wearing flip flops. Usually she would dismiss anyone who tried to turn up dressed like that, but she realizes that he’s probably not even aware of the unspoken dress code.
The realization is colored pink, fond. Warm. He’s much, much taller than she remembers him being. Something in her heart flickers, the aftertaste of a memory; an image of him, half this size, sleeping on her lap as she filled medical charts on her computer.
But he didn’t remember that, and she wasn’t going to remind him.
She waves her hand to get his attention. The memory dissipates, and she hands him the folder. He looks confused as she takes a seat.
"Those are your documents,” she explains. “You can open it."
He opens the plastic folder carefully, then looks through the documents. There’s a birth certificate. Some insurance files. Vaccination records. The paper is thin, and light passes through it. The text is hard to read.
"These look fake."
Shoko exhales around her lollipop. "They are. We don't have any of your original papers, but this should cover almost everything you'll need."
Megumi looks up from the folder. "Almost?"
"You might need some sort of guardianship authorization, since you're a minor. That's something you'll get at the driving school. Just fill it out. It should be simple enough."
And it really should have, but Megumi found a way to mess it up anyway.
He arrives at the driving school later that week, a little sweaty and very much annoyed after Ijichi's stuttering interrogation (Why are you going to a driving school? Are you sure about this? You know how dangerous motorcycles are, right?). His irritation curdles into sourness, and by the time he’s given a clipboard to fill the last of his paperwork he’s eager to leave.
He inhales, exhales. The plastic chair digs in his back. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead as strangers talk and complain and shuffle around him. He calms himself with the image of the seaside. The smell of gasoline.
Like Shoko said, the only thing they still need from him is the guardianship authorization form. He squints at the paper and taps a finger against the back of the clipboard. Maybe he shouldn’t have dismissed Ijichi so quickly. He might have been able to help with this.
With a sigh, he fills out the form with his name, date of birth, and place of residence. He stalls for a moment at the last section. Then, with practiced ease, he forges Gojo’s signature.
Feeling accomplished, he heads to an open window. One of the office employees appears a moment later. Half-moon glasses slide down her face as she studies Megumi’s paperwork, and she smells strongly of lavender.
"These don't match."
Megumi blinks, gaze sharpening as he comes back into focus. "Huh?"
With an irritated glare, the lady pushes her glasses up her nose and slides the paper over the counter. A chipped nail points to the guardian form, then his birth certificate.
"These don't match," she repeats, as if Megumi doesn’t know. Taps on the forged signature, still wet, and it smears. "Who is Gojo Satoru?"
Shoes squeak on the laminated floor. Pens scratch, and a clock ticks down the hall.
Megumi realizes he's taking too long to answer.
"He's my benefactor," he finally responds.
"Benefactor," the lady repeats, voice flat. "Do you have some sort of documentation?"
His thoughts turn red. Sweat trails down the line of his back, and he’s suddenly sick of the fluorescent lights. "Documentation? Of what?"
"Of this benefactor. We need to have a document to corroborate your guardianship authorization form."
Irritation foams on his face. His eyebrows draw together, and his words come out harder than he intends.
"I'm here to learn how to ride a motorcycle."
"And you'll need proof of guardianship to do that."
Megumi remains silent, the focus he would have directed to remaining polite now channeled into keeping his cursed energy in check. He can feel it threatening to flare around him–the whole experience has been draining, a thousand papercuts, and he considers giving up.
The lady must mistake his silence for some kind of sadness, because she readjusts her glasses and speaks with less ice. "Something from your foster organization. Or adoption papers, should you have those."
Megumi is still quiet, but it's a louder kind. His eyebrows raise and mouth opens.
Foster organization?
Adoption papers?
He looks down at the papers, at the mismatch between the guardian form and the birth certificate. He catches a glimpse of himself in the plastic between himself and the employee. His hair is messier than usual, and his clothes are a little too big. But that’s how he likes it. That’s how it’s always been.
But he can see the story the employee is creating in her head, because her voice is softer now and she’s smiling, cotton and forced. As if she’s trying to apologize.
"I'll bring them by the end of the month,” Megumi says.
The lady's smile falters. "Pardon?"
"The adoption papers. I'll bring them by the end of the month."
+ + + +
There are no adoption papers.
Megumi knows this, but he asks Shoko anyway. She confirms as much. There are no documents authorizing the school's pseudo-guardianship of him. Nothing from his mother, his father; nothing from the Zenin Clan.
Nothing from Gojo.
It's a cold thought, the realization that his existence is somehow unofficial. He doesn't say this. Instead, he asks if there's anything Shoko can do about the situation. The look he receives is long and careful.
"Well. You'll have to talk to Gojo about that."
"Why him?" Megumi asks, and they're sitting in her office again. This time, there’s a chair for him. He thinks of the sea. "They said foster organization papers are fine too. Don't we have anything from when I was enrolled in middle school?"
"Jujutsu Tech is a school, not a foster agency. A document like that would bring up more questions than answers. And if I remember, Gojo just paid off your elementary and middle schools until they stopped asking questions. Couldn't be bothered with the paperwork."
The air smells of Lysol. For some reason, it's familiar.
"Can't we just make something? The people at the office only look at it for a few seconds."
Shoko chews on an unlit cigarette, and it leaves a scrim of black against her teeth. "Again. You can talk to Gojo about that."
He shifts in his seat, and he can feel water in his stomach. For a second, he considers asking Shoko to put her name on the thin, see-through paper. He immediately dismisses it. He's already stretching her kindness to the upper limit, and it shows in the dry way she looks at him.
"Listen," she begins, hands folded in her lap. She studies him from across her desk. "I need to get back to work. Call Gojo and ask if he can help you with this. I’m sure he won’t mind."
"Sure. Thanks."
Her response comes in the form of another tight, nylon smile. Megumi stands and pushes in his chair, muttering something about being thankful for her time, and closes the door behind him.
He stands in the hallway for longer than is appropriate. He doesn't lean against anything, or press his forehead to the cool tile. Instead, he lingers in the space between the walls. Hovering. He thinks of his papers, fake and empty, and it feels appropriate.
Two weeks pass. He doesn't call Gojo. He can’t imagine what he’d say: ‘Hey, can you forge adoption papers for me so I can learn to ride a motorcycle? I know we have history, but I have no interest in the real thing and I know you don’t either. You don’t need to pretend. I need them by the end of the month. Can you send it then? Please?’
The angst shows on his face. Yuji repeatedly asks if he’s okay (normal), and Nobara starts paying for his afterschool boba (decidedly not). Gojo is mercifully absent. Maki tells him it’s because he's on a mission in Egypt, and Megumi wonders why he hadn't heard that first.
Something in him changes. Redirects. His eyes are different now, searching for something in the adults around him that he’s not sure he’ll find. He considers Yaga. He trails Ijichi. He analyzes Nanami, clean and professional, who’s become Gojo’s begrudging substitute during his absence.
He decides that he likes Nanami.
Despite the efficiency of Nanami’s lessons, Megumi feigns struggle. He buys a subscription to Chegg to find wrong answers, erases his flawless chemistry homework, and colors it with confusion. Assignments are turned in with subdued sighs. He makes a show of chewing on his pen during class and staring out of the window with a vague, troubled look, and comes late exactly twice.
Nanami falls for it.
“Fushiguro,” he says. He stands at the front of the classroom, watching as Megumi slowly packs his things. The light streaming through the windows is hot and slanted. Nobara and Yuji are already gone, and Megumi’s dropped his pencil case too many times to be inconspicuous.
“Yeah?”
Nanami adjusts his glasses and he clips his briefcase shut. “I’m concerned with your performance.”
“I’m doing fine,” Megumi replies. It’s not entirely a lie. Stoichiometry is easy for him, even if his doctored homework assignments suggest otherwise.
Nanami turns to face him. “You almost failed the last exam.”
“So did Yuji and Nobara,” but there’s nothing unusual about that, and everything unusual about straight-A, 4.0 Fushiguro Megumi pulling a 48% in the unit exam. Megumi’s not concerned. He can drop the act after he has his papers.
Instead, he trails Nanami’s gaze, not daring to hope that his plan was working.
Nanami sighs. He folds his sunglasses into the collar of his dress shirt and gives Megumi a hard, careful look. “This isn’t usual for you. Are you struggling with the content? I know you’re cheating on your homework.”
Megumi blinks as he zips up his pencil case. He reminds himself to tread carefully.
“I guess it’s a little hard,” he mutters. “And I’m not cheating. I just work with Yuji and Nobara on the homework. Sometimes.”
“You know that goes against the unauthorized collaboration policy in the syllabus.”
Megumi doesn’t, because Gojo never remembered to post the syllabus for their chemistry unit on Canvas, but he makes sure to look appropriately apologetic. Chegg is probably worse, anyway. His eyes lower. The sunlight catches brilliantly on his lashes, and he blinks quickly. As if he’s forcing something back.
“I’m sorry. It’s…well, it just feels like there’s too much going on. It’s hard to stay focused.”
It’s true, but he still feels bad when Nanami sighs.
“Do you know where my office is?”
“No,” Megumi says, shaking his head. He keeps his voice low. “I don’t think so.”
“It’s down the hallway, to the left. Room B-008.”
Megumi already knows this. He’s heard Gojo crack enough jokes about the room number (‘ Hey, check out what it looks like when you hide the hyphen! Hehe!’ ), and he passed it when visiting Shoko. Lingered. Watched Nanami work behind the space between the door and the wall, and thought about how clean it looked inside.
“B-008…” Megumi echoes. He taps a finger to his chin. “Let me write that down. I might forget.”
Nanami watches as Megumi scrawls the room number into the corner of his notebook, then continues. He looks conflicted. “Fushiguro.”
Megumi glances up. “Yes?”
“Pass by my office after class. If there’s material you need extra help with, we can go over it. But I leave at five, and I have missions, so I still expect you to be proactive in your own learning.”
“Oh,” Megumi exhales, and it feels like a breakthrough. He thinks of the beach and smiles. “Thanks. I might take you up on that.”
Megumi spends an increasing amount of time at Nanami's office hours. They mostly do chemistry questions (which he pretends to not understand) and English (which he actually doesn't, and is surprised at how well Nanami explains it). Sometimes Megumi brings bread rolls, or a cup of coffee. Other times, when he's running late, it's a soda. Nanami never smiles, but he accepts the gifts and takes off his glasses and watches, attentive, as Megumi's pen scratches against paper.
It becomes a routine. Megumi brings food. Nanami brings his experience. The office is always spotless. There are frames on the desk with no pictures, and an air freshener is plugged into the wall. It smells like vanilla, and then like comfort. They do biology, jujutsu history. English. Chemistry. Megumi makes sarcastic comments about Gojo's teaching, about how Nanami's is far better, and Nanami reprimands him in a tone shaped like a smile.
They begin to stay after five. Nanami doesn't look as upset about it as Megumi thought he would. The latter might have dwelled on this longer, but it's almost the end of the month, and he grows restless.
How do you go from chemistry tutoring to asking someone to forge adoption papers for you? Maybe he should just suck it up and call Gojo.
But as it happens, Gojo calls him first.
Megumi is in his dorm, Switch in his lap, when he gets the call. He accepts it mindlessly, expecting Yuji and receiving a shrill squeak instead.
"Megumi!!"
Gojo's voice is high and artificial. Megumi has to stop himself from hanging up.
“Why are you calling me?” he grunts.
“That’s not very friendly. You’re not going to even ask about my trip? Egypt is great! We should go together sometime. The food in Alexandria is incredible. Have you ever heard of mint lemonade?”
"Do you need something?"
"Do I need something?” Gojo echoes, and he can hear a candy wrapper rustling on the end of the line. Wet crunching follows a moment later. "From what Shoko told me, this is more about you. No need to be shy. I'll be happy to adopt you!"
Megumi blinks. His reflection stares back at him from the Switch’s screen, warped.
"Huh?"
"Come on now, Gumi-bear. Your dear old dad is happy to sign those papers and make it official."
Something hot spikes through Megumi's chest, and his heart pulses around it. He grits his teeth.
"The hell are you talking about?"
"Hmm...that's no way to talk to your father."
"I don't want you to adopt me. I just need you to fake some papers."
"A son needs a mother," Gojo continues, crunching mindlessly into the mic. "Any preferences? I'm thinking Ice Spice.”
"Stop.”
“Someone older? Nicki Minaj, then?”
“I just need some fake papers so I can get my learner's permit for motorcycle school."
The crunching stops. "Learner's permit? Oh, I think Shoko mentioned something about that. What do you need adoption papers for?"
Megumi rubs the space between his eyebrows. The skin feels hot. "I don't know. They keep asking for stupid documents I don’t have and it's driving me crazy. I just wanna learn how to drive a motorcycle."
"Where are you gonna go with a motorcycle?" Gojo wonders, as if he forgot the gift he had given Megumi just a few months ago. Which he very well might have.
"Anywhere I want. Ijichi drives slow."
"Fair. Are you free tomorrow?"
"I've got classes. That you're supposed to be teaching. What about the papers?"
"Sorry, sweetie. It's tough being a single mom with two jobs." The crunching resumes, and Megumi is suddenly angry. "Skip class tomorrow. We'll hang out."
"I don't want to hang out. I want to get this stupid paperwork done."
"It'll be so much fun! Should we go to Universal or Disney?"
"You're not listening to me."
"Universal, then. Have you been to Super Nintendo World yet? You'll love it. Remember how much you loved Mario as a kid? I'll pick you up at eight. We can get there before the park opens."
"I have class!"
"Just skip, it doesn't matter. You know most of the stuff anyway."
"I don't want to go anywhere. Can you just make up some paperwork and send it to me? I need it by Friday."
Gojo laughs, and the line drops. Megumi stares at his reflection in the black screen of his phone, hair mussed and cheeks red, and barely manages to stop himself from throwing it across the room.