Chapter Text
“Do you have all of your things?”
“Yes.”
“The cakes that you made?”
“Already packaged and put away.”
“The gifts that you bought?”
“Labeled and wrapped.”
“Flowers for the nurse?”
“Complete with a ‘thank you’ card.”
Megumi nodded as Itadori smiled at him — one of those open-mouthed grins that bled confidence and bliss. He was trying to make sure that they had everything they needed for this small holiday trip, but his boyfriend was too busy staring at him, ogling and grinning like he was in some sort of stupor.
“I’m excited for this,” Itadori said, bumping him with his hip.
Megumi huffed out a small laugh, rolling his eyes, and nudged him back with his arm. “Yeah, okay, let’s go. We’re going to miss our train.”
He waited as Itadori readjusted the bags on his arms, carrying the holiday stuff while he managed their personal items. They were going on a simple, two-day trip out to Sendai, intent on spending it with Itadori’s grandfather. There was a lot to catch up on, and Megumi knew that Itadori was excited, so if they didn’t get out the door soon, they’d be stuck waiting for another twenty minutes for the next train.
Despite the short timeline, this was still meant to be a big trip. They were celebrating different things — all of them happening at once: Megumi finished his first semester of graduate school, Wasuke’s cancer was going into remission, Megumi’s birthday was the day prior, and it’ll be Christmas soon.
Since summer ended and Megumi’s story was published, things started to get significantly busier than both he and Itadori expected. His first semester back in university hit him a lot harder than he planned — not necessarily in a bad way; it was just a bit of readjustment to get used to — and the gym started to get more and more attention from the people in Toshima City.
There were weekends and day trips that Itadori spent up in Sendai over the past several months, but, more often than not, he went alone. Megumi would have wanted to travel with him, but between preparing his thesis and sifting through and writing research papers, he was practically chained to his desk.
It wasn’t all too bad, though.
Megumi did enjoy the work that he was doing, and he was glad to be studying under Nanami again. Gojo gave him the occasional short story or editing job, so he was making some money, and he still received compliments and comments on his first and only feature story — “The Tiger, the King of Curses, and the Owner of the Divergent Fist: The Many Names of Itadori Yuuji.”
But now that school was on break and Itadori had time away from the gym, they were able to have this little trip together, spending time with Wasuke and Choso, and appreciate the breath between the end of the semester and the new year.
“How are Maki and Kugisaki doing?” Itadori asked, falling into step at Megumi’s side as they headed for the train station. “Finally getting used to being at work again?”
Megumi let out a scoff, fighting a smile on his lips, and said, “Maki’s fine, though I’m pretty sure Kugisaki is holding a grudge against me for going back to school. Apparently, she and Okkotsu have been covering the crime beat together in my absence.”
Itadori laughed. “Doesn’t TSU have more writers?”
“Oh, they do,” he replied. “I’m pretty sure that’s just Gojo being Gojo, though. And, as much as she gripes about covering hard news, she says that working with Okkotsu isn’t so bad. As far as I know, Ijichi is now covering a lot of Kugisaki’s old stuff.”
They continued the rest of the way to the station in comfortable silence. Itadori made a comment about something every now and then, but their walk mostly consisted of window shopping and navigating the busy streets together.
Lights were strung up across different buildings and streetlamps, and there were different holiday decorations stuck on windows, hanging from signs, and standing tall along the sidewalks. A chill cut through the air as they made their way past all of the businesses and vendors, and Itadori happily pointed out things that caught his attention.
By the time they made it to the train station, Megumi could still feel a cold sting on his cheeks from the wind biting at his skin, and his fingers were numb. Itadori looked like an absolute freak, only wearing jeans and a hoodie, seemingly unfazed by the dropping temperatures.
Boarding was a hassle, more than what they would have liked, but they eventually settled as relief washed over them — prepared to relax for the next couple of hours. They passed the time with simple conversation. Megumi talked about dinner with his sister and how she wanted to invite Itadori over for an evening, to which he enthusiastically agreed.
“I’d love to meet her,” he beamed. “You always talk so highly of her, and I know we’ve been busy, but it seems like this break would be the perfect opportunity.”
“Maybe when we get back to Tokyo, we could,” Megumi offered. “I think it’s time I introduced you properly rather than just over the phone.”
“Hey, I love phone conversations with Tsumiki! She sounds really fun.”
“She just likes to mess with me.”
“That’s what makes her fun.” Itadori laughed, giving him a teasing nudge. “You need people like me and her to lighten you up when you get all serious and tense, Fushiguro.”
“I get serious and tense because I’m in grad school, by the way,” he quipped back, but there was no real bite in his words.
“Yeah, yeah, journalist,” Itadori said as he waved his hand. “You were pretty serious and tense even before you went back to school, you know.”
Megumi scowled at him and was met back with a stupid smirk and a wink. Some things never change. “That’s because I was trying not to like you, idiot.”
“And look where that got you,” he laughed. Reaching over, Itadori grabbed Megumi’s hand, squeezing it and smiling that familiar thousand-watt smile. “Stuck with me.”
Megumi gave him a deadpan expression, only quirking an eyebrow, and said, “Unfortunately.”
“Hey!”
Itadori dropped his hand, still smiling and chuckling. It didn’t take long for Megumi’s resolve to break, and he cracked a smile, too, bumping him with his shoulder. They laughed together, losing themselves to time as the train continued out of the city.
That was the thing about being with Itadori. The rest of the world seemed to fade away when they were together. Every point of focus was on him — in the way he laughed, the way he carried himself, and the way he smiled. Itadori was always such a magnetic person, that much was evident from the two months they spent together for his story, but even now, several months later, Megumi could still say in confidence that he was just… like that.
They spent the rest of the train ride just being with each other. Conversations drifted, and they continued to talk about anything and everything. Itadori talked about some of his new classes and students, saying that he had more instructors contact him for renting out the space, so the gym was truly thriving.
Megumi heard new names and old names. Over time, he had really come to learn more about the inner workings of the Divergent Fist, and it had gotten to a point where he started to recognize students, too. Sometimes, he would go to the gym and sit in Itadori’s office, writing a paper or reading while different boxing classes were being taught. It was just one of those things that he had gotten used to. Maybe it was from where he was writing the story, or maybe he just liked being around Itadori. Either way, it gave them time together and allowed them to build a schedule that just worked.
Since the end of that two-month feature, Itadori really became integrated into Megumi’s life. He was always there in small ways — in the ways that didn’t drastically change things or make him feel like the ground was being ripped out from under him. Megumi needed that sort of stability going into graduate school, and he really appreciated the patience that came with Itadori’s love.
A part of him still couldn’t believe that this was his life now. If someone had told him in the spring that he would be writing a sports feature story and then end up with the guy he was writing the feature about, Megumi would have just assumed that person was crazy.
He did have the ground ripped out from under him. In his last months with the paper as a full-time journalist, Gojo thought it would be fun to push Megumi into a new style and watch him run with it. Megumi felt more like he had tripped and stumbled through it, but once he was able to catch his footing, things really started to fall into place.
And that led him here, on the train to Sendai, with a certain gym owner and boxer who really pissed him off when the story started. He still couldn’t believe that things turned out the way that they did. It was even more difficult to believe that it was just the world circling back around from a party almost two years ago. There were still moments that made Megumi pause, moments where he was still trying to process that all of this started with a conversation on a balcony in the middle of the night.
When the train arrived, the two of them gathered their things and started to make their way to Itadori’s old apartment. It was a familiar trek, not one that Megumi could do from memory now, but in time, he might. Itadori led him through the city, flowers in one hand, bags in the other. Megumi shouldered their stuff as the morning slowly turned into the afternoon, and the sun stood high in the sky.
By the time they reached the apartment, it was much warmer than when they had left Tokyo. The wind still bit at their skin, but daylight warmed them, and they quickly made their way down the street. Itadori’s steps grew wider, his pace grew quicker, and there was an excitement that built around them as they approached the building.
“Choso may or may not be here,” he said, reaching for his keys. “He might be back with his adoptive family for the holidays, but he said he was going to try to come see us if you were in town.”
“I don’t want him to feel like he has to just for me,” Megumi replied.
Itadori smiled, shaking his head, and opened the door. “Nah, I think he wants to.” Stepping inside of the small entryway, he quickly shed his shoes and shut the door behind Megumi. “Grandpa, we’re home!”
We’re home.
The words were simple, really, but they both meant so much. “We’re,” as in Megumi and Itadori. “Home,” as in something a bit more meaningful than rooms and a roof. It was them coming home, and even if it was just a simple announcement, even though he and Itadori had only been together for a few months, even if neither of them actually lived in Sendai, it was still special.
“I was wondering when you’d get here,” Wasuke called back.
The two of them made their way into the living room, looking for Itadori’s grandfather. He was sitting in a recliner, sorting through some papers, while a nurse sat in one of the adjacent couches. Immediately, Itadori walked up to her with the flowers, thanking her for her help and wishing her a happy holiday.
“I hope he wasn’t too much of a buzzkill for you to deal with,” Itadori joked, smiling.
The nurse let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “No, he’s great, really! Are you sure you don’t need me to stay longer?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Itadori beamed.
She bowed to him in thanks and turned to Wasuke. “Thank you, sir. I’ll be back in a few days.”
Wasuke grunted and replied, “Thanks.”
After she was gone, that left Megumi and Itadori standing in the living room as Itadori’s grandfather continued sifting through the mail in his lap. He didn’t seem keen on saying anything, focused on the task at hand, and Itadori had to clear his throat to get his attention.
“You know Fushiguro,” he said, gesturing vaguely to Megumi. “He came here with me.”
Wasuke let out a candid hmph and grumbled, “Obviously.” He paused for a moment, turning to Megumi, and said, “Welcome back, kid. Glad to see you’re still around.”
Megumi nodded. “Thank you, sir. And thanks for having me.”
“We’re going to head to the market soon so we can make dinner later,” Itadori started, setting some of his bags down. “I was thinking that we could make meatballs. Like we used to.”
That seemed to catch Wasuke’s attention, and he turned to his grandson with an almost mischievous glint in his eye. “Trying to impress someone?”
Immediately, Itadori flushed, and his brows furrowed. “I just thought it would be easy. And nostalgic.”
“You’re not going to make ‘em right if I leave it to you,” Wasuke said as he started to stand from his chair. Itadori took a few steps forward, holding his arms out in case he needed support, but he was waved off. “If you want meatballs for dinner, then we’re going to do it my way.” He looked at Megumi. “You got that?”
Megumi felt the corner of his lips curl, finding himself easing into the comfortable and playful dynamic of Itadori and his grandfather. “That’s fine with me.”
“Then hurry up and get to the market,” he grumbled, shuffling towards the kitchen. “I’ll try to have some tea done by the time you get back. Maybe something stronger.”
“Grandpa…”
“I was just kidding,” Wasuke bit. Then he grumbled, “Useless grandchild. Didn’t I raise you to take a joke?”
Itadori huffed, holding his hands up in surrender. A ghost of a smile rested on his lips, and when he caught Megumi’s eye, he winked. “Alright, we’re going. By the way, I made a cake for us and one for Choso. Do you know if he’s coming in tonight?”
“I think he’ll be here later, but if you really want to know, you could text him,” Wasuke replied. He was reaching for the electric kettle, messing with its settings.
“I’ll ask him on the way to the market,” Itadori said, bringing the bag with the cakes into the kitchen. “Here, you can put these in the fridge.”
Wasuke hummed, taking it from him, and waved his hand. “Thanks, kid. Good to see you, Fushiguro.”
Megumi nodded, offering a polite smile and wave.
When they made it back outside, Itadori let out a loud, exaggerated huff, smiling. He turned to Megumi, beaming brighter than a star, and said, “He’ll never change.”
That earned a laugh from Megumi, and they continued down the street towards the local market. Itadori led them through the neighborhood, reminiscing and making jokes about his grandfather. Most of his comments were about how Wasuke was as gruff as ever, to which Megumi was inclined to agree, but it was a fun way to look at their dynamic.
Wasuke was someone who Megumi felt balanced Itadori out. It was a little funny to think that his boyfriend had grown into someone so opposite of the person who raised him, but it also just sort of worked.
Itadori loved loudly, and Wasuke loved quietly.
He was similar to Megumi, in a way, and maybe that was why Itadori was so unfazed by all of his rebuffs and cold, disconnected remarks. Though part of that was intentional. Megumi was trying to not let his feelings get in the way of his story, but it turned out to be completely fruitless.
That wasn’t to say that he was upset about it. What he had with Itadori was special, and he loved it, but it was funny to take a step back and see how the world liked to operate. Megumi never would have considered “the universe” or whatever to have a sense of humor, but when he thought back to everything he knew and learned about Itadori, it was hard to say that it didn’t.
The market ended up being busier than they planned. Megumi followed Itadori through the different booths and vendors, buying vegetables and spices and drinks. He talked with some of the owners, asking for their opinions on recipes and general uses, and he happily took Megumi by the hand through the crowds as they continued to stock up on purchases.
Somewhere along the way, Itadori learned that Choso would be coming later in the evening for dinner. He beamed — his excitement bursting in his expression — and talked about how he couldn’t wait to spend time with his family and was even happier that Megumi was joining them.
By the time they made it back to the apartment, it was about midafternoon. Itadori helped his grandfather put some of the ingredients away while Megumi was instructed to have a seat and drink some tea to warm up because he “looked like his ears were going to fall off.”
It was fun to watch the two Itadori men interact. The way that they built off of one another was so dynamic, yet so casual. They moved like a well-oiled machine. Wasuke would hand something off to Itadori, telling him where to put it, and Itadori would already have it in its rightful place, wearing an easy smile and a smug look in his eye.
“So, Fushiguro, you’re back in school, aren’t you?” Wasuke asked, settling back into his chair. He groaned a bit as he relaxed but refused any help from Itadori.
“Yes, I’m in a master’s program for linguistics and literature,” Megumi answered. “I’d like to get my doctorate soon after that, too.”
“What are you wanting to do?”
“Personally, I would like to use it to study how language is applied in different types of writing, and then I’d like to become a professor for it.”
Wasuke hummed, scratching his chin. His expression was unreadable, lines on his face forming into a permanent scowl, but he didn’t actually seem unhappy. “Is that how you ended up at that newspaper?”
“Yeah, my advisor went to school with the owner of the paper, Gojo Satoru,” Megumi replied. “I worked there part-time while in undergrad, and during my gap year, I became a full-time reporter. That’s how I was assigned to Itadori’s story.”
“But you knew Itadori before that.”
It was more of a statement than a question, but Wasuke still looked at him, expectant, like he wasn’t sure. Next to Megumi, Itadori shifted on the couch — not necessarily uncomfortable but maybe a bit sheepish at the idea of having to explain that they were both nearly blackout drunk at a party when they first crossed paths.
“Well, I didn’t know him personally until the story,” Megumi explained, stealing a quick glance at his boyfriend. “I had no idea who he was.”
At that, Wasuke huffed out a small, dry laugh and said, “Well, he seemed to remember you.”
It brought a small, creeping smile to Megumi’s lips as he turned to look at Itadori. He was red in the face, looking back and forth between his grandfather and his boyfriend, and all he could do was smile.
Megumi loved it.
“Believe me, I know,” he replied, nudging Itadori in the arm. “He was pretty obvious in how he felt about me.”
Itadori cleared his throat, still blushing furiously, and said, “Hey, maybe we should start on dinner for tonight.”
“Ah, you’re no fun, Yuuji,” Wasuke teased. “But, yeah, Choso’s supposed to get here soon, so we might as well start.” Turning to Megumi, he jerked his chin at him in acknowledgement. “Hey, kid. You ever make meatballs before?”
The process of making meatballs, Megumi learned, was a lot more complicated than what he had originally thought. A lot of it could be due to the fact that Wasuke was the one leading it, and Wasuke was a very particular person, but they sat together around the table — chopping the ingredients, mixing them, and shaping them — in almost complete silence.
Wasuke instructed Megumi on how to shape the meatballs while Itadori minced the carrots and the scallions. He explained that this was a recipe he had taught to his grandson years ago, back when Itadori was in middle school, and it was something that they did often, because it was how they spent time together.
Itadori then went on to further explain that he started cooking as a side hobby, picking up recipes that his grandfather taught him and eventually ones that he found online. Before Wasuke had to be hospitalized, they spent their evenings in the kitchen, trying out new things and experimenting with different flavors.
Megumi had never really cooked with Itadori before. There were times when Itadori made something for him and times when he was in the apartment while Itadori was cooking, but actually being in the kitchen, hands-on, and learning from both Itadori and his grandfather was something else entirely. It was special, in its own way, and a learning experience that he had come to appreciate.
When all of the ingredients were chopped, Itadori moved to start on the soup. It was a simple miso, which wouldn’t take long, but Wasuke still made a point in telling him how to make the broth.
“You never make it salty enough,” Wasuke quipped, moving the bowl of shaped meatballs to the stove.
“I make it just fine,” Yuuji argued lightly. “You just like it with more salt than you should have.”
At that, Wasuke grunted before turning to Megumi and gesturing for him to follow. “Here, you’re going to cook these on the pan for me because I don’t want to stand and do it.”
Megumi walked over wordlessly, standing next to Itadori at the stove as his grandfather explained what to do.
“Heat the pan and put oil in it, then cook the meatballs until they’re a sort of greyish color,” he explained, handing the meatballs over to him. “After that, they go in the soup, as long as my useless grandson has it boiling by then.”
“It’ll be at a soft boil by the time it’s done, old man,” Itadori jabbed, not even bothering to look up from the pot of miso. “Go sit down and take a break. We can handle this.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Wasuke grumbled, waving his hand.
Megumi and Itadori stood next to each other at the stove, bumping hips and smiling. Itadori made a soft, snarky comment about his grandfather, to which Megumi let out a small laugh and shook his head. It was such a quiet and peaceful moment — one where Wasuke played some old instrumental music from the living room and the food slowly finished cooking.
At some point, Choso arrived, trudging in from where he had been in the lab before coming straight to the Itadori apartment. He and Wasuke talked for a bit, but it didn’t take long for him to make his way to the kitchen.
“Yuuji,” he beamed, walking up to his brother for a hug.
“Hey, Choso,” Yuuji said with a smile. The two of them embraced. “How’s your family?”
“They’re good. They send well wishes,” Choso replied. Turning back to the living room, he told Wasuke, “They say congratulations on going into remission and that they’re glad you’re doing better.”
Wasuke called back, “Not ready to go just yet.”
Itadori chuckled, walking over to Megumi. “You remember Fushiguro from the paper.”
“Of course, I do,” Choso said, smiling politely at Megumi. “And from your… we’ll call them ramblings.”
It caused Itadori to blush, and Megumi raised an eyebrow at him.
“It’s nice to see you again, Fushiguro.” Choso reached out to shake his hand.
“You, too.” Megumi smiled.
As cooking started to wrap up, Itadori and Choso worked together to prepare the table while Megumi kept an eye on the food. Wasuke remained in the living room, occasionally joining in on the small talk, but he seemed to be more interested in reading a newspaper than he was in conversing.
Once everything was prepared, the four of them sat around the dining table, and something about it felt so authentic. The way that they fell into a rhythm was unlike anything Megumi had seen before. It reminded him of how his family dinners went, with Tsumiki being as doting as ever and his father remaining stoic but present.
Itadori and Choso carried the conversation the most, but Megumi liked that he didn’t feel pressured to speak. Wasuke seemed to share a similar sentiment, listening in and making the occasional comment.
“Seems like you did a good job in not messing up the recipe this time, kid,” he said, reaching for another couple of meatballs. “Not bad.”
Itadori laughed, stuffing one into his mouth. “Your recipe has been burned into my brain. I could make these in my sleep.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, you fool,” Wasuke scolded.
“These really are very good,” Choso commented. “Thank you for making them.”
Itadori smiled and wrapped his arm around Megumi’s shoulders. “Hey, you have to thank Fushiguro, too. He helped and even put up with all my grandpa’s crazy steps.”
“It was still mostly you and your grandfather,” Megumi said. “I only really shaped them.”
“And you did that wonderfully,” Itadori beamed.
They continued in conversation well into the night — until the food was put away and Choso went home, cake in hand. It didn’t take long for Wasuke to announce his going to bed, citing that he wasn’t young enough to stay up so late. Itadori helped him to his room, ignoring the muttering complaints and insistence that he didn’t need it, and eventually returned to Megumi with a smile.
“I think we’re going to do gifts tomorrow,” he said, settling against him on the couch. They melted into one another — arms and limbs tangled in the soft night of the living room. “Grandpa said he didn’t ask for any gifts.”
Megumi chuckled, a low rumble in his chest as he bumped his head against Itadori’s. “I’m sure he’ll be delighted to know that we both got him something.”
It wasn’t really anything special or spectacular. Itadori once revealed that Wasuke enjoyed older instrumental music, and he had a classic record player that he would occasionally use, like he did earlier when they were preparing dinner.
As a gift, they bought several vinyl records. Some of them were bands and ensembles that Itadori knew his grandfather liked, and some were newer choices that they thought he’d like to discover. The gift was a careful consideration, mostly led by Itadori, but Megumi was more than willing to pitch in and help him find ensembles that Wasuke might like.
“You know, you have the same dry humor,” Itadori said, craning his neck to look at Megumi. His voice was light and playful, and he had a half-smile on his face. “You and my grandpa both.”
Megumi quirked his lips and let out a small huff. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Itadori smiled at him fully, a big, wide-toothed grin, and stole a quick kiss. “Yeah, you’re totally right. I don’t know what I’m talking about.”
Megumi chased after him, lingering on the feeling before pulling away, and said, “Not a clue.”
Itadori’s eyes narrowed, all teasing and coy, then he ran a hand gently through Megumi’s hair. “Thank you for coming with me here.”
Megumi hummed, letting his eyes flutter shut. “I’m glad that I was able to.”
“It means a lot to me that you and my family get along.”
“Next time, you’ll have to come and meet mine. I’m sure they’ll love you.”
Itadori smiled, leaning in for one more kiss. “Next time.”
And Megumi smiled back as his chest burst with a soft, warm feeling that spread throughout his body. “Just as much as I love you.”
There.
He had been waiting to say it, and he wasn’t sure what it was about this moment that made it feel right, but it just did. This was something that Itadori surely knew, and it was one of those feelings that went unspoken solely because it didn’t need to be said.
But here, in the silent, dimly lit apartment of Itadori’s home, under the cover of a winter sky in Sendai, it just felt right.
Itadori pressed his lips together, clearly fighting back a smile brighter than the sun. He held Megumi close, his fingers absentmindedly playing with the strands of his hair, and he whispered, “I love you, too.”
Leaning in, they melted into the kiss. It was like smooth hot chocolate, sweet and savory. All warm and comforting, like a blanket wrapped around your body. Itadori sighed softly against Megumi’s lips, holding him tighter, and Megumi reached around and cupped the back of his head.
This kiss was like a low fire. Not necessarily a dying flame, but the kind of gentle embers that burn in the wood and glow in the night. It was like little sparks flying around, floating through the air — light and weightless.
It was every moment, from two years ago at that party to right now, all adding together, pouring into this kiss, just saying the words, “I love you.”
When they pulled apart, that was all Megumi could think — just overflowing with love and admiration and adoration for the man in front of him. It was hard for him to believe that this was where their story led, but now that he was here, he couldn’t imagine anything else.
Itadori Yuuji.
Loud, confident, cocky, flirty Itadori Yuuji.
Kind, passionate, selfless, thoughtful Itadori Yuuji.
Megumi couldn’t love anyone else the way he loved him.