Chapter Text
Fushiguro Megumi hates Itadori Yuuji. Well, more accurately he hates the men’s water polo team, and by extension, he hates their loud, overly confident, and unfairly attractive captain, Itadori Yuuji.
It is somewhat a matter of principle. As one of two captains of the university’s swim and dive team, the other being his older cousin Maki, it is essentially a requirement to harbor such a burning hatred. When he’d been named captain at the end of last season (youngest ever for their university, thank you very much, beating out Maki’s record by three months), Maki had locked him in her house, which she shares with some of the upperclassmen on the team, for three days while she instilled in him what she called ‘the key rules for a kickass swive season.’ The name had clearly been created by Kugisaki Nobara, top shooter for the women’s water polo team, reluctant best friend of Fushiguro Megumi, and overly affectionate girlfriend of one Zen’in Maki, but his cousin had assured him that the ideas, regardless of name, had been passed down from captain to captain for years. He had rolled his eyes when she brought it up initially, exasperated at the idea of needing rules to lead what boiled down to an individual sport, team in name, synchro, and relays only. Such a reaction earns him a swift knock to the head with the stick she’d been using to emphasize her points as she moves through the prepared slideshow, again clearly influenced by Kugisaki.
“Megumi, if you hope to help me lead this team to our fourth national title in five years then you will shut up and listen.”
Rubbing the new sore spot on the back of his skull, he frowns. “I didn’t even say anything!”
His cousin clicks her tongue. “But you thought about saying something.”
Megumi sucks in through his teeth and sighs, resigned to his fate. Maki is one of the most, if not the most, competitive people he knows and she rarely acts without purpose, so he figures that despite the theatrics she may actually have some good pointers. Plagued with crippling anxiety and self-consciousness, he’s not exactly a natural born leader. He might spontaneously combust the second he tries to direct his upperclassmen, so pointers from anyone more experienced than him are valuable. Maki, for her part, had been in his shoes last year and is a few months away from being an upperclassman herself, meaning she’s the best person to help make sure he doesn’t make a fool of himself (though, knowing him, that might still happen anyway). His saving grace is that he takes his sport entirely too seriously, so he’s eager to learn from her, as much as it pains him to admit.
Though the explanation ends up being overly convoluted and including far too many extrapolations, the rules essentially boil down to this:
1. Though swimming and diving are mostly individual sports, we compete on and for a team and are responsible for one another, both in success and failure. This is especially true for the captains.
2. Do not engage in fuckery and mayhem during season. Especially with the men’s water polo team.
3. Do not engage at all with the men’s water polo team. Avoid them at all costs.
After listening to Maki speak for at least two hours and only really clarifying those three points Megumi frowns, head cocked, as he sits backward on a chair with his chin in his hand. Failing to stifle a yawn he chooses to speak up to address his confusion. “Hold up,” Maki looks annoyed at the interruption but lets him continue, “this seems like an odd assortment of rules. Two of them are basically the same thing.”
Maki raises an eyebrow, her glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of her nose as she looks down at him. She sighs, thwacking her pointing stick on the coffee table. The sound reverberates through the room forebodingly.
“Do you know why we are seeking our fourth title in five years, instead of our fifth consecutive, dear cousin?”
Though, as captain, he probably should know this, he has to shake his head. The lack of knowledge doesn’t sting as much knowing that even if he had said yes she would have forced him to hear it again anyway.
Maki takes a seat on the couch across from him and folds her legs beneath her. “This was before your time so I guess you wouldn’t know, so I’ll explain.” From her sitting position, she points at the slideshow (now displaying the words ‘NO WATER POLO MEN’ in bright red block letters). “It is directly because of the men’s water polo team and their ridiculous behavior. Two years ago, one of our captains got swept up with some guy who she thought looked good in a speedo with one of those stupid caps on and elected to ignore the rules. Expectedly, the season went to shit. Since she was so distracted, she didn’t notice or care when they started infringing on our pool time with impromptu and overtime scrimmages, which led to canceled or delayed practices. The water polo team started bringing our people to their parties so everyone was hungover for morning practice, and so on and so forth until we were so underprepared that we didn’t even make it to the team finals. We went from winning or placing in nearly every event to not even making the finals, all because of a few weeks of poor behavior at the behest of that damned team.”
She takes in a deep breath through her nose, eyes closing briefly as she pulls herself back from the edge of an outburst. When her eyes reopen, they lock onto Megumi’s and threaten to burn a hole in his retinas. “That captain was resolutely stripped of her position, and we won last year’s team championships and multiple individual championships since reinforcing the implementation of these—” again, she thwacks the wall where the slideshow is being projected with her stick, “—three core rules. Any more questions?”
Throwing a quick glance to where Kugisaki is sprawled over the couch, head hung upside down off the edge as she scrolls on her phone, Megumi raises his hand. Maki’s eyes narrow and he can tell she’s about to hit him again so he spits out the question before she has the chance. “Why does this only apply to the men’s team?”
From her spot to his left Kugisaki snorts, eyes not lifting from her phone screen. “Those dumb idiots are a special breed of incompetent.” She shrugs, and it looks a little funny in her position but Megumi doesn’t dare laugh. “Sully my team’s reputation by grouping us in with them and die.”
Likely knowing that isn’t really an adequate explanation for someone like Megumi, Maki goes to add to her statement, a fond look in her eyes as she gazes at her girlfriend. The fondness dries up when she turns back to Megumi to answer him. “The men’s team was distinctly responsible for the aforementioned tragedy. They’re bad news. Plus, the women’s season doesn’t overlap with us in quite the same way, and they are respectful enough to work together on the pool schedule rather than just showing up and demanding access when they want it.”
Assuming that’s the best explanation he’s gonna get, he nods in acceptance. Taking that as a signal to move onto her next slide, Maki starts lecturing again. Megumi bangs his head against the back of his chair and groans.
—
At the time of that impromptu lecture series, their ‘swive’ season had recently ended and their coach had given them some time off before off-season training began, so Megumi hadn’t paid much mind to the rules, figuring he wouldn’t have any trouble listening to them anyway. He has no reason to get distracted by a water polo guy since every one he’d met thus far had been a walking, talking stereotype for annoying jock, and he’s sure the same is true for their university team.
He had been content enough to leave the ideas rumbling around in the back of his head until they became relevant the next pre-season when real training picked up. The next few weeks were spent cramming for exams and celebrating the successful season, meaning Maki’s rules drifted even further out of his thoughts amidst congratulations from his teammates and coaches for not only being named captain, but also becoming the individual men’s collegiate champion in the 3-meter springboard, as well as coming second for the 10-meter platform.
It isn’t until he is walking onto the pool deck in mid-April for their first low-stress conditioning practice of the off-season that the rules shoot back to the forefront of his brain, coincidentally at the exact same time he’s hit square in the chin by a rogue water polo ball.
“Ah, shit. Sorry man!” A strangely upbeat voice shouts from the direction of the pool. Eye twitching slightly, Megumi turns toward the sound, an expletive on the tip of his tongue. Before he can spit out the assuredly fantastic insult he’s cooking up, his mouth runs dry.
A man (god? statue?) gracefully pulls himself up and out of the pool and strides over toward him, water dripping down a frankly ridiculous physique clad in nothing but a speedo. The man’s wet, pink hair, only partially visible under the water polo cap, hangs over his forehead, a sheepish smile on his lips as the scent of chlorine washes over Megumi. He isn’t sure why but his cheeks begin to feel hot. Trying to get over the momentary shock, he attempts to steel his expression. He’d been a diver since he was like six and is used to seeing and ignoring guys in speedos, even hot ones, but for some reason, this adonis is throwing him for a loop. “Are you okay?”
The guy smiles, and wow.
Megumi.exe is not responding, it seems. He feels like an idiot, standing there in his ratty university sweatpants and team-issued t-shirt across from what may as well be the reincarnation of Achilles himself. A gentle hand gripping his chin snaps him back to reality, the touch making him jerk back with a scowl. The man’s fingers, surprisingly strong, keep their hold and pull him closer. For a split second Megumi thinks he’s about to be kissed by this random guy, but instead honey-colored eyes zero in on the point where the ball had hit him as the man tilts his head to examine the skin.
For a second Megumi can hear his heart pounding as the other man’s breath ghosts across his neck and he’s scared it might be audible. Pinky, as Megumi dubs him in his brain, doesn’t seem to notice, thank god. He’s panting, breathing seemingly still affected by whatever exercise had resulted in him throwing a ball so hard it might have cracked one of Megumi’s teeth, and the sound only worsens the neuron malfunction that is ongoing in Megumi’s brain. Finally, after what feels like an hour (but is really, like, twenty seconds max) of having his head tilted every which way in search of injury, Pinky releases his grip and takes a step back, chuckling and rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, seriously, are you okay? You aren’t concussed, are you?” He laughs again, tone apologetic. “I totally did not mean for that to happen.”
Maki’s words echo in his head. They’re bad news.
Megumi is stronger than this. He will not be swayed by a nice smile and pink hair (and probably rock hard abs and insanely toned thighs and—)
Gritting his teeth, Megumi puts on what he hopes is an intimidating glower and crosses his arms. He isn’t about to fuck up in literally his first official minute as a captain, no matter how inviting those muscles look. “I’m fine, no thanks to you.” He bends down and picks up the ball that had come to settle by his feet, shoving it into Pinky’s chest. “Please keep your balls to yourself.”
The pink-haired man, frustrating as he is, does not take the ball, but does place his hands directly over Megumi’s and snicker. Megumi’s scowl grows, nose curling in distaste. “What’s so funny?”
The man’s smile shifts from sheepish to confident. “Aw, man, maybe you do have a head injury if you didn’t notice that one. Whatever! I’m Itadori Yuuji, and you are?” Letting go of his hold on Megumi’s hands around the ball, he sticks out his hand.
Rather than shaking it as this Itadori probably intends him to do, Megumi only drops the ball into the outstretched palm, forcing Itadori to scramble so it doesn’t fall to the ground. “Late. Please excuse me.” The man starts to respond but he’s cut off by someone shouting from the pool.
“Itadori come on! We only have the pool for fifteen more minutes!” The man, or rather, Itadori shrugs at Megumi, grin fading only slightly. Not bothering to stay and embarrass himself further, Megumi stalks past Itadori, bumping his shoulder in hopes of conveying his disdain.
He hates that he has to put effort into ignoring how their fingers brush as he heads for the locker room. Behind him, Itadori shouts out another apology. Megumi keeps walking.
After changing into his swimsuit and team gear he heads for the team room. Since both their squad and the water polo teams are consistently successful, the aquatics department actually has some funding and, as a result, the facilities are pretty swanky. The locker rooms were recently updated (including the addition of a small sauna which was heaven-sent after a rough practice), and the new aquatics building has plenty of rooms for team meetings along with a state-of-the-art weight room and gymnasium, all completely separate from the ones used by other sports across campus.
Maki is already there with a few upperclassmen members of the team. She’s written out a relaxed conditioning set for the day on the whiteboard, to which she gestures after beckoning him over. A little apprehensive, he sucks in a breath before walking toward her. Last year he’d been a first year, relegated to the back of team meetings and forced into the shallow lanes when none else was available. Now, he’s a captain. “What do you think?”
“Hmm?”
“Of the set? Any opinion?”
Slightly surprised at the question, he takes a closer look at the list of exercises. He has to get used to giving input, even if it feels weird to be dictating what the upperclassmen would be doing alongside himself and the other first and second-years. The dive team doesn’t really need to do the same sets as the swimmers, but it’s good conditioning so they tend to start practices together. “Looks good but I might take the divers out a little early to do some basic movements on the boards. No actual dives, but it’s good to get the muscle memory back up, ya know?” Is that a stupid idea? No. It makes sense. Right?
His cousin grins, slightly wolfish, and smacks him on the shoulder. Offhandedly he thinks about how she reminds him of Kuro, one of his two wolfdogs. “Right to the hard stuff! No rest for the wicked. I like it, Megs.”
Rolling his eyes but inwardly beaming at the praise, he turns to take a seat. After a moment of hesitation he decides on one of the seats at the front of the room, facing the other chairs rather than the whiteboard. The rest of the team slowly trickles in as he shifts, trying and failing to find a completely casual yet comfortable position that exudes confidence. He can’t help a small snort as Ino walks in, already donning his swim cap and goggles. The man should have graduated last year but apparently their head coach, Nanami Kento, had figured out some way to extend his eligibility an additional season. Good thing, too, since he’s been their best backstroker for three years running. Megumi smiles at Inumaki and Miwa when they enter, both part of the diving squad, and he frowns at Kamo, also part of the diving squad but also always managing to get on Megumi's nerves, though the latter doesn’t seem to notice or pay his annoyance any mind. He's followed quickly by Nishimiya and a few other upperclassmen.
Eventually, Coach Nanami walks in, the last straggling athletes scurrying in behind him. He comes to the front and stands next to Maki, though after a small bow in greeting she quickly sits down beside Megumi. Nanami quickly scans Maki’s set before turning toward the room.
“Welcome back, students. I hope you enjoyed your break, and that you properly celebrated the successful season. I’d like to formally welcome our newest captain, Fushiguro Megumi, though I am sure most of you know him well already.” He pauses, gesturing to Megumi. Megumi doesn’t react until Maki elbows him and mouths ‘say hi’, prompting him to wave awkwardly and let a hello tumble from his mouth.
“I don’t have much to speak to you all about today besides reminding you that we will be having both conditioning and weights twice a week, Monday through Thursday,” Nanami continues. “Practices are mandatory, as always, but as it’s the off-season come see me if something comes up and we can work something out. Our captains will be responsible for most of your maintenance training between now and preseason, so please heed them as usual. First-years and transfers please stay behind after the meeting so I can speak with you about expectations.” With that, he turns toward Maki and Megumi and nods for them to take over. Anxiety pricking at his skin, Megumi decides to let Maki do the talking.
She sighs, slouching back in her chair with the kind of easy nonchalance one only has when they know they have the goods to back it up. Which she certainly does, previously the youngest team captain ever (sorry not sorry), a winner of multiple individual championships and lower medals in both freestyle and butterfly, and the best collegiate mixed medley relay anchor in the past decade. Her sharp grin seems to scare a few freshmen in the front row into sitting up straighter.
“Alright, idiots. Just because it’s off-season doesn’t mean training is something to take lightly. Fushiguro and I expect everyone to behave as if we were in season, and we will be keeping notes on everyone’s performance and commitment. This could come into play when it comes to meet strategy and away meet room assignments in a few months, so keep that in mind. Fushiguro will be mainly responsible for the divers, and myself for the swimmers, but we expect you to respect us both regardless of your squad,” she pauses only to breathe, clapping Megumi on the back and grinning. “That being said, we will be hosting a belated celebration for our championship at Swive House on Friday. Attendance is not mandatory but is highly encouraged. Especially for newbies.”
A bit nervous at Maki’s brazenness, Megumi looks at Nanami but is pleased to see he doesn’t seem perturbed by her statement. If anything, there’s a hint of a grin on his face. It’s silent for a moment until he realizes Maki, along with the rest of the team, are looking at him expectantly. He releases his lip from between his teeth.
“What she said.” It’s a weak statement, certainly not very captain-like, but Maki seems pleased as she dismisses everyone with instructions to be on the deck for stretching in five minutes.
After a brief discussion with Nanami, Megumi heads out onto the deck, dragging a wheeled whiteboard with the set rewritten on it toward the lanes. Looking at his watch, he’s annoyed to see that the water polo team is still in the pool, five minutes past their allotted time, and that the lane lines are still pushed to the side to make room for the nets. Maki stops next to him, a similar look of displeasure on her face. “What did I say about the men’s team? Ah, it is nice to be proven right so often.”
Megumi’s eyes narrow as he debates what to do. On one hand, they could ask the team to do what they’re supposed to, but that would inevitably result in like fifteen minutes of them dicking around before the lane lines are actually replaced. On the other hand…
“Let’s just start moving the ropes ourselves.”
Maki smirks. “What a wonderful idea, Megs. Let’s.”
She walks to the other side of the pool and they begin dragging the lines to their proper spots, hooking them onto each wall and ignoring the cries of annoyance from the men in the water as their practice area slowly shrinks. A sick sense of satisfaction rolls over Megumi as he sees Itadori’s eyes widen before he ducks under the surface of the water to avoid the rope smacking him in the face. He smiles to himself as the men hurry to get out, cursing under their breath and glaring at Megumi as they walk toward the locker room. It makes his job a lot easier if they get out on their own, so he doesn’t mind the hostility, even if it’s undeserved since they were the ones in the wrong, not him.
They’re on the last few ropes when one gets stuck on something, forcing him to kneel on the deck to reach into the water. Suddenly a face is directly beside his own, nose inches away from Megumi’s cheek. He jumps, a small yelp tearing from the back of his throat, but he manages to catch himself and narrowly avoid a tumble into the water while still clothed. The offending face has a stupid smile on it as it addresses him. “Hey, Late!”
Megumi blinks. “What?”
It takes him a moment to process the situation, and he finds that he’s nose to nose with Itadori, unsurprisingly. Kneeling beside Megumi, the man is, mercifully, clothed now, donning a loose pair of shorts and a muscle tank top, though his hair is still soaking wet. The universe only had a little mercy for him, it seems, since the water droplets dripping down Itadori’s neck and catching on his collar bones are extremely distracting.
The man’s smile falters ever so slightly, realizing his joke didn’t land. Or, rather, that Megumi hadn’t even realized it was meant to be a joke at all and is looking at Itadori like he’s insane. “Late? You know ‘cuz I asked for your name, and you said late, so…”
Frowning, Megumi pauses his fiddling with the lane line and sits up. “My name isn’t ‘Late.’”
Itadori chuckles awkwardly, hand scratching the back of his neck again. Must be a habit. Bah! Don’t think that. You don’t care what his habits are! “I know! I was just, um. Anyway, sorry for running overtime, I try to get the guys out on time but they always dick around after we finish drills.”
Ignoring the suddenly persistent fluttering in his chest, Megumi chooses not to deign the explanation with a real response, only humming in acknowledgement.
The conversation stagnates for a moment as Megumi returns to his task, catching a glimpse of Maki’s cartoonishly annoyed face across the pool as she tugs on the rope in an effort to get him to move. He finally manages to free the lane line from whatever it had been stuck on and clicks it into its hook on the wall before standing to move to the next one. Itadori follows close behind, to Megumi’s chagrin.
“So, what is your actual name? I’m Itadori, in case you forgot.” It's only been about twenty minutes since they’d halfway met, but Megumi is sure that even years later he will remember Itadori’s name. Still, it's odd that Itadori reminds him now, as if he really wants Megumi to remember. With an exasperated sigh, he deems it acceptable to answer the question (partially due to the somewhat irresistible puppy dog eyes Itadori puts on. If Maki is Kuro, Itadori is for sure Shiro). Shaking the unnecessary thoughts from his head, Megumi looks Itadori in the eye.
“Fushiguro.”
Almost immediately he can tell he’s made a mistake. The puppy dog eyes narrow and a smirk grows at the edge of Itadori’s mouth. He leans in close, breath barely tickling Megumi’s ear. “Nice to meet you, Fushiguro.” Megumi hates how nice his name sounds coming from this man. Truly, he does. “I hope we cross paths again soon.”
Resolutely committing to his annoyance and not allowing himself to feel flustered, Megumi focuses once more on moving the lane lines. “Whatever. Just respect the pool schedule going forward.”
The wide, bright grin returns and Itadori winks, turning on his heel to leave. “Sure thing, Fushiguro.”
Megumi rolls his eyes and forces his stomach to stop doing backflips through sheer will. This man will not get the better of him. He is a captain and he has a responsibility to his team. A responsibility that he has no intention of fucking up, muscular water polo men be damned.
Itadori Yuuji is a mistake waiting to happen, and Megumi will not fall victim to him.
—
Unfortunately, the rest of the off-season goes pretty similarly. Each day Megumi arrives for practice, gets nearly decapitated by a rogue water polo ball (or trips on some equipment that’s been left laying around the weight room, or gets barreled over as extremely large men run laps around the pool—completely disregarding the ‘don’t run on the pool deck’ rule, by the way, so they might as well be running with scissors—or has to cover his ears to keep out the hardcore rap blaring over the speakers that are only supposed to be used for announcing during events, or suffers some other equally as frustrating incident), has to kick the water polo team out after they go past their allotted pool time, and is forced to watch in agony as Itadori Yuuji smiles apologetically while he flaunts his physique like he’s in a fucking Calvin Klein add or something.
It’s infuriating.
The men’s water polo team somehow manages to cut into their practice by at least fifteen minutes every damn time. And the worst part is they never seem to care or have any desire to take literally any steps to rectify their mistakes. No matter how many times Itadori comes to Megumi with a shy grin and some convenient excuse (“sorry, tryouts ran long’” or “my ‘waterproof’ watch broke and I lost track of time”), and no matter how many times Megumi emphasizes the importance of respecting the pool schedule, nothing changes.
After about two weeks of this, Megumi reluctantly goes up to Maki and tells her he understands the rules now. She only says ‘I told you so’ like four times, which can be counted as a win.
It’s during one of those off-season practices that his hatred for Itadori Yuuji, specifically, rather than just as an extension of the Men’s Water Polo team, is solidified. Carved in marble, encased in resin, etched in stone, for everyone to look at and say wow, Megumi sure hates that guy without a shadow of a doubt in their minds.
Rare are the days when the men’s team is practicing elsewhere (or had canceled practice or whatever, Megumi doesn’t care as long as it means they aren’t there), and to take advantage of the open pool space Megumi is having the diving squad actually do some dives for once. They’d spent the last month or so going through the motions, running up, practicing takeoff form, et cetera, but they hadn't really done any real diving.
Although it may seem counterintuitive to call something practice when you aren’t really practicing the main part of your skill, Megumi is of the belief that this style of training is actually more effective. Diving is a hard sport, and it is extremely hard on the body, particularly for those doing some of the taller dives but also for everyone else. It’s like repeatedly smashing your body into half-dry concrete and letting your tender bruises and aching joints tell you how to smash into it more effectively. To avoid any unnecessary injuries, especially during the off-season, Megumi had talked with Nanami and gotten a low-impact practice style approved.
So, they rarely did actual dives. Actually, under Megumi, so far the squad has probably spent more time in the gymnastics facility practicing their movements on trampolines and into foam pits than they have diving into the pool.
Their previous coach, the one Nanami took over for midway through last season, was a hardass who ‘didn’t believe in offboard practice,’ so Megumi had been very tentative to suggest the switch. With encouragement from Maki, he managed to put on his big captain pants and get Nanami’s approval, and his teammates have thanked him for it. Inumaki, in particular, came up to him one day in tears because this is the first pre-season where he hasn’t aggravated his years old shoulder injury from too much board time. He even offered to buy him some onigiri after practice.
Despite this all being true, there truly is nothing like actually going for it to see how a dive will play out, so you can’t eliminate real dives all together. No one had solidified any of the dives they’d be competing next season just yet (that probably wouldn’t happen until preseason officially starts), but there are a few crucial moves Megumi wants to ensure everyone doesn’t lose the muscle memory for. Last week he analyzed their score cards from every meet last season (because he’s a bit of a nerd and he likes spreadsheets) and quickly realized that they had underperformed (by his standards) on dives that relied on pikes. Pikes. Literally the first diving position you learn after you get past the ‘do a flip!’ stage (or tucks, as the pros might call it). Pikes were pretty simple, but poor execution was extremely easy for judges to notice and the difficulty often wasn’t high enough to make up for an ankle out of place or a slight twitch of the back.
Obviously they have other things to work on too. Across the board entries were shit, honestly, and their synchro dives needed serious attention.
But pikes. Come on!
For this day’s practice he’d tasked everyone with completing five simple dives focusing on pike position. Each dive would be recorded so they could review film later in the day and take the notes from their dive coach (not Nanami, since he was the head coach for the whole swim and dive team and was less experienced on the diving side of things) which they could implement while practicing their movements on the trampoline.
Though he was disappointed at the data on their pike scores, there was one very important highlight he made sure to praise the squad for. They received top marks in their starting positions and approach scores, and quite high on their takeoffs as well.
On his own platform dives, Megumi favors the armstand. There’s just something about those five seconds where the blood rushes to your head and your feet start to tingle that gets him in the zone. He imagines it’s the same rush free climbers get when their fingers shake as they struggle to find a hold, or how skydivers feel in the second before they pull the parachute, when the momentary doubt flashes through their mind of if it’ll open or if they’ll find themselves plummeting to the ground with no lifeline. When he prepares to throw himself off a platform from a height that makes him dizzy, he feels that same surge of endorphins and fear, and that’s what gets him to let go.
With his shit luck, he’s in an armstand, head clear as he prepares for his first real dive of the off-season, when his hatred for Itadori Yuuji becomes an undeniable fact of life.
His eyes are shut, hands steady, legs together, toes pointed. The pool deck is silent, and he hears nothing except the blood rushing in his ears and the soft bubbling of the water displacers that disturb the water’s surface to help him orient himself mid-dive.
Megumi can’t see himself, but he’s pretty sure he only really smiles right before he takes the plunge. When he was younger, back when he first started diving, Gojo had told him he never looks more serene than in the split second before a dive. His past teammates had called it unnerving, one even asking him if it was an intimidation tactic toward the other divers. That one made him laugh.
He counts to five in his head. A deep breath, then he bends his elbows and starts to launch himself up and away from the platform.
Of course, that exact moment he hears someone shout “don’t fall!” at such a decibel that it ricochets around the pool deck and echoes against his ear drums. Normally, by the time he’s in his starting position, his mind is controlled enough that a disturbance like that wouldn’t throw him off. But he hasn’t actually been in a starting position in weeks, so his control falters. The noise causes him to flinch in the middle of his takeoff, legs slightly separating. He feels fear strike deep in his gut as the shift unbalances his body, causing his pushoff to lose power and making him practically crumple up as he tips backward and his fingertips leave the edge of the platform. The air rushes from his lungs and he yelps, helpless to do anything but try to angle his feet downward so he doesn’t snap his fucking neck when he hits the surface of the water.
He’s only mildly successful and he ends up half-back flopping half-tucking, not getting anywhere near the pike position this entire exercise was meant to work on. Immediately his back spasms, muscles tensing away from the icy sharp pain spreading like spilled ink on a piece of paper. For a second he contemplates letting himself drown. He’s sinking beneath the surface, and it would be super easy to just pretend his spinal cord was severed or something and he couldn’t move, thereby avoiding the embarrassment of having his complete failure caught on 4k.
Unfortunately for him, his will to live isn’t completely gone yet. After a second of contemplative floating he kicks his way to the surface, breaching with a gasp as he sucks in the air he’d lost. Scowling, he swims to the side of the pool with aggressive strokes. He’s already got a series of expletives on his tongue and he somehow manages to ignore the pain in his back long enough to pull himself out.
He thanks his lucky stars that, in his infinite wisdom, he’d had the foresight to have them practice on the 5 meter platform instead of the 10 meter that was used during competitions. His current pain sucks, but it’s temporary. Had he fallen like that from the 10 meter, he might have actually caused lasting damage.
“Who the fuck said that!” He’s bristling with rage. It is common knowledge not to fucking shout like an idiot when someone is up to dive. It’s like golf, if you don’t want to fuck someone up, keep your damn mouth shut, and if you can’t do that you get escorted out and banned. His eyes dart over to Miwa, who’s manning the camera until her turn to dive. She’s got a look of shock and horror on her features as he makes his way toward her. “Miwa, I swear to god, who yelled in the middle of my dive? I’m going to rip them a new one.”
Miwa, bless her kind heart, just shakes her head and points to the doors that lead into the larger aquatics facility. Standing there, having the decency to at least look a little bit remorseful, is Itadori fucking Yuuji. Megumi is pissed. No, he’s beyond pissed. He’s infuriated. Who the hell does this guy think he is?
He storms over, fists clenched by his side and twitching with the urge to deck the guy in the mouth. He’s had his fair share of physical altercations (all of which he’d won, to Gojo’s delight), but he isn’t so sure he’d be able to beat Itadori in a contest of strength like a fistfight. The guy is undeniably built and Megumi, while toned and very much in shape, is pretty thin. Itadori’s broad shoulders are like twice as wide as Megumi’s and his biceps are the size of Megumi’s head. Not that Megumi is looking at his biceps all that often or anything, but the point stands. With this in mind, he forces his hands to relax and instead crosses his arms as he skids to a halt in front of the pink-haired man. He’s not gonna taint his perfect record just to make a point.
“You! What the hell is your problem? Are you trying to get me killed?”
Itadori winces. He’s not in his speedo, for once, so Megumi is spared from having to learn if the blush that dusts his freckled cheeks spreads across his torso too.
“Sorry, man. I didn’t realize it would be that loud. I wasn’t trying to throw you off, or anything.”
Oh, and isn’t that just perfect. Itadori Yuuji wasn’t trying to throw him off! That makes everything better, doesn’t it?
Megumi knows himself well enough to recognize that when his internal monologue starts to get sarcastic then it’s lights out for everyone, but the words are spilling from his tongue before he can stop them.
“Weren’t trying to throw me—are you actually an idiot? Do you have even a shred of common sense? Has your brain been concussed one too many times? I mean, I heard water polo players were dumb as rocks but I didn’t expect a free demonstration.” Laughing with a twinge of mania, Megumi ignores the voice in the back of his head telling him to chill out, that this guy didn’t mean anything by it, because to him it doesn’t matter if Itadori is sorry. Diving is dangerous, and he needs to get it through his undoubtedly thick skull that he can’t be fucking around like this. Not while Megumi is in charge. “Why the fuck else would you scream while someone is literally flinging themselves off a platform if not to distract them? You are so damn lucky I was only on the five meter. Do you realize I could have been fucking paralyzed if it was the ten and I fell wrong? Like, genuinely, is there something wrong with you? That was stupidly dangerous and I should have you banned from this pool deck for it.”
He finishes with a huff, breath coming in pants and black-painted fingernails digging relentlessly into the skin of his arms. Maybe his outburst was a little dramatic, but the point stands. Looking slightly shocked, Itadori raises his hands in surrender. “Woah, chill out man. I obviously didn’t mean anything by it, it was an accident. Now I know better. It won’t happen again.”
“An accident, sure. Why are you even here? You don’t have the pool booked today.” Megumi scoffs. Something about the man’s relaxed posture is pissing him off. "You water polo players are so goddamn annoying, acting like you own the place, like you’re god’s gift to man because you’ve won a few trophies. News flash! So have I! Did you know people have literally died from making mistakes while diving? That isn’t something you can come back from, and your inane shouting being an ‘accident’ won’t help if next time something serious happens.” He watches Itadori’s face pale, the prior blush disappearing as a bead of sweat builds on his brow. There is a sick sense of satisfaction brewing in Megumi’s gut at the sight, but he knows he’s getting unnecessarily worked up. “Whatever. I don’t want to see you on this deck during dive practice ever again. If you show up without reason or ignore the pool schedule again I will not hesitate to file a report with the athletics department and get your sorry ass demoted.”
Now, he doesn’t really have the power to force the athletics department to strip Itadori of his captaincy, nor do official reports ever really result in any meaningful action in general. However, he does have an in with Nobel Prize winning-Gojo Satoru, who makes the university so much goddamn money through grants and awards that he can pretty much demand anything from the higher ups in the administration and they’ll be tripping over themselves to do whatever he asks, regardless of how much he annoys them. Plus, he probably wouldn’t hesitate to help Megumi with petty revenge, since petty revenge is, like, his whole thing. The research paper that won him the Nobel was literally only written as the result of academic beef between him and a professor at their rival university in Kyoto.
Itadori Yuuji can’t know that Megumi has this power so the threat should ring empty. However, his honeyed eyes still widen in fear for a second before his expression hardens.
“Whatever yourself. You’ve got no right to talk to me like that when I already apologized. Seriously, remove the stick from your ass before you impale yourself on it.” The man shrugs, feigning nonchalance. It makes Megumi’s eye twitch. “Or don’t, I don’t really care.”
Holding back an unbecoming and childish stomp and growl, Megumi just frowns and turns on his heel, hissing his response over his shoulder. “Get the hell out of here, Itadori. I don’t need you messing with my squad and getting them injured in the off season.”
“Whatever you say, Fushiguro.”
Megumi ignores the sarcastic quip and returns to his squad, directing Inumaki to prepare for his dive and attempting to put the entire incident out of his mind. He makes a mental note to delete the footage of his wipe-out and save himself the embarrassment.
Internally, he vows to do whatever he can to avoid the men’s water polo team, especially their idiotic captain. He’s sure Maki will be glad to hear it.
He hates Itadori Yuuji, and he doesn’t care who knows it.