Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

archer’s paradox: a phenomenon in archery where the fired arrow does not follow through with the archer’s intended path to their target.

It takes half a semester of pining and a series of increasingly obvious hints that go nowhere for Megumi to finally stop beating around the bush and ask Itadori out. 

Itadori says yes, his reply quick and easy, blissfully unaware to the relief Megumi feels after agonizing over the question for an embarrassing amount of hours. It still feels weird to think about since neither of them go on dates, and Megumi even briefly wonders at one point if he should seek out Kugisaki for advice. 

Eventually, Megumi decides against hearing one of Kugisaki’s lectures on ‘taking the initiative’ and ‘relationship matters’, and settles with easing himself and Itadori into something simple—studying, and then dinner, and then whatever else Itadori wants to do after. 

It’s basically…their usual routine, except now the main difference is that Megumi has asked Itadori out, which means he can bring Itadori over to his apartment.

And then his room. 

And then his bed. 

And then he can—

Well. 

That’s not the goal here, Megumi reminds himself. His cheeks flush; this isn’t just a hookup or one night stand like all those times before. This isn’t the lust-driven desperation that takes over now and then when he craves a warm and willing body to fuck into someone’s bedsheets. 

This is a chance to try something long-term with someone he actually cares about. 

It’s a pretty foreign concept, especially when that someone is Itadori. Megumi didn’t feel this way previously.

He sure as hell didn’t think he would be wanting to date Itadori after the guy almost ate a historical artifact—what was it, an old monk’s preserved finger?—following someone’s ridiculous dare on one of their field trips back in their first year. 

What started off as a comfortable friendship with a classmate bloomed into an overwhelming attraction on Megumi’s side, until he couldn’t even look at certain things (like golden retrievers, or tabby cats, or even Kirby plushies) without being reminded of Itadori.

Itadori, who carries sunshine in his smile and exhales kindness with every breath. Itadori, who always puts up with even the worst of Megumi’s moods and remembers stupid small details he doesn’t need to, like how Megumi hates sweets and likes extra ginger in his meatballs. Itadori, who has so much patience that he willingly goes along with Kugisaki on her shopping sprees and actually enjoys carrying her bags. 

Itadori, whose golden eyes are so warm that they melt through the layers of cold apathy that Megumi spent his entire life building around himself. 

Megumi wants those eyes on him and only him.

There is a rarely seen naïveté about Itadori Yuuji that makes Megumi want to reach in and take that pureness for himself. 

The feelings confuse him. 

Are crushes supposed to feel this way? 

He can’t focus properly on their study date, and his thoughts are a tangled mess at dinner—he can’t screw this up and let someone like Itadori slip out of his reach. Other than Tsumiki, Itadori’s the only other person who can sidestep Megumi’s grouchy moods and annoyed remarks and still show so much care and affection. 

Luckily, things seem to go well, judging by the way Itadori’s eyes shine at the menu of the ramen restaurant that Megumi takes them to, bright enough to illuminate the night skies. 

Megumi watches Itadori excitedly wolf down a bowl of ramen like an excited puppy, a flurry of emotions curling about in his stomach at the sight. And if Itadori notices that Megumi’s tenser than usual, he doesn’t say anything, just still offers that bright and warm smile Megumi wants to kiss off his face.

The rest of dinner passes in a nervous blur that doesn’t register in Megumi’s mind. He only comes back to the present when they’re loitering around the front of the restaurant, just about to part and share their goodbyes.

“Thanks, Fushiguro—that ramen was so good!” Itadori beams, looking extremely satisfied with the amount of noodles he just devoured. “Usually Kugisaki’s the one showing us new food places, but this time you found somewhere super good!” He stuffs his hands into his pockets, grinning as he meets Megumi’s gaze. 

“I’m glad you liked it.” Megumi flushes, his cheeks growing warm at Itadori’s praise; at the way Itadori’s still smiling at him, cute and puppylike. 

God, he wants to touch him. How would that smooth, tanned skin feel below Megumi’s fingertips? 

Megumi swallows and takes a step closer. 

“Actually…if you don’t have anything after this, I was wondering if…you’d want to come back to my place,” Megumi says, leaning slightly into Itadori’s space. He lowers his voice slightly, smooth and suggestive. 

Just enough to make his intentions clear. 

“But only if you want to,” Megumi adds, hastily, in case things were progressing too quickly.

Even if Itadori said yes to a date, part of Megumi’s still not sure if Itadori’s…well…into guys. Or, into guys enough to sleep with them. 

His friend’s phone and laptop wallpaper were still collages of Jennifer Lawrence, after all. In fact, when they first met, Megumi thought Itadori was just another painfully straight jock. Itadori’s friendship with Todo would have been more than proof of that.

But then:

“Your place…?” Itadori asks, expression considering, and for a moment Megumi thinks his heart might beat out of his chest in anticipation of Itadori’s answer. 

“Yeah, sure, okay,” Itadori decides, and Megumi releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Alright.” Megumi nods lamely. Part of him didn’t expect Itadori to say yes, if he’s being honest.

(A deeper part of him wonders: Itadori knows what he’s implying, right? The guy’s dense, but surely not that dense…)

Well, that doesn’t matter. I’m sure he’ll figure it out once we get to my room, Megumi thinks, shoving away any mental images that come forward after having ‘Itadori’ and ‘bed’ in the same thought.

He grimaces at himself, wondering when his self-control started waning so thin.

(The stirrup leggings, the traitorous voice in his head tells him. Everything got worse for you when you saw him in those stirrup leggings.)

“Okay. It’s nearby, we can walk there,” Megumi mumbles, turning and looking over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Itadori follows him, smiling sheepishly and scratching his cheek. “You know—I don’t think I’ve ever been to your apartment, Fushiguro. Your roommate can’t be that bad…” 

At Itadori’s words, Megumi clicks his tongue, suddenly remembering that he should tell his jackass of a roommate to get lost before he brings Itadori back. 

It’s not that Gojo can’t be trusted with strangers, but…

Someone with Gojo’s personality absolutely can’t meet Itadori, Megumi decides. Itadori’s too gullible. Gojo would have a field day with all his pranks.

“He’s a different breed,” Megumi mutters under his breath, trying to dig out his phone and send a text in a subtle manner. 

“Super annoying. Bad personality, too.” 

To: Gojo

Per our conversation from last night: I’m bringing someone over. 

ETA: 20 min, so if you’re home, make sure you leave before then.

“Heh. But you always like to exaggerate about these things, Fushiguro,” Itadori scoffs, and Megumi flushes a little at the fondness he hears in Itadori’s voice. “Remember all those things you said about Todo-senpai, and he turned out pretty cool?”

“...He’s only cool with you, Itadori.”

Megumi’s phone vibrates, a string of texts coming in.

From: Gojo

Oh? 

You finally gonna get some? 

👉👌🍆💦?

But yea whatever, I’ll be gone. 

It’s about time, you’ve been pissy lately 

“…Ugh.” Megumi rolls his eyes, his mouth pulling down into a frown. 

And this guy is supposed to be one of Juju University’s smartest students?

He 👎’s Gojo’s shitty replies, not bothering to say anything else. Gojo always shamelessly brought people over, most (all) of the time without asking. It’s Megumi’s turn to have the apartment to himself.

As if sensing a change in Megumi’s mood, Itadori leans into Megumi’s space, eyes curious.

“Something wrong?” he asks, still looking extremely cute, and Megumi shakes his head.

“Just my stupid roommate.”

“Seriously—you’re so mean about him.” Itadori bumps his shoulder against Megumi’s, laughing as they walk together. 

The sound is lively and sweet, a pleasant echo that keeps Megumi warm the entire way home despite the cold weather around them.

They arrive at Megumi’s apartment building soon after, twenty minutes feeling not long at all with Itadori by his side.

It’s in an area where a lot less Juju University students live due to higher rent costs, but with Gojo’s family paying for everything, the privacy and quietness is something that Megumi is extremely grateful for. 

(It’s also the only thing preventing him from moving out at this point.)

“We’re here,” Megumi says, pointing to the unit at the end of the hall. “Let me just…” he digs out his keys and unlocks his door, revealing the spacious living room of his and Gojo’s luxury apartment.

“Woah, this is a super nice place you have, Fushiguro!” Itadori exclaims, eyes and voice filling with excitement before Megumi can even welcome him in. His line of sight immediately catches on Gojo’s collection of gaming consoles, ranging from retro to newer, yet-to-be released.

“You have a TV! And so many video games! I’m soooo jealous!”

“Technically, it’s not my place. My dad just knows some people. So don’t say you’re jealous yet,” Megumi scoffs, because Itadori hasn’t seen the disastrous state of the kitchen sink, or anything on Gojo’s side yet. The rotten egg incident (in which Gojo boiled an egg and let it roll away, forgotten until the smell permeated through their rooms) is the reason why Megumi rarely brings people over. 

They step inside, and he automatically tries to steer Itadori to his room before anything embarrassing comes up. 

“Okay, this is—”

Suddenly, a voice sounds out from the living room. 

“Oh, Megumi-chan. You’re back,” Gojo says, pale eyelashes blinking innocently, as he pops up out of nowhere like a whack-a-mole rodent and peers at them over the back of the couch. His gaze slides over to Itadori, amused, and Megumi tenses at the familiar mischievous glint he sees in Gojo’s eyes. 

“Ah— my bad, I didn’t know you had company.” Gojo’s eyes crinkle, his sheepish expression utterly and entirely fake, and Megumi shoots him a glare so icy that it’s a surprise Gojo hasn’t frozen to death yet. 

What the hell is he still doing here, Megumi thinks, frowning.

He continues glaring, waiting for Gojo to show himself out, but then Itadori—because Itadori would, the stupid defenseless idiot—steps forward and bows, his expression genuine and apologetic. 

“Hello! Sorry for the intrusion,” Itadori says, cheeks flushing slightly, “I’m Itadori Yuuji!” He stands up straight again and beams—actually beams at Gojo, who doesn’t deserve that sort of smile from Itadori at all, and does a mock salute that’s way too endearing. “Nice to meet you!” 

For Gojo’s credit, he doesn’t do the worst of what Megumi expects him to do, like scoff at Itadori, or say something rude in return. Instead, Gojo pauses, lips parting slightly in surprise, before he rises from the couch and walks over to Itadori in three quick strides. 

He leans in, millimeters away from Itadori’s face, expression curious, close enough to the point their noses almost touch; to the point where Megumi’s life flashes before his eyes because it looks like Gojo’s about to kiss Itadori, and Itadori’s flushing slightly, and—

And then Gojo leans back, like nothing just happened.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Yuuji,” Gojo says, emphasizing Itadori’s name in a borderline sleazy manner, one hand reaching out for a handshake as he flashes Itadori one of his trademark self-proclaimed ‘princely’ (read: disgusting) smiles that has Megumi gagging in the doorway.

For something so gross, it somehow works on Itadori Yuuji of all people, and Megumi both fumes and watches in slow-creeping confusion as Itadori’s eyes widen, the flush on his cheeks growing just a bit darker. 

“Y-yeah,” Itadori stammers, taken aback by Gojo’s use of his first name so easily, before remembering his manners. “Ah—and you are…?” he clasps his hand with Gojo’s, shaking it firmly.

“Gojo Satoru,” Gojo drawls, still smiling disgustingly, one of his thumbs brushing over Yuuji’s knuckles, “I’m Megumi’s guar—”

Shit. 

“Friend,” Megumi interrupts suddenly, voice coming out harsher than intended. 

Does he really have to pull his stupid guardian prank and sabotage first impressions like this every time? 

Megumi grimaces, clearing his throat for Gojo to take the fucking hint and stop talking. 

“He’s. My friend,” he repeats.

Who’s supposed to be gone, Megumi’s eyes flash angrily in Gojo’s direction, a silent communication method the two of them have gotten used to purely out of years and years of spite.

Oh, come on. You expected me to just leave when you never bring anyone over? Of course I wanted to take a look at who got you all nervous and worked up, Gojo’s eyes shoot back, brimming with wicked amusement.

“Oookay,” Itadori says slowly, giving Megumi a suspicious look. “That’s—oh—um…Gojo-san? My hand…” Itadori trails off, gaze flicking down to where Gojo’s thumb is still brushing over his knuckles. 

At Megumi’s deepening scowl, Gojo drops Itadori’s hand, arms raising into the air casually to show his innocence, like he wasn’t just trying to be annoyingly touchy-feely on purpose.

“Whoops! My bad. My hands were just too cold,” Gojo sighs, everything about his mannerisms extremely fake. He stretches lazily, looking over his shoulder as he heads to the kitchen. “Oh, and, Yuuji? Just call me ‘Gojo-senpai’, yeah?” Gojo smirks, and Megumi rolls his eyes. 

Smug bastard.

“…Thought you were supposed to be out with Ieiri-senpai and Geto-senpai tonight,” Megumi grouches as he watches Gojo rummage around haphazardly through their freezer, no doubt for another pint of ice cream. 

“Oi—put those back correctly, I just organized that.” Megumi clicks his tongue, stepping behind Gojo and shoving him out of the way (gently, of course, so Itadori doesn’t judge him for using violence) to assess the damage.

“Fushiguro, what should I…?” Itadori whispers, hesitant, and Megumi pauses in re-organizing their bags of frozen dumplings. 

Not wanting Itadori to just hang out awkwardly in the doorway, Megumi gestures for him to sit at the dinner table. 

Behind them, Gojo opens a drawer, humming as he digs around obnoxiously for a spoon.

“Oh, you know them.” He shrugs his shoulders, feigning disapproval as he peels off the lid of his ice cream. “Always smoking and drinking. That’s not my thing, so I stayed home instead.” He plops himself onto the chair in front of Itadori, stabbing his spoon into the frozen, sugary mess that Megumi would rather gladly toss out than eat.

“But you still hang out with them anyways. Just get a mocktail or cream soda like you usually do.” Megumi scowls, shutting the freezer door and crossing his arms. 

“Hmmm.” Gojo looks at him, grinning as he shoves a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. His gaze slides over to Itadori’s, eyes falling half-lidded slightly as his lips close over the curve of the spoon. 

“...No need to go out when I can enjoy dessert at home.” Gojo smiles. And then he’s winking at Itadori, who usually is so oblivious to shameless flirting but for some reason flushes again, hastily averting his gaze, and yeah, that’s it, Megumi’s had enough. 

He’ll be damned if he lets Gojo take advantage of Itadori.

“Can you stop?” Megumi pinches the bridge of his nose, exasperated. Why does Gojo always ruin everything?

“Stop what?” Gojo asks, blinking innocently, and Megumi shoots him a look.

You know what, Megumi frowns, but Gojo ignores him.

…Okay. Whatever. This is fine, Megumi thinks, trying to be optimistic, like how Itadori always tells him to be. This is still fine. You can just talk to Itadori and single Gojo out. Then he’ll throw a tantrum and leave you both alone.

His mental peace somewhat restored, Megumi turns to Itadori. “You want something to drink?” 

Itadori nods. “Yeah. Anything’s fine, thank you!” 

“I’ll make tea,” Megumi decides. Tea will restore the peace and serenity in his apartment. (Also, tea is bitter, and Gojo hates bitter things, so it will be a deterrent.)

As Megumi busies himself with filling the kettle with water, he sees Gojo turn to Itadori. There’s a biting remark on the tip of his tongue, but he stops himself at the very last second—it would look bad if he continuously whales on Gojo throughout the evening like he usually does. 

He’ll allow Gojo to interact with Itadori just for tonight.

(That doesn’t mean he won’t eavesdrop, though.)

“So, Yuuji…tell me, how do you know Megumi? It’s just that he never brings anyone back, so I’m glad to see he’s finally made a friend.”  

There’s an obvious lilt in Gojo’s voice, one that’s testing the waters and most definitely aiming to rile Megumi up, but Megumi ignores it, choosing to angrily dump some loose leaf jasmine tea into their teapot instead.

Itadori, on the other hand, is clueless as usual. 

“Classes!” He answers, eyes bright, leaning forwards eagerly as he talks to Gojo. “Fushiguro was my partner for a project. He really saved me, you know! And then I found out he knows my other friends from some sports clubs—like Maki-senpai and the others, if Fushiguro’s introduced them to you before!”

“Ah, yeah. I know Maki. We get along well. Makes sense that you both do sports.” Gojo nods sagely, and Megumi fights the urge to scoff at the lie. He knows Maki shares his disdain for Gojo. 

“After all, you seem…pretty athletic,” Gojo comments, his eyes slowly sweeping over Itadori’s frame, and…did Megumi just…see Gojo…check out Itadori? 

…No, Megumi decides. There’s no way. Itadori’s not his type. 

Itadori blinks in surprise at the compliment. “Oh. Um. Thanks. You too! You’re super tall, I bet you’re strong too!” Itadori smiles, expression sheepish as he scratches his cheek. 

Gojo snorts, pointing at Itadori with his spoon. “Hah? What was that, you trying to flatter me or something?” 

“No! I’m not,” Itadori says, shaking his head. “You’ve got a great height for overhead sports!” He observes Gojo, eyes turning curious. “But…um…Gojo-senpai, do you also go to Juju University? Or are you alumni? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you on campus, so…”

“Oh boy, here we go,” Megumi mutters under his breath.

Gojo ignores him. 

“Yeah, I do. I’m a graduate student.” Gojo smirks, looking at Itadori over the rim of his sunglasses. “I’m in the MD-PhD program,” Gojo says casually, and Megumi rolls his eyes. 

Show-off.

“MD-double-PhD, actually,” Gojo adds, spooning more ice cream into his mouth like he’s not the smartest person to ever grace Juju University’s campus, and Itadori makes a noise of disbelief.  

“Seriously?! That’s amazing,” Itadori says, the genuine awe and admiration in his expression sending a flash of envy through Megumi. “Wow. That’s so cool. You must be super smart, Gojo-senpai!” 

“Heh, flattery again?” Gojo smirks, and Megumi doesn’t even need to turn around to see the repulsively smug grin that’s no doubt forming on Gojo’s face. 

“I’m not doing that! I really think it’s impressive!” Itadori says, half-pouting, and Gojo raises an eyebrow in amusement.

“Really now. Aren’t you a supportive kohai?” Gojo observes, chin resting on his hand as he leans closer to Itadori. “If only Megumi were the same…” he laments, feigning dejection.

Itadori giggles. “Oh, yeah, I totally get you—Fushiguro’s cranky sometimes, isn’t he?” 

“The crankiest,” Gojo sighs, rolling his eyes dramatically. “He’s so prickly, like a grumpy sea urchin.” 

“Oh my god! That’s so accurate,” Itadori laughs, his eyes shaping into cute little crescents, having the heart to at least look guilty when Megumi shoots him a withering glare.

“Sorry, Fushiguro,” Itadori sweats, rubbing the back of his head before him and Gojo look at each other and start giggling again. 

They seem to be having a great time, and Megumi’s mood worsens.

How and why the fuck are they getting along so well? Gojo, with his shit personality and flippant attitude, never humors people like this. Usually Gojo doesn’t even take a second glance at anyone else that’s not Geto. 

Why’s he all up in Itadori’s space?

Megumi scowls again, tapping his foot angrily against the floor as he waits for the water to boil. Somehow, it feels like he’s the one intruding instead of Gojo, and it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

“So, what about you, Yuuji? What’re you studying?” Gojo asks, and there’s a certain…smoothness to his voice that sets off all of Megumi‘s alarms. 

Gojo’s plotting something, Megumi realizes. Something that has to do with Itadori.  

This, and the fact that Gojo might have checked Itadori out earlier…

Whatever it is, Megumi needs to stop it. Now. 

Why did he ever think letting Gojo anywhere near Itadori was a good idea?!

He opens his mouth, a complaint for Gojo on the tip of his tongue—

Fwoooooo! The kettle beeps, water vapor funneling out of the spout, and Megumi gnashes his teeth in frustration.

Fuck.

He shuts it off and pours the boiling hot water into the teapot while both Gojo and Itadori are still chatting away, oblivious to everything else around them.

“Health sciences! I want to be a first responder one day to help people.”

“Heeeh? How nice. Well, since I’m getting an MD…if you ever need any advice, Yuuji, feel free to—”

“Tea’s done,” Megumi snaps, interrupting Gojo by practically slamming the tray of cups down on the table. 

Gojo pauses mid-sentence and raises an eyebrow at him, looking just the slightest bit irritated.

Really? You’re gonna act all pissy like that right in front of my ice cream? Right in front of your friend? His eyes say.

Megumi ignores him, opting to sit down and slide a cup of tea over to Itadori instead. “Careful. It’s hot.”

Itadori smiles gratefully. “Thanks, Fushiguro!” He takes a hesitant sip, wincing as he burns his tongue anyways despite Megumi’s warnings.

“Ow, you weren’t kidding! That’s hot.” Itadori winces, and Megumi rolls his eyes. 

“What did I just tell you,” Megumi sighs, but there’s fondness in his words. He picks up a cup, blowing over the surface of his own tea. “Next time, remember to—”

“Blahblahblah,” Gojo cuts in, his hand chopping through the air in front of Megumi’s face. He looks to Itadori and raises an eyebrow. “His lecturing makes it worse, right? That’s why you don’t use boiling hot water to make tea, Megumi. It also changes the flavor. Didn’t you know?” Gojo shakes his head and shrugs, feigning disappointment. 

“Here. Try some of this instead, Yuuji.” Gojo smirks, holding up a generous spoonful of ice cream in front of Itadori’s face. 

“Are you sure? That’s your last bite,” Itadori says politely, despite looking at the ice cream longingly.

Gojo seems to see right through him, his smirk growing wider. “Even better, right? Since I always save the best for last.” 

Itadori claps his hands together, bowing in Gojo’s direction. “Alright then, if you don’t mind!” He leans and reaches forwards for the spoon, but Gojo doesn’t budge. 

“It’s fine, just open up,” Gojo says, and Megumi cannot even begin to describe the jumbled mess of emotions that well up inside him when Itadori doesn’t even hesitate, just opens his mouth obediently and lets Gojo slip the spoon past his lips.

What the hell?

Itadori, hello?

He knows how dense and gullible Itadori can be, but still.

Just letting Gojo feed him like that? After hearing all the roommate horror stories about Gojo’s pranks that Megumi has told him? 

Seriously?

“Oi. Itadori. Don’t just open your mouth like that for this guy,” Megumi starts, trying to subtly kick Gojo in the shin, but Itadori looks at him like nothing’s wrong.

“What?” Itadori says, oblivious, but then his eyes widen when he seems to process the flavor of the ice cream. “Oh man, that’s good . It’s so creamy.” He turns to Gojo and beams, flowers and sparkles practically emanating from his smile. “Thank you, it feels much better!” 

“Anytime.” Gojo also does a mock salute. He leans back in his chair, dropping the used spoon in the empty ice cream container and pushing it away.

“So. Liked that ice cream, huh? If you ever want to go get—”

“He’s fine,” Megumi cuts in, scowling when Itadori shoots him a teary, betrayed look.

“What?”

“But Fushiguro, that was so good! I want to know where it’s from!” 

“Any thing or place that guy likes is overrated and expensive. You wouldn’t enjoy it,” Megumi grouches, crossing his arms defensively.

He’s not being cranky or jealous. He’s just preventing Itadori from being strung along by Gojo’s whims.

Itadori sighs, dejected, slumping forwards against the table.

Gojo turns to Megumi, one eyebrow raised. That wasn’t nice, Megumi. Jealous much?

Fuck you, Megumi conveys back.

Gojo frowns, but Megumi’s not looking at him anymore. He steps forward and places a hand on Itadori’s shoulder. 

“Itadori. Come on, let’s go to the living room,” Megumi says, tone soft, in case Itadori’s still disappointed. “Do you want to play video games? We could also watch a movie.” 

At the mention of his two favorite pastimes, Itadori perks up like a puppy, his eyes brightening. Ice cream debacle forgotten, he enthusiastically follows Megumi over to the game consoles, poking through the messy pile of boxes that is Gojo’s collection. 

“Oh, sweet! I love Smash,” Itadori grins, eyes bright and excited as he holds up a Nintendo Switch. “Let’s play this on your big TV!” 

Megumi squints—he’s not the best at console games, preferring to play MMORPGs on his computer instead, but since this is what Itadori wants…how hard could Smash be? Gojo and Geto always seem to just mash buttons when they play. 

“Fine with me,” Megumi shrugs. Behind them, Gojo approaches, and Megumi turns around, sending Gojo a warning glare before he can say anything.

“We only have two controllers,” Megumi says flatly, pointing to the joycons, “so go away.” 

And stop bothering Itadori, he glowers, subtly putting himself between Itadori and Gojo. 

Really? Gojo’s face says, unimpressed.

“...You know it’s my Nintendo Switch, right? I bet you just don’t want to lose,” Gojo teases, looming over Megumi with his hands on his hips. 

“So? Why don’t you just—”

“Hey.” Itadori turns around and clicks his tongue, smacking Megumi on the shoulder lightly. “That’s mean, Fushiguro—you shouldn’t leave your roommate out.” Itadori frowns softly. “I can switch off with you if you want to play, Gojo-senpai! The more the merrier.” He looks to Gojo and smiles, offering Gojo his controller. 

For once, it seems Gojo doesn’t have anything to say, his face unreadable as he stares at Itadori. 

After a short pause, he snorts and shakes his head.

“No, it’s fine. I didn’t want to play anyways.” Gojo yawns, arms reaching for the ceiling as he stretches. “I’m gonna shower, so have fun.” He turns and walks to his room, one hand waving in the air dismissively.

“Okay! Have a good shower,” Yuuji calls to him, and Gojo looks over his shoulder.

“Oh, I will. Megumi always hogs all the hot water, which is why I’m always so cold. I don’t know what he’s doing in there,” Gojo whispers, tone scandalous, and Itadori giggles as Megumi flips Gojo off.

“Be nicer to him,” Itadori whispers, once Gojo’s out of earshot. 

“Whatever,” Megumi grumbles. He gets the game running, turning to Itadori as they skip through loading screens. “Let’s just play.”

A few minutes later, the sound of Gojo’s shower running can be heard, and Megumi relaxes. 

Finally. 

It’s just him and Itadori.

He basks in the peace and quiet left in the wake of Gojo’s absence for a while, but eventually, when they’re a couple rounds deep into Smash, Megumi gets a little tired of button mashing. 

This isn’t what he brought Itadori over for, no matter how cute and similar Itadori’s face looked to the Kirby currently waddling about on the screen.

Taking a deep breath, Megumi pauses the game and scoots closer to Itadori, until the sides of their thighs are touching.

“Fushiguro?” Itadori asks, turning to face him.

“Itadori…” Megumi wets his lips, his heartbeat quickening as he leans over and places his palm over the back of Itadori’s hand.

He’s warm.

Soft amber eyes meet Megumi’s emerald ones.

“Something the matter?” Itadori asks, expression confused, but he doesn’t pull his hand away from Megumi’s. 

It’s a positive sign. 

Seizing the opportunity, Megumi holds Itadori’s gaze and slowly moves his hand upwards, until he’s reaching forward to cradle Itadori’s jaw. 

“Itadori, I…” 

Just as his fingers are about to graze Itadori’s skin, Gojo’s bathroom door flies open, the harsh creaking sound of it making Megumi flinch in surprise. 

He doesn’t immediately turn around, but he can see in real time the moment Itadori’s gaze leaves his own. Itadori’s line of sight zeroes in on something behind Megumi, his eyes widening almost comically and cheeks darkening in a deep red blush at—

At what?!

Megumi whips around, demanding to see what’s rendered his friend so speechless—

Whatever he wanted to say to Itadori in that moment disappears from his mind, replaced by ice cold shock as Gojo steps out of the bathroom, completely naked.

Completely naked, no towel to be seen anywhere, his hair still wet and dripping, all of him exposed for Megumi and Itadori to see.

Without saying a word, Gojo walks across the living room and into his bedroom, the door clicking behind him quietly. 

What the fuck?

Megumi’s brain finally catches up, processing the scene before him, the only indication of Gojo’s nakedness the trail of water droplets he left on the floor, and Megumi has never felt more disgusted and violated in his entire life. 

What the actual fuck?

Megumi blinks, still stunned into silence. 

He sneaks a glance at Itadori—the guy’s face is still red, his gaze averted and focusing on everything else but the direction of Gojo’s bedroom. Itadori’s mouth opens and closes every few seconds, like a goldfish, and the sight somehow riles Megumi up more than it should.

Seriously, what the fuck? Leave it to Gojo to ruin everything. How does one manage to even stun someone so easygoing like Itadori into silence? 

Megumi gnashes his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose as he inhales deeply.

Once he feels more calm—and a little more sane, he stands up abruptly, not caring if Gojo’s joy-con clatters to the floor.

“Let’s go to my room,” Megumi grits out, scowling. He doesn’t wait for a reply, just bends down and wraps a hand around Itadori’s wrist, practically dragging him out the living room.

He shuts the door behind them, flipping the lights on before turning to Itadori.

“…Sorry about Gojo. Like I told you, he’s the worst,” Megumi mumbles stiffly, mind still reeling from the image of a naked Gojo. Someone needs to invent brain bleach immediately. 

(But then, he remembers that if anyone could invent brain bleach, it would probably be Gojo; a fact that makes Megumi even more upset.)

“…It’s okay.” Itadori leans against the wall and shoves his hands into his hoodie pocket, face still flushed but looking better.

“He’s not…that bad,” Itadori says, expression sheepish. He raises his hands in front of him when he sees Megumi’s face of displeasure. “Oh, come on. He’s leagues better than Mahito.” Itadori raises an eyebrow, mouth curving up into a slight smile.

Megumi sighs, massaging his temple with one hand. He can feel a headache forming already—seriously, fuck Gojo.

“That’s because you haven’t seen how he acts on a normal basis,” Megumi grumbles. He turns to Itadori, hesitant.

“Well. What now?”

Itadori digs out his phone and checks the time.

“Oh wow, it’s actually pretty late,” he says, surprised. “If there’s nothing else, then…” Itadori trails off, head cocking to the side as he looks at Megumi, waiting for any other suggestions.

Megumi stares at him, unsure of how to handle the situation. When did he lose control of it? 

By this time, he was supposed to have confessed already, and asked Itadori if he wanted this too.

(If he wanted Megumi too.)

He wasn’t supposed to be thrown off track like this, especially not by Gojo.

“Fushiguro?” Itadori asks, eyes curious. His cheeks are still slightly flushed, and it’s that sight that has Megumi walking forward in a rush of hormones and impulse, his hands slamming next to Itadori’s head against the wall that Itadori’s leaning on, caging him in. 

“Itadori,” Megumi says, voice low, almost coming out a heated whisper. “Do you want to—” 

Kiss or something? Touch each other? Let me make you feel good? 

“—sleep over?” Megumi asks instead at the very last second, internally cringing at the stiffness in his voice. 

“Uh. Sure?” Yuuji raises an eyebrow, confusion in his eyes as he meets Megumi’s gaze. “Why not. But…you only have one bed, so…maybe I can take the couch?” 

Megumi blinks. 

This guy just doesn’t get it, he realizes.

“It’s tight, but I don’t mind sharing with you,” Megumi says, trying to make Itadori understand the implications. 

Itadori blinks.

“Oh, okay,” he smiles, painfully oblivious to the way Megumi’s emotions are currently imploding within his body. “Then sure, I haven’t had a sleepover in so long—”

Frustrated, Megumi leans closer into Itadori’s space, his eyes narrowing sternly.

“Itadori. Today…you know that I…asked you on a date, right?” Megumi murmurs.

“...Yeah? We had a study date, like how we usually do. I got that.” Itadori stares at him, unfazed. He then breaks into an exuberant smile. “But today I finally got to meet your roommate, so that was nice!”

Megumi pulls back, his face scrunching up in disbelief.

“What?”

Did Itadori really not know what was going on the entire time? Is that why he was so casual? And quick to reply?

Are they still simply just…friends?

“I have one tomorrow with Kugisaki, too,” Itadori hums, crossing his arms behind his head. “A study date, I mean. And then she wants to go to the spa or something, but it’s still under the study date, so it’s fine,” Itadori yawns, sidestepping Megumi and walking towards his bed.

“That’s…” Megumi stares at the wall, his blood pounding in his ears, his eyes burning—with embarrassment, or something else, he doesn’t know. 

He doesn’t know anything anymore. What is reality? Maybe he should have listened to Kugisaki’s advice. Itadori knew it was a date, but…not the romantic kind. 

Since when did dates not have the implication of romantic interest?

Megumi feels crushed—but more importantly, he feels led on and humiliated, and the worst part is that he can’t even say anything. 

He can’t ever say anything. 

Because Itadori doesn’t even know. 

Somehow, even one of Gojo’s pranks seems like a better outcome than this.

Behind him, Itadori plops down on the bed, making a satisfied noise. “You’re so lucky, Fushiguro…” he sighs, his voice sounding just the slightest bit…envious? 

“Gojo-senpai…he’s so nice and smart. Having him for a roommate must be super cool. I bet if we studied with him, he’d be a super big help…” Itadori trails off, sounding starstruck and not at all repulsed by Gojo, and Megumi gives him an exasperated look.

Does this guy seriously think Gojo’s nice? And amazing?

“That’s—Itadori, I don’t think he's—” Megumi starts, unable to even form a proper sentence with how thrown off he feels over everything. 

“Maybe I’ll invite him next time, if that’s okay with you…” Itadori looks to the side, his eyes turning misty and cheeks flushing as he zones out, looking deep in thought. 

“…!” His eyes come into focus again and he sits up straight all of a sudden, as if remembering where he is. 

“By the way, can I use your stuff? I wasn’t expecting a sleepover so I didn’t bring anything.” Itadori scratches the back of his head, looking at Megumi, slightly embarrassed. “Sleepovers are fine, but…give me a head’s up next time, okay?” 

Megumi inhales deeply, then exhales. Then inhales and exhales again.

“...Yeah,” he eventually manages to get out, unable to look Itadori in the eye. “Bathroom’s over there.”

Itadori nods, mumbling a word of thanks before he heads over to the sink. 

After that, Megumi’s brain short circuits and stops working.

The rest of the night feels like a blur—Megumi doesn’t register or remember any passing details that occur, like brushing his teeth or showering, or even changing into his pajamas.

It’s only when he climbs into his bed and feels the warmth of Itadori’s body pressing against his side does he remember that Itadori’s sleeping over, snuggled all comfortable in Megumi’s blankets like he belongs there and that they’re dating, except this entire day has been utterly and completely platonic. 

Annoyed and even more frustrated, Megumi turns off the lamp angrily, reaching for his earplugs and poking them inside his ears after darkness engulfs the room. 

He doesn’t know how he’ll be able to fall asleep tonight, but at least the earplugs will give him the peace and silence he needs after going through probably the worst day of his life. 

(That, and he’s pretty sure Itadori snores.)

Next to him, Itadori shifts, jostling the blankets around them slightly.

“Goodnight, Fushiguro,” he whispers, turning to face the wall so that his back faces Megumi.

“...Night,” Megumi grumbles back. 

He closes his eyes, laying there in silence, agonizing over the events of the day and feeling peeved at both Gojo and Itadori.

It’s bullshit that Itadori didn’t understand what Megumi meant. Seriously—a date’s different from a study date with friends, especially if the person that asked you out invites you over. 

Agreeing to go over to someone’s apartment implies interest. 

Behind him, Itadori shifts again, and Megumi grits his teeth. 

It’s even more bullshit that he now has to put up with someone who doesn’t want him in his own bed. Who seriously agrees to sleep with someone and actually only sleeps with them? 

Part of him wants to turn around and pin Itadori down against the mattress, and then press their bodies together so that Itadori finally understands. 

Part of him wants to turn around and kiss Itadori, rough and demanding in the dark, so that Itadori realizes and never does this to him again. 

The more Megumi thinks about it, the more heated he gets, both in anger and arousal. 

His crush is in the same bed as him, oblivious to his affections. 

Megumi could do it. He could show Itadori.

He repositions himself slightly, in a way that he could reach over and touch Itadori right now—he could splay a palm over his nape, and then lean in and whisper in his ear, and then press close and feel Itadori’s warmth, and then—

And then his doorknob softly rattles. 

Followed by the slow creak of his door opening.

Followed by Gojo’s careful footsteps into his room.

Megumi lays in bed, frozen in confusion, eyes still shut as he makes out the sound of Gojo approaching his bed.

What the fuck?

Gojo pauses in front of Megumi, as if checking if he’s awake or not, before shuffling over to Itadori’s side of the bed.

It’s quiet for a moment. Megumi’s heartbeat is racing, his pulse echoing loudly in his ears, amplified even more by his earplugs.

And then, he hears it: the unmistakable sound of Gojo’s voice, whispering softly to Itadori in the dark.

“—bored over here—”

The audacity of this guy, Megumi thinks, absolutely seething. He’s a millisecond away from “waking up” and calling Gojo out on his bullshit.

But then, something weird happens.

Something…unexpected. 

Itadori whispers back, voice achingly soft. 

“—I don’t think—”

Megumi curses the version of himself from just a few minutes ago—he can’t hear what they’re saying due to his earplugs, and the whispers only increase, Gojo and Itadori seemingly chatting away right in front of Megumi’s ‘sleeping’ body.

Megumi’s eye twitches. 

Seriously, guys? 

“—fine if it’s my room—”

“—well, I’m—”

“—worry about that—”

“—can’t get out—”

Suddenly, the whispers stop. 

And then, before he can react, Gojo’s gently pulling the blankets off Itadori’s side of the bed, just enough for Itadori to slip out. 

Itadori murmurs something, tone sounding uncharacteristically bashful, and it results in Gojo chuckling under his breath before he picks Itadori up and off the bed and into his arms. 

“…Just hold onto me,” Gojo whispers, tone soft and gentle in a way Megumi’s never heard before. He then carries Itadori out the room, bridal style, neither of them even sparing Megumi a glance. 

The sound of the door creaking closed again is the only proof that Megumi has that whatever just happened isn’t a hallucination. 

Did that just…?

Did that just happen? 

Did Gojo really come in, seduce Itadori out of Megumi’s bed, and then whisk Itadori away like some midnight prince?

The empty space next to him with the remnants of Itadori’s body heat says yes, that really happened. 

What the fuck. 

What the fuck? 

He doesn’t know how long he stays there, frozen in place, staring at the shadows on his ceiling. He doesn’t know how to process this—doesn’t even know how to begin to process this. 

Minutes, maybe even hours pass by as Megumi steeps in his anger, the emotions collecting into a storm of incandescent rage. 

Gojo just stole his crush. 

No, not just his crush—his friend. 

From his own bed! It’s embarrassing, humiliating and disrespectful, all at the same time. 

Incredibly so. 

Especially because Itadori also willingly went with it.

“…What the fuck,” Megumi says out loud. 

He throws the covers off himself, sitting up angrily. 

Gojo’s gonna get it this time. Megumi’s going to call him out on this, along with Itadori. Seriously—who does that? Who the fuck just steals someone from their roommate’s bed? Who goes along with it and lets themselves be carried out of their friend’s bed?! 

He stomps over to his door, swinging it open and marches over to Gojo’s room, fingers reaching for the doorknob and ready to unleash a million insults and curses onto those shitty bastards—

“N-ngh…” 

A stifled whimper sounds out from Gojo’s door, followed by a soft gasp and the creaking of a bed, and Megumi freezes in his tracks.

“Ah—god—” someone moans, someone who sounds a lot like Itadori, followed by a low groan of pleasure from someone that sounds a lot like Gojo, and Megumi suddenly feels weak in the knees, all of the anger in his body vanishing in an instant.

All of everything in his body vanishing, actually, because Itadori whimpers again just as the bed starts creaking faster, and judging by what’s happening here, Gojo’s fucking Itadori.

“Hngh—” Itadori keens, sounding so wrecked and broken, and everything crashes into Megumi at once.

He can’t breathe; his eyes and lungs burn.

Gojo Satoru is fucking Itadori Yuuji.

Megumi doesn’t want to exist anymore. 

Before tonight, he wasn’t even sure if Itadori was bi, let alone gay. And now, not even one full day with Gojo, Itadori’s become a complete idiot and is currently being fucked.

On that thought, Itadori moans again, higher-pitched and even more desperate this time, followed by something that sounds absolutely filthy from Gojo, and Megumi blushes against his will.

He steps back from the door, flinching away as if burned, hurriedly making his way back to his room before all of the blood in his body threatens to rush to his crotch at hearing how Itadori sounds like when he’s being fucked.

He shuts his door, face absolutely flaming as he wobbles weakly to his bed, pulling the covers over his head completely in an attempt to get his brain to stop replaying the sounds Itadori made. 

He doesn’t know how he can face Gojo, let alone Itadori, after this. Doesn’t know if he can confront them, or if he should even confront them about this. 

He doesn’t know what to say. He sure as hell doesn’t know what to do. He can’t look at them and not remember what they did; what they sounded like. 

His cock twitches—god, Itadori’s whimpers were so…

Just go to sleep, Megumi tells himself. Just go to sleep. The sounds of Gojo and Itadori fucking can’t haunt you if you go to sleep.

He fails and lays awake all night, finally being consumed by slumber just as the earliest rays of the morning sun filter in through the curtains.

It’s just past noon by the time Megumi wakes, a dull headache throbbing away at the back of his head as his eyes gradually adjust to the light in his room.

He goes through his morning routine feeling extremely disoriented, his movements sluggish as he eventually heads for the kitchen to make himself a much-needed cup of coffee. 

The unwashed, dried sugar-crusted mug sitting in the sink indicates Gojo’s not home, to which Megumi breathes a small sigh of relief. He's not sure if he's ready to face Gojo after the events of last night—not that he's being avoidant, but just the sheer awkwardness of the whole thing...somehow, he knows that he'll take one glance at Gojo and explode.

He opens the fridge, pausing when he sees a pre-made lunch that looks absolutely delicious with a sticky note that says Gojo’s name on top. Along with a little heart. And a smiley face.

In Itadori’s handwriting.  

“…Ugh.” Megumi scowls, glaring at the neatly packed lunchbox with as much disgust as possible. 

Itadori, you really…for that guy? Megumi thinks, torn between wanting to eat his friend’s homemade lunch just to spite Gojo, or wanting to be the one Itadori makes lunches for instead.

In the end, Megumi settles for neither, and briefly considers dropping out of Juju University.