Chapter Text
Megumi takes a long time getting home.
It’s not a deliberate thing. At least, it’s no more deliberate than it usually is. Really, between his after-school clubs and his lack of car and his habit of getting into fights with whoever picks them with him, it’s almost like he hates being around Satoru.
Which is true, but especially now when he’s got a conversation he doesn’t want to have. Unfortunately for him, his teacher is also his guardian. There’s no escaping his fate.
He tries to, though. The door’s almost silent when it opens nearly an hour after school has ended, and there’s no thud from Megumi dumping his shoes in the genkan in favour of slippers. If Satoru wasn’t waiting downstairs for exactly this reason, he wouldn’t have heard it, but since he is, he’s straightened up from his sprawl along the length of the couch to look over the back of it, waiting and watching with a growing grin as Megumi hangs up his jacket and shoulders his bag back on to slip upstairs.
He turns, and Satoru’s treated to the familiar sight of Megumi’s soul fleeing his body.
It revives just as quickly, enough to let Megumi ask, “Why.”
It’s not a question; he knows perfectly well why Satoru’s been waiting in the living room for him to get back instead of doing any amount of work upstairs instead. The look on his face only gets deader when Satoru leans over the couch, perching his arms on the back of it and perching his chin on top of the heel of his hands, curled fingers framing his gleaming grin.
Megumi huddles in the genkan, looking like he’s considering whether to flee upstairs or back outside the house in nothing but his standard-issue school uniform and slippers. Really, it’d be insulting if it wasn’t so funny. Always so dramatic, and no one ever expects it, like his perpetual blank look somehow makes him the kind of kid who thinks things through.
Megumi’s dread deepens; Satoru’s grin grows. “Would you like to guess, Megumi-chan?”
“No,” is the predictable, knee-jerk response he gets, before Megumi remembers Satoru will happily do it for him instead and snaps, “Shut up. I know what you’re doing.”
“Do you? Enlighten me, then.”
“You’re making up a group project just to set me up with a girl.”
“Just a girl?” Satoru shakes his head sadly. “So shy. You can say her name, you know. I won’t judge, even if you moan it.”
Megumi’s face goes up in flames even as he scowls. The mixed signals on this kid. “I don’t want your help.”
“So there is something to help with.”
“There isn’t,” he hisses, hot as the colour flooding his cheeks. Fluster, frustration—Satoru knows where he’d place his money, but then, he’s got an ungodly amount of it to spend. He’d still get it right on his first try. Knowing this boy since he was in the single digits gives Satoru better odds than most in figuring him out, even if Megumi tries not to make it easy.
It’s the whole reason Satoru put him with who he did in this group project. Kugisaki Nobara, one of their newest transfers, but more importantly—
“Itadori Yuuki,” Satoru says; Megumi’s face gains some more colour, blush spreading towards his collar. “You’re not very subtle, you know. You’re lucky that girl’s oblivious as a brick wall.” Satoru considers it, head tilted. “Looks like one, too. Is that really your type?” Another second of consideration before he shrugs. “I suppose it makes sense.”
“Stop talking,” Megumi says, dazed; his face is fully flushed now. “Just—shut up.”
Satoru doesn’t. “You should thank me, you know. I’ve given you the perfect excuse to invite her over. I can even leave you two alone to get to know each other.”
“I already know her.”
“Megumi-chan!” Satoru gasps, pressing his palms to his cheeks. “You sly dog. Don’t tell me that’s why you were so late coming home?”
“You’re disgusting,” Megumi says, the dizziness fading to make space for his usual disdain of everything Satoru. “And a pervert. I’m not gonna hook up with Itadori.”
“Not any time soon, true.” Megumi’s face spasms, and Satoru’s expression rearranges, becoming a look of mock-consolation. “You’re not a very proactive kid, Megumi-chan. Luckily for you, you’ve got a month of excuses to figure out how to ask to hold Itadori’s hand. I’ll even play wingman for you!”
“Do not,” Megumi snaps, sounding almost desperate. “Don’t even try it. I won’t bring her over here. Die.”
“Scared she’ll turn out to be a gold digger?”
“Itadori’s not like that.”
It’s strangely vehement. Certain. Megumi doesn’t care for people he knows, never mind strangers. He’s as apathetic as his father was with very few exceptions. Not that the care counts for much. Even when Tsumiki was awake to hear it, Megumi never could say it. He checked Tsumiki would be safer with Satoru, sure, but Satoru never once saw him make those intentions clear to the girl herself, and he never has been the talkative type. Admitting he cares about Tsumiki to her face would be a step too far for him, never mind him admitting he cares about a girl he hasn’t even known for a day.
He’s hardly even saying it now, but the impassioned defence of a girl he doesn’t know, the way he’s straightened from his hunch like he’s trying to drive the point home, is as telling as the way he looked at Itadori in class, the way he lingered, the way he followed.
It’s not like him, to care that quickly, or at all. Satoru’s known him nearly a decade, and he’s certainly never grown on Megumi. It doesn’t help that the feeling is mutual.
But Megumi likes Itadori enough to defend her.
“You never know,” Satoru muses, head tilting; with his sunglasses off, his fringe spills, wholly covering one eye. It doesn’t make his expression any easier to bear. “She did seem pretty friendly with you.”
“That’s just how Itadori is,” Megumi snaps, and then stills completely.
Satoru hums. It’s not fear on Megumi’s face but regret, so quick and immediate Satoru knows he’s right, watching Megumi’s jaw clench against whatever else he was going to say before his words caught up to him. His hands are fists around the straps of his backpack, the knuckles even paler than the skin surrounding them, the fiery colour that was in his face gone in a blink.
Itadori did seem semi-familiar with Megumi, Satoru remembers. She was clueless as to who Kugisaki was, but Megumi made her brighten differently. Satoru put it down to an appreciation of being paired with a pretty face at the time, but Yuuki didn’t act like a kid with a crush does, and it’d explain Megumi’s oddly impassioned defence of her if she wasn’t just a girl he’d just met.
“You met her before today,” Satoru says.
Megumi’s face doesn’t change, but his eyes do, flickering towards the stairs with the start of a plan. It’s probably no more complicated than running and hoping Satoru doesn’t follow, but that’s as complicated as Megumi’s plans tend to get, and Satoru has no interest in sprinting into a teenage boy’s bedroom, so for once, the plan will even work.
Of course, Satoru could always wait outside Megumi’s door for him to emerge, but he has better things to do with his time.
He leans even further forward over the back of the couch, hands falling away from his face as he folds his arms across its length. “When, exactly? She’s a new transfer.”
“She is,” Megumi agrees, his tone guarded now that he’s figured out far too late how much he’s been annoyed into giving up. He really should have learned better by now. The trick’s been working on him since they met and Satoru took a toddler’s scowl as a challenge, and Megumi’s reactions have only gotten easier and even more entertaining to tease out, but now that Satoru’s picking at the edges of his relationship with Itadori, he’s shutting down harder than he ever has like it’s life-or-death that he doesn’t let anything more slip.
It’s a shame; the information was only just getting interesting.
“Worried I’ll scare her off?”
Megumi’s huff is the only answer he gives. He’s even smiling—smirking, one edge of his mouth pulled up. He doesn’t say anything more, finally leaving the shelter of the genkan to head for the stairs even as Satoru stares after his back.
“I’ll keep pestering you, you know,” Satoru calls out, leaning so far forward over the back of the couch that he has to hook his foot around leg of the coffee table to avoid falling over, an accident Megumi would never let him live down. “We share a house and a school. There’s nowhere for you to hide. I will find out where—”
A door upstairs shuts, not quite a slam, but audible enough for Satoru to hear.
Satoru drops back onto the couch and grins. Megumi’s protective of his crush then, huh?
Cute.
He’ll see how long it lasts.
-
The next few days pass similarly. Satoru wasn’t expecting anything different; Megumi’s never successfully fended him off before, but he’s never gotten a crush before either. And it is a crush—Satoru can see it clear as day in class, the way Megumi straightens up and focuses like he never does during lessons when Itadori wanders in, never late but never early. Even Kugisaki’s noticed, elbowing Megumi in the side whenever he gets too gross for her liking, and it does do something to lessen how obvious Megumi is, but even then, he’s not subtle.
Luckily, Itadori remains as oblivious as Megumi remains obvious.
And then he gets home and shuts down again without his crush to force reactions out of him. Satoru’s not desperate for information, only entertainment, but Megumi’s giving him neither—he stays outside as long as he can, and when he does come home, he’s tight-lipped and tense, eating in his room and doing his dishes at the end of the day. Honestly, Satoru was expecting the moody teenager phase to come sooner, but he’d still have preferred it to wait long enough for him to bully some more information out of Megumi, like why now and why this girl.
Not that there’s anything wrong with Itadori, as far as Satoru can tell from behind his podium. Itadori seems like a sweet girl. She’s not a great student—her grades are average, never bad but never brilliant—but it’s not like Megumi cares for that kind of thing. If he did, he’d have a crush on Kugisaki instead, but so far, he seems to treat her with the kind of resigned acceptance of a boy who knows his crush is friends with her and so doesn’t want to get rid of her. The feeling seems mutual. Kugisaki’s just as clearly putting up with Megumi to keep Itadori around.
Everyone else in class seems the same way. They’re not as close, but they’re all friendly, the forced-welcome of a new student transforming into something realer as they come to the conclusion that Itadori’s a genuinely nice girl.
It’s been a little amusing to witness as a staff member and not a student, the way people just like Itadori.
Still a surprise that Megumi does, and how much. A crush, of all things. Satoru wasn’t even sure Megumi knew what they were.
He manages to keep the stony silence up for a while, Satoru will grant him that much. He’s heard more than a few squabbles at their classroom table about where they’ll go for peace and quiet to work on their school project. Kugisaki refuses to so much as let them know where she lives, never mind bring them over. Satoru’s never heard Itadori offer her own home up as an option, and neither Kugisaki nor Megumi have asked. That leaves parks and libraries and whatever other quiet place they can find—and then, finally, Satoru gets his entertainment.
Under the combined onslaught of Kugisaki and his crush, Megumi breaks.
-
“—say you were rich,” is the first thing Satoru hears when the door swings open, significantly less quiet than Megumi’s attempt at stealth.
Satoru pauses in the kitchen, head tilting. With the way the doorways and walls are placed, he’s not visible from the genkan, and Megumi doesn’t know he’s home. He wasn’t planning to be this time, but it’d be a wasted opportunity not to take advantage of it.
And what kind of guardian would he be if he didn’t welcome his ward home?
Probably one Megumi would like a hell of a lot more, but if he wanted to go ignored, he could’ve tried being less entertaining to annoy.
He already sounds annoyed; Kugisaki’s probably been heckling him the whole walk home. “I’m not rich.”
“Okay, then your sugar daddy is.”
Megumi sounds as disgusted as Satoru suddenly feels, whole face screwing up. “He’s not my sugar daddy,” Megumi snaps. “Don’t ever say that again.”
“He?”
Itadori. She sounds the same in class as she does outside of it, just as curious, just as comfortably at ease.
Megumi makes a sharp sound, so annoyed Satoru grins in purely Pavlovian response as he slips out of the kitchen. None of them are facing his direction—they’re all huddled in the living room, doing their best to turn it into an interrogation booth. Kugisaki is, at least. Megumi’s trying not to let her, and Itadori’s not participating. She’s only watching, the hint of a smile tugging at the edge of her mouth as Kugisaki pokes Megumi in the chest with one sharp, manicured nail. “Answer my questions before I hit you.”
“You’ll hit me anyway,” Megumi says, droll.
“I’ll hit you worse than usual.”
There’s a dubious second of silence. Kugisaki doesn’t exactly pull her punches. If she can hit harder than she has been, she’s likely to leave bruises.
Another finger poke, harder this time. Megumi rocks on his heels from it. “Talk,” Kugisaki says threateningly.
Megumi apparently takes no time at all to believe her, because he says, “He’s not my dad.”
“And who’s this he?”
“My”—Satoru can see and hear the sneer—“guardian.”
Itadori asks, “Guardian?”
Showtime.
“Megumi-chan!”
“Fuck.”
“Language,” Satoru chides, wrapping his arms around Megumi’s neck and pulling. He goes, even easier to haul around than usual, weak with resignation as Satoru drops his chin into Megumi’s hair. He doesn’t even try to put up a fight in front of his crush, but then, maybe he knows his inevitable loss would only make him look worse.
As is, his current position is just as pitiful. His father wasn’t a small man when Satoru met him, almost as tall as Satoru and a hell of a lot broader, but Megumi’s stick-thin frame looks small even when it’s not getting smothered by Satoru’s own bulk..
Maybe Itadori’s into that, though, either as the knight in a school uniform or the dragon who dirtied the damsel in distress up in the first place.
Satoru grinds his chin in, grinning. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing your friends over! I’d have done something to celebrate.”
“That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you,” Megumi hisses, “you freak.”
“He’s shy,” Satoru tells their dumb-struck audience. “I’ve tried to teach him better than that, but he only listens to me about ten percent of the time.”
“You don’t say anything worth listening to.”
“My students would disagree.”
“Die.”
“He gets mean when he’s nervous,” Satoru stage-whispers.
The stupid silence of their audience shatters.
Kugisaki’s the first to look away in favour of laughing, cackling like a witch. She even bends over at the waist to do it, hands braced on her knees as she snorts her way through the kind of laughter Satoru’s indulged in a few hundred times, meanly amused by the misfortune of others.
But Itadori doesn’t laugh or look away at all. She’s completely silent even though her mouth is open, struck speechless. Her eyes are wide and a little wild, big and brown and flitting all over Megumi’s trapped body, and as Satoru watches, colour blooms in her cheeks, the same delicate sakura shade as her hair.
She looks like a sweet girl, even as big as she is. She’s shorter than Megumi, though not by much, and almost a head taller than Kugisaki. Side-be-side, the difference in size is even starker. Itadori’s shoulders and thighs are thick with obvious muscle even in her standard-issue school uniform, the shirt and skirt doing barely anything to the bulk of muscle.
She’s not what Satoru expected Megumi to go for, but then, the only interest Megumi’s shown in people till now has been focused wholly on his sister. Itadori’s shiny and new, but so is Kugisaki, and Satoru hasn’t seen Megumi so much as flush when she touches him.
Granted, those touches have all been been right on the edge of violent every time, a punch to the shoulder or a shove that fails to knock Megumi over even if it rocks him, but Satoru’s point stands. There’s something about Itadori that Megumi likes, something Kugisaki lacks.
Satoru meets Itadori’s eyes and smiles. Itadori, still flushed pink from cheek to chin, doesn’t look away.
-
They retreat to Megumi’s room quickly after that, though Satoru can still hear them well enough as he works in the kitchen, carving up fruit.
It’s not nearly as entertaining as annoying them himself, but Kugisaki does a good job of it for him.
“Why the hell are you living with our sensei?”
“I told you.” Megumi sounds exhausted already. “He’s my guardian.”
“He adopted you?”
Satoru can almost hear the face Megumi makes—one part disgust, one part disbelief. “No one would trust Gojo-sensei with a kid.”
“He’s a teacher though?” Itadori points out, sounding confused, at the same second as Kugisaki asks, “You still call him sensei at home?”
“That’s what he is.” A question or two must show on the expression of his audience, because Megumi sighs and explains, “He’s not my dad. I just live with him.”
“Weird,” is Kugisaki’s verdict, no real judgement in her tone, and then, “Whatever. Get to work, losers.”
Satoru decides it’s the best time to nudge the door open, bowls of fruit and snacks in hand. “I come bearing gifts!”
Megumi looks immediately, immensely suspicious, but Itadori and Kugisaki both perk up, watching Satoru set the bowls down on Megumi’s desk. There’s barely enough room for it—all three of their bags are at the foot of Megumi’s bed, but they’ve empted them from the looks of it, scattering the desk with three times as much paper and pencils and supplies as usual. Megumi’s bedroom floor is no better. The three of them are sat in a circle on it, nearly brushing knees with a pile of papers in the middle of them, drawing up a plan.
Itadori’s knee is almost on top of Megumi’s own.
Satoru smiles at him; the pink on his ears darkens to red. “Why are you here.”
“Dropping off food, of course,” Satoru says, like this is a perfectly normal thing he does all the time when he has definitely never done this in his life. “No need to look so nervous. I’m not interrupting anything important, am I?”
His tone isn’t pure insinuation, but it’s certainly implying something. His smile doesn’t help, baring too many teeth to be entirely teasing.
“Why,” Megumi repeats, the red on his ears spreading to his cheeks, “are you here.”
Kugisaki scoffs. “Do you ever chill out? It’s just food, calm down.”
“You should really listen to your friends,” Satoru says, smiling wider. “They give great advice.”
Megumi’s eyes narrow. “They don’t.”
“Hey!” Kugisaki rears up, looking offended. “My advice is flawless, you’re just too chicken-shit to take it.”
Itadori snorts, a sudden shock of sound swallowed by the argument. She blushes just a little when Satoru raises a brow at her, the apples of her cheeks tinting red, before she clears her throat and turns her head to watch Satoru out of the corner of her eye instead of head-on, looking like a kid caught using their phone in class.
Strange.
Satoru scans the desk again. Megumi’s notebook is familiar, plain and black and thick. There’s two more beside it; one brown leather, one a spiral. Neither have names, but one is flipped open, newly familiar chicken scratch and shorthand Satoru only understands because of Shoko scattered across the pages. Itadori’s handwriting. Why a teenager writes like a doctor, Satoru has no idea, but it makes it easy to tell which notebook belongs to who.
He leans against the edge of the desk, nudging the bowls aside slightly to make room. Itadori’s notebook ends up almost tucked away entirely behind the bowl of strawberries.
“How’s the project coming along so far?”
Megumi groans, but Itadori smiles, the expression startlingly soft for a girl so broad. “Does he check in on you all the time? That’s sweet.”
Satoru almost has to swallow a laugh, but Megumi gives her an incredulous look. “He’s annoying.”
“He made you snacks and brought them up for you,” Itadori says, and Satoru really has to swallow a laugh then, pressing his palm to his mouth to hide his grin. Megumi glares like he knows it’s there anyway. Satoru pulls his hand away for a second to mouth ‘cute’ at him, grinning wider when Megumi scowls, turning away in disgust, and with no one paying attention to him, it’s easy to slip Itadori’s notebook into his hand and tuck it in his waistband, hiding it with the hem of his shirt.
“I did do that,” Satoru agrees. “Aren’t I the best?”
“No,” Megumi says, not even glancing at him.
Satoru pouts. “You’re being very hurtful today.”
“You deserve it.”
“This is why your classmates are scared of you.”
“Get out.”
“Kicking me out, Megumi-chan?”
“Yes,” Megumi snaps, looking ready to climb to his feet to try and physically force Satoru out of his room. He’d lose spectacularly, and normally Satoru would be willing to indulge the attempt for nothing more than the entertainment value, but he has what he came for.
Satoru raises his hands up in surrender and goes, backing up out of the room. Pausing in the doorway, he adds, “Keep the door open, won’t you?”
Kugisaki and Itadori don’t bat an eye, but Megumi makes a noise of pure frustration and throws a pen at him. “Get out.”
Satoru gets out, laughing the whole way.
-
“Your play date went well, I think.”
Next to him, Megumi closes his eyes and sighs. “Why.”
He sounds just as defeated as he did days ago, giving up long before he ever even put up a fight. Really, it’s no wonder—“Your crush doesn’t look mutual.”
“Why,” Megumi repeats, some actual emotion creeping into his voice. Despair, not at the fact that his feelings aren’t requited, but at the fact that Satoru exists and Megumi has to deal with him as a result.
“I could play wingman for you,” Satoru offers, ignoring the crisis happening next to him with long practice. Megumi’s been repeating this episode since he was in the single digits, with no sign of stopping any time soon. It’s never stopped Satoru before. Most of the time, it only encourages him. “If you’d like.”
“I would not like,” Megumi says, almost snarling.
Satoru only shrugs. “If you say so.”
“I say so.”
Of course he does. Megumi never has been good about going after what he wants.