Chapter Text
Bend, turn, extend, straighten.
Megumi runs through the sequence for the hundredth time, mentally noting each minute correction to his hand placement as he moves through the practice room. He feels heavy today, like he's swimming though water rather than moving through air. No matter how many times he practices, each movement feels different when he puts on the costume. As annoying as it is to don a tightly-belted kimono for practice, it is necessary to become perfect.
When it comes to his craft, Megumi hates to accept anything less than perfect.
“Megumi,” whines a voice from the corner. “You said ‘five more minutes’ fifteen minutes ago.”
He doesn’t even bother turning to acknowledge it. Yuuji is Megumi’s best friend, and also the reason that Megumi never gets enough practice time. If it wasn’t for Yuuji heckling him to go out and have fun all the time, Megumi would have a spot in a dance troupe lined up for after graduation. Probably.
Even if it’s true that Yuuji is the one Megumi has to thank for his only current source of income other than the measly salary he gets from night shifts at a nearby convenience store.
“You should be grateful that I take pride in my work. It’s your grandfather who’s paying me, you know.”
True patrons of the traditional arts are difficult to find these days. Considering he studies Nihon-buyō, Megumi is hardly rolling in money, but he’d rather starve than take some of the seedy (read: voyeuristic) gigs that are available to him.
In particular, there is one job on offer that Megumi will never take.
The thought alone of returning to work for the Zen’ins makes Megumi’s blood boil with complete disgust. No, if he has nothing else, he will at least keep his dignity.
Luckily, Yuuji happens to be a trust fund baby with a rich grandfather whose greatest joy in life is promoting Japanese traditional culture, which is why Yuuji has the money to be at the same private art college as Megumi studying ink painting instead of doing a perfunctory business degree at one of Tokyo's top schools. Unlike Megumi, who is here on a full scholarship, Yuuji’s family has enough money for him to learn whatever he wants. Not that Megumi holds it against him—Yuuji is talented in his own right, or he wouldn't be here in the first place.
It was also Yuuji’s idea to have Megumi perform for his elderly grandfather, who enjoys both traditional dance and chatting with Megumi each week. Megumi doesn’t mind it; Itadori Wasuke is a kind old man and genuinely loves Megumi’s craft. His love of the dance is part of what pushes Megumi to prepare something wonderful each week, not wanting to disappoint his best friend’s only father figure.
From the corner, Yuuji whines again, stretching out on his back along the practice room floor like a sulking puppy. “Ugh. I never should have recommended you to him." His lower lip juts out, not that Megumi is looking. "I wouldn’t have if I knew that I’d lose my whole spring break just waiting around for you to be done rehearsing.”
Glancing at his form in the mirror, Megumi bites his lip. He’s not quite satisfied with the new choreography yet, but five more minutes probably isn’t going to fix the issue, either. “Fine," he relents, letting the fan in his hand drop to his side. "Let’s go.”
Yuuji rockets to his feet, punching the air. Where he gets his energy from, Megumi can only guess. “Yes! Let’s gooo! Nobara’s already waiting outside.”
Of course she is. Nobara is the last member of their three-person crew, a fellow classical dance major in Megumi’s same year. Rolling his eyes, Megumi begins to undo the sash of the plain kimono he wears over his clothing for practices like these. “And you still won’t tell me what we’re doing, huh?”
Blinking innocently, Yuuji gives Megumi his best impression of reluctant secrecy. “I can’t tell you because you won’t approve.”
Is it too late to back out? Megumi groans, already regretting his decision. “Trusting you was a mistake from the beginning.” Carefully folding and zipping his costume into a garment bag, then stowing his fans safely, Megumi runs a hand through his wild hair. “I’m assuming it’s okay that I’m sweaty and gross.”
“You? Gross?” Yuuji laughs incredulously. “Never. C’mon.”
Normally Megumi wouldn’t allow Yuuji to rope him into any antics on a weeknight, but it is spring break, and Megumi doesn’t have night shift at the convenience store tonight. This particular set of circumstances unfortunately leaves him without a proper excuse to combat Yuuji’s annoyingly persuasive puppy eyes.
That’s why he allows himself to be led down to Nobara’s car (or so he tells himself), shoving his dance costume in the trunk, not acknowledging her overly-excited reaction ("You got Megumi to agree to this? Really?"). They drive downtown and drop the car at Nobara’s expensive high-rise apartment (because apparently every other classical dance major’s comes from money) and then follows his two friends to the subway, trusting the process up until the point where they arrive downtown at a street which is suspiciously vibrant considering the time of night.
“Oh hell no,” Megumi breathes out, realizing what they’re here for and exactly why Nobara was so shocked. He had been expecting drinks, beers for his friends and cola for himself, maybe some karaoke, or perhaps something mundane and Yuuji-like such as bowling, but Megumi doesn’t go to clubs and the others know it. He turns around, ready to march right back home on his own, but Yuuji and Nobara each take one of his arms.
“C’mon, please, Megs, we’ve been wanting to go dancing with you since, like, forever!” Nobara whines, both hands wrapping around his elbow.
Somehow it’s triply dangerous whenever these two are on the same side. Megumi tugs at his arms, making an effort not to let his frown falter as he looks down at Nobara. “Yuuji, I can understand, considering he’s a lost cause, but you of all people should know that dancing and grinding are two entirely separate things. I don’t drink and I don’t do clubs and you know it.”
"Hey!" Yuuji protests from his other side. Megumi ignores him.
“We’re not going to let anyone grind on you," Nobara insists, narrowing her eyes up at him as though his gruffness doesn't have any effect on her. After nearly four years of friendship, it probably doesn't. "And you don’t have to drink, we’re just going to have a good time, promise!”
The affected whine Nobara puts on is so annoying that Megumi kind of wants to give in just to shut her up. Hesitating, he glances at the open club door through which the pounding of rumbling bass drifts past the bouncer. It really isn’t his scene... but there’s a part of him that is a little curious. Scowling, he tugs his arms sharply out of his friends’ grasp, wiping his hands on his pants as though the two of them have cooties or something. “Fine,” he grits out. “One club. No drinking, no second round. If you two get drunk I am not playing nursemaid. And this won’t be happening again.”
Yuuji punches the air again, howling in delight. Megumi immediately regrets his choice. He tugs his friend down, wincing as the attention of a few passerby is directed toward them. “Yuuji, stop embarrassing us,” he hisses.
“He’s already agreed to come,” Nobara agrees, slinging an arm around Megumi’s shoulders, which he promptly shoves away. “Let’s not torment him any more, okay?”
Steeling himself, Megumi stays silent and follows his friends to the entry line. Everyone else waiting to get in seems dolled up, dressed in tightly fitted clothing with sparkly makeup. Even Nobara has on a short silvery miniskirt, while Yuuji seems to have applied eyeliner on the way here. Megumi a pang of self-consciousness over being rather underdressed in his practice getup of a black t-shirt and matching jeans. Ugh. He hates unknowns. What if he humiliates himself? What if he doesn’t know what to say to the bouncer, or does something weird and everyone stares? Still, he already fell for Nobara and Yuuji’s little plot hook, line, and sinker, so there’s not much he can do about it now. Better to just lay low and observe.
They eventually make it to the front of the line, and Megumi holds out his ID reluctantly. He almost hopes that he looks too young, that they'll flag him for possibly having a fake ID, but it doesn't happen, and he follows his friends deeper into the club. Ducking inside, Nobara swipes her card for their cover fees, snapping a glow-stick around Megumi’s left wrist, and then Yuuji has caught his other arm and is dragging him into a dark room of pulsating bodies.
Even without any alcohol in his system, Megumi is dazed. There are way too many people in this room and they are all so close. Music blares in his ears, bass boosted so loud that it rumbles up through the floor into his legs, and he wants to freeze like a deer in the headlights, maybe dash back out the door.
As though she can sense Megumi’s intentions, Nobara pulls him deeper onto the dance floor, not stopping even when he flinches at rubbing shoulders with so many other bodies. “C’mon, Megumi!” It’s loud, so she leans closer, cupping a hand around his ear and practically shouting. “No one knows you here!”
"Huh?" It's hard to hear anything with the music so loud, all he can see is Nobara's mouth moving in the spots of colored light drifting across her face.
"Let loose!"
He understands this time, and pulls back, squirming awkwardly. He wonders if it's more awkward to stand there like a cold fish or to get down to whatever questionable English lyrics are being blasted, then decides that the first option is clearly worse as Nobara is already swaying her hips to the beat. Fine. There’s little to do except follow her lead, so Megumi shuts his eyes, feeling the music. Whatever the DJ is playing couldn’t be a further cry from the traditional music he’s trained in, but if there’s one thing Megumi knows how to do, it’s moving his body. Instinct takes over and before he knows it, he’s kind of actually having a good time, moving shoulder-to-shoulder with his friend. Opening his eyes, he sees rather than hears Nobara wolf-whistle at him, and he flips her off with no real feeling behind it.
“Hell yeah!” Yuuji crows beside him, appearing seemingly from nowhere and bumping hips with Megumi as he starts to dance, too. Despite himself, Megumi grins. Fuck it, if he’s here, he might as well enjoy himself.
It’s kind of hot in the middle of the dance floor, but it doesn't really bother him in the moement as they get down to the music. There’s something hypnotizing about it, like he’s anonymous, not the focus of attention but just one of a collective. Maybe he could get used to this.
Time doesn't really seem to pass, but they must have been dancing for a while because at some point Nobara disappears, yelling something muffled in his ear about shots. Yuuji dances with him for a while, once or twice getting a little too friendly with a handsy stranger or two before Megumi swoops him away, rolling his eyes.
It doesn’t take long for Yuuji to follow Nobara to the bar. Megumi doesn’t want drinks, so he remains on the dance floor for a few minutes. Better to dance than watch those two get drunk, he thinks.
Megumi feels, rather than sees, the presence behind him as a body presses against his from the back. Ugh—whoever it is smells like armpits. A hand glances down his arm, and he jumps away as though burned. Yuck. Only taking the time to give the sour-smelling man the middle finger, Megumi makes his way off of the dance floor, dazed. Perhaps dancing alone is not a good idea after all. As he makes his way off the floor, he feels his neck prickle, like someone is staring at him, but when he looks back over his shoulder he can't see the dude anywhere. Huh.
It doesn’t take him long to find Nobara and Yuuji at the bar. Catching sight of Megumi, Nobara curls one finger at him in a come-hither gesture. “Still no alcohol?”
It’s mildly tempting now, actually, with the haze of dancing and music already riding him on a high, but Megumi sticks to his guns. He doesn't drink, period. Shaking his head, he refuses.
“Right. Bottoms up, then.” She slides a tequila shot and a wedge of lemon over to Yuuji, and they both knock the drinks back. Megumi can’t hold back a smirk at the disgusted expression Yuuji makes before sinking his teeth into the lemon wedge.
“Whoa,” Yuuji says as soon as the burn has passed. He already looks pretty drunk, swaying toward Megumi’s arms. “Those are strong.”
Megumi shoves him back toward Nobara, scoffing. “You’ll get no pity from me, you lightweight.”
Nobara is already contemplating their next round, so Megumi decides this would be a good time to make a run to the bathroom. “Be right back,” he tells his two increasingly-tipsy friends, and makes his way around the edge of the crowd.
There is blessedly no line for the bathroom, so Megumi does his business, splashing his face lightly with water at the sink when he’s done and wiping at it with a paper towel. If he was worried about being sweaty when he arrived, he’s really perspiring now, the heat of too many bodies in one room working up a summer-like humidity. The black shirt is turning out to be a good choice, considering how well it hides his pit-stains.
Cool water brings a moment of clarity, and Megumi stares at himself in the mirror for a beat. Pale skin, an angular set to his eyes and brow, his impossible-to-tame black spikes—he’s hardly the picture of elegance, let alone the classic beauty expected from traditional dancers. It’s laughable, really, that he’s in this major at all, but then again, so is the rest of Megumi’s life, in a way.
Someone else comes up behind him to use the sink and Megumi snaps out of it, balling up the paper towels he'd used to clean his face and tossing them in the trash as he leaves the bathroom. Yuuji and Nobara are probably proper drunk by this point. Maybe he can trick them into leaving early if they’re far gone enough.
Pushing his way back through to the bar, the two are thankfully exactly where he left them, laughing uproariously together (Yuuji is holding his stomach and worrying close to gagging), meaning that Megumi’s prediction was 100% correct. The low lights have changed color now, bathing everything in an ominous sea of glowing red. Megumi’s stomach turns strangely, the urge to flee home rising in his throat like nausea. Reaching his friends, he grasps Yuuji’s shoulder with a strange desperation, about to make his plea, when he feels a presence behind him.
“Yuuji?”
The voice isn’t Megumi’s, and Yuuji turns, tipsy and confused. “Wha—Sukuna??”
Surprised, Megumi turns too, and finds himself chest-to-chest with a tall, muscular figure with a tousled pink undercut and sharp cheekbones all-too-similar to that of his best friend. Bathed in the red lights of the club, the man looks almost dangerous, eyes glowing bright and roving over Megumi as though he’s taking liberties without so much as touching him.
Megumi is mysteriously tongue-tied for a moment, flustered at the proximity, before his brain kicks back in and supplies the information that this must be Yuuji’s elusive older brother. Despite nearly four years of friendship, Megumi has never actually seen Sukuna before until today. He looks a lot like Yuuji—that is, if Yuuji had red eyes, lived at the gym for a year, got a sleeve of tattoos on one arm, and grew another five to ten centimeters. He wonders fleetingly if Sukuna's eyes are really that red or it's just the light.
Yuuji pushes to his feet, stumbling past Megumi to wrap himself around his brother’s arm. “Sukuna~! What are you doing here?” His voice is sing-songy. Yep, definitely drunk.
“That’s exactly what I want to ask you,” Sukuna rumbles, extracting his arm from Yuuji’s grip and grabbing him by both shoulders to examine him carefully. “Who’s been letting you drink your weight in alcohol, hmm?”
“You’re ‘ere too,” Yuuji says petulantly, shoving his lower lip out. “You’re probably picking up girls or something, I just came here to dance. ’Sides, I brought Nobara and Megumi.”
“Nobara is as drunk as you are,” Sukuna drawls, observing their friend with her chin nestled in the crook of her arm on the bar counter, still giggling. Then his gaze slides back to Megumi, pausing for a long moment, roving over him from head to toe shamelessly. “And you… you must be Megumi.”
Megumi meets his gaze coolly, sensing the challenge, despite the unusually frantic beating of his heart in his throat. He'll be damned if he lets Yuuji's delinquent older brother intimidate him.
“Hmm.” There’s a teasing turn to Yuuji’s brother’s voice, and he tilts his head as he looks Megumi over. “Thought Megumi was a girl’s name.”
Oh, so he’s an asshole. Great. Megumi’s nerves flood with anger. “Aren’t you a bit old to be resorting to elementary school insults?”
“Wasn’t an insult.” Sukuna actually smirks, and Megumi decides that talking to this guy is a colossal waste of time.
“I think it’s about time I dragged these two alcoholics home.” Snaking an arm around Nobara, Megumi helps her to her feet, hand closing around Yuuji's arm, right over where Sukuna is holding him. “Why don’t you just go about your night and leave them to me?” Sukuna's hand is large underneath his, and Megumi hates that he thinks about how long his fingers are.
“I’m about to head home anyway.” Sukuna seems in no hurry, his eyes still glued to Megumi. Megumi wonders if the burning sensation he feels under their red glare is real or a figment of his imagination. “I’ve had no luck tonight; might as well take my brother with me.” Grabbing Yuuji’s chin with one hand, Sukuna turns his head one way, then the other, inspecting carefully. “By the way his eyes are tracking, I don’t think this one will be walking straight, if at all, in five minutes.”
Megumi pauses, biting his lip. It’s true that it will be a huge pain to take both of them home, even to Nobara’s apartment, but Megumi doesn’t know Sukuna at all, either. For all he knows this dude could be an imposter waiting to kidnap his best friend.
“S’kuna,” Yuuji slurs, batting his brother’s hand away. “Stop being weird. You’re scaring m’ friends.”
Rolling his eyes, Sukuna ruffles Yuuji’s hair before turning back to Megumi. “I can practically see your thoughts, kid. I’m not some stranger kidnapping Yuuji, I promise. Here, let me prove it.” He reaches into Yuuji’s pocket, drawing out his phone, and before Megumi can protest the invasion of his friend’s privacy, he’s unlocking it and scrolling through Yuuji’s contacts. Finding one labeled Sukuna with a bunch of skull emojis, he holds the phone up for Megumi to see as he hits call.
Immediately, Sukuna’s pocket light up. He works his own phone out of his pocket, showing off the words Incoming Call — Yuuji.
“Satisfied? Or do you want to give me your number to call just in case?” Sukuna holds his gaze, then has the audacity to wink.
“I--whatever.” Megumi turns away, inexplicably annoyed, but at least convinced that he’s not leaving Yuuji in the hands of a would-be kidnapper. “Fine. I’ll take Nobara, and you can take care of Yuuji.” Securing his still-giggling friend against his side, he doesn’t spare Yuuji’s brother another glance before hauling them both out of the club and hailing a taxi.
“You are so paying me for this taxi fee, dumbass,” he grumbles to Nobara, fighting her to buckle her seatbelt in the moving vehicle.
“No, you’re the dumbass,” she laughs, and Megumi gives up on her seatbelt. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, right?
Settling against the opposite window, Megumi presses his cheek against the window, enjoying the cooling sensation of the glass on his skin. When had his face gotten so warm? Thank god he hadn’t broken his promise to himself and had a drink. Then they all would have been royally screwed.
He closes his eyes, sobering up from the excitement of the night, but snaps them right back open when teasing red eyes cloud his vision.
Hell no. There must have been something in the air at that club. He is not going to let Yuuji’s asshole brother plague his thoughts even for a minute.
Just to be sure, Megumi pointedly stares out the window, thinking of absolutely nothing all the way back to Nobara’s apartment.
———
Megumi is up early in the morning, running through the shower at Nobara’s place and leaving her a note before he runs to catch the bus to Yuuji’s grandfather’s place. Luckily, it’s a much shorter commute from here than from Megumi’s own dormitory, but it’s unfortunate that all Megumi has is his practice kimono. It’s plainer than he likes to perform in.
Well, at least he has a costume.
Settling on the bus, Megumi whips out his phone, turning on the camera and taking stock of his appearance. His hair is still damp, and his eyes have bags under them. His professor would give him an earful and a half if he showed up to class like this. Rummaging in his bag, Megumi pulls out some concealer and dabs at the purplish blotches staining his under-eyes. A little damage control is better than nothing.
It only takes twenty minutes to arrive at the Itadori mansion, and Megumi rings the bell at the gate. The voice of the Itadoris’ housekeeper, Misato Kuroi, crackles over the intercom. “Come in, Megumi. Master Itadori is expecting you.”
It occurs to Megumi for the first time as he makes his way through the courtyard that he might see Yuuji’s brother here.
Surely not, right?
While he doesn’t usually take up Yuuji’s invitations to visit his home on weekends, preferring to hang out at either his own dorm or Yuuji’s where he lives during the week, Megumi has been coming to the mansion weekly for the last few months ever since he started performing for Yuuji’s grandfather. In all of those visits, he has never once seen an indication that Sukuna had set foot in this house. Yuuji had mentioned once that his grandfather and brother don’t get along, so he doesn’t come home often.
That means he won’t be here today… right?
Not that it matters to Megumi. He squares his shoulders. Sukuna’s presence couldn’t be more unimportant to him.
It’s just that the idea of Sukuna catching sight of him dancing—those eyes which roved over Megumi so freely the night before observing his every move—discomfits him slightly.
An asshole like that would never appreciate Megumi’s art. That’s why it bothers him so much.
Making his way to the empty room that Ms. Kuroi always prepares for him to change, Megumi tries his best to fix his hair before slipping on his heavy costume, pulling it haphazardly into a clip at the nape of his neck. Turning to check in the mirror, he surveys himself.
Hmm. Passable. Dark circles are mostly under control, though he still seems mildly haggard. It's not much worse than his normal appearance, though.
Taking his fans in one hand and a bluetooth speaker in the other, Megumi exits the room, his socks padding softly on the traditional wooden floors.
———
When Sukuna wakes up in his little-used room at the Itadori mansion, there’s faint music wafting into his room from the hall outside. It pisses him off slightly, considering how badly he slept. What the hell is his grandfather's problem to be blasting his radio so early in the morning?
Rolling out of bed, he pulls on last night’s pants, not so much as bothering with a shirt, and makes his way into the hallway.
“Young master Sukuna,” their housekeeper, Kuroi, greets him, bowing deeply. “You are up early.”
Sukuna rubs at his eyes, leaning against his doorframe. “What’s with the early morning concert?”
“Your grandfather has been regularly commissioning Nihon-buyō performances. You know how he enjoys the arts.” Her prim expression pinches together. “You may want to dress yourself properly, young master, before he sees you.”
“Hah!” Sukuna laughs involuntarily at the idea of worrying over what Itadori Wasuke thinks of him. He doesn’t usually stay over at the family home in general, much preferring to keep out of the way. His grandfather doesn’t approve of Sukuna’s habits (particularly the rate at which he acquires tattoos and his taste for one-night-stands) and Sukuna is much more comfortable with the freedom from prying eyes that he has at his own apartment.
However, after bringing Yuuji home in the early hours of the morning (with Yuuji drunkenly insisting that he wanted to sleep in his own bed, not on Sukuna’s couch), it wasn’t worth the extra drive.
Speaking of last night…
Sukuna’s lips drag into a slow smile.
He’s heard the names of Yuuji’s friends over the years, and Nobara was at the house once when Sukuna happened to swing by, but Sukuna had never actually seen Megumi before last night. Fine arts colleges aren’t exactly Sukuna’s regular stomping grounds, after all.
After laying eyes on Megumi, he realizes that that’s quite a shame. He'd first caught sight of him on the dance floor yesterday, his slim figure completely tempting in its moves. Some random asshole had bothered him before Sukuna could approach him, though, and he'd disappeared. Imagine Sukuna's delight, then, in realizing that those long black lashes and tiny waist belonged to Yuuji's friend. Admittedly, Sukuna doesn't always go for boys, but those dark eyes and flushed cheeks had haunted Sukuna all night, allowing him little sleep. There was something so innocent yet defiant in them, as though he hadn’t even noticed his own blush, yet was practically ready to throw hands with Sukuna at the drop of a hat. That reluctant naivete lit a certain type of fire in Sukuna’s belly, one that he hadn’t felt for a long time.
Very interesting, indeed.
The delicate plucking sound of a zither floods the hallways again now, interrupting his train of thought. The habits of an eighty-six year old don’t particularly interest Sukuna, especially considering Itadori Wasuke’s obsession with musty, antiquated cultural arts that Sukuna couldn’t be paid to suffer through. A dancer, though, is a different story.
“Is she cute?” Sukuna asks Kuroi, who shakes her head in disapproval before turning away.
“See for yourself,” is all she leaves him with.
The sliding wooden door to his grandfather’s room is ajar just by a crack, and Sukuna has no reason not to indulge his curiosity. He treads over to his grandfather’s chamber, peering through the gap.
Nothing could have prepared him for what he sees.
When he heard “traditional dancer,’ he had expected some classical beauty, a painted white-faced lady. He hadn’t expected the lithe-bodied, dark-haired creature emanating grace from the curve of his spine to the gentle wave of his arms.
Standing frozen in the doorway, Sukuna doesn’t even have to glimpse more than a sliver of his face to know exactly who this dancer is.
Megumi shouldn’t be pretty, really, his narrow face neither cherubic not sweet, but somehow there’s a delicacy to his features. Sukuna’s eyes catch on the swell of his lips, the way his eyes fall half-lidded in one moment, grow wide the next, the fan in his hands cutting through the air with clinical precision. His movements are strong, measured, yet there is something enticing about him, the set of his brows, his expression perfectly open to the rhythm of the dance. His body sways, bending and flicking as though he’s made of air more than flesh and blood.
Sukuna’s pulse jumps in his neck, and he grips at the doorframe.
Megumi, a classical dance major, slender waist bound tightly in his kimono, bending and stretching like a wet dream.
Oh, the things he wants to do to this boy are unspeakable.
Sukuna knew he wanted Megumi from the first second he laid eyes on him, but as he watches him through the cracked door, voyeur to this private dance, he decides that that won't rest till he gets a taste of him.
Luckily, Sukuna is a master at getting exactly what he wants.