Chapter Text
Gojo was new to parenting.
He had only been doing it for 12 years, after all.
Yet, from the moment he met Megumi, Gojo decided that this was the life he wanted for him.
Before him, a stout red brick house—charming in its old age—sprawled sleepily. He raised Megumi in this very building over a decade ago; though, of course, Megumi vehemently denied remembering anything about it.
The exterior was exactly as he remembered it—the big oak tree he used to ditch class to nap under, the stone steps where Suguru and Shoko used to smoke, even his little attic window. He always got the best view as the president. Though, when Megumi came along, he sacrificed his little room so the boy could have that view instead.
He hoped Megumi would have it again.
Perhaps it would remind him of all the good times they had together.
“We’re hooome!”
Megumi didn’t even bother to look up from where he was unloading his bags. Gojo tried not to let his teenage moodiness get to him, though a part of him hoped Megumi’s new life here would breathe some joviality into him.
“You’re gonna love it here, Gumi,” Gojo announced, mostly to himself. “You did as a kid, even though I know you don’t remember. It’s a shame Tsumi—”
“Don’t.” The trunk of his (obscenely) expensive car slammed shut. “Keep her name out of your mouth.”
Gojo bit the inside of his lip.
Breathe.
He wasn’t going to let anyone ruin Megumi’s move-in day—he wasn’t immune to his own fatherly wrath either. So, he sucked in his quip and reached out a hand for Megumi’s luggage. He lugged the black bags up the stairs and forwent the doorbell for a cheery knock on the door.
A pink-haired boy—about Megumi’s age, if he had to guess—opened the door. He was laughing at something Gojo didn’t quite catch.
“I’ve got it,” the boy called into the house, before turning his attention to them. “Hey, welcome to Eta Iota Chi! Are you guys moving in?”
Gojo grinned ear to ear. He knew he looked young for his age. “Just Megumi.”
“It’s Fushiguro.” Megumi climbed the steps behind him, his two hounds tugging forward to tentatively give the new boy a sniff.
The pink-haired boy knelt to give the two big dogs a pet. “Aww—puppies!” His gaze flicked between the pups, now attempting to lick his face, and Megumi. “Fushiguro? Nice to meet ya! I’m Yuji Itadori. We’ll be housemates from now on, so let’s be friends! Who are these little guys?”
Megumi made no move to pull his dogs off Yuji. Gojo couldn’t tell who looked happier about it—the pups or Yuji. “The black one is Kuro, and the white one is Shiro.”
Yuji was melting, scratching behind their ears and baby-talking at them already. He’d make a good friend for Megumi, Gojo was sure.
“I can watch over them while you move your stuff in.” Yuji stuck out a hand for the leashes, and for the first time Gojo had ever seen, Megumi passed off his dogs. “Your room is at the top of the stairs to the right. You can’t miss it!”
Gojo hobbled inside with the luggage, and it was exactly as he had remembered it. Well, it was a little cleaner than he remembered it, but that was fixable.
He hauled the bags upstairs, and that kid was right—it was unmissable.
The third door to the right was covered in rainbow balloons framing a rumpled piece of paper in the middle. “MEGUMI” was written in block letters in dying blue marker.
Something warm crept through Gojo’s chest, overtaking the proud melancholy of the day. He tried the handle and let himself in, piling Megumi’s bags on the bed.
The room was simple—no president’s suite—but it was cozy. Solid oak furniture, dark green carpeted floors, and off-white plaster walls spelled home for Gojo, a memory of his golden youth. He hoped Megumi would grow to feel the same way. He cracked open the window, the city skyline peeking out from behind the turning leaves of the old oak tree, and breathed in the smell of fall. His eyes fluttered shut.
Red and orange swirled in his mind, long black locks swaying in the autumn breeze. He was there beneath the tree—their tree—as he always was. Gojo stepped forward, leaves crunching underfoot, reaching a hand out to touch. He was so close, but he was always just out of reach.
It didn’t matter.
He was here.
Warmth filled his chest.
He was home.
He was home.
The thud of bags stirred him from his sappy stupor, and the warmth receded behind his ribs. He tucked away the thoughts for later.
Megumi huffed somewhere behind him. “Are you gonna be here all day?”
“Meguuuumiiiii, you’re so cold!”
Gojo didn’t have to turn around to know Megumi was rolling his eyes.
“Your ‘golden age’ is over. You need to move on like a normal adult.” A bag unzipped somewhere. “Peaking in college is embarrassing.”
Gojo smiled to himself. He knew Megumi was showing him he’d miss him, in his own weird way. He turned around and flung himself on the boy he’d grown to think of as a son, squeezing him every which way.
“I’ll miss you.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Promise you’ll come visit for winter break?”
“No promises.”
“How will I live until then? How could I ever live without my precious blessing?”
Megumi pushed him off with a snort, and Gojo swelled with pride. Any laugh from the boy was a victory, and he wasn’t gonna push his luck on Megumi’s big day. Gojo untangled himself and stretched his long limbs.
“I’ll get going. But could you see this old man to the door?”
Megumi walked him back through the bowels of the house with the confidence of a man who had lived there for years. Gojo took his sweet time, peeking into open doorways and trying to scout and survey Megumi’s housemates. The house seemed mostly empty, save for that Yuji kid and a pink head of hair on the couch. A brother?
Gojo gave Megumi a last squeeze at the door, tears welling.
“I’m proud of you.”
A beat. Megumi wore a look Gojo couldn’t decipher, something pained and… constipated.
“Thanks.”
Gojo couldn’t help but beam, a tear rolling down his cheek. He made sure to sniffle back his snot loud enough for Megumi to hear. He wanted his happiness to be audible. He hoped Megumi would feel it too.
He pivoted on a heel to Yuji, clapping him on the shoulder. “Have a good rush. Throw some good parties—don’t be cheap with the booze either.” Gojo fished out a little black credit card, passing it to Megumi. “If you boys need anything at all, I’m just a call away.”
Gojo opened the door and headed out, waving as he slipped into the driver’s seat of his car. He revved the engine a couple of times for the bewildered Yuji, rolling down the window. “Oh! And I snuck condoms in Megumi’s bag—cover your stump before you hump!”
Gojo sped off in his car before Megumi could egg him in it.
***
Megumi was gonna miss him… but he’d be lying if he said he was sad that Gojo was gone.
Laying back on his newly made bed, all his trinkets in their places, and all his bags unpacked, Megumi felt more at peace than he had in years. That is, until the knocking.
“FUSHIIIGUROOO? YOU AWAKE??”
Shiro and Kuro startled from where they curled up at his feet. He could hear Yuji’s voice through his (obscenely) expensive noise-cancelling headphones. How the walls didn’t shake was a mystery.
He got out of bed, tearing his headphones off his ears.
“FUSHIIIG—”
Megumi opened the door.
“Oh, you’re awake.” Yuji blinked at him sheepishly. He was in perhaps the world’s worst apron. Commander In Beef was emblazoned across its khaki front, the assortment of stains making it impossible to tell if this thing had ever been clean.
Megumi nodded.
“Uh… I just wanted to ask if you wanted ribs? Or—if the dogs wanted any? Can they eat ribs?”
He couldn’t help but laugh a bit. Yuji was annoying, but his heart was in a good place. Yuji’s expression softened, and tension Megumi didn’t even notice seemed to melt away.
“Yeah, I’d love some ribs. The pups would like some too, if you’ve got any without seasoning.”
Yuji beamed. “I’m on it! Want to come meet everyone?”
“Oh, there’s— more?”
Yuji laughed, nodding. “There’s four of us right now—including you and me—but there’s probably gonna be more joining after rush week! Sukuna tells me there was supposed to be more already but uh... they got suspended.”
Megumi wasn’t surprised.
Yuji tilted his head, motioning for him to follow. He nodded and let the shorter man guide him to the main floor. Some D-list action film was blaring on TV, and a large figure watched—back turned to them—dwarfing the couch below. Yuji approached, clapping the man on the shoulder.
“Todo, meet our new housemate. Fushiguro, meet Todo,” Yuji smiled, gesturing to the man on the couch, “frat president!”
President.
Fucking president.
Gojo’s crowning achievement.
Megumi swallowed a laugh. “I’m Fushiguro.”
The large man—Todo—turned around to scrutinize him. Megumi felt pierced through as their gazes met. This man was studying his soul. Megumi did not want to feel known.
“What’s your type of woman?”
What?
“What? Why should I share that with someone I just met?”
“I’m Aoi Todo. I’m a third year. The introduction’s over, now hurry up and answer. It can even be a guy. What’s your type?”
What the fuck?
“What the fuck?”
“Don’t bore me, or I’ll have to fight you. And I don’t want to fight you.”
Megumi looked at Yuji, expecting backup. Instead, the shorter boy was grinning at Todo like this was a fond memory… or a twisted inside joke.
He was in this alone.
Fuck.
He didn’t know why he had to answer. He didn’t know this guy. He didn’t want to fight him, and he couldn’t tell if it was an empty threat or not—given how serious this guy looked, his odds weren’t great.
Think, Fushiguro.
Short hair. No. Fuck. Uh. Ribs. God damn it. Good smile. Nice laugh. Good with dogs. Nice laugh—fuck, thought that already. Uh…. Pink. Shit. No. I’m so indecisive. I don’t even know what I look for in a person. I don’t know what I want in life. I’m such a coward.
Think, Fushiguro.
Think.
“I want someone with unshakable character.” Megumi’s mouth moved before his brain could catch up. “Someone who stands by their morals, no matter what.”
Yuji gave a small thumbs up from where he was half-hiding behind Todo, smiling encouragingly.
Pink. Good smile.
Megumi bit back a smile himself.
A hand came down hard next to him. He flinched, but the contact never came. He was nose-to-nose with a deep-set frown, and Megumi scrambled back.
“Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Boring.” His eyes were glassy, almost as if tears were forming.
Megumi had never felt more lost.
“We’re gonna work on that, Fushiguro. We’ll fix you. We’ve got a party Friday night—we’ll find you a proper woman, my brother.”
Megumi shuddered at the thought. “No tha—”
A back door opened, smoke filling the kitchen. Yuji—no, this man was far bigger—entered the room. Pierced ears, slit eyebrows, tattoos creeping out from behind the black wife beater to run down tanned veiny skin. Red eyes and blown pupils met his own.
This aura.
Megumi didn’t know who this man was but every bone in his body was screaming at him to run.
“Brat.” The voice was rough and stern—a command, not a statement. In the eye contact battle, this guy was not backing down. “Ribs are smokin’.”
Megumi looked around, waiting for hell’s bells to ring. Smoke lapped at the ceiling but the alarms never rung. In fact, there were none to ring; wires hung haphazardly overhead, the only sign that alarms had ever existed in this house.
“OH SHIT!” Yuji pushed past the man, running out the smoky doorway.
The stranger bounded forward, and Todo—large and imposing—flinched backward. If Todo was big, this man was impossible.
Nails dug into palms, fingers clenching into fists. He couldn’t read this stranger, but everything about him spelled trouble.
Scars on his arms and hands. He was a fighter.
None on his face, so maybe not a serious one.
Or no one had ever gotten close enough to winning.
“Got somethin’ on my face?”
Megumi opened his mouth, but the sharp comeback never came.
“Hello? Anyone home?” The man grinned and Megumi couldn’t help but think of a tiger—too-sharp canines flashed as he spoke.
“No.” Megumi held his footing and said it with his chest. He knew he shouldn’t make enemies. But he also wasn’t going to show weakness on his very first night.
The other man opened his mouth, but Todo cut him off. “Sukuna, play nice.”
Todo and the man—Sukuna—exchanged looks Megumi could not decipher. Whatever it was that Todo was saying, Sukuna seemed to understand.
“You must be the new kid the brat was yapping about.”
Megumi flushed. “Yuji?”
“What did I say?”
“You said ‘brat’.”
Sukuna shrugged. “Same difference.”
A beat.
Megumi cleared his throat. “The name is Fushiguro.” He wasn’t sure why he said it, but… he’d have to live with this monster for a year. Might as well offer an olive branch for him to gnaw on.
“Nice to meet you, Fushiguro. Don’t bore me.” He was giving him a look that Megumi couldn’t understand… but part of him felt it was better that he didn’t.
Megumi wasn’t sure it was nice to meet him too, so he settled for a half-shrug.
“RIBS ARE DONE!”
Like a secret switch had been pulled, the two men fell silently into line at the sound of Yuji’s announcement, taking long strides to the kitchen. Megumi swatted away smoke as he followed, the two older men taking paper plates and red solo cups out of the cabinets. An assembly line formed in silence, Yuji distributing ribs on the plates (with an extra unseasoned half-rack for Megumi) and Todo pouring ginger ale into four cups. Sukuna loudly plopped dick-shaped ice cubes into their drinks. The three other men took their food and drinks to the couch without a word, and Megumi could do nothing but follow.
Todo and Yuji made their home on an old floral loveseat, more stain than fabric. Two men of their sizes left no room for Megumi, but Yuji shifted over and patted the depression between the two cushions anyways. Sukuna, on the other hand, had a full three-piece sectional to himself. The grey fabric, while unstained, was littered in burn marks and holes—and the whole thing emanated a strong skunk-like smell.
Megumi scrunched up his nose. He wasn’t fond of skunk. However, three grown men were not fitting on a two-person loveseat. Sukuna was messing with a remote made almost entirely of duct tape, and Megumi used the chance to perch a precarious seat on the far end of the couch.
Megumi tore apart the ribs with his hands and took a tentative bite . Yuji didn’t look like much of a chef—if that was even something someone could look like—and the smoke wasn’t helping either. The meat was falling off the bone, slathered in a sauce that Megumi could only describe as sweet, savoury heaven. It tasted like home.
“Itadori, these are really go—”
“SHH,” the others hushed in near unison.
Some cartoon about rich high schoolers running a fancy club was playing on their 65” flat screen, and the amount of pink was nearly blinding. The blonde one reminded him a little too much of Gojo for him to be able to enjoy most of it, but the main character was palatable. He could appreciate the dry humor.
Megumi finished his ribs and downed his drink, ducking out of view of the television to bring the pups their share. Kuro and Shiro had curled up by the door, fur smelling vaguely of skunk and smoke.
This was going to be a long year.