ғᴜsʜɪɢᴜʀᴏ ᴍᴇɢᴜᴍɪ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
The only thing worse than your Monday morning home room was sharing it with Megumi Fushiguro, of all people.
You don’t know why exactly he irritates you so much—maybe it’s the way he always acts so aloof, as if the rest of the class seems low beneath him. Or, it could’ve been the way he never raises his hand but always has the right answer in a second. Or maybe it’s just how, even without trying, he makes your heart stutter every time he glances your way half-way into the period. You hate that the most, of all things.
You aren’t exactly friends. Not enemies, either. But he challenges you in ways that no one else would ever dare to, especially when it came to academics and training. You are both first years at Jujutsu High, stuck in the same class, the same dorm building, and unfortunately, often the same missions.
It’s been like this since day one, for as far as you could remember.
“You should focus less on flair and more on precision,” he mutters after one of your sparring matches during combat training.
You quickly whip your head around, breathing heavily, your sweat clinging to your forehead. “And you should try not being a condescending jerk for once.”
He shrugs like he didn’t just insult you. “I’m just offering you constructive criticism.”
You roll your eyes at him. “Thanks, Mr. Perfect. I guess it must be nice to have a personality built completely from a wall, huh?”
You could have sworn his lip twitched into a smirk, before he turns away from your gaze.
That was the thing about Fushiguro. He never dares to fight back in the way you would want him to. He doesn’t throw disses like Gojo, or bicker loud like Nobara. Instead, he quietly tears you down with a single sentence, subtle jabs at you, and that maddening calm expression that he never fails to keep.
And yet, somehow, that only makes things worse.
You don’t expect the turning point to come in the form of detention.
Apparently, Gojo-sensei thought it would be funny to pair the two of you for the purpose of ‘training detention,’ which you quickly came to realize was ridiculous code for ‘I want to watch these two suffer.’
“Don’t kill each other,” he says, cheerfully sipping his tea from the observation deck, a smug grin plastered all over his face.
You and Megumi stand at opposite ends of the practice yard, just barely making eye contact.
The silence between you stretched thick and long, until you decide to break it.
“Let’s just get this over with.”
Megumi gives you a small nod, raising his fists in defense. You charge first, pouring pure frustration into your strikes, but he blocks them easily, every single one. Like usual, always calm, always unreadable.
It wasn’t until he counters with a move you haven’t seen before that you lose your balance. You land hard on your back with a groan, collapsing to the ground.
He rushes to your side, carefully crouching beside you. “Are you okay?”
You blink, stunned—not just by the fall, but by the genuine concern that lies in his voice.
“I’m fine,” you mutter, but your voice lacked any sort of conviction.
“You were overextending. Again.” He says blatantly.
“Why do you always do that?” you snap back, sitting up.
“Criticize everything I do like you’re some sort of master.” You groan and roll your eyes at him, your voice underlying a hint of annoyance.
He looks at you for a long moment. “Because I notice things. That’s all. And I’d rather you be annoyed and alive than dead.”
The sincerity in his voice took the fight right out of you.
For once, you don’t have a comeback to him.
After that, something felt as if it were shifting…
You start to train together more often—voluntarily, not just because of Gojo-sensei pairing you out of spite. There were still pointless arguments, of course, and plenty of sassy eye rolls, but the edges begin to soften little by little. Conversations happen. Sometimes, they even drift outside of training—books you were reading, favorite foods, or complaints about Gojo’s ridiculous missions.
And then…comes the library incident.
You’re curled up in a corner with a textbook in hand, trying to cram for a cursed technique theory exam you had forgot about, when Megumi appears and sit’s down next to you without a single word.
You glance at him. “This seat taken?”
He doesn’t budge to look up. “It is now.”
You stare at him for a second before huffing a laugh. “Bold of you to assume I won’t just move.”
“You won’t.” He shoots back.
He looks at you then, eyes steady. “Because I know you don’t actually hate me.”
The silence that follows felt almost deafening.
You stare at him, pulse ticking in your throat.
The realization comes quietly, like most dangerous things do. You’re falling for Fushiguro.
Somewhere between those late-night study sessions, the careful way he wrapped your injured wrist in gauze after a mission, and the small smile he would give when you complimented his shikigami—you fall for it so easily.
And you hate it, so much.
Not because he doesn’t deserve it, but because you feel scared he wouldn’t feel the same way. That you’ll always be the one who cared more. That maybe, to him, you’re just another classmate. An annoyance he’sgrown used to.
That fear sits in your chest like a stone.
You try to distance yourself whenever you can.
Yet he notices every time.
“Are you avoiding me?” He asks.
The question comes one afternoon as you were heading out of the common room. You turn to find him standing behind you, arms crossed.
“I’m just busy,” you say quickly.
“With what?” He raises an eyebrow.
He frowns. “Did I do something?”
You sigh, rubbing your eyes. “No, Megumi. You didn’t. I just…need more space.”
He looks like you had just slapped him.
“Okay,” he says quietly. “If that’s what you want.”
And just like that, he turns and walks away.
You stand there for a long time, feeling like you just made a terrible mistake.
It only got worse when the next mission came by.
It’s supposed to be simple—clean-up duty after a first-year squad exorcised a low-level cursed spirit at a school in Kyoto. But something’s off there. The air feels heavy, unnatural. Gojo had sent you and Megumi to check it out.
“Stay close,” Megumi says cautiously when you arrived.
You nod, tension crawling under your skin.
The school hallways are dark, long shadows twisting gauntly at the edges of your vision. You step carefully, every creak of the floorboards loud in the silence.
That’s when the spirit reveals itself.
It’s not weak. Not even close.
Megumi launches into battle immediately, summoning his divine dogs, barking orders for you to stay behind for cover. You ignore him, charging in to back him up. You aren’t going to let him fight alone.
But the spirit is fast—much faster than either of you had expected.
One wrong move and it would send a heavy, slicing blow toward you.
You don’t see it coming soon enough.
He dives in front of you, taking the hit across his side.
You catch him as he stumbles back, blood staining your shirt.
“Don’t…stop fighting,” he hisses.
Your heart thunders. “Like hell I won’t—”
“(Insert name), please.” He begs.
It was the desperation in his voice that snaps something inside you.
With a guttural scream, you pull on every bit of cursed energy you have, launching into a counterattack that left the spirit obliterated.
When it ended, erupting into a loud silence, you drop to your knees beside him.
“You idiot,” you whisper, pressing your hand to his wound. “You could’ve died.”
He gives you a weak smile. “I told you…I’d rather you be annoying and alive than dead.”
You laugh through the subtle tears. “That’s not funny.”
“I wasn’t joking.” He says through a small grin.
You meet his eyes, heart thudding.
“Why would you do that for me?” you whisper.
He doesn’t hesitate. “Because I love you.”
The world stills inside your mind.
“What?” You say, a hint of shock in your voice. As if you thought you must’ve heard something else, anything besides the words ‘I love you.’
His voice is barely audible. “I think I have for a while now.”
You stare at him, stunned.
“I thought you hated me,” you whisper back.
“I didn’t, I never did. I just didn’t know how to talk to you without wanting to kiss you or argue with you. Sometimes it was both.”
Your chest aches in the best way possible.
“I love you too, you dumbass.”
You lean in and kiss him, soft and lingering, not daring to let go. The weight of all the months of built-up tension finally beginning to break apart.
He smiles into it, and for once, Megumi Fushiguro looks at peace.
He recovers quickly—too stubborn not to.
Things were different after that. Softer than ever before.
He still corrects your technique, and you still call him pretentious. But he holds your hand under the desk during lectures. He brings you tea whenever you’re studying late. You patch up his bruises with hands gentler than you’d ever used before on anyone.
Sometimes, you find yourselves in the library together again. This time, he lets his head rest on your shoulder, eyes closed, fingers loosely tangled with yours.
Enemies once. Lovers now.
Not quite perfect, but real.
And in a school where death always lingers just beyond the tall gates, you both learn to cling to what matters most, beyond death.
The infirmary is quiet, except for the steady beep of the monitor standing beside Megumi’s hospital bed.
You sit in the chair next to him, fingers nervously curled around the edge of your sweatshirt, eyes watching his slow, steady breaths. It’s been three days since the mission, since the confession, and still, you aren’t sure if you had dreamt it all.
Because Megumi Fushiguro doesn’t ever say things like ‘I love you.’
He doesn’t bleed for people who irritated him.
He doesn’t kiss like that unless it meant something deep.
…Right? You would think to yourself, trying to reassure yourself from it all.
You drop your forehead into your hands and exhale.
“Why does this feel so much scarier than fighting curses?”
“You tell me,” comes a rough, familiar voice.
You jolt up. “Megumi—! You’re awake—”
“Yeah. Unfortunately..” His eyes are half-lidded, and he looks pale, but there’s a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.
“You almost died,” you say softly.
“You keep saying that like I don’t know already.” He chuckles.
You lean forward, your hands trembling slightly. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
Your heart stutters painfully, and something in your chest cracks a little wider.
Megumi turns his head slowly, looking at you.
“I meant what I said,” he murmurs. “Even if you never say it again. Even if you change your mind tomorrow. I needed you to know.”
You stare at him, stunned by the quiet vulnerability in his voice.
“…You think I’d change my mind?”
He shrugs, trying to play it off, but the way he clenches his jaw gave him away.
You reach out and take his hand.
He tenses at first—but then relaxes.
“I’ve always seen you, Megumi. Even when I said I hated you. Even when I pretended I didn’t care.”
“I noticed,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just…never thought I deserved you.”
Something odd twists inside you. All this time, you thought you weren’t enough. That he couldn’t possibly feel anything real for someone as loud, emotional, and impulsive as you.
But Megumi—he’d been carrying doubts all along too.
Your fingers tighten around his.
“You do,” you whisper. “You deserve to be seen, and loved.”
His eyes flick up to meet yours.
And this time, he doesn’t dare to look away.
That night, as the sun dipped below the dorm windows and the world hushed into a warm glow, Megumi let’s you lay beside him on the infirmary cot—his hand rests gently over yours, softly twined in your hair, his head tucked close.
Neither of you speak much to each other.
But the silence between you two isn’t cold anymore.
Like you’re finally coming home.
For once, the space between you is filled with something brand new.
Megumi is healing. Fast, of course—too fast for his own good, as usual.
You barely see him anymore.
Not because you don’t want to, but because suddenly he seems to be always gone. Training with Gojo. Running errands with Nobara. Disappearing into town after missions without a word.
You don’t want to overthink it. But the silence between you—once soft and warm—has gone cold again.
What makes it worse was the new second-year transfer…Hana.
That Sweet voice, and bright eyes. And the way she clings to Megumi like she’s known him for years already.
You watch her sit next to him at lunch. Touch his arm during training. Smile at him in ways you had once claimed as your own.
And Megumi doesn’t flinch. He never correct her. He doesn’t even look uncomfortable with it.
It feels like a thorn in your chest.
Small, at first. Then constant, thickening.
“You’re mad,” Megumi says to you one night as you pass each other in the hallway.
“I’m not,” you reply, a little too quickly.
He turns to face you, eyes narrowed. “You haven’t spoken to me in three days.”
“You’ve been busy.” You shrug, keeping your tone flat.
“With missions.” He says hesitantly.
“Yeah, and Hana.” You snap back.
Megumi’s brow furrow. “What does she have to do with anything?”
You give a dry laugh. “I don’t know, you tell me. She’s practically attached to you.”
“She’s just a classmate, you know that.”
You meet his eyes. “Does she know that?”
His mouth opens, but no words came. Just awkward silence.
And the silence says everything it needs to.
You don’t fight, not exactly. But the distance grows again—more sharp and painful this time.
You start to skip dinner whenever you know he’d be there. Training early to avoid running into him. Pushing yourself to exhaustion to keep from thinking too long about him and Hana.
Megumi never stops to go chase after you.
And that hurts you more than anything else.
One rainy evening, Nobara finds you in the gym, fists pounding a sandbag hard enough to bruise your fingers.
“You okay?” She asks lightly to you.
You don’t stop. “Why does everyone keep asking me that? I’m fine!”
“It’s because you look like you’re five seconds from crying or punching a wall.”
You finally still at that, breathing ragged.
She walks up to you, her voice low. “Look, I know Megumi’s being…Megumi. But he’s not doing it on purpose.”
You look down. “Then why does it feel like he’s pulling away for Hana?”
Nobara hesitates. “Because he’s scared.”
“Of messing this up. Of being too much. Of hurting you.” She softens her tone. “You guys are so busy trying not to fall apart from each other, that you forgot how to hold each other.”
You sit on the mat, wiping your forehead. “It’s like I don’t even know how to talk to him anymore.”
“Then maybe it’s time to try, don’t you think?” She suggests.
Suddenly, the opportunity came unexpectedly—Gojo’s dumb idea of “perfect team bonding.”
You, Megumi, Nobara, Yuji…and Hana—stuck in a van together, heading to a small and quiet countryside town for the weekend.
You choose the back seat. Megumi sits in the middle, and of course he’s right beside Hana.
She laughs at something he said, then leans her head against his shoulder.
You turn your face to the window, your throat tight and soar.
Later that night, at the inn you all were staying at, you find yourself sitting alone on the veranda, the cold air brushing against your skin.
“You’ve been avoiding me again.” Megumi says to you.
You don’t need to turn your head to know it’s him.
“Habit, I guess,” you say dryly.
He steps beside you, hands in his pockets.
“I don’t know how to fix this,” he says quietly.
You finally look at him. “Start by being honest with me, then.”
His eyes flick to yours. “I am.”
“Then why does it feel like I’m the only one who cares anymore?” You say, your throat feeling tight and heavy as you spoke.
“Do you like her better?” The words slip out before you can stop them. “…Hana?”
He stares at you, stunned. “What?”
“She’s always around you. You don’t push her away. I don’t know what to think—”
“I don’t like Hana,” he cuts in. “She’s been through a lot. I was trying to be kind.”
“But that’s the thing. You’ve been kind to everyone but me!”
That lands deep in his face.
He exhales sharply, stepping closer to you. “You think I don’t care about you? That I don’t want this?”
“You haven’t shown it.” You say, not meeting his eyes.
“I didn’t know how. I thought I was giving you some space.”
You blink. “I never asked you for space.”
“I know that now.” He says, and sighs with a hint of annoyance.
“You confuse the hell out of me, Megumi,” you say quietly. “You open up just enough for me to fall into you deeper, and then you shut the door in my face…”
“I’ve been scared too,” he admits. “I don’t know how to be with someone who actually acknowledge me. I keep messing it up, I know.”
“…Then stop it. Stop messing it up.”
Megumi’s gaze meets yours. “You still want this?”
You don’t answer with words. Just reach out and touch his hand hesitantly.
He takes it, intertwining your hand is his.
For a moment, the noise between you melts.
“I missed you,” he says, so softly that you almost miss it completely.
That night, Megumi sits with you under the stars. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, his silence no longer as heavy…
“You know,” you say, voice light, “you suck at this whole ‘being in love’ thing.”
He gives a tired smile. “I’m learning, just you wait.”
You smirk. “Slow as ever.”
“Hey.” He says with a grin.
But when you glance up, his expression is different. Sincere this time.
“I don’t want to lose you again, (insert name).”
You reach for his hand and squeeze it tight.
And just like that, the thorn loosens.
And the space between you becomes something you could finally share…
The next mission is short, brutal, and exhausting.
You both stand outside the abandoned temple, bloodied and sore but alive, the last cursed spirit finally gone.
Megumi sits on the stone steps, one hand pressing against his side, the same spot where he’d been injured weeks ago. You drop beside him, breathing heavy.
“You okay?” you ask softly.
“Yeah. Just bruised,” he says. Then, after a moment—“Thanks for watching my back.”
You nudge his knee with yours. “Always.”
There’s a long silence, broken only by the distant hum of the bundle of cicadas. Then he clears his throat, eyes fixed on the cracked pavement of the steps.
“I’ve been thinking,” he begins. “About us. About everything I didn’t say when I really should’ve.”
You turn to him, heart thudding fast.
“I want to try. Like…really try,” he says. “No more holding back. So—”
He pauses, catching his breath.
“Would you go on a real date with me? I mean, just us. No curses. No drama…except for me and you.”
“You’re lucky I like you.”
He gives a faint laugh, as relief softens his expression.
You reach over and lace your fingers with his.
“It’s a hell yes, Megumi.”
And that’s all the words he needs…
The first real date—it’s all awkward, at first.
Megumi stands outside your dorm room in a black hoodie and baggy jeans, hands shoved deep into his pockets. His hair is messier than usual, like he’d run his fingers through it a dozen times debating whether or not to knock.
You open the door mid-thought and smile up at him, the corners of your eyes creasing.
“You look like you’re trying to talk yourself out of this.”
“I was,” he admits, his cheeks faintly pink.
You lean against the frame. “And?”
“I lost the argument.” He sighs softly.
You laugh. “Good. Because I was gonna drag you out either way.”
The two of you walk to a quiet cafe tucked right between a used bookstore and a calm record shop, the kind of hidden place that didn’t see to behold much foot traffic. It smells like cinnamon and rain, soft jazz playing from an old speaker in the corner.
Megumi pays before you could argue with him, then leads you to a booth near one of the windows.
“Still not used to seeing you in normal clothes,” you tease at him, sipping your drink.
He shrugs. “Still not used to you not yelling at me.”
“Oh, I can yell if it turns you on, then. Would that make you comfortable?” You laugh lightly.
He gives you a look, but you catch the tiny smirk tugging at his lips.
It feels slow, soft—your first real date. The kind that didn’t revolve around blood, curses, or Gojo being a menace of a mentor. Just you, him, and a table full of stolen glances and quiet smiles.
By the time you step out of the cafe, the sky has deepened into violet-blue, the sidewalk still damp from the earlier rain.
Megumi walks beside you in silence, his fingers brushing against yours but not quite holding them. Not yet, at least.
“You’re being oddly quiet,” you say, bumping your shoulder into his.
He exhales slowly. “I keep thinking this’ll go wrong somehow.”
You stop walking and look up at him. “It won’t. Not if you stop assuming it will, that is.”
He meets your gaze—and for the first time in a while, he doesn’t look away.
“I want to kiss you right now,” he says suddenly.
At that, he leans in. It felt surreal at first, his lips passionately against yours. Warm in embracing your touch, the sweet aroma of his lips lingering onto you. After moments that felt longer than needed, you both let go—breathless, blushing vibrantly…
You end up back at the training field, empty and quiet under the moonlight. The grass is still a little wet, the air cool against your skin.
Megumi stands in front of you, face barely lit by the silver light, unsure but so achingly beautiful you wanted to wrap your arms around him and never let go.
“I’ve thought about this before,” he admits.
You step closer to him, breaking off the distance. “And?”
“I thought it would ruin everything.”
You’re close enough now to see a subtle blush scattered across his cheeks, the vulnerability in his eyes.
“Megumi,” you whisper, “you were the best thing that happened to me. Even when I hated you.”
“I never hated you,” he murmurs.
And then, finally—he kisses you again.
It feels careful at first, almost hesitant, like he isn’t sure he was allowed to feel this much a second time. His hands slide down to your waist, drawing you in gently, like he might break you otherwise if he wasn’t careful. You fist the fabric of his hoodie and pull him closer, lips parting against his with a breathless sigh.
Something in him snaps—softly, sweetly. The kiss deepens more. Slow and aching. The kind that makes your knees weak and your thoughts blur into a whirl.
His hands move up, one cupping your cheek, as his thumb brushes against your skin with a reverence you didn’t know he had in him.
You can feel everything in the kiss.
All the tension. All the anger. All the months of fighting and miscommunication, just to get to this moment.
When you finally pulled apart, you’re both breathless.
“…You’re really good at that,” you say, voice unsteady.
He smirks. “I’ve had practice…In my head, that is.”
You laugh and bury your face into his shoulder, heart full, chest warm.
That night, lying under the stars on the rooftop of Jujutsu High, Megumi holds your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Now, it was just you and him, finally in sync.
Whatever would come next—missions, curses, chaos—you know one thing is for sure:
You found your way to each other.
But completely, just at the right amount.
And that was enough for you.
