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Megumi’s world ends on a Thursday evening.
His day went as it normally does. He woke up early in the morning to go on a run before his classes. He attended a lecture at eight in the morning and then hung out with Yuuta at his coffee shop. There, he sat with Inumaki, who generously donated one of his precious onigiris to him as a peace offering for beating him bloody at Mario Kart the last time they played.
He went over to Nobara and Maki’s apartment where he got high with his cousin and then proceeded to study for his finals, and then had dinner with Yuuji at home. It was a simple dinner: Chinese takeout that was consumed on the floor of their living room, and then he showered and settled into his bed.
A successful day according to Megumi’s standards.
He’s halfway into the book The Boy and the Dog when his phone lights up on the bed beside him.
It’s a text from Yuuji.
A smile tugs at his lips.
Yuuji
What do I do?
I think i’m in love with him D:
He’s so beautiful it makes me wanna throw up
He’s so out of my league
The ground shatters with how quickly his heart falls into his stomach.
“Hey,” Yuuji greets him the next morning in their shared kitchen. There’s a faint blush on his cheeks that paints him an effervescent shade of pink.
Beautiful, Megumi ponders privately. Then —
And not mine.
“Mornin’,” he rasps. His voice is gravelly with disuse. “... you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m good, I, uh —”
Oh, no.
“About that text last night —”
Megumi looks around the kitchen for his favorite coffee mug. He finds it in the dishwasher. He stares at the well-crafted hand-made ceramic.
He briefly considers slamming it against his head and wonders if it’ll be enough to render him unconscious.
“I’m really sorry,” Yuuji says in one breath. “I didn’t mean to send that to you. That was supposed to go to Nobara.”
“It’s fine,” he grunts noncommittally, even though he would actually give Yuuji money just for this conversation to end. “Don’t worry about it.”
“No, I just — wait really?”
Megumi looks up from where he’s pouring boiling hot coffee into his cup. He’s about to pour it down his face. Anything to distract him from the agonizing pain in his chest right now.
It is eight in the fucking morning and Megumi already wants to go back to sleep. That’s a record time for him.
“Yeah,” he says instead. It takes every muscle in his body to act like a normal person at the moment. “You meant to send that message to Nobara in a private chat. It’s none of my business who you’re in love with.”
He doesn’t have to see him to know how Yuuji sags against the counter in relief.
“Oh my god, I thought you would hate me! I was so sure I’d lose you over this. This is such a relief, I —” Yuuji rambles at mach speed. “I’m so glad you’re okay with it, I promise I’ll — wait. Wait, what?”
Megumi pauses. He wills himself to look up. Yuuji is leaning over the bar of their island kitchen, his eyes wide and full of disbelief.
“What now?” he asks. He needs more coffee in his body to tolerate this conversation. He takes a long, obnoxious sip from his mug and lets out a guttural sigh. Oh yeah, that hit the spot. “I don’t know who it is, and it’s pretty obvious from your reaction that I’m not supposed to know who it is.”
“Oh my god, so you don’t know who…”
“Correct,” Megumi raises a brow. “You didn’t tell me who this mystery guy was, so…”
“Holy shit,” Yuuji looks like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He places a head on top of his bed head, clearly in distress. “Okay, you’re. Okay. Phew.”
“You started this conversation with the intent to comfort me, but I don’t think you’re doing a good job.”
“I’m so sorry!”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Megumi can’t help but ask. He leans back on the kitchen counter across from Yuuji. Behind him, the sun begins to peak over the horizon. Within seconds, Yuuji is painted in orange and yellow and the faintest hint of green reflecting off of the glass decor in the center of their living room.
Megumi feels his throat tighten. It’s unfair. Whoever Yuuji loves has no idea how lucky he is.
“I know it’s your business and none of mine, but… we’re best friends, right?”
“Of course we are,” Yuuji rises from his seat and runs around the island. He’s pushing into Megumi’s space and grabbing his shoulders, looking at him with the most earnest and sincerest expression he has ever seen in his life. Megumi wonders how he got the stars to fit in his eyes. “You’re my person, ‘Gumi.”
You’re my person.
The words ring in his ears cruelly.
They’re best friends. Best friends. They’re supposed to be there for each other no matter what. Have each other’s backs no matter the circumstance.
Megumi can’t let his feelings get in the way of Yuuji’s happiness. He can’t. That’s not what best friends do. Best friends are honest. Supportive. Compassionate and kind and empathetic.
He can’t be completely honest about how he feels, but at least he can do the rest.
He can be a big boy. He can put his big boy pants on and be brave about Yuuji falling in love with someone else. It’s what he prepared himself for when he was sixteen and found out he wanted to marry his best friend — now, he’s twenty two and just wants to see him happy.
Megumi tilts his head to the side.
He shoves the fragments of his broken heart into a box, places it into his mental trashcan where all things go to die, and then locks it in The Vault.
“You should tell him how you feel,” Megumi says after a moment. “Anyone would be lucky to have you.”
Yuuji perks up. The hands on his shoulders never leave.
“Really?”
“Of course,” Megumi shrugs to feign nonchalance. He feels his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. Did he say too much? “You’re very kind. And caring. And the way you love the people who are close to you is beautiful. And you’re very. Um. You're. Pretty.”
Oh, yeah. Real smooth.
Yuuji pauses.
“Pretty.”
“Y-yeah,” he fumbles. “You’re not so hard on the eyes.”
If the ground were quicksand, Megumi would dive head-first into the floor and receive a score that would rival Olympic gold medalists.
Yuuji smiles.
It’s blinding.
Megumi has to blink away the stars in his eyes. A near-impossible task for someone as starstruck as him.
“Say, Megumi,” Yuuji backs off and leans against the counter right in front of him. He crosses his arms over his chest, his arms bulging with the muscle he put on from the firefighter academy. Megumi hides in his coffee. “What would you want if someone ever confessed to you?”
“To me?” Megumi clears his throat. “Um. I don’t know.”
“Oh come on, you definitely know!” Yuuji kicks his shin lightly. “Think about it. What would your ideal confession look like?”
Hm.
His ideal confession?
There’s only one face he can imagine confessing in such a way, and last night, those dreams were completely and utterly demolished from just a handful of texts.
But Megumi supposes he can indulge the fantasy one more time. One more time before he embarks on his Herculean journey to get over his feelings for Yuuji.
“I think…” Megumi stares down at the reflection in his black ebony coffee. “I would want something simple.”
“Oh yeah?” Yuuji asks, his voice quieting a couple decibels — which is largely appreciated so early in the morning. “Tell me about it.”
Megumi shrugs.
“I’m not one for grandiose gestures. Maybe… maybe a note slipped into my favorite book? Or like, my favorite poems that revolve around love. I don’t know, that’s so lame —”
“Not lame at all,” Yuuji refutes immediately. “That is so charming. It’s very you.”
Megumi chuckles sadly. He downs the rest of his coffee and moves to place the mug in the sink.
Yuuji refuses to budge even though he’s the only thing in the way of the empty sink. Megumi doesn’t think much of it while he reaches around his best friend, his hand skimming the taut line of his waist, and drops the mug in the sink. He fills it with water to make it easier to wash later.
Yuuji doesn’t move back an inch.
Odd. He’s usually the type to jump away and apologize for the inconvenience. Instead, his feet stay planted in the ground. Megumi would dare to say that Yuuji actually leans in.
He catches a whiff of Yuuji’s scent. Megumi blinks slowly. The familiar smell of his other half calms him down despite the inevitable palpitations that are brewing in his chest from the coffee.
“You gonna confess?” Megumi asks lowly. No need to speak so loudly when they’re dangerously close to each other. He swallows his heart for breakfast.
Down, he hisses at the beating organ. Be good for him.
“Yeah,” Yuuji all but whispers. “I think I will.”
It begins the way it started.
Megumi picks up his copy of the book The Boy and the Dog and a slip of paper falls out.
He frowns at the folded notebook paper that made a home between the pages of his book, now laying conspicuously between his feet.
He picks the piece of paper up and unravels its secrets. Yuuji’s handwriting jumps out at him; he would recognize any trace of him in his sleep.
“when i think of us i think of the lakewater
near longtown, what might not technically
constitute a lake but i prefer that word for
the open mouth of its vowel, how it called
us to its throat & held us there, in the sun,
the high points of our faces slick with light
& its arc around our shoulders, the soft
gathering of flesh around our knees,
the lone chair we found near the shore
where we took turns posing, jutting out
an eloquent hip, cackling in the bright language
of flowers for whom i downloaded an app
& learned their names: beautyberry, yarrow,
cornus florida, black-eyed susan, & you,
& you, my bright hibiscus, my every color”
-Safia Elhillo
And then, in his pharmacology textbook, of all places.
There, planted right at the beginning of chapter seven, lies another note. With his heart in his throat and his limbs numb from the shock, Megumi peels it open.
“When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.”
-William Butler Yeats
And again, in his favorite poetry book Time Will Tell.
Is it ironic finding poetry within poetry?
Perhaps that’s the point of it all.
“I love your lips when they’re wet with wine
And red with a wild desire;
I love your eyes when the lovelight lies
Lit with a passionate fire.
I love your arms when the warm white flesh
Touches mine in a fond embrace;
I love your hair when the strands enmesh
Your kisses against my face.
Not for me the cold, calm kiss
Of a virgin’s bloodless love;
Not for me the saint’s white bliss,
Nor the heart of a spotless dove.
But give me the love that so freely gives
And laughs at the whole world’s blame,
With your body so young and warm in my arms,
It sets my poor heart aflame.
So kiss me sweet with your warm wet mouth,
Still fragrant with ruby wine,
And say with a fervor born of the South
That your body and soul are mine.
Clasp me close in your warm young arms,
While the pale stars shine above,
And we’ll live our whole young lives away
In the joys of a living love.”
-Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Megumi folds the poem back up and tucks it to his chest.
His heart beats rapidly against his ribcage, hammering furiously at the bars of its confinement.
Tears well up in his eyes. He curls into himself and sobs. Oh, to be loved the way the poets paint it.
Go to him, the poet whispers.
So he rises to his feet and sprints home.
Megumi slams the door open.
Yuuji is standing in the kitchen when he yelps in surprise and turns around.
He’s wearing the stupid apron Megumi bought him for Christmas a year ago. The words I’ll feed all you fuckers is plastered across his chest.
His hands are messy and covered in what looks to be the seasoning he uses for his meatball recipe. Megumi’s favorite.
“H-Hey!” Yuuji stammers out. “You’re home early! I was gonna, uh, set the table and, um. I was going to get the flowers in the vase first but you’re. You look very disheveled, ‘Gumi, are you alright?”
“Am I,” he heaves with every breath. “Am I alright?”
Megumi raises the poem he found tucked into the pages of his book. The poor thing is crumpled from the wind and Megumi’s brute force.
“You —” Megumi chokes. He slams the poem down on the table in their entryway. “You —!”
“Before you kill me,” Yuuji slowly raises his hands in defense. “You can definitely say no.”
No?
No?
Oh, Megumi will show him.
That asshole! Making him fall in love with him, stringing him along, making him think Yuuji is perfect and beautiful and everything he could ever want in a man — being there for him when no one else was and loving him unconditionally and, and —
— and breaking his heart after making him feel like he wasn’t enough for Yuuji, that he wasn’t good enough because he wasn’t the man that Yuuji allegedly found so beautiful and out of his league —
— who the fuck is out of Yuuji’s league, anyway? Yuuji? The guy with a heart that’s big enough to fit into his even bigger chest?
God, Yuuji has balls, the audacity of this man to do the single most romantic thing Megumi has ever experienced in his twenty-two unfortunate years of his life! And just for him to say that Megumi can say no?
It’s safe to say that Megumi short-circuits.
In three quick strides, he’s stalking over to Yuuji, pushing him back by the hips into the sharp edge of the granite countertop, and slotting his lips over his.
Yuuji squeaks. Megumi swallows it.
He breaks the kiss and jabs his finger into Yuuji’s side.
“I hate you,” Megumi warbles. He realizes too late that he’s crying. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Yuuji simply smiles.
He leans forward to kiss his cheek. He wipes away a stray tear with the back of his hand — the unseasoned side, and presses a dainty kiss to his lips once more.
“I love you, too.”