Archive of Our Own ^beta

There is a half-empty coffee cup left on the lounge table, and Megumi is in love.

Not with the coffee no; Gojo-sensei adds too much sugar and creamer and pumps of vanilla syrup for Megumi to genuinely enjoy on the regular.

No, Megumi is in love with Gojo-sensei.

The same Gojo-sensei who teases him a little too hard and makes him mad and never replaces the shampoo after he uses it all in Megumi’s dorm and never stops calling him in the dead of night forgetting that it is only seven PM in Spain but never not buys him some sort of gourmet dessert from across the world and never not checks up on him after missions and never not takes him out to dinners that cost way more than some people’s paychecks and well, the point is made, isn’t it?

The good outweigh the bad, is what Megumi is trying to say.

Or maybe, he’s just delusional.

(He’s definitely delusional.)

But it’s hard not to be when Gojo-sensei drags him—and only him—out of bed at eight AM to the lounge, three hours before his mission begins and seven hours before his mission ends, to share a small breakfast—gourmet croissants from a cute cafe Megumi’s been wanting to try all the way in Osaka—and coffee—homemade, just like how Gojo-sensei likes it—together, and to catch up because they haven’t had the chance to this week; the both of them have just been so busy—which Megumi blames Gojo-sensei for anyways; he’s the one who literally assigns them homework.

It’s hard not to be when he literally sees the man almost every waking hour of every day, always constantly reminding Megumi of why he likes him so goddamn much, so goddamn much that he could feel—hear—his heart racing every time Gojo-sensei does so much as to even look at him.

(Which is bad, because Gojo-sensei looks at him a lot.)

But the breakfast itself was sweet if not typical for their standards, with Gojo-sensei being the one who does most of the talking, yammering on and on about the happenings of his day while Megumi listens diligently without complaint—he’s always loved the other man’s voice, low and warm and melting all of Megumi’s insides, so he lets him do as he likes.

It has always been this way between them, and Megumi is content enough as it is, content enough to bury all of his love for the other man so deeply within him so long as it means he could keep their Saturday breakfasts and midweek lunches that he holds so dear to his heart.

Because he can’t help but be in love with Gojo Satoru, a frustrating and frightening thing to think about at all times always—this idea, this concept of loving Gojo Satoru—perhaps even more difficult than fighting a special-grade curse because at least the latter has some chance of happening; Megumi himself will never be loved by Gojo-sensei in the way he wants him to.

He can’t help but be in love with Gojo Satoru because who isn’t in love with Gojo Satoru? Perhaps that was his first crime, loving Gojo Satoru in the first place when he isn’t for the taking.

But it’s different, Megumi supposes, between the two of them at least.

There is a relationship there, just… not like that.

And so it’s not so completely unorthodox that Megumi would fall in love with Gojo-sensei like that.

Not so completely orthodox that he’s been in love with Gojo-sensei since he was twelve, before Gojo-sensei was Gojo-sensei and was only the Satoru-nii who picked him up from school despite him telling the other man multiple times that he’s old enough to walk home alone, was only the Satoru-nii whom he still went to when he got nightmares on rare yet too often occasions, was only the Satoru-nii that was his and his alone.

But at the same time, some childish part of Megumi cannot help but wonder: when did Satoru-san become Satoru-nii, and when did Satoru-nii become Gojo-sensei?

But to be fair, there is some decorum to be had when your somwhat-guardian-somewhat-friend becomes your teacher, and Megumi tries not to be too bitter about it, about all the formalities and situations and consequences that he’ll never say out loud.

And yet, who is he to Gojo-sensei?

Who is Fushiguro Megumi to Gojo Satoru?

A ward he picked up at the age of eighteen?

Friends? Are they even friends? What would even constitute as being friends in a relationship so long and convoluted as theirs?

(So this, this whole friendship thing Megumi doubts because the thirteen years between them is a long time, too long to even count on two hands, too long to even count the difference of experience between the two.

And so, of course, there is no way that Fushiguro Megumi and Gojo Satoru are friends.)

But he is definitely Gojo-sensei’s student, and somehow, he is alright with what they have for now.

It is selfish to ask for anything more, not when Gojo-sensei doesn’t like him like that, not when Gojo-sensei is too busy in his own right to have Megumi’s love as another burden on top of everything else.

It is selfish to ask for anything more, and so Megumi does not and will not.

But, as he awkwardly stares at the spot on the cup where Gojo-sensei had drank his coffee from, a place so intimately normalized, apparitional kisses on meaningless objects that are not meant to be stolen, Megumi finds it in himself that, despite all these years of practicing self-restraint, he can be somewhat selfish, if at least only once.

And so, he cannot help but wonder very, very selfishly what Gojo-sensei’s lips would taste like on his.

Would they taste like that shitty grape flavoured lip balm that he still buys from the grocery store every week, sticky and artificial? Or would they taste sweet, cloying and addicting like the coffee he drinks every morning? Or would they taste like nothing at all, Infinity always and forever blocking whatever chances Megumi would ever have of touching Gojo-sensei’s lips to his own.

And what would Gojo-sensei think about Megumi’s lips?

He wonders and wonders as he stares at that godforsaken spot he knows Gojo-sensei had sipped from, and before he could stop himself—if he had even wanted to stop himself in the first place—he takes his own sip from that very same spot.

It is cold.

And too sweet for Megumi as he cringes from the taste like he wasn’t expecting it to be as shit as he remembered, the vanilla overpowering the sugar overpowering the coffee so it all just tastes like some horrid amalgamation of everything that’s wrong with the world.

It feels too strange, to be drinking out of the same cup that Gojo-sensei had, too anxiety-inducing like he is five years old again and he had done something wrong to make his father mad at him but he doesn’t know exactly what. It doesn’t feel real, like he had trespassed some unspoken boundary of rules that he was not supposed to.

Which he probably did, despite no one else being there.

But he’ll know, and he’ll know forever.

And yet, despite that, despite all that shame and guilt and whatever else it may be, Megumi cannot help but also feel, feel that childlike giddiness, that childlike euphoria of his heart swelling up in emotions he cannot describe as his lips continue to make contact with and smear all over that same little spot on the mug that Gojo-sensei’s lips have touched before, as his lips continue to erase yet add onto whatever was left of that barely lingering touch, made physical by Megumi and by Megumi only. Through this alone, they’ve mixed, a mix of insoluble characters, a mix of shittily half-baked one-sided unrequited love.

And even though it is most definitely not the same, it feels as if though Gojo-sensei had left a kiss for him on that coffee cup to selfishly take, feels as if though Gojo-sensei could be for Megumi and Megumi alone, feels as if though, perhaps, all their possibilities, infinite and never-ending, could turn into something tangible and real.

Is that what Heaven feels like to mere mortals like himself? Like three-hours-old-cold coffee flavored too sickly sweet that makes him grimace? Is that what Heaven feels like? A ghost of a kiss from a man he couldn’t ever have? Is that what Heaven feels like?

If it is, Megumi is not too mad about it. Heaven is different for mortal gods like Gojo-sensei, something Megumi cannot never hope to understand.

But dreams are meant to be only dreams, even as Megumi continues to feel guilty for sinking down on the couch to finish sipping on Gojo-sensei’s coffee, to finish stealing these ghostly phantom kisses Gojo-sensei had unintentionally left for nobody and nobody alone, the only kisses he’ll ever receive from Gojo-sensei.

No matter, once he’s done with it, he’ll wash the cup and pretend like nothing’s ever happened.

He’s content with the way life is for the both of them. One as a teacher and the other as a student. What a fool for him to think they could be anything else.

But, as he finds himself falling asleep on the rickety old couch made comfortable with thoughts of Gojo-sensei’s warm arms, warm eyes, warm everything, maybe this stupid dumb little crush doesn’t even matter that much anyways. To whom does it matter? Why does it matter?

It totally doesn’t.

Except it totally does when Megumi wakes up to a familiar low warm voice calling his name seven hours later, and a mortifying realization that he’s still holding Gojo-sensei’s cup in his hands.

“If you had wanted coffee Megumi, I could’ve made some for you before I left,” Gojo-sensei frowns, oblivious to Megumi’s inner turmoil over being caught for something so stupid and childish like drinking out of Gojo-sensei’s coffee cup. “You don’t need to finish leftovers that you don’t even like.”

“It isn’t about the coffee,” Megumi wants to say, because he has always wanted to say everything and anything to Gojo-sensei. “It isn’t about the leftovers.”

But Gojo-sensei deserves someone better than him, so that is something he will never tell.

“Thanks.” Megumi’s voice is quiet as he stands up from the couch, cup in hand. “I’ll head back to my dorm after I wash it.” He gives the cup a little shake, perhaps to draw more attention to it than he does to himself. “Thank you for waking me up,” he bows, a little too formal between the two of them who’ve known each other since forever, and he knows that Gojo-sensei knows that.

“Wait. Megumi.”

And because Megumi could never say no to Gojo-sensei, he stays still.

“What is it?”

“You know, Megumi-chan,” Gojo-sensei draws out his words and Megumi rolls his eyes at the stupid nickname despite it causing his heart to flip traitorously, “I’m not extending that simply as a courtesy.”

Megumi says nothing, fingers only lightly tapping the edges of the coffee cup he’s still holding, rubbing away the not-kisses left behind.

“How do I make this clear for my cute little student?” Gojo-sensei pretends to ponder, and Megumi pretends the word ‘student’ doesn’t want to make him hurl his guts out.

“If it’s not important—“

“Now, I wouldn’t say that!”

“Then spit it out,” Megumi rolls his eyes again—only he can do that with Gojo-sensei with no real animosity intended—and Gojo-sensei laughs, a soft little thing and Megumi feels like hurling once more.

“Megumi, look at me.”

And Megumi could only tentatively tilt his head up until his eyes meet brilliant blues—Gojo-sensei has taken off his blindfold, which truly, if Megumi’s being honest, means nothing because that man would be still be able to tell every single thought that’s ever passed through Megumi’s head even with it on.

“Megumi,” Gojo-sensei says, much too kindly, much too seriously, and Megumi can’t help but sigh.

Because of course Gojo Satoru knows that Megumi has a big, fat, stupid, dumb crush on him since forever. Because of course Gojo Satoru is going to reject him in the kindest way possible. Because of course Gojo Satoru isn’t going to want to be with someone like him, someone who has only been abandoned and never wanted.

“Megumi, listen to me.”

“I’m listening, Gojo-sensei.”

“Megumi. I want to make coffee for you.”

“I know, Gojo-sensei,” Megumi sighs again, walking to the sink to wash the cup.

It was foolish of him to expect anything more, anything of actual substance, and yet he couldn’t help but want. Want, want, want until it consumes him whole. Is he selfish for that? Maybe. But he’s been selfish already once today, and once is more than enough.

“I know. You can make me coffee tomorrow morning.”

At least the rush of water feels cool and grounds him to reality. At least his back is turned around to face Gojo-sensei so the other doesn’t see his disappointed face or the hot tears that seem to build behind his eyes.

“Megumi.”

He stiffens when he feels Gojo-sensei’s arms wrap around him, warm and gentle and all-consuming and contrasting directly to the cold, cold water he feels like he’s drowning in as well.

“My beautiful Megumi.”

“I’m not yours,” Megumi manages to bite out, a little more vitriol than he had expected because how dare he and Gojo-sensei only hugs him harder, and Megumi cannot—will not—breathe.

“You can be. If you want.”

He knows he shouldn’t be getting his hopes up, knows he shouldn’t be expecting Gojo Satoru of all people to be confessing to him on a random Sunday afternoon all because he finished a cup of his shitty too-sweet coffee, knows because nothing good ever happens to him.

“If you’re mine, I’ll make you coffee every single morning, for the rest of your life. Black, two cubes of sugar, and nothing else,” Gojo-sensei says, voice quiet and tickling the back of Megumi’s neck, who couldn’t help but shiver. “If you’re mine, you can steal my coffee whenever you want, no permission needed!”

“I don’t even like your coffee," he could only weakly protest, and Gojo-sensei laughs. 

“Then why did you finish it all?”

It’s a question that Megumi himself doesn’t want to answer.

How could he even answer this without making a fool out of himself?

Because I love you? Because it was yours? Because? Because because because?

So many 'becauses' that Megumi does not want to say, cannot say, not to Gojo Satoru.

“Well, you know,” Megumi attempts to shrug instead, a terrible attempt at diverting the question.

“Do I?”

“Yes, you do.”

“You should use your words more often, Megumi-chan,” Gojo-sensei sighs.

“I know how to talk.”

(He just doesn’t want to right now.)

“Do you like me Megumi?” Gojo-sensei asks abruptly, suddenly, out of nowhere, unnaturally serious, and Megumi jolts so hard that he drops the cup that he has not been washing into the sink with a loud clang that Gojo-sensei doesn’t even spare a quick glance at.

“What gave you that impression?”

“Do you like me Megumi?” Gojo-sensei asks again, this time more gently, still not answering Megumi’s question. “Because I like you.”

“No, you don’t.” This Megumi dismisses as quickly as wind, a traitor to himself and to his heart. “Don’t lie, Gojo-sensei. It’s unbecoming of you.”

To this, Gojo-sensei sighs.

He’s been sighing a lot when he’s with Megumi recently, and Megumi’s been sighing a lot when he’s with Gojo-sensei.

“Why must you act this way?”

“And why must you lie to me?” Megumi gently retorts back despite him not wanting to. “I won’t die if you don’t like me back. Just don’t lie for my sake.”

“But I do like you back,” Gojo-sensei whines, and Megumi doesn't know what to do, doesn't know what to say. “That’s why I said I want to make coffee for you.” His voice grows serious, yet soft, and Megumi stands up just a bit straighter. “I wouldn’t lie to my most precious, would I? That would make me a bad person.”

“You’re not a bad person Gojo-sensei.”

“So you admit I’m not lying?”

“I don’t know.”

“Megumi.” Gojo-sensei turns him around to face him, blue eyes to green, soul to soul, Six Eyes to Ten Shadows, his hands cupping Megumi’s face, long and adept fingers stroking his slowly blushing cheek. “Megumi. I would never lie to you. I would never lie to you because I do like you. I like you so much it hurts to be separated from you. I like you so much that I'm afraid of what I'd do if I lost you one day.”

“You wouldn’t lose me Gojo-sensei,” Megumi murmurs, soft and slow and Gojo-sensei smiles in the way that makes Megumi’s heart flutter. 

“So do you admit it Megumi? Do you admit that you like me?”

“Fine,” Megumi huffs, because of course Gojo Satoru gets everything he wants, because of course Gojo Satoru would confess to him on a random Sunday afternoon all because he finished a cup of his shitty too-sweet coffee. “Fine. I admit it. I like you Gojo-sensei. I've liked you since forever ago and thought you’d never like me back so I never told you. But I like you so much, I feel like bursting every single time I look at you.”

And it’s true, Megumi does feel like bursting every single time he looks at Gojo-sensei, and he feels like bursting now, now with Gojo-sensei’s lips brushing softly against his cheek as he pulls Megumi in closer, as he lets him into his Infinity which he has let no one else in before.

“Gojo-sensei, that’s disgusting,” Megumi grumbles when Gojo-sensei suddenly licks his cheek with a laugh.

“Can you call me Satoru-nii again, Megumi-chan? Since when did you stop calling me that?”

It makes Megumi happy to hear Gojo-sensei say that out loud, to finally acknowledge that gap of distance that has grown between them ever since Megumi had started attending Jujutsu Tech, a gap that he’s so desperately wanted to close but couldn’t, but now could.

“Are you not my sensei now, Gojo-sensei?” Megumi asks with a deceptively innocent head tilt, and Gojo-sensei pouts. 

“Can you call me Satoru-nii?”

“No.”

“Please! If you don’t do it, you don’t actually love me!”

“Okay, I guess I don’t love you anymore.”

It's easy to joke when he feels content and safe, easy to joke when Gojo-sensei's voice is light and airy and giddy and Megumi's voice is as well. 

“How rude,” Gojo-sensei sighs in faux-pitifulness as Megumi hides a smile behind his hand. “My Megumi-chan doesn’t love me anymore. What’s the point in living then!”

"That’s not true.”

“Then prove it!”

“Okay then, Satoru-nii,” and before Gojo-sensei could respond, Megumi tilts his head up and kisses him, a quick peck on the lips that feels like fire and electricity and everything warm before dashing away in embarrassment, leaving the other speechless.

Satoru-nii tastes sweet, just like his coffee, and Megumi falls in love all over again.