It was fitting, really. Ending up slumped over another textbook, cheek pressed to a crinkled page elaborating on collarbone rehabilitation exercises.
Megumi Fushiguro was an organized student, a twenty-two year old with about twelve years of diligent study practices and a hunger for academic prosperity, or perhaps, grade stability. This had never been an issue for him, always managing to score high marks across a range of subjects, even now in the dead heat of his third year studying the complexities of sports medicine.
And yet, how "organized" was a third-year who was leaking drool onto a diagram of the collarbone in the corner of the university library?
Sleep never seemed to be a priority for Megumi. Not when he had exams to prepare for, essays to write, various lab assignments that required his full attention if he wanted a job out of college. That was the goal, wasn't it? To not end up in a dead-end internship with zero insights as to where in the hell he was headed with a degree he killed himself over. If that meant missing a few nights of sleep, so be it.
He would be a success. He swore it, and he wasn't stopping now, when graduation was but a year away; he could practically taste it. No slowing down, no doubting, no distractions.
"Hey, ah… you okay?"
The gentle nudge of a hand against his shoulder pulled Megumi from a blur, a hesitant second tap of fingers finally lifting his head from his arms.
Blinking back to life, he drearily squinted up at the face staring down at him. Reality was setting in. Someone had actually caught him, sleeping here, in the damn library. And probably drooling all over himself.
Megumi rubbed a hand over his face, clearing his throat in some attempt to spare his dignity. "Sorry."
Immediately, he felt like even more of an idiot. He was now apologizing to the stranger waking him up, without really knowing why, but he could barely process anything at the moment as he was still dragging himself back into consciousness.
The voice emerged again. "Hey, it happens."
Megumi turned, locating the source of this voice– of the gentle hand that had snapped him back to reality.
A bright-eyed boy stared back at him, with scruffy pink hair and a crooked grin that walked the line between amusement and chivalry. He was fairly tall, perhaps his same height, but he made Megumi feel extraordinarily small in this moment; perhaps "slender" was the right word to describe himself when looking at this guy's arms. His chest and shoulders too held a subdued strength that contrasted how gently he had nudged the shoulder of a dozing student, barely hidden beneath the fabric of a faded hoodie.
Megumi couldn't make out the graphic on the front. He soon realized that meant he was staring at the guy's chest, and quickly snapped his attention back up to the stranger's gaze.
He was cute.
Not that this was important, especially right then. Megumi focused on sitting up, fully this time, as if getting a good look at the boy had suddenly made the situation all the more real.
"Just thought I'd check in," the boy was saying now, the hand that had touched Megumi now moving to push into a sweatpants pocket. "The library closes in five, so…"
"Right," Megumi mumbled in a half-blurt, hastily gathering his papers. "Lost track of time."
The massive windows of the library were now bathed in black, the distant glow of a campus streetlamp just barely visible amidst the nighttime dark. Closing in five… it was already past ten o'clock? He must have been studying for at least four hours.
"Be careful," the stranger was speaking again.
Megumi's gaze twitched up, his hands pausing their scrambled movements to collect his things. "What?"
The boy shrugged, hitching his bookbag higher on one shoulder.
"Sleep is important," he spoke plainly. "Can't kill yourself over a test or two, y'know."
Megumi felt a flush creeping up the back of his neck, threatening his damaged pride even further. "I'm fine. Thanks."
"Just saying, a bed is a lot nicer," the boy added, nodding to the desk under Megumi's arms.
Megumi glanced between the two, finding that another charmed grin was greeting him upon the return of their gazes.
He swallowed tightly. Who are you, again? He sort of had a thing about people speaking out of turn. Or, what he deemed "out of turn".
"Have a good one," the scruffy boy was saying before Megumi could think anything else. "Sleep, I mean."
With a little wave, he was turning on the heel of a scuffed sneaker and striding away, turning the corner of a long bookshelf and disappearing without another word. Megumi was left watching, brow furrowed and lips parted in what could have been a reply, held back at the stubborn refusal of curiosity.
—––––––––
"Jesus-fucking-Christ!"
Nobara Kugisaki yelped under Megumi's twisting palms, her arm yanked back in a particularly harsh manner that likely wasn't necessary. After all, she was just a practice "patient".
A note of irritation may have played a part in the reckless jerks of his hands, moving about the motions in an almost dull routine.
Megumi glanced at where he had tugged Nobara's arm. "Sorry."
"Yeah, you better be," Nobara snapped, rubbing her tricep with a pout. "I don't recall torturing your best friend being on your exams."
Megumi rolled his eyes, stepping back. He was sick of doing the same regimen; executing the same exercises with the same person who only agreed to do it out of sheer friend-code. It wasn't Nobara that irritated Megumi, it was the fact that he had now begun the second term of his third year at Nakagawa and he still hadn't worked with real athletes.
Of course, he had been avoiding taking certain steps to accomplish this goal.
"So, I'm your patient for another term?" Nobara prompted with a quirked eyebrow. "Please tell me that by December, you'll actually be studying sports medicine with sports people."
"Athletes," Megumi corrected. "And no, I don't plan on it. If I turn 22 in four months and I still haven't found my assignment, I'll know I did something wrong."
"Right, like you haven't already," Nobara scoffed.
Megumi turned from his desk, the afternoon sun streaming through his dorm window illuminating narrowed, blue eyes.
Nobara barely flinched. "Megumi. There are at least fifteen different teams on campus you could be working with."
"I told you, I don't want to settle."
"Well, you just might have to!" Nobara swung her legs up onto the boy's bed, stretching out without a care in the world. Megumi was picky about who he let in his room, but they had been friends for so long that she could get away with making herself comfortable. "Just because there isn't a skating team doesn't mean you should risk fucking up your degree."
Megumi had a plan when he arrived at Nakagawa University. Stay focused, study sports med, acquire an internship and become a physical therapist for figure skating.
It was rather specific, and he knew this– most students studying in his department barely knew where they wanted to end up, typically finding an interest in a particular sport later on. And yet, Megumi had a fascination with skating ever since he was young; perched cross-legged in front of the television set with big, blue eyes staring up at countless competitive skaters performing intricate routines.
He wanted in on that world. He never wanted to be the one on the ice; too difficult, too many eyes on him. The interest in medicine showed itself soon after, and he connected the dots with ease.
Megumi was certainly fixated on this goal, which meant he had grown picky with his athlete selections at Nakagawa. There was no skating team, or club, or anything, which was utterly shocking, considering how popular it was in Japan. Nakagawa had a brilliant sports medicine program, but no team. A double-edged sword, and Megumi had priorities. Get the education, find the team later.
Now, he was stuck, well into his upperclassmen years and still as stubborn as ever. He was procrastinating, which was incredibly ironic for an obsessive academic like himself.
"Why not hockey?" Nobara suggested, staring at the ceiling of Megumi's dorm. "Ice is ice, no?"
Megumi practically groaned. Screw that. He had standards. Hockey and figure skating could not be more different; to him, it was the equivalent of becoming a Michelin chef and ending up at McDonald's.
"Very funny," Megumi replied, his voice flat as ever.
"Come on, I'm serious!" Nobara protested.
Megumi swiveled from neatening up his desk, having just put away his Therapeutic Exercises for the Arms and Shoulders textbook. "Hockey is full of feral brutes, all hungry for their next fistfight. There is nothing distinguished or admirable about it."
Nobara frowned. "You sound pompous."
"You sound annoying."
"Whatever," Nobara groaned, flopping onto her stomach. "You know I'm right."
That was the worst part– she was, and Megumi knew it. Whether or not he wanted to, he would have to face his fate sooner rather than later. He tried to remind himself that it was just an assignment and not the entirety of his career, that it was only temporary and he could always explore other opportunities to get a head start if he was really so impatient.
Which he was.
For now, he could wait a little longer to see what his advisor would recommend as his assignment. She knew him best, after all, when it came to his objectives– surely, she would have advice worth hearing.
—––––––––
She did not.
The following week, Utahime Iori was faced with an incredibly disgusted Megumi Fushiguro the very minute after she had made her recommendation, or moreso, her announcement. From the way she gave him this assignment, it seemed there was not much room for argument, considering Megumi's grade level and limited options.
"I'm not doing that."
"Megumi, I understand you have your… preferences," Utahime proceeded cautiously, "but this is a fantastic opportunity–"
"A fantastic opportunity?" Megumi echoed bitterly. "Have you been conspiring with Kugisaki?"
Utahime sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She slouched into the back of her desk chair, letting it spin her halfway to the window of her office that overlooked half of the campus quad. The walls of the little room were lined with smatterings of framed diagrams and photographs, some more meaningful with pictures of her and athletes or award-winning physical therapists, others just plain anatomical sketches or references that could have been cut and pasted out of a textbook. She was a nerdy type of professor, but pulled it off with just the right amount of "cool", so much so that it almost frustrated Megumi. It was an envy thing.
"I'm not working with the hockey team," Megumi concluded aloud, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. "I still have a few more semesters, I'll wait for another opportunity."
"We both know that's a stupid plan," Utahime replied flatly.
It was irritating how in tune she was; how easily she could say such a thing with how their relationship stood. She had quickly gone from his favorite professor to a close advisor, not merely out of faculty delegation but out of trust and appreciation. He was grateful for her, but sometimes, her know-it-all attitude really pricked him. Mainly because she stood her ground, and Megumi couldn't argue.
So this was less than ideal.
"Look, the Nakagawa ice hockey team is really something," Utahime said, earning a long groan from Megumi. "You know, no one expected them to get anywhere! Hockey is barely even a thing in Japan, think about how cool it is that your school is making an impression!"
Megumi stared, unimpressed. Utahime took that as a sign to continue her attempt at an argument.
"The point is, they're on the up, and the coach even thinks they have a chance at finals," she said.
"What do I care?" Megumi retorted. "I'm a PT, not their damn hype man."
"Watch the language," Utahime warned half-assedly. "And you're a PT student. A student who needs to do some real work with some real athletes, and now, you've got them. They're good, Megumi. And good athletes need to stay in shape."
Megumi rolled his tongue on the inside of his cheek, eyes flitting away to one of the diagrams on the wall. Quadriceps, with scrawled notes underneath.
"You should take this as a compliment," Utahime said, sitting up. She had her I-mean-business eyebrow cocked up. "I bet a dozen of your peers are hoping to hop on this assignment."
"Then let them," Megumi mumbled, but immediately regretted it. Utahime was his advisor, after all, and she was clearly trying her best. He was just… irked. Out of all the sports…
"Megumi, I'm giving you an opportunity," she reminded him with a more noticeable trace of sternness in her voice. "You're one of my best students, you know that. Ice hockey is one of the most physically demanding sports at this university. I'm recommending you for a reason."
Megumi avoided her focused gaze. He wasn't good with compliments, even indirect ones. At his lack of response, Utahime sighed deeply, giving him a look.
"Will you just give it a chance?"
"Jesus, fine."
"Language, you little ass," she muttered, but she was fighting a smile saying it.
Megumi had no other choice; "giving it a chance" was what he was inevitably faced with, and Nobara ate it up. She especially enjoyed watching him get ready for the meet and greet event Utahime had ordered him to attend, mainly for the purposes of introducing the assigned sports medicine students to the hockey team.
Megumi, of course, was dreading it, for two reasons. One: he couldn't believe he was actually working with a hockey team, and he was struggling not to find every reason to complain. He had seen several of the hockey players around campus and in various social settings; for the past year, they appeared infinitely the same in his eyes. Boisterous, immature, constantly seeking ways to be the center of attention in the most cool-guy way imaginable. How would any new recruits this season be any different?
The second reason was, well, rather simple. He hated social settings. He hated crowds, icebreakers, "small talk". Having to stand in front of a horde of people and introduce oneself was utterly revolting.
Gojo often labeled him "dramatic". Megumi often ignored his legal guardian.
The meet and greet was the following week, located at the local rink where the ice hockey team practiced. They were incredibly fortunate to have a rink so close. At least that was one advantage. Megumi had actually tried to find some positives as he trudged off campus, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans with a flustered huff.
It'll be quick, he tried to tell himself. Just say your name, make pathetic small talk for ten minutes, and get out of there.
Megumi had learned that the team typically practiced in the late afternoons. The meet and greet was scheduled for three o'clock, which likely meant practice would start after about an hour. As if Megumi would stay an hour for this thing. He was practically counting down the minutes until he could run like hell back to his dorm, maybe grab a drink with Kugisaki to decompress.
They were only a few weeks into September. Utahime informed him that the team had been selected the week before. It made sense, assigning the PT students early on, considering Nakagawa prioritized athletes' peak physical condition, being as competitive as the university was. Ice hockey was no exception, according to the physical effort Utahime had told him about. Megumi wasn't aware of the logistics; he hadn't bothered to watch any on television, or research the sport.
That had changed the night before, when he forced himself into some preliminary research for the good of his assignment.
When he arrived at the entrance of the rink, there was a boy standing in front of the glass doors, hands stuffed in his pockets and a hoodie nudged just under his chin. He was sporting a messenger bag on one shoulder, a similar model to Megumi's that he left back at the dorm, and his gaze was cast downward.
Megumi approached with a twist in his gut. Was this someone on the team? He was pretty small in stature, so Megumi would be surprised to know that he played hockey for Nakagawa. As he neared the entrance, the boy perked up.
Megumi took this as his cue to open his mouth. "Hey. Are you…?" He wasn't sure how to finish the greeting. Part of the team? Attending this awkward-as-all-hell event?
The boy blinked. "I'm here for the meet and greet."
"Me too," Megumi replied, wondering if he should stick out his hand. "Megumi Fushiguro. This is my degree assignment."
He watched the boy's eyebrows twitch up. "Sports med?"
"Yep."
A hand extended to him. Megumi gratefully took it, spared from making the first move.
"Toge Inumaki." He shook Megumi's hand, quick and firm. "I'm assigned too."
Thank god. Megumi would tense up if he had to meet one of the players first. "Good to meet you. It's just the two of us, right?"
Inumaki nodded. Megumi could tell he wasn't a big talker, but seemed pretty comfortable in what little conversation he had.
They decided upon walking in together, strength in numbers. As Megumi pushed the door open, he eyed Inumaki curiously.
"Is hockey an interest of yours?" He prompted, wondering if this assignment was a win for him. That would make one of them.
Inumaki shook his head. "Soccer."
"That's what you want to work in?"
Another nod. So he had a goal of his own, a preferred sport. It seemed to be that they were far more alike than Megumi expected.
"Hockey's fine," Inumaki concluded plainly as they made their way through the lobby to the entrance of the rink. "A little feral for my taste."
Megumi decided that he would like Toge Inumaki.
The arena was chilly when they entered. The doors swung shut behind them and there they were, standing in front of the towering glass wall that framed the expansive rink, surrounded by bleachers that sat deserted. Megumi wondered how crowded they got for games, if people from campus often came to watch hockey. Stuffing themselves in the seats and shouting at boys punching each other and jabbing into guts with crooked sticks.
Across the rink and through the glass, Megumi spotted the cluster of boys gathered on the other side, slouched in bleachers and jabbering away, loud enough to hear echo through the rafters. From far away, it looked to be about twenty-five or so players.
It was an awkward walk, circling the rink to reach the team. Megumi and Inumaki moved in silence, a stark contrast to the rowdy boys who soon turned to see them approaching. An older man with a whistle and a square-ish half beard stood in front of the players with a clipboard in hand, scribbling something down with a furrow in his brow. Must be Coach Yaga, Megumi thought, remembering Utahime's overview.
Upon arrival, Megumi's eyes flickered over the team. Most of the boys were pretty toned. Strong arms and thick thighs, but a lean torso. He had learned this was an ideal hockey build. No wonder most of the team was like that– Utahime had yammered on about their success which had presumably made the selection process more competitive as the new season came along. He respected that, at least; having to be pretty damn good to get on the ice. Despite how riotous their banter appeared to be, these boys must be talented.
Talented in beating each other black and blue, I'm sure, he thought stubbornly.
Yaga turned upon seeing the two far more slender boys coming to a stop beside him. Lowering his clipboard, he straightened, immediately pushing a large, veiny hand out.
"Ah, welcome, gentlemen," Yaga greeted enthusiastically. "You two must be… Inumaki, and Fushiguro, correct?"
The boys nodded, each taking a turn with the man's hand. The way Yaga nodded was as if he was a machine. It was clear this coach was a stiff one.
"We're glad to have you," he said. Stiff, but seemingly polite. "Coach Yaga. Thanks for coming to meet the team. Don't worry, the attention won't all be on you… this is also a bit of an introduction for the players themselves. We have several new recruits."
Megumi glanced at the chatting players. Sure, they may be here to meet each other too, but they certainly did not look as awkward or hesitant as the physician students. There was a clear divide from the start.
"The three of us will meet privately in a couple of days; I'll be able to tell you a lot more then," Yaga continued. "But for now…"
He turned, sizing up the team. Megumi sucked in a breath, tightening his fists in the pockets of his zip-up.
"Alright, settle down, settle down!" Yaga's bellowing voice melted away the rowdy laughter of the team. "Eyes up here. Welcome, boys. There are quite a few new faces this season. It's going to be a good one. I expect all of you to be ready for hard work and dedication. This team is inching towards the spotlight as of late, and I'd like to keep up that reputation, particularly mine."
A few chuckles washed over the cluster of boys, exchanged looks. Megumi spotted some determined expressions, the kind only new players would have. The others just grinned.
"Now, today is about getting to know one another, familiarizing yourself with the boys you'll be surrounded by day in and day out, so get nice and sappy now," Yaga went on dryly. "But before you do, we have a couple of important people you also need to meet."
Fuck.
Inumaki simply stared at the team. Megumi's eyes reflexively darted down, then to the side, conflicted on where to land. Was it weird to look so directly at all of them while being introduced? Who did he look at? What did people do at these types of things?
"This here is our physician team of the season," Yaga said, patting the closest shoulder to him: Megumi's. "Megumi Fushiguro, third-year, Toge Inumaki, fourth. They've been assigned to all of you for their degree, and you will treat them with respect and professionalism."
Megumi finally made an effort to actually look across some of the peering faces, eyes dragging from player to player. It was then when his gaze landed on one particular face in the third row of bleachers, stationed in a corner of the group with a brightening smile.
A smile, and pink hair. Oh.
Megumi blinked, vaguely hearing Yaga go on, describing what this assignment means, how the team will be split in two for each student physician, how this is also intended to help maintain peak physical condition and all that crap. Megumi's eyes continuously flicked back and forth, repeatedly pulled to the face that was staring at him with a growing curiosity, eyes gleaming with recognition.
Yes, Megumi remembered him. And it was clear he remembered Megumi, which was just great. Their first meeting wasn't exactly flattering on his end.
"Boys, is there anything else you'd like to add?" Yaga was turning to them now, prompting a hard swallow in Megumi's throat. Right.
"Pleasure," was all Inumaki said, nodding once.
Megumi's mouth was dry. "Nice to meet you all. I'm looking forward to treating you."
The pink-haired boy shifted in his seat, leaning forward. Megumi looked down again.
Yaga clapped his hands. "Good. Now, I'm giving you this time to talk, so talk. Ask questions, learn about each other. I don't want strangers on my ice. Get to it."
Megumi and Inumaki exchanged a queasy look. Megumi was learning that Inumaki's expressions seemed to come and go with extraordinary subtlety, but from what he gathered in that glance, he felt awfully awkward about this too.
Forcing his feet to move, Megumi pushed forward and assimilated into the lively crowd of players, all launching into various conversations and unserious greetings. Inumaki seemed to have struck up something of an introduction with a couple of boys on the other side of the scattering group, which prompted Megumi to sack up and face the reality that he had to make some kind of conversation here.
He managed a few introductions with some of the players, who actually ended up being rather friendly, with lazy smiles and squeezes from their giant hands. Some were already calloused, likely already from prepping for the season. Megumi had just finished speaking to a more serious-faced fellow with outrageous arms named Kinji Hakari when a finger was tapping him on the shoulder, causing his head to swivel.
It was him– the pink-haired boy with the crooked smile and bright eyes. So bright, it made Megumi's gut twist.
Shit.
"I know you," was the first thing the boy said.
Megumi swallowed. "Not sure you do."
"Well, maybe not your name, but I remember you," the smile replied. "Is it safe to say you made it out of the library?"
Megumi's eyes darted away, warmth crawling behind his ears. "Yeah, uh… I guess so."
"Yuji Itadori." He introduced himself as if he was thrilled at the idea of Megumi knowing. It was a soft excitement, the kind that could either be routine and practiced with any new acquaintance, or reserved for something else.
Megumi tried not to think about that "something else".
Instead, he extended his hand stiffly; a professional greeting. "Nice to meet you."
"So, you're sports med," Itadori prompted. "I was wondering, you know, based on those textbooks."
He remembers the textbook I was drooling on? "Yeah. You?"
"Social sciences at the moment, but I'm kind of thinking about other stuff," he answered plainly. "Maybe firefighting. I don't wanna limit myself to one thing, you know?"
He was a talker.
"Anyways, it's cool that you got assigned to us," he continued. "Do you like hockey?"
"Not really," Megumi replied reflexively, then instantly felt a natural prick of embarrassment. He was talking to a hockey player, after all. It was the truth, though.
Itadori's face fell slightly. "Oh. That's a bummer."
"But I'm happy to have an assignment," Megumi added, blinking awkwardly. "I just… don't know too much about it."
The smile was back. "That's awesome– you'll get to learn. I love it. I was on the team last year."
"Ah."
"Sometimes I think about going pro, but I doubt I'm good enough," Itadori shrugged. "No point in stopping now though, right?"
"Yeah, sure."
Itadori rubbed his neck for a moment, eyes flickering away. There was something different in his expression now, and Megumi, who had been pondering an escape route, hated how he was intrigued.
"Can I be honest?" Itadori proposed.
Megumi stared.
"I've seen you before," he said, scratching his jaw. "Not just in the library."
Megumi wasn't exactly sure how to respond to this. What could that mean? Seen him passively in the halls, or seen him in the corner of a cafe somewhere and watched him while he read and sipped overpriced black coffee?
Megumi was not sure why his brain went to these extremes and automatically assumed the most strange of situations, but he couldn't help it. It was something about Itadori's almost shy, yet overly-friendly way of speaking. It was disarming. Megumi did not operate that way.
He realized he needed to respond with something. "You have?"
Itadori stuffed his hands into his pockets, his shoulders scrunching up in an almost dorky repositioning. "I happened to pass by the projector room in the fine arts building last semester and saw you watching something. I remember, 'cause I know that film."
A crease dipped Megumi's brows. The projector room was one of his and Nobara's go-to spots since barely anyone was ever there. Nakagawa had a pretty small fine arts department, so when the film students weren't booking the space, the two of them took advantage and watched their bizarre movies on lazy nights.
But that was the thing– the movies were outlandish, and often times entirely unknown by the general public. How did this guy even remember something like that?
"I'm a huge fan of Hijack Mama," Itadori praised. "That movie's nuts."
Hijack Mama was an independent film from the 1980s about a young mother who, in an effort to protect her infant daughter with psychic abilities from the child's mobster father, fakes an entire identity as a gang leader to lure the man overseas in order to carry out his murder.
It was brilliantly outrageous. The real shock was how in god's name a guy like Itadori found such a film.
"You've seen it?" The typical drab tone in Megumi's voice faltered just slightly.
"Hell yeah!"
Wow, Megumi thought. Weird.
"Have you seen his other films, like Bicycle Wars?" Itadori asked. "I love that one."
"No, not yet."
"It's not as good, but it's pretty weird," Itadori chuckled. "You should check it out."
Megumi's first instinct was to make a mental note about the movie with a real interest in watching it. He was a little embarrassed by his own lack of awareness around that director after watching Hijack Mama so many times.
But he didn't let this show; instead, he gave a cool nod.
"Anyways, I know it was a while ago, but… I couldn't help my curiosity," he admitted. "I'm glad I finally got to meet you."
Finally got to meet you. As if he was waiting to.
"Thanks… Itadori," Megumi replied, wanting to show a little bit of effort. This guy at least had the decency to be warm to him, and even though Megumi hated new interactions, it wasn't that awkward.
Other than the strange fixation he was having on the fact that Itadori had been wanting to meet him since Hijack Mama.
Itadori grinned. A bellow of laughter sounded from somewhere in the cluster of players.
"So, are you going to the mixer?" He asked next.
Megumi's alarm bells went off instantly. Mixer? Fuck, he hated parties. Was this some thing he was required to go to? No way, not if it was some meaningless social event off campus, some booze-fest for a sweaty crowd of Nakagawa athletes.
Itadori must have seen the confused (and possibly irritated) expression on his face, because he spoke again. "We're having one at my house. It's just for the start of the season."
"You live off-campus?" Megumi found himself asking.
"Yeah, with a couple of teammates, and a friend of mine," Itadori responded. He's popular. "It's not huge, but I get my own room this year, which is nice. So, are you coming?"
Damnit. Megumi figured he may have been able to get away with changing the subject if it meant dodging an invite to a party. Just the thought of it made him queasy.
"Maybe," he answered vaguely. "When is it?" He might be able to make up an excuse. He found it strangely difficult this time when seeing that hopeful gleam in Itadori's eyes.
"This Friday, 10 o'clock. It's gonna be fun."
Megumi wondered if Itadori was exactly as he assumed hockey players would probably be in this situation. Rowdy, beer-guzzling party monsters who try to set the record on drinking games or hookup stories. It wouldn't be all that surprising; athletes at Nakagawa worked hard and partied harder. It was only a matter of time until Megumi would hear about hockey get-togethers, but never did he expect to be invited to one as the resident physician student.
"I'll think about it," was what he decided upon, which luckily earned a satisfied smile from Itadori.
"You should," he agreed. "I need a new weird filmmaker. Maybe you can give me some recommendations."
Did he actually mean he wanted to talk to Megumi at the party, or was he just being polite? It was so difficult to tell with this guy. Being as popular as he was assuming Itadori was, maybe this was just his manner with everyone. He wondered if he would see a totally different side to the boy at the mixer; someone wild and untamed, all keg-stands and hockey talk.
Not that he was going to the mixer. He most certainly was not.
"I should probably get to know some of the new recruits a little better," Itadori said, glancing around them at the mingling group.
"Sure, yeah," Megumi agreed, clearing his throat. "Thanks for, ah… well, you know."
He tried to motion between them as if to refer to the introduction, but quickly recoiled his hand when realizing how dumb he felt doing so. Oh my god.
Another charmed grin crawled its way across Itadori's lips. "You're welcome. Get some sleep tonight, Fushiguro."
With that, he was brushing past the boy's shoulder and disappearing into another conversation, with Megumi's eyes tracking the smile that was practically superglued to the guy's face.