Archive of Our Own

It's Uraume who sees Megumi first. He's trying his best to convince the sour-faced maître d' that yes, he's serious, he does know the head chef and owner of critically-acclaimed high-end restaurant Shrine, and he does have to see him, and yes he knows he didn't make a reservation or anything but really this will take like ten minutes—

"Hello," Uraume says, materialising out of thin air. The maître d' yelps so loud that two tables turn to look at him; Uraume pays him no mind. They turn to Megumi, give him a neutral once-over, then say, "You can come with me."

The maître d' splutters. "Uraume-san—"

"He's fine," Uraume says, beckoning Megumi over. "He's Sukuna-sama's brother-in-law."

The maître d' promptly goes pale. Megumi, on the contrary, feels his face flush.

"Not yet," he mutters to Uraume as he falls into step by their side. He feels like he's been caught red-handed—like Uraume, somehow, would know that he's been browsing jewellery shops lately, despite the fact that he hasn't told a single soul. Uraume looks wholly unimpressed.

"You might as well be," they reply coolly, holding up a hand to signal Megumi to stop as they reach the doors to the kitchen. As with many high-end restaurants, it's an open concept, allowing customers to see inside; Megumi watches as Uraume walks in and heads right up to the most important man in the building.

Sukuna's currently leaning over a bench, intensely focused—as he always is—on some delicate little dish on the counter. It never fails to strike Megumi as strange: this huge, hulking, eyepatch-wearing man, covered head to toe in tattoos and looking like a walking yakuza caricature, treating tiny edible flowers and paper-thin slices of food like they're life or death. Well, Megumi supposes they are life or death for him. Sukuna doesn't seem to do much other than work.

Uraume stops a respectable distance away from Sukuna, and Megumi watches their mouth move as they speak. Sukuna's hands still for a moment. His uncovered left eye—a darker, redder brown than Yuuji's—flickers up to look at Megumi. His eyebrow twitches.

Megumi's palms are starting to sweat. He surreptitiously wipes them on his pants as Sukuna says something to Uraume, who promptly takes over his job as Sukuna straightens up. He meets Megumi's eyes, jerks a thumb at the side door, and holds up five fingers.

Megumi hears the message loud and clear: five minutes. 

He quickly ducks out of the restaurant to the side street where he knows the kitchen door opens to. He gets there just in time for the door to slam open. Sukuna steps out, no longer in his apron, looking none too pleased to see Megumi.

"Is he dead?" Sukuna says brusquely.

Megumi feels his heart stop for a second. He doesn't have to ask who he is, because there's really only one reason for Megumi to come find Sukuna at work. "No."

"Is he dying?"

"What the fuck? No."

"Okay." Sukuna eyes him suspiciously. "Then why are you here?"

Megumi takes a deep breath, curling his hands into fists. "I need your help," he blurts out, so quickly that the words seem to hang in the air for a second to untangle themselves, and—

"I'm not paying off your debt to the yakuza," Sukuna says immediately.

Megumi gapes at him. "What—no! What?"

"I always knew you were into some shady shit—"

"I'm not! What the fuck?!"

"That Gojo guy's money cannot all be legitimate," Sukuna says, narrowing his eye at Megumi. The eyepatch over his right eye wrinkles too, like even the cloth is suspicious. "So, what is it? Yakuza or loan sharks? Or gambling debt? Like I said, I'm not helping you pay it. Or—you better not be coming to ask me to let Yuuji stay at mine for a while, because I am not—"

"I'm not in debt!" Megumi hisses. 

Sukuna raises a skeptical brow.

"I'm not!" Why the hell does Sukuna even think he's in debt? The vet clinic pays him well. Yuuji makes good money as a firefighter. They're doing fine.

"If you say so," Sukuna says, sounding very much like he doesn't believe a word Megumi says. He crosses his arms, tapping his foot impatiently. "What do you need, then? I don't have all day."

"Yuuji's birthday is coming up," Megumi says stiffly.

Sukuna tilts his head. "Is it?"

Megumi glowers at him. He knows Sukuna knows when Yuuji's birthday is, because it's also Sukuna's own birthday. "Yes," he grits out. "The thing is, he always cooks for my birthdays. And our anniversaries. And holidays. And...you get the idea."

"Okay. Why should I care?"

Asshole. "Because," Megumi says, "I'd like to return the favour. I want to cook for his birthday. Something nice."

"I repeat," Sukuna says. "Why should I care?"

Megumi grimaces, steeling himself for what will, quite possibly, be the most embarrassing thing he's ever said in his life. "I can't cook."

For a long time, there's silence.

Then: "Bull-shit."

Megumi snaps his head. "Huh?"

Sukuna points an accusatory finger at him. "There's no way the brat can cook and you can't," he says. "He's living proof that even idiots can cook. Are you telling me that you're dumber than an idiot?"

"I just never learnt," Megumi hisses. "You don't have to be an asshole about it."

"You never learnt? How do you never learn?"

"I just didn't, okay?"

"What the hell did you eat in university, then?"

"I can cook basic meals. And...instant noodles. And Yuuji always shared his food with me."

Sukuna scrubs a hand over his face. "Of course he did," he mutters, sounding disgusted. "Anyway, that still doesn't answer my question. Why the hell should I care whether or not you can cook?"

Megumi shifts his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. "I was...wondering if you could teach me."

Silence, again.

"...You came to my workplace," Sukuna says slowly, "straight from your workplace—don't make that face, you reek of dog—just to ask me to teach you how to cook? For the brat's birthday?"

Megumi lifts his chin. "Yes."

Sukuna reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose. "This couldn't have been a fucking phone call?"

"Do you even have my number saved?" Megumi accuses. Sukuna pauses for a moment, clearly thinking.

"...I'll concede that. But I'm a busy man, Fushiguro Megumi. You made me take my break just to hear this useless fucking request when you could've, oh, I don't know, waited until my shift was over—"

"I don't know when your shift is over. And Yuuji says you always stay overtime anyway."

"—or you could've come to my apartment—"

"I don't know where you live."

"Fucking ask your boyfriend, then!"

"And explain to him that I'm heading over so I can ask you to help me with his birthday surprise?" Megumi snipes, and watches with great satisfaction as Sukuna's face falls. It's not like he would've come to see Sukuna at work if he had another choice, but this really was his only option. Sukuna wouldn't have picked up a call from him, nor would he bother to respond to a text. The two of them really only speak through Yuuji, who Megumi obviously can't talk to in this situation.

Megumi sighs. "Look," he says. "I understand if you don't want to do this. But it would...it'd mean a lot to Yuuji." He clears his throat. He hates talking about Yuuji with Sukuna—it just feels weird, discussing your feelings for someone with their family, especially since Sukuna and Yuuji bicker so much. Megumi even feels embarrassed talking about Yuuji in front of Choso, who's by far the more pleasant sibling. "I'd really like to get this right for him."

Sukuna sucks on his teeth. "Why me, though?"

"Huh?"

Sukuna waves a hand. "Why come to me? I can't be the only person you know who can cook. That Gojo guy's a lost cause, but don't you have a sister or something? Is your entire family incompetent?"

Megumi bristles. "My sister can cook just fine," he snaps. Of course he'd considered asking her—she was the first person he'd thought of. "But this isn't just about learning to cook. I'm learning for Yuuji. You obviously know him better than she does."

Sukuna's brows creep higher and higher up his forehead with every word out of Megumi's mouth. "I see," he says, his voice entirely neutral, and Megumi wants to scream.

"Look, are you going to help me or not?"

Sukuna shrugs. "Don't know. What's in it for me?"

"I'll pay you."

Sukuna cocks his head. "Hm. How much?"

Megumi considers it for a moment. "Ten thousand yen per lesson?"

"How long for each lesson?"

"I don't know. That's up to you." Megumi does a quick tally of his finances. "I can pay more if you demand it."

"Hm." Sukuna reaches up to tug at his undercut, yawning so wide that Megumi can see his pointed teeth. Who the hell has pointy teeth? He probably filed them to be like that when he was a teen or something. "Fine. Give me your number. I'll text you my address."

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a sleek phone, tossing it in Megumi's direction. Megumi catches it instinctively. No phone case, he notes distantly. What a weirdo.

"So...you'll help me?"

Sukuna grunts. Megumi takes it as a yes. He ducks his head in a—not quite a bow, that'd be a little crazy, but a deep nod. "Thank you. Seriously."

"Just hurry up and put your number in. I need to get back to work."

Megumi hastily punches his number into Sukuna's phone. It comes up in Sukuna's history, probably from that time he had to call Sukuna to ask him to pick Yuuji up from the airport—ha, he was right, Sukuna doesn't have him saved. He puts his contact down as Fushiguro Megumi, then passes the phone back to Sukuna.

Sukuna pockets it. "I'm off work on Tuesdays," he says. "You can come to my apartment then. I'll text you a time."

Megumi nods. Sukuna nods back. And, with a mutual understanding of the fact that they both want this conversation over as soon as possible, they turn and leave without saying goodbye.

"Yuuji?"

"Hm-mrm?"

Megumi scratches his fingers lightly against Yuuji's undercut. It's a familiar scene: Megumi's leaning against the headboard with a book in his hands and a clingy boyfriend wrapped around his waist. Yuuji's practically half in his lap, his head pillowed on Megumi's thighs. The dogs are curled up by their feet. The overhead lights are off; the only light comes from Megumi's clip-on reading lamp. This is how most of their nights end.

Megumi runs his fingers through Yuuji's hair. "I'm gonna be staying late on Tuesdays for the next few weeks. I have to cover for Miwa at the clinic."

"Is she okay?"

"She's fine. Just had to switch up her schedule for a bit. It's only until April."

"Mmkay," Yuuji mumbles, clearly half-asleep. He turns his head and presses a kiss to Megumi's hipbone. "Don't overwork yourself."

"I won't."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

PRE-LESSON PREPARATION: THE MENU

Sukuna's place is...nice. Surprisingly.

"Oi. Stop staring."

"I'm not," Megumi says, as he continues to stare. It's just...not what he expected. With Sukuna's whole vibe, he'd kind of been expecting something like decorative ox skulls hung on the walls, or blackout curtains on the windows. Either that or, like, an empty prison cell. But Sukuna's place is neither of those things—it's shockingly normal. Megumi is slightly disturbed to find that he and Sukuna seem to share the same taste in furniture.

He's not expecting the paintings, either. There are three of them, hung in a neat line along the hallway, all done in the Heian yamato-e style. They look like recreations, but then Megumi sees a small red maker's mark in the corner—uncommon for something from that era. He leans in to observe it closer, and the characters in the little red box read—

"You painted this?"

"I told you to stop staring," Sukuna says gruffly, like Megumi hasn't just discovered that he apparently has a hobby of painting in a style that died out hundreds of years ago. Sukuna, of all people. "Aren't you here to learn how to cook? Stop gawking and come here so we can figure out what you're making for my idiot brother."

Megumi doesn't feel comfortable enough to insult the man in his own home, so he just hurries after Sukuna to the kitchen. It's spotless, unlike Megumi and Yuuji's kitchen at home, which always seems to have something cooling on the counter. Megumi thinks he prefers the way Yuuji does things.

They sit down. Sukuna's not wearing his eyepatch, so the gnarly scar over his right eye is on full display as he leans forward and unrolls a piece of paper on the countertop. "Alright," he says, in the kind of voice that people usually use when they're going to war. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Megumi winces. The silence stretches.

"...Fushiguro Megumi. You are thinking of something, yes?"

"I—okay, listen," Megumi says, glaring when Sukuna lets out a world-weary sigh. "No, listen. The issue's not that I can't think of something, it's that I can think of too many things. Do you know what kind of food Yuuji likes?"

"He'd eat a damn finger if someone said it looked tasty," Sukuna says bluntly. Megumi frowns a little, but...well, the sentiment's not wrong.

"Yes," he says. "He eats everything, and he always says it's good no matter what, so...I don't know." He slumps in his seat, staring at the blank piece of paper. 

Sukuna raises a brow. "You're telling me there isn't a single dish you can think of that he might like more? Nothing in your five year relationship?"

Megumi chews his lip. There is one dish he can think of—the obvious answer. Chicken meatballs, the very same ones that Yuuji made for him at the start of their friendship, and, years later, for their first date. But...

"There is," he says quietly. "But it wouldn't feel right making it without him."

After all, the meatballs are their thing. They don't make them just to eat them—they make them so they can spend time together. So Yuuji can sneak extra ginger into the mix while Megumi pretends he doesn't see. So Megumi can chop up the vegetables in little shapes to make Yuuji smile. So they can make horribly misshapen spheres and laugh at each other about it. 

The meatballs have never been about the meatballs. Megumi would never want to make them without Yuuji.

Sukuna pulls a face. "Fine," he says, snapping Megumi out of his Yuuji-induced reverie. "Something else, then."

Megumi gives a little half-hearted shrug. The issue, he's found, is that all of the meals he's learned to cook over the years have been meals that Yuuji taught him. And, like...come on. Is he really going to surprise Yuuji with his own recipes? Food that Yuuji himself can almost certainly cook better?

He relays this to Sukuna. Sukuna leans forward, rubbing two fingers into his temple.

"So, what," he grunts. "You need to come up with something he doesn't cook for himself?"

Megumi nods. Sukuna's quiet for a moment. Then he sits up.

"What does the brat eat for breakfast, these days?"

Megumi blinks. What kind of question is that? "Uh...the normal stuff, I guess."

"Describe it to me."

Megumi shrugs. "Toast and eggs, usually. Maybe some yogurt."

Sukuna eyes him. "So he eats western food?"

"I...guess? He'll have rice and leftover food from dinner if he wakes up earlier."

"I see," Sukuna says, leaning back in his chair. He looks up at the ceiling for a moment, then sighs.

"When we were younger," he says gruffly, "the brat liked breakfast. Traditional breakfast. Rice, eggs, miso, natto—that stuff."

Megumi waits for him to continue.

"It was mostly just 'cause that was what Ojii-san would make," Sukuna says, still staring at the ceiling. "But he liked it for stupid reasons."

He doesn't elaborate. Megumi clears his throat.

"...Stupid reasons?"

Sukuna heaves a sigh. "Ojii-san went to bed early," he mutters. "I used to stay out late. So a lot of the time, breakfast before school was the only meal we'd all eat together."

Oh.

...Oh.

Megumi's heart seizes in his chest. Oh, Yuuji. His sweet, soft-hearted Yuuji. Of course he'd like breakfast, if it was the only meal that everyone in the family would eat together. Yuuji, at his core, is someone who loves love—of course he'd gravitate towards those warm memories from before his grandpa died.

Sukuna clears his throat. "So," he says, his voice suddenly a little rougher than before. "If you're looking for something that he doesn't usually cook for himself, I'd say that. A normal traditional breakfast." He turns to squint at Megumi. "You can handle that, right? It's just rice and soup and fucking, like, tamagoyaki and shit. You can get all the pickled side dishes at the store."

Megumi looks down at his hands and says nothing.

"Fucking hell. And here I thought you were the competent one in the relationship.

"I'm paying you ten thousand yen for this," Megumi snaps. "Just shut up and teach me."

Sukuna rolls his shoulders. "Alright," he says, reaching for the paper again. "I can see we've got a lot of work to do."

LESSON ONE: WHITE RICE

"There's actually no way you can fuck this up," Sukuna says. He's leaning on the kitchen counter, arms crossed. Megumi grits his teeth. 

"I won't."

"Really? 'Cause you're acting like you will."

"I won't. I can make rice."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"If you say so," Sukuna says, unimpressed. Megumi feels his eye twitch.

He can make rice. He can. He'd be an embarrassment to the human race if he couldn't. It's literally just dumping rice and water into the cooker and turning it on. That's all. That's it. He does it all the time at home.

...Except, at home, his and Yuuji's rice cooker doesn't have this many stupid buttons. And none of them are in French. Why is Sukuna's rice cooker in French? Do they even eat rice in France?

Hesitantly, he presses the big red button in the middle of the panel. Surely that's the start button, right?

The rice cooker lets out an alarming beep.

"What are you doing to my cooker?"

"I'm starting it."

"It doesn't make that noise when you start it."

"Well, what's that button for, then?"

Sukuna comes over, peering at the panel. He sighs, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"That's the reset button."

"Well, that's unnecessary," Megumi mutters under his breath. What kind of rice cooker needs a reset button? Aren't they all set to the same thing anyway? Like, you know—cook?

In the end, Sukuna has to walk him through it. Which is completely unneeded, because Megumi sure as hell isn't going to be using Sukuna's stupid rice cooker when he makes Yuuji's birthday dinner (...breakfast. Breakfast-dinner?). Then Sukuna shows him how to plate the rice so it looks all fancy, and he tells Megumi to go grab furikake from the cabinet, since apparently Yuuji used to drown his rice in it when they were kids.

Megumi opens the cabinet. He scans it for the store-bought furikake jar, but finds none. In fact, most of Sukuna's seasonings seem to be in plain, opaque, unlabelled jars. How he manages to know what each one is, Megumi has no idea. He shrugs, reaching for the nearest one—

"Don't touch that," Sukuna says. Megumi's fingers freeze in the air millimetres from the jar's surface. "That's an urn."

...What.

"What?"

"An urn," Sukuna repeats, like it makes any more fucking sense to say it a second time.

"You have an urn," Megumi repeats. "In your kitchen cabinet."

Sukuna shrugs. "It's a shelf like any other. And I'm not dumb enough to get it mixed up with anything else."

"Who...?"

Sukuna flashes him a sharp-toothed smile. "Our father. I've been told he loved cooking. It seemed fitting."

Megumi stares at him for a moment. Yuuji, he thinks to himself, faintly. Your brother is a fucking psychopath.

"Just—tell me where the furikake is," he says, pained, and has to resist the urge to fling a jar at Sukuna's head when the man just starts to laugh.

"Megumi."

"Hm?"

Yuuji comes up and winds his arms around Megumi's waist, propping his chin on his shoulder. "Why're you staring at our rice cooker?"

Megumi flushes. "No reason."

He can feel Yuuji's amused eyebrow raise.

"...I don't know," he admits, looking down at the cooker. For a moment, an image of Sukuna's stupid high-tech cooker swims in his vision. "I guess I've just never appreciated it before."

Yuuji bursts into giggles, burying his face in Megumi's shoulder. "Appreciated it? Baby, it's a rice cooker."

"I know that," Megumi says, turning to bite lightly at Yuuji's cheek in retaliation. "I just—it's a good rice cooker. Nice and, uh...simple."

"Are there rice cookers out there that aren't nice and simple?"

You have no idea, Megumi thinks heavily. He lays his hands over Yuuji's, stroking his thumb over the two missing fingers on Yuuji's left hand. He'd lost them in a fire five years ago, and sometimes Megumi still forgets. He absently traces the stump of the left ring finger.

He'll need to get Yuuji a chain for his ring. He won't be able to wear it normally. First, though, he has to actually make a decision on which ring—

Yuuji bumps their heads together. "What're you thinking? You've got your thinking face on."

Fuck. Megumi scrambles for a believable lie.

"We should go out," he blurts out.

Yuuji tilts his head, considering. "Huh. Yeah, I guess it's been a while since our last proper date. You wanna go anywhere?"

Megumi casts his mind around for something, anything. He mentally scrolls through a list of restaurants they frequent. "Uh—sashimi? Maybe? We can go to that restaurant near the firehouse."

"Ooh, good choice." Yuuji kisses the bone of his jaw. "Let me call them real quick and see if we need a reservation—"

He's interrupted by the ringing of his phone. Megumi's heart sinks as Yuuji swears and fumbles to answer.

Yuuji tries his best not to be scheduled on-call too often. He's explained it before as not wanting to bring his work home—when he's with Megumi, he wants to be with Megumi, not on-edge and waiting to see if he's needed. But sometimes it's unavoidable, and tonight—

Yuuji's speaking into the phone rapidly. He still has one arm wrapped around Megumi's waist, but Megumi can feel his grip loosening. Based off the one-sided conversation Megumi can hear, he can tell it's not Nobara or Choso or anyone else.

"—yeah—okay, yes, I got it—see you there."

Yuuji drops his phone down and looks at Megumi, stricken. There's no need to explain. Megumi just tightens his grip over Yuuji's left hand.

"Fire?"

"Yeah. It's—it's pretty bad. I have to go right away." Yuuji ducks in and kisses his cheek. "I'm so sorry, Megumi, I promise I'll make it up to you—"

Megumi pushes him away gently. "It's fine," he says, and it is. Really. He doesn't care all that much that Yuuji gets pulled away for work sometimes—he's saving people, and he's doing good things, so how can Megumi complain about that? No, the only issue that Megumi has is...

He lifts Yuuji's left hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to his cut-off ring finger.

There is one thing, and one thing only, that Megumi always demands of Yuuji whenever he goes off to be a hero. When that fire had happened five years ago, a mere six months into Yuuji's career as an actual firefighter—when Megumi had received that call telling him that Yuuji was in the hospital—when he'd burst into the ward and seen him lying there, his face bandaged, his hand missing two fingers—

Megumi refuses to go through that again. Yuuji has to come home to him. That's the only thing he asks.

"Be careful," Megumi says, his lips brushing against the remains of Yuuji's finger. He makes it known through his tone: this is non-negotiable. Yuuji has to be careful. He cannot be reckless with his life.

Yuuji's eyes soften. Megumi knows: he's probably thinking of that time in the hospital, too. He remembers it a lot more fondly than Megumi does, seeing as it was the catalyst for Megumi finally confessing and the two of them getting together, but he knows how badly it scared Megumi. He knows how much it means to Megumi, for him to have that concrete promise that Yuuji will come back.

Yuuji brings their joined hands to his mouth and kisses Megumi's knuckles. "I will," he says, smiling faintly; it stretches the scar at the corner of his mouth. He squeezes Megumi's hand one last time, a creature comfort—

And then he's gone.

LESSON TWO: MISO SOUP

"I don't understand."

"What?"

Sukuna gestures at the bowl, which is full to the brim with what was supposed to be miso soup. Instead, Sukuna had taken one sip of it and spat it out, narrowly missing Megumi's shirt.

"You're smart," Sukuna says, sounding frustrated. "I know you're smart. When you and the brat started dating, I told him you'd end up leaving him for someone who actually had an IQ over seventy. So how are you so bad at this?"

Megumi bristles. "Don't talk about Yuuji like that. And—I just need practice, okay? That's why I'm paying you."

"Practice for making miso soup?" Sukuna says disbelievingly. "Were you raised by wolves?"

Megumi purses his lips. He was (nominally) raised by Gojo, so...Sukuna's accusation isn't too far off. "I'm not used to making it from scratch," he says, his words clipped. He does not have the fucking patience for this right now, and Sukuna is getting on his nerves. "I just use the instant paste at home."

"And to think I used to respect you," Sukuna mutters, which—honestly, that's news to Megumi. He wasn't aware that Sukuna ever respected him; he certainly doesn't act like it. Sukuna sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, before beckoning Megumi over.

"Okay, look," he says. "We're starting with making the dashi, right?"

Megumi exhales heavily through his nose. "Yes."

"You're in luck. The type Ojii-san used to make was just awase dachi. So all we need to do is get these—" Sukuna takes a sheet of dried kelp and some fish shavings and puts them in the pot Megumi's been using. "—and cover them in water—" With exaggerated movements, he carries the pot to the sink and fills it with cold water. Megumi is fighting the urge to step on his foot. "—and then we bring it to near-boil. Near-boil, Fushiguro, you hear me? You were boiling it completely earlier."

Sukuna sets the pot on the stove and turns it on. Megumi watches as he puts the lid on, then turns around with his arms spread wide.

"See? Easy."

Megumi can feel his eye starting to twitch. He's had a long day, and all he wants is to go home to his boyfriend so he can crawl into Yuuji's lap even though he's twenty-six years old and Tsumiki says he's 'all leg'. Yuuji's not even that much bigger than him, but he always somehow manages to make Megumi feel completely held, despite it being physically impossible. Yuuji is safety—no, he's comfort, and Megumi could really fucking use some comfort after the day he's had. Being here with Sukuna certainly isn't helping; Megumi can practically feel his brain frying itself in real time.

"I know how to make dashi," he grits out. It's mostly true—he thinks he'd watched Tsumiki make it once or twice, but even she used to just revert to using the store-bought type. "I just...ugh."

"Very coherent, Fushiguro."

"Shut up," Megumi snaps. He taps his foot anxiously against the floor, wishing that he at least had a pair of house slippers so he could actually hear the sound of it. He's feeling...shitty. Yeah. Just shitty. It's just—it's not great, to come straight from a day where he had to put down multiple animals, just to be reminded that he apparently can't even do something as simple as make dashi for his boyfriend. To make matters worse, this is probably a task Yuuji's done a thousand times. Hell, Megumi wouldn't be surprised if Yuuji knew how to do this by age ten. He sighs, reaching up to tug at his stupid unruly hair, and he thinks—

"Maybe I should just go home."

Sukuna looks at him sharply. "What?"

Megumi throws out a hand at the pot. "As you so like to remind me, this clearly isn't working," he says sullenly. "I should just go home. I'll come back next week, and we can try again or whatever. This was a stupid fucking idea in the first place. I mean—" He's starting to ramble now, and Sukuna's looking at him like he's grown a second head. "I'm just making him something he could probably do a hundred times better himself, right? And I can't even do it properly!"

His last words come out slightly hysterical-sounding, which would be embarrassing if Megumi actually cared what Sukuna thought of him. But he doesn't, really, so he just lets silence fall over the kitchen. He doesn't say it out loud, but he thinks Sukuna was probably able to pick up on the undercurrent of insecurity in his voice. It just sucks, that's all. Is this whole thing even worth it? He's paying Sukuna just so he can cook Yuuji the most mediocre meal in the entire world. And Yuuji will act like it's great, of course he will, but it doesn't feel like Megumi's doing nearly enough to show Yuuji just how much he means to him—

"Fushiguro," Sukuna says suddenly. "Do you know what the first present you ever gave the brat was?"

It's such a jarring question that it snaps Megumi out of his funk, and he turns to blink at Sukuna in confusion. First present? Well—he and Yuuji have been best friends since high school, so it would've been years and years ago. A Christmas present, probably, since Yuuji's birthday is in March, at the end of the school year. He racks his brain for a moment and comes up with a vague memory of a cinema membership and a pair of socks.

"I'm not sure if it was the first," Megumi says slowly, "but I think it was a membership for—"

"No," Sukuna says bluntly.

"What do you mean, no?" Megumi says, slightly offended.

"I mean no," Sukuna says. "It was a stick."

For a second, Megumi just stares at him.

"A stick?" he says incredulously. Sukuna snorts. 

"I'm not surprised you don't remember," he says. "I only remember because the brat wouldn't shut up about it. The two of you went on a walk with those dogs of yours. They brought you back a stick, you handed it to the brat to hold, and then you forgot about it because one of your dogs ran off or something. I don't care enough to know the details." He leans back against the counter. "The brat brought that stick home, and he told me—" He makes his voice high-pitched and wobbly, and Megumi narrows his eyes at him. "—Fushiguro gave this to me, so I've gotta keep it safe. He kept it in his room and everything, it was nauseating." He wrinkles his nose. "I should've cut the damn thing up for firewood."

"Why didn't you?"

"We didn't have a wood stove."

Megumi feels his lips tick upwards despite himself. And now that Sukuna's saying it...

There is a stick that Yuuji's carried around with him from home to home. If Megumi's memory serves him correctly, it's on their coffee table back home right now, as part of the decor. He's pretty sure Yuuji put it in a bowl or something and decorated it with fake leaves and berries. Megumi's never really registered that it was an old stick—he just kind of thought Yuuji went out and picked up a stick that he thought looked good. Yuuji had gone through a phase of amateur interior design when they first moved in, and he'd made a lot of benignly odd choices that are still in their home to this day. But if Sukuna's telling the truth, and that stick's from way back in their first year of high school...

That was eleven years ago. Eleven years, and Yuuji's held on to that stupid stick, all because Megumi gave it to him. Megumi's heart is going all warm and gooey in his chest.

"So," Sukuna says brusquely. "It's painfully clear that my idiot of a brother has been stupid about you for over a decade, and I doubt he'll stop anytime soon. He'd eat a rotting pile of garbage and ask for seconds if you were the one who made it for him. He'll lose his mind when you make him this, even if it's shitty." He immediately clears his throat and turns away, lifting the lid of the pot to check as Megumi gapes at him.

Was Sukuna just...nice to him?

"It's almost boiling," Sukuna says gruffly, turning down the heat. "And the brat might not care if your miso soup turns out to be shit, but I will. I don't need you ruining my reputation by coming out of this a terrible cook, Fushiguro." He glances at Megumi out of the corner of his eye. "Go get the miso paste and I'll show you how to actually make the soup."

For once, he actually sounds genuine instead of mocking. Megumi stands still for a moment, still feeling that glowing warmth in his chest, before he nods and goes to get the miso paste.

Huh. How strange, to be calmed down by Sukuna. Because—he's right, is the thing. It's Yuuji. It's Yuuji. He's making this for Yuuji. And, really—what does Megumi ever have to be worried about, when it comes to him?

Yuuji is comfort, to him. As it turns out, the comfort works even when Yuuji's not there.

When Megumi comes home, Yuuji is at the door waiting for him. It's muscle memory to let himself be folded into Yuuji's arms, to rest his head on Yuuji's shoulder and breathe in his scent. Comfort, as always. This time, though, Megumi does one extra thing: he turns his head to look at the coffee table.

Sure enough, the stick is there.

Megumi smiles despite himself. When Yuuji asks him what he's smiling about, inevitably feeling the movement of Megumi's lips against his shoulder, Megumi just shakes his head.

"Nothing," he says, turning his head to kiss just underneath the bone of Yuuji's jaw. Yuuji twitches, ticklish. "I just missed you, that's all."

LESSON THREE: TAMAGOYAKI

Megumi's been through a lot in his lifetime. His mother died before he was old enough to have even the vaguest memory of her. His father was some kind of shady fucker who abandoned him when he was a toddler and never came back. He and Tsumiki lived alone for months after her mother left. His sister was in a coma for a year. He spent more than half a decade pining after his best friend, then had the scare of his life when said best friend almost died in a fire. He grew up with Gojo, for crying out loud. And yet, somehow...

Somehow, none of it compares to trying to make a stupid omelette in Sukuna's kitchen.

"I give up," Sukuna says, which is a sentence that Megumi never thought he'd hear the man say. He watches, numb, as Sukuna throws himself into a chair and tosses a wet towel over his eyes. "It's an omelette, Fushiguro. It's a fucking omelette."

"The omelette part isn't the issue," Megumi snaps back. The tamagoyaki—which, according to Sukuna, used to be Yuuji's favourite part of breakfast, and coincidentally Sukuna's least-favourite—is proving to be a challenge. And he knew it'd be hard, he knew that it required the most technical skill out of all the dishes he and Sukuna planned to make...

But, sincerely: what the fuck.

It's just a rolled-up omelette. You pour the egg in layer by layer and roll it as you go. Megumi's well-aware that tamagoyaki is hard for beginners, but he'd thought he'd get the hang of it. And yet, here they are, two hours in, all of Sukuna's rectangular pans crusted over with an unidentifiable black thing that was once a seasoned egg mixture.

"I was watching you the whole time," Sukuna bemoans, massaging his temples. "Even I don't know how that happened. You have a talent, Fushiguro."

Megumi clicks his tongue, taking one of the pans to the sink so he can start scrubbing away at the ex-egg. He glances at the clock and feels his heart sink. Yuuji's still under the impression that he's working overtime, and Megumi doesn't want to stay too late here, lest Yuuji go to find him at the clinic. It's happened before—his lovely Yuuji, sheepishly sidling through the doors with two bentos packed. I didn't want to eat dinner without you, he'd said the first time he did it, on a night when Megumi had been roped into so much unprecedented overtime that he was swaying on his feet. Megumi had stared at him and, as a result of his completely burnt-out brain, had promptly burst into tears.

(Sometimes, Megumi still thinks of the panicked look on Yuuji's face when he needs a laugh.)

Now, he silently works away at the dirty pans. He can hear Sukuna shuffling around on his chair.

"You know," Sukuna says, "we can always try something else. An easier dish."

"No," Megumi says firmly, looking at Sukuna sidelong. "You said this was his favourite, right?"

"He had a lot of favourites. This was just one of them."

"But this was the first one you thought of."

Sukuna lifts the edge of his towel, peering at Megumi with his good eye. "It's just a meal," he says, with an undercurrent in his voice that Megumi doesn't know him well enough to identify. He holds Megumi's gaze, unblinking. "You really think it matters that much?"

Megumi frowns at him, disapproving. "It's Yuuji," he says. "Of course it matters that much."

Megumi might not show it as obviously as Yuuji does. He might not show up at the firehouse with two bentos, and he might not come home with flowers 'just because', and he might not hook an arm over Yuuji's shoulders at every turn, but he loves Yuuji so fiercely that sometimes he thinks it will consume him. He'll turn off Yuuji's bedside lamp for him when they go to sleep, because Yuuji always forgets, and Megumi always stays up later than he does. On the days when Megumi leaves for work earlier, he'll make sure there's a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen, and he'll leave a little goodbye note on the counter that he signs off with a heart. He always checks to see if Yuuji's favourite snacks are on special. He lurks on Human Earthworm online forums so he gets the latest updates on merch drops and pop-up stores. Yuuji is, quite simply, everything—the sun, the spring breeze, the calm ocean, the clear blue sky. 

So, yes: it 'matters that much'. Yuuji has always, and will always, 'matter that much' to Megumi. 

Sukuna purses his lips.

"If you're so determined, then," he begrudges. "One more try. After that, I'm kicking you out of my kitchen, and you can go watch YouTube videos until next week."

"Fine."

"Fine." Sukuna heaves himself upright, waving a hand at the sink. "This time, we'll try something different."

Megumi raises a brow in silent question.

Sukuna puts both hands to the small of his back and stretches; Megumi can hear the bones pop. Yuuji does the exact same thing. "I'll do it with you," he says, yawning. "We'll have two pans next to each other, and you can copy my movements instead of me just talking you through it. You might find it easier that way. So wash another pan while you're at it."

Megumi bristles at the way he speaks to him, but this is Sukuna's home, and he is teaching Megumi, so he decides to just let it go. So he washes a second pan, and he makes two bowls of the tamagoyaki mixture, and then he stands at the stove with Sukuna and watches the man work.

It's...oddly peaceful, actually.

Sukuna's a surprisingly good teacher when he's just going through the motions instead of insulting Megumi whenever he gets the chance. And his hypothesis is correct—Megumi does find it easier to just copy what Sukuna's doing. He does it so expertly, but his movements are clearly choreographed, and Megumi just follows along and watches his tamagoyaki form in front of his eyes.

"You're really good at this," Megumi offers after a good long period of silence, right as Sukuna starts rolling his third layer.

Sukuna scoffs. "I'd fucking hope so. This is what I do for a living, Fushiguro."

"Just take the compliment, would you?" Megumi says tiredly. "I'm just saying, I wouldn't have expected you to be good at this dish, specifically."

It's a reasonable conclusion, right? After all, Sukuna had said it was his least favourite breakfast dish—why would he spend his time perfecting how to make something he hated?

Sukuna doesn't answer for a few moments. All Megumi can hear is the sizzling of eggs in the pan. And then—

"If you must know," Sukuna says abruptly, "I learnt to make this out of spite."

Megumi feels his brow scrunch up in disbelief. That makes no sense. How could anyone ever be spiteful against an omelette? "Spite?"

Sukuna rolls up his egg, then pours in another layer, watching it bubble before he speaks.

"I lost my eye in a cooking accident when I was younger," he says bluntly. "I was making this. So I decided afterwards that I would get better."

...Ah.

That's new information.

Sukuna must not know, but Megumi had already known that. Not the tamagoyaki part, but everything else—yes, Megumi had known. He's known for years how Sukuna got his scar. It was a few months into his and Yuuji's relationship, when Yuuji was called for a fire for the first time since The Incident. Megumi had been so terrified the whole time Yuuji was out that he'd thrown up at work and had to be sent home. When Yuuji got back, Megumi had blown up at him—admittedly unreasonably, though Yuuji, of course, had understood—and demanded to know why the hell Yuuji had decided to go into a profession where he could be asked to lay his life on the line at any moment. Why couldn't he have been a social worker? A nurse? A pro athlete? A chef, like Sukuna? Why couldn't he have been something safe?

And Yuuji had told him: when they were younger, his little brother Sukuna had gotten burned.

Yes, his little brother. Megumi is one of very few people in the world who know that Yuuji's the older twin by exactly sixteen minutes. Sukuna, despite being taller and broader and acting like a man twice his age and constantly calling Yuuji brat, is in fact Yuuji's little brother, and he'd lost his eye to fire.

I don't really remember how it happened, Yuuji had murmured, his voice so subdued that, if it were an animal, it would've been lying with its belly on the ground, ears flat to its head. It was an accident when we were little. I think he was trying to cook something on the gas stove, and...well, it's kind of obvious, but it was a really bad burn.

It was why Yuuji had specifically wanted to become a firefighter. And now, knowing what he knows about the dish that Sukuna was cooking in the first place, Megumi can't help but wonder if the twins are more alike than they think. Maybe Sukuna's career choice was influenced by that incident too, because he said he'd been cooking tamagoyaki, even though...

"I thought you said you didn't like tamagoyaki," Megumi says quietly.

Sukuna's hands still for a moment.

"I don't," he says. The unspoken second half of his sentence hangs in the air: but Yuuji does.

They leave it at that. And, miraculously, Megumi's tamagoyaki turns out to be near-perfect.

"I'm—" Megumi's jaw cracks with a yawn as he leans against the door to push it shut. "—home."

"Hi!" Yuuji calls from down the hall. "Gimme a second!"

Megumi yawns again. Fuck, he's exhausted; the tamagoyaki had really taken it out of him. All he really wants to do right now is curl up with Yuuji and the dogs and possibly a nice hot drink. He leans down to tug his shoes off, blinking rapidly as his head swims at the motion. A familiar black nose comes into his field of view, nudging at his hand.

"Let me take off my shoes, Shiro," he murmurs, going to push the dog away gently—and he freezes.

It's Shiro, all right, but it's Shiro as he's never seen him before. Megumi stares at his dog, who currently has a folded-up red blanket tied to his back with a black scarf. Shiro sits back on his haunches and looks at Megumi, tail wagging, apparently completely unperturbed by his new backpack.

Megumi blinks. "What."

"D'you like it?"

Megumi looks up. And there, like a vision straight out of his dreams, stands Yuuji—except he's...well.

"What are you wearing?"

Yuuji does a dramatic little bow. He's decked out in what must be one of his old T-shirts from uni, but turned inside out so the blank white side is facing the world, and he has a white towel wrapped around his hips. He's sporting a blue bandanna wrapped around his forehead, too.

"I am your sashimi chef for tonight," Yuuji announces. Kuro comes trotting out behind him, with bright orange cupcake wrappers flipped upside down and...stuck to his back, somehow. "This—" Yuuji gestures at the Kuro-cupcake abomination. "—is our famous jumbo-sized sushi roll, topped with salmon roe. And this—" He splays his hand out at Shiro. "—is, of course, our specialty tuna nigiri."

...Ah. That explains the costumes, at least.

Megumi looks between the three of them: the dogs, happily oblivious, and Yuuji, grinning at him so brightly that it could power a small nation. But the second Megumi's eyes meet Yuuji's, that grin falters, and suddenly Yuuji's moving forward to cup Megumi's face in his warm, warm hands, his callused fingers somehow unbearably soft as he strokes them over Megumi's cheek.

"You okay?" he murmurs, his eyes darting worriedly over Megumi's face. "You look tired. Was it a long day? I'm sorry, I remembered you said you wanted to get sashimi that day I had a call, so I thought I could..." He gestures at the dogs. "If it's too much to handle right now, I can just—"

Megumi cuts him off with a kiss. "You're fine," he says, reaching up to rub a reassuring hand over Yuuji's arm. "So this is..." He looks down at the dogs. "Sashimi at home?"

Yuuji nods. "I got us actual sashimi, too," he says. "Remember how I left early this morning? And how you had to go to work before I came back?"

"Mhm. Did you see the note I left you?"

"I did." Yuuji pecks a kiss against the corner of his mouth. "But I kinda lied to you. I didn't go for a run. I went to the fish market and got a really fat salmon."

Megumi can't help but laugh a little at the description. Yuuji watches him, that fond little smile on his face, the smile that he only ever uses in moments like this, and Megumi—

Fuck, he loves him.

"I already cut it up and everything," Yuuji says. "So we've got a bunch of sashimi in the fridge. And I got some tuna, too." He leans in and—for lack of a better word—nuzzles his nose against Megumi's. If Megumi's teen self could see them now, he'd be retching. "You wanna eat it or you wanna have something else?"

Megumi pretends to consider for a moment. He's still tired, of course, but...spending time with Yuuji has never drained him like spending time with other people does. Spending time with Yuuji feels like sinking into a hot bath and feeling all his muscles relax.

"I could go for sashimi," he says. "Especially when I've got such a good-looking chef."

Yuuji flushes red at that. And, really—what's Megumi to do, if not kiss him?

LESSON FOUR: ZUNDA CREAM DORAYAKI

"...You're joking, right?"

Megumi's sitting in Sukuna's kitchen, phone in hand, his finger hovering over the 'buy now' button. When Sukuna said he'd help with dessert, Megumi had thought he meant he'd, like, actually make something. Not just direct Megumi to some online food shopping site.

Sukuna bites off the end of a rice cracker and munches it obnoxiously loud. For the head chef of one of the most acclaimed restaurants in Japan, he has no table manners. "Nope," he says, not bothering to cover his mouth as he speaks. "What, you thought we'd be making it from scratch?"

"...Yes?"

Sukuna snorts. Tiny rice cracker crumbs go flying everywhere. "Please. Like that brat's ever had homemade dorayaki in his life. Trust me, he'll like the store-bought one better. That's the same brand we always used to have."

Megumi looks down at the screen again. Zunda cream dorayaki. It looks nice enough, with the two pancake-like pieces of flatbread pressed together and a layer of sweet edamame cream between them, but...still. Is he really going to give Yuuji some cheap commercial dessert for his birthday?

"Are you sure?" he asks, for what has to be the third time. Sukuna throws his head back and groans.

"Yes, I'm sure," he says. "Look, if you really want to know, Choso used to buy that for us all the time right after we moved to Tokyo. That exact brand, from that exact site. He thought that since it was a 'Sendai specialty'—" He makes air quotes with his fingers. "—it would remind us of home or whatever. I didn't care much, but the brat did. He used to fucking inhale those things."

...Right after they moved to Tokyo?

Ah. So right after their grandpa died, then. Right after the twins' lives were uprooted, being shifted into the care of an older half-brother who they'd only known for a year. This would've been a snack that Yuuji ate while he was still adjusting to his new life. Megumi looks down at the screen with a newfound understanding. 

"I see," he says quietly, and clicks 'buy now'.

"Can I open my eyes now?"

"Just one second," Megumi says, making some last-minute adjustments to the tray he's placed in front of Yuuji. The presentation is important; Wasuke had been a man of habit, and he'd plated Yuuji and Sukuna's breakfasts the same way every day. Rice in the corner, miso soup sitting opposite it, side dishes arranged around the edges of the tray in a particular order, and tamagoyaki right in the middle of the tray on its own plate with the slices laid out in a slightly curved line. Megumi subtly adjusts one of the slices and glances up at his boyfriend.

Yuuji's been giggly all night, ever since Megumi said he had a surprise prepared for him—Megumi's sort of terrible at surprises, so he doesn't do them often—and he's now very visibly trying to hold back a smile. The tie that Megumi wrapped around his eyes is starting to slip, but he knows that, under the cloth, Yuuji's eyes are tightly closed. Below the table, Shiro nudges a curious nose into Yuuji's hand.

Megumi stares down at his creation for a moment. It's just all so ridiculously simple, and for a second Megumi thinks—this was stupid. What kind of a birthday dinner is this?

Then his eyes drift to the stick on the coffee table, and he relaxes.

Yuuji loves him. And he's a sap, too—no matter how simple this is, once he finds out Megumi's the chef, he'll fawn over it like it's the first four-Michelin-star dish in the world.  Megumi doesn't deserve him, not one bit. But he's the one that Yuuji's chosen anyway, and now that he's got him, Megumi plans to never let him go. 

(He's down to just two ring options, now. In these last few seconds before Yuuji opens his eyes, Megumi glances down at the tan expanse of his neck and imagines a chain hanging there. Which ring would look nicer resting in the subtle dip of Yuuji's throat?)

"Okay," he says, tearing his eyes away from Yuuji's neck to reach up and undo the makeshift blindfold. Sure enough, Yuuji's eyes are closed. "You can open them now."

Yuuji opens his eyes. He looks down at the tray in front of him—

Something flickers across Yuuji's face, there and gone in a heartbeat. Megumi holds his breath.

Did he notice?

"Is this...breakfast for dinner?" Yuuji asks. 

Hm. Maybe not.

"It is," Megumi says. Yuuji looks up at him. He's still smiling, but he's clearly confused. Adorable, Megumi thinks, his eyes lingering on the cute scrunch of Yuuji's eyebrows.

"Okay," Yuuji says, looking around the table. That eyebrow scrunch gets deeper. "But...aren't you eating too?"

Oh, Yuuji. Of course that'd be his first concern—not what the hell Megumi's doing, serving him breakfast for dinner, but whether or not Megumi's eating with him. Megumi adores him. He reaches out under the table and takes Yuuji's hand, running his thumb over Yuuji's knuckles soothingly.

"I'll eat later," he says. "Just...have some of this first, and tell me what you think."

Yuuji nods slowly. "Okay," he says again, squeezing Megumi's hand, and then he starts to eat.

It's a little awkward, just sitting there watching Yuuji eat, but it's also peaceful. Yuuji comments on everything—"This is good," he says, every time, before holding up a piece to Megumi's lips. "Are you sure you don't want some?"

Megumi declines. He keeps watching Yuuji out of the corner of his eye, waiting to see if he'll realise. There's nothing particularly special about most of the breakfast-slash-dinner, other than the plating and the...

When Yuuji reaches for the miso soup, Megumi feels his heartrate pick up. He tries to keep himself looking calm as Yuuji lifts the bowl to his lips, takes a sip—

He pauses.

Megumi watches him anxiously. According to Sukuna, their grandpa had always added a tiny bit of mirin to make the soup sweeter. When Megumi taste-tested it earlier, he honestly couldn't tell the difference. But for Yuuji, who spent fifteen years drinking that homemade miso soup...is it obvious enough? Will he realise? Will he figure out what Megumi's done?

Megumi waits with bated breath, but Yuuji doesn't say anything. He just slowly lowers the bowl, his face unreadable, before visibly giving himself a little shake. He looks over at Megumi and gives him a sunny smile.

"This is really good, too," he says, pushing the bowl in Megumi's direction. "You want any?"

Megumi shakes his head. "It's alright," he says, fighting the urge to fidget with his fingers. "There's one more thing I wanted to show you, though. Dessert."

Yuuji beams at him. "Breakfast for dinner and dessert?" he jokes, as Megumi reaches under the table and closes his fingers around the dorayaki packet he'd stashed there. "Megumi, really, you're just spoiling me—"

He abruptly cuts himself off once Megumi pulls out the packet.

"What the—no way!" Yuuji says incredulously, grabbing at the packaging. He turns it over, scanning the back of the packet, before letting out a bright laugh. "Aniki used to buy these all the time back when I was in high school! Did he tell you about it or something?"

Megumi takes a deep breath. "I...asked Sukuna."

Yuuji goes still.

"...Hah?"

"I asked Sukuna," Megumi repeats, keeping his eyes on Yuuji's hands instead of his face. "He's the one who helped me learn how to prepare all this for you. The miso soup—"

"It tasted just like my grandpa's," Yuuji murmurs, the dorayaki packet slipping from his fingers. There's an emotion Megumi can't recognise in his voice, so he glances up.

The way Yuuji is looking at him—

"You did that?" Yuuji breathes. Megumi can't look away from him, from how Yuuji is looking at him like he's just discovered the secret to eternal happiness. Megumi can feel his heart thumping rapidly in his chest. "You...Megumi, did you make all of this? You asked Sukuna to help you? For me?"

Megumi swallows. And, very slowly, he nods.

For a second, Yuuji doesn't say anything. He turns to look at the table, scanning every piece of food in turn, before he looks back at Megumi.

"Megumi," he all but whispers. His eyes are darting all over Megumi's face. "You—you're fucking incredible, you know that?"

One second, they're just sitting very close. The next second, all Megumi can feel is warmth. Yuuji's all up in Megumi's space, attacking him with kisses all over his face. Megumi splutters, wobbling off-balance under the sudden onslaught, but Yuuji just wraps his arms around him and holds him tight.

"I—" Kiss. "—can't believe you—" Kiss. "—did that—" Kiss. "—for me—"

Megumi blocks the next kiss with a hand to Yuuji's face. "Of course I did it for you," he tells Yuuji, because he needs Yuuji to know. He cups Yuuji's jaw in his palm, watching as Yuuji's eyes go wide. "It's the least I could do, Yuuji. I love you."

Yuuji makes a sound suspiciously close to a sniffle, then leans down and buries his neck in Megumi's shoulder. "I love you too," he says, his voice muffled but still vibrating along Megumi's collarbone. "I...fuck, Megumi. I really, really do."

The way he says it, with a hint of desperation, makes it sound like there's more to it than that. For now, Megumi just strokes a hand through Yuuji's hair and kisses the bone of his temple.

"Happy birthday," he murmurs, and Yuuji just holds him tighter.

Megumi calls Sukuna on a Tuesday, because Sukuna's off work on Tuesdays.

Sukuna picks up on the fourth ring. "What?" he says roughly. Megumi internally rolls his eyes. 

"I need your bank details."

"I fucking told you I'm not helping you with the yakuza—"

"Will you cut it out with the yakuza stuff?" Megumi snaps. "I need to pay you."

"...Pay?"

"For the cooking lessons," Megumi prompts. "Forty thousand yen, right?"

There's a rustle on the other end. For a few moments, Sukuna doesn't speak.

Then: "He liked it, right?" Sukuna murmurs. "Your stupid sappy dinner. He liked it."

Megumi feels his chest grow warm at the memory—Yuuji looking at him like he'd hung the stars. Yuuji kissing him all over, peppering them over Megumi's face like he couldn't ever get enough. "He did," he says, dropping his voice. Yuuji's at the firehouse right now, but he still feels too embarrassed to say this stuff too loudly. "Thank you. Really."

Sukuna gives an affirmative-sounding grunt. "Good," he grumbles. "You know he texted me about it? Damn near broke my phone with how many messages he sent. He couldn't believe it."

That warmth in Megumi's chest grows brighter. He imagines it—Yuuji, so giddy with happiness that he spams Sukuna with texts about the dinner. "He was really surprised," he says, and he can't keep the fondness from bleeding into his voice. On the other end, Sukuna heaves a great sigh.

"Don't pay me," he mutters.

Megumi blinks. "...What?"

"You heard me. I don't want payment."

"But—"

"What kind of guy do you think I am, huh?" Sukuna barks, suddenly loud. Megumi flinches away from the phone. What the hell? "I'm not making my future brother-in-law pay me forty thousand yen for teaching him how to cook. And it's not like I need the money. I'm not fucking broke."

Megumi's brain screeches to a halt.

I'm not making my future brother-in-law pay me forty thousand yen for—

—not making my future brother-in-law pay me—

—my future brother-in-law—

"What did you just call me?"

"I'm not fucking saying it again," Sukuna says. "It already makes me want to throw up. But—you better stick with him now, you hear me?"

"Okay," Megumi says numbly. His brain is still stuck on a repeating loop of future brother-in-law.

"Which means that, when he asks, you're not allowed to say no. I'll find whatever gang you owe money to and get them to hunt you down."

"When he what," Megumi says, strangled, too shocked to even care about the gang comment. "He's going to—?"

"And I'm not fucking catering for the wedding. Outsource that shit."

"Who cares about that, what the fuck do you mean when he asks—"

"And stop calling me on my days off. I'll block you if you keep doing it."

"Sukuna—!"

The asshole hangs up.

Megumi stares at the phone, his jaw hanging open. At his feet, Kuro bites down on a squeaky toy that Yuuji bought for him right after they started dating. The mechanism inside it is old, so it makes a sort of dying owl screech sound instead of the intended bouncy squeak. Megumi finds it to be rather fitting for his emotional state at the moment.

Fuck. Okay. 

He glances at the clock. Still four hours until Yuuji's shift is over. In that case...

He spins on his heel and heads to the bedroom to grab his laptop. He needs to finally make a decision on which ring he should buy.