Chapter Text
The air in the Grand Hall was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and the rhythmic, blinding strobes of a thousand cameras. To the general public, this was the pinnacle of cinematic achievement.
Yet to Itadori Yuuji, it was a battlefield.
He sat in the third row, his velvet tuxedo jacket feeling a size too small for the sheer amount of competitive adrenaline coursing through his veins.
Despite his desperate longing to trade the stiff fabric for a comfortable hoodie, he kept his posture flawlessly straight.
That was something his manager, Geto Suguru, had drilled into him through years of public scrutiny. Although Yuuji was reckless by nature, he’d learned early on that disappointing Geto was a special kind of headache he preferred to avoid.
Still, even the thought of Geto’s lectures couldn't quite contain Yuuji's restless energy. The heavy fabric of his trousers bunched and pulled as his knee bounced at a frequency that could probably power a small city.
“Stop that,” a low, cool voice murmured beside him.
“You’re shaking the entire row.”
Yuuji didn’t turn his head. “I’m not shaking anything, Fushiguro. I’m priming. Like an engine.”
Megumi Fushiguro didn’t even blink. He sat with his legs crossed, the expensive fabric of his suit clinging to him like a second skin, as if he’d been born tailored into the very threads. He looked bored, which was, in Yuuji’s opinion, the ultimate insult.
How could he be so unbothered when they were currently tied at three major awards this year? Today was the tie-breaker, and Yuuji’s knee worked with a frantic, renewed energy as the "Best Leading Actor" category drew closer to being announced.
“You look like you’re about to fight the presenter,” Megumi said, his voice a smooth, infuriating baritone.
”Maybe I am,” Yuuji hissed back, finally looking at Megumi. “This is it, Megumi. The big one. May the best man win.”
Megumi turned his head. His dark eyes trailed over Yuuji’s face, not with the fire of a rival, but with a slow, devastatingly thorough appreciation that Yuuji completely misread as scouting for weaknesses. In reality, Megumi was just trying to memorize the way the gold light hit Yuuji's eyes.
“I’m sure you’ll get what you deserve, Itadori,” Megumi said softly. A hint of a smile appeared in his eyes, threatening to break into a look so fond that if Yuuji weren't so blinded by his own competitive streak, he might have actually noticed it.
Before Yuuji could demand to know what that was supposed to mean, the main lights dimmed.
A hush fell over the Grand Hall, heavy with the bated breath of the industry’s elite.
On the massive digital screens, the nominees' reel began to play.
The screen dissolved into a blur of cinematic highlights, led by a haunting shot of Megumi standing in a downpour, his head tilted back in a moment of silent, stoic grief that felt strangely intimate. Then, the scene fractured into white as the screen cut to Yuuji, running through a blinding snowstorm with a terrifying, singular focus.
Soon, the nominees’ reel cut to black and the stage lights flared back to life.
“And the award for Best Leading Actor goes to...”
Iori Utahime, a skilled director and also this year’s presenter, took an agonizingly long time to slide the card out of the gold-embossed envelope.
Yuuji’s heart did a backflip.
He felt a hand settle firmly on his thigh, a grounding, heavy weight. It was Megumi’s hand. Yuuji froze. Is he trying to pin me to the chair so I can’t get up to claim my prize?
“...Megumi Fushiguro, for his role in The Ten Shadows!”
The room exploded. Yuuji felt like a balloon that had just popped. Four to three. He was down by one.
As Megumi stood up to a standing ovation, he didn't head straight for the stage. He paused, leaning down until his lips were inches from Yuuji’s ear. The scent of sandalwood and something uniquely Megumi clouded Yuuji’s senses.
“I’ll keep it warm for you,” Megumi whispered, smiling as Yuuji’s ear turned red.
He meant the trophy. He meant that he believed Yuuji would win next time. He meant I’d give this to you right now if you asked.
But as Yuuji watched Megumi walk up the stairs with effortless grace, all he could think was: He’s taunting me. He’s definitely taunting me.
One week later
The interior of the SUV was quiet, save for the noises coming from Geto Suguru’s phone. Yuuji was currently scrolling through a "Top 10 Rivalries in Modern Cinema" article, searching for his and Megumi's names.
“I’m telling you,” Yuuji started, his thumb hovering over a picture of Megumi giving his speech with his new trophy, “I’m gonna beat him soon.”
Geto simply hummed.
“No seriously, everyone knows we’re rivals and they’re just waiting for me to retaliate!”
Geto didn't even look up from his screen. “Nobody thinks you’re rivals.”
Yuuji huffed, crossing his arms over his hoodie. “Whatever. Enemies and rivals are basically the same thing, the point is that I’m not gonna sit back and relax while he gloats.”
Geto placed a Mega Knight and watched chaos unfold upon the King Tower, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “No, I meant that everyone thinks you’re dating.”
The car seemed to hit a metaphorical pothole. Yuuji paused, his brain stuttering. “Who?”
“The fans, the press, most of the agency staff,” Geto continued, his eyes still glued to his phone. “But also your old co-stars like Sator—I mean, Gojo. He won’t stop bothering me because he wants to know when your anniversary is so he can ‘properly embarrass’ Fushiguro with some crap gift.”
Yuuji’s frown deepened, the gears turning slowly. “No, I meant... who do they think is dating?”
At that, Geto finally swiped off Clash Royale. He locked his phone and looked up, pinning Yuuji with a stare so flat and exhausted, that Yuuji actually leaned back against the seat, nearly whispering a nevermind.
But Yuuji’s confusion won out and he tilted his head, his expression blank.
Geto sighed, a long-suffering sound that seemed to age him a decade. He stood up as the car came to a halt. “I can’t do this today”. He thanked the driver and stepped out of the car.
“Wait, Geto! You didn't answer me!” Yuuji scrambled out after him, his competitive fire temporarily replaced by sheer bewilderment.
As he hurried to keep up with his manager's long strides toward the agency building, he thought he heard Geto mutter something under his breath about "idiots in love" and "as dumb as Satoru," but before he could ask for clarification, the double doors swung open.
Nanami Kento stood in the lobby, checking his watch with a frown that suggested the world was precisely three seconds behind schedule.
“Nanami-san!” Yuuji exclaimed, a bright smile breaking through his confusion.
Nanami looked up. His mouth quirked into the rarest ghost of a smile at the sight of Yuuji, before his gaze shifted to Geto.
“Good, you’re here. I actually needed to speak with you both,” Nanami said.
“If it’s to do with Gojo again, I’m quitting,” Geto deadpanned, rubbing his temples. “I’ve already had enough of his ‘consulting’ for one day.”
Yuuji’s head tilted. He was still confused as to why the ex-actor turned chart-topping singer Gojo Satoru was even a topic of conversation, but Nanami didn’t blink.
“No, I’m here because a last-minute interview has been scheduled,” Nanami said, checking his watch with a click of his tongue.
“Itadori, Kugisaki, and Fushiguro, in twenty minutes.”
Yuuji’s head spun as he was ushered toward the dressing rooms, only having time to swap his hoodie for a crisp white button-down before he was pushed into the studio.
He took his seat on the plush leather sofa, grinning as he flashed a quick greeting to Nobara, before his eyes immediately darted toward the empty spot on his right.
“He’s not here yet,” Yuuji grumbled, crossing his arms and huffing so hard his new collar flapped.
Nobara, who was busy checking her reflection in her compact mirror, didn't even look up. “Your boyfriend will be here soon, Yuuji."
“What? No! It’s a rivalry, Nobara!” Yuuji insisted, leaning forward. “He’s probably backstage right now, perfecting his ‘mysterious’ look just so the interviewer spends the first ten minutes talking about how hot he is instead of my acting range.”
Nobara snapped her compact mirror shut with a sharp clack. “You still think you’re in some blood-feud with him?” she asked with a mix of pity and disbelief.
Yuuji frowned, “Just because he’s currently winning doesn’t mean I’m not his rival anymore.”
“You literally just said you think he’s hot”, Nobara retorted, rolling her eyes as Yuuji’s face turned red.
“No, I meant that the interviewer would probably think that!”, Yuuji spluttered.
Nobara let out a long, suffering sigh and finally looked at him. “Yuuji, use your head for once. He’s not backstage plotting your downfall. He’s probably late because he’s at the vending machine getting that disgusting energy drink you like.”
Yuuji opened his mouth to argue, but the words died in his throat. He blinked, “The blue one? With the cute frog drawing on the front?”
Nobara frowned in disgust, her nose wrinkling. “Yes, the one that tastes like battery acid.”
Just as Nobara was about to launch into a rant about her hatred for frogs and Yuuji's questionable palate, the heavy studio door creaked open.
Megumi Fushiguro walked in, his expression as stoic and unreadable as ever. He didn't say a word as he approached the sofa, but as he moved to take his seat, he wordlessly extended his hand toward Yuuji.
Clutched in his fingers was a chilled blue can, the cartoon frog on the label practically beaming at Yuuji.
Yuuji reached out and took the can from Megumi, their fingers brushing.
"You're late," Nobara commented, raising an eyebrow.
"The machine was jammed," Megumi muttered, sitting down next to Yuuji, who was staring at the frog on the can, his heart doing a weird flip for some reason.
Nobara hummed, “So, you got any clue what this interview is for?”
Megumi raised his hand, gently fixing Yuuji’s collar, “No, I haven’t been briefed either but we’re probably just creating hype.”
“I’m gonna talk about that scene where my brother’s character tries to kill me!”, Yuuji exclaimed, unconsciously leaning into Megumi.
Nobara complained, “You mention that in like every interview, and each time Choso looks like he’s about to cry.”
She turned to face Yuuji, about to continue berating him before recoiling backwards like her eyes were just assaulted.
Megumi was looking at Yuuji like he hung the stars, whilst Yuuji was comfortably resting against him.
Yuuji leaned further into his rival’s embrace, raising a questioning brow at Nobara’s sudden disgust.
Nobara stared at them in repulsion, before finally settling on saying “You two make me sick.”
Yuuji’s mouth opened slightly in mild offense, turning to Megumi for an answer.
He merely shrugged and moved his hand, from Yuuji’s collar, up to his head, smoothing down the pink strands in an attempt to fix his atrocious bed hair.
Nobara’s reaction was a resounding groan.