Chapter Text
The first thing Megumi Fushiguro noticed, on the morning of his studio’s opening, was that there was too much light across the street.
Not in a metaphorical sense—actual light, warm and bright—bouncing off the window of a shop overflowing with color.
Yellows, pinks, greens. Flowers everywhere.
A simple sign: Flower Shop Itadori.
Megumi sighed and stepped inside the studio.
The contrast was almost too sharp. On one side, his space: clean lines, gray walls, the scent of disinfectant and ink—or at least that was how it would smell once everything was fully up and running.
On the other side, it felt like spring itself had decided to settle in permanently.
Inside, Maki was already there. She was arranging the piercing jewelry with the focused expression of someone who could dismantle and reassemble an engine with her eyes closed. Megumi had seen her do it before, and that exact same expression was on her face now.
“If you’re staring at the flower shop across the street,” she said without looking up, “you should know it’s creepy.”
Megumi stiffened, feeling his cheeks warm slightly.
“I’m not staring.”
Maki finally looked up, studied him for a second, and smirked.
“Sure.”
He didn’t reply. He took off his jacket, hung it carefully, and moved toward the counter. He tried to focus on the opening, on the tools, on the fact that this was their studio.
Their space. Their dream.
But after adjusting a few instruments, he felt drawn back by some invisible pull and looked outside again.
The florist was there.
A boy with pink hair, messy as if the wind had chosen it as a home. He was arranging vases by the entrance, wearing a light-colored apron stained with soil, smiling as he talked—probably to no one, since there was no one else around.
“Does he talk to his flowers?” Megumi asked aloud.
Maki followed his gaze.
“Oh… him.”
“You know him?”
“Only by sight. He used to be in one of Nobara’s classes. Always kind. Always loud. Sometimes I remember two guys coming to pick him up—one looked like him but with completely different vibes, and the other was… different.” She paused. “One of them is scary.”
Megumi nodded faintly. That made sense.
And despite everything, that kind, loud guy was… intriguing.
At that moment, the florist turned around.
Their eyes met—for a second too long. The boy smiled, and Megumi was the first to look away.
A strange, uncomfortable sensation settled in his stomach, like he’d been caught doing something private.
“You okay?” Maki asked.
“Yeah.”
He was lying.
Yuji Itadori was in a great mood.
Or rather, he was always in a great mood—but that day, even more so.
The opening of the tattoo studio across the street was an event, and events were the perfect excuse to make flowers and bouquets. He carefully adjusted the last bunch of roses, then wiped his hands on his apron.
“Okay…” he said to the flowers. “Let’s make a good impression.”
He stepped back inside the shop, immediately wrapped in its familiar scent. He loved that place. Loved how it changed with the seasons, as if it breathed along with him.
Choso appeared from the back, holding a box.
“I took care of the red roses.”
“Thanks!” Yuji smiled. “Oh, the tattoo studio across the street opens today.”
Choso glanced out the window.
“The dark one?”
“Yeah. I was thinking of bringing them some flowers. To wish them luck—and maybe get a few extra customers.”
Choso stared at him, hands on his hips.
“Yuji.”
“What?”
“You don’t have to be nice to everyone.”
Yuji laughed, shaking his head.
“It’s literally my job.”
Before Choso could reply, the shop door flew open and the bell rang loudly.
“Good morning!” Sukuna announced, walking in like he owned the place. “Oh… flowers. What a surprise.”
“Don’t start, Suku-nii,” Yuji muttered, picking up a simple but elegant bouquet. He’d chosen a clean, striking color palette: white and indigo hyacinths, with a few soft touches of pale violet.
“I’ll be right back.”
He crossed the street with a steady pace, ignoring the slight quickening of his heartbeat. He wanted to make a good impression—and hoped the flowers weren’t too colorful for that studio.
He stepped inside.
It was quiet. Orderly. So different from his shop.
The dark-haired boy looked up from the counter. Their eyes met. Again.
Yuji smiled.
“Hi! I’m Yuji Itadori, the florist from across the street. I wanted to wish you good luck on your opening and bring you these… Hyacinths mean good fortune.”
Megumi stared at him, as if searching for the right words. That smile had completely thrown him off.
“…Thank you,” he managed, aware of Maki’s gaze on him.
“Hi, I’m Maki Zenin,” she cut in, stepping closer and elbowing her cousin. “Thanks for the flowers.”
“I’m Megumi Fushiguro… thanks.”
Yuji waved with a smile still on his face, then turned and left the studio.
The door closed behind him, restoring the silence.
Megumi stood still for a few seconds, with the vague feeling that something had shifted—though he couldn’t quite tell what. On the counter, the hyacinths stood out immediately: pale, elegant, out of place and yet perfectly aligned with the idea of a new beginning the studio was meant to represent.
“Good luck…” he murmured to himself, not knowing why.
“Well?” Maki asked, crossing her arms.
Megumi looked away from the flowers.
“Well what?”
“He just brought you flowers, Megumi. Flowers chosen specifically. With a full symbolic explanation.”
“He’s a florist. That’s normal. And they were for the shop.”
“And yet, he only looked at you.”
Megumi absorbed those words.
“He was just being nice.”
Maki studied him silently for a moment, then shook her head.
“You’re terrible at lying.”
Megumi sighed and went back to adjusting the tools, even though everything was already perfectly in order. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Yuji had smiled—let alone the way he smelled. Megumi didn’t usually like floral scents, but that was something else entirely.
“Anyway,” Maki continued, “Nobara used to say he was always like that. Kind to a fault. Sometimes a bit invasive, but never fake…”
She let the sentence trail off, glancing at him.
Megumi nodded slightly, his cheeks warming again. The description felt uncomfortably accurate.
Across the street, Yuji returned with a satisfied smile.
“So?” Sukuna asked, leaning against the counter with an oddly interested look—one of those grins that promised trouble.
“They were nice. That’s all,” Yuji said, tying his apron back on.
Choso watched him closely.
“You introduced yourself?”
“Of course. I’m always polite and well-mannered,” Yuji said, using the same tone he’d had as a kid.
“You stayed a bit long—”
Yuji tilted his head. Choso was always overprotective.
“They didn’t kidnap me or recruit me into a cult. I just introduced myself, and they did the same.”
He’d often watched that dark-haired boy—Megumi—while he was setting up the studio or unlocking it in the morning.
Okay, sometimes he stood there watching him. But that didn’t mean anything.
Sukuna smiled dangerously.
“You like the dark-haired one.”
Yuji’s eyes went wide.
“What? No!”
“Yes.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
Choso sighed. As much as it annoyed him, he had to agree with Sukuna.
“Yuji, you don’t have to say it. It’s obvious.”
Yuji blushed, running a hand through his hair.
“It’s just that… he seems kind. Like a good person. That’s all…”
“That’s how it starts,” Sukuna commented, amused. “Next thing you know, you’re on your knees and he’s—”
Choso smacked him on the head, glaring.
Yuji tried to ignore them, but the smile lingered on his lips. Maybe a bit longer than necessary.
That afternoon, the studio began to fill up.
Curious customers, friends, acquaintances. Thanks to the promotion—discounted small tattoos and fifty-percent-off piercings—the time flew by.
Every so often, Megumi’s gaze drifted back to the counter. The hyacinths were still there. Slowly, they had begun to feel like part of the studio—no longer something out of place.
When there was finally a break, he stepped closer to look at them properly. They hadn’t been chosen at random: the colors were balanced, calm, intentional. He reached out and gently brushed a petal with his fingers.
He wondered whether Yuji had really chosen those flowers thinking about the studio… or about him.
He remembered the brief glances they’d exchanged before the opening. Short, fleeting—but every time, Yuji had smiled, and Megumi’s cheeks had heated up.
He shook his head, trying to chase the thoughts away.
“Want to put them somewhere?” Maki asked, joining him.
Megumi hesitated.
“Yeah.”
He took a simple vase and placed them near the window, where the light wasn’t too harsh. The studio shifted subtly, as if it had taken a different kind of breath.
That really did feel like their place.
Maki smiled as she looked at them.
“They suit it.”
Megumi nodded, returning the smile just slightly.
“Yeah.”
That evening, as he pulled down the shutter, Megumi cast one last glance across the street.
The flower shop was still lit.
Yuji was laughing, bent over the counter, while a boy far too similar to him—definitely the one Maki had mentioned—said something he clearly shouldn’t have. Even from a distance, the shop looked alive.
An unexpected, irritating thought slipped into Megumi’s mind.
I hope he’s here tomorrow too.
He closed the studio, unaware that that morning he hadn’t only opened a shop.