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“I’ve got him, Itadori!” Nobara shrieks with glee, arms locked around Megumi’s legs. Shocked, Megumi tries to escape, but Itadori appears from behind a tree with twenty pre-made snowballs bundled in his arms.
Itadori grins, his lips peeking out from under Megumi’s red scarf. It honestly suits the former more. He wouldn’t be too made if he never got that scarf back.
With a mischievous grin, Itadori throws a snowball right at Megumi’s face. The cold stings as he brings both his hands to hide his face. He wants to play dirty? Sure, Megumi can play dirty.
He doesn’t move, keeping his face hidden from view. He feels Nobara’s arms stiffen around his legs before she quickly lets go. “Megumi, c’mon,” Itadori whines, “There’s no way that hurt. I threw it lightly!”
Megumi only doubles over, facing the ground, head still in hands. “Oh, I hear Maki calling me, gotta go, bye bye!” Nobara lies, snow crunching under her boots as he dashes away.
He hears Itadori’s heavy footsteps come towards him and sees his familiar red high tops through his fingers. He should really buy him some proper snow boots.
“Megumi?” Itadori says, voice softer and filled with concern. The boy crouches in front of him, meeting him at eye level. “Did it really hurt?”
Megumi pops his head up with an evil grin and pushes Itadori back into a tiny snow bank, his back thumping against the nearby tree. A playful expression crosses his face and he scoffs. “I knew you were faking!” he shouts, lightheartedly. “You–” He’s cut off by the snow from the branch falling off and onto the top of his head.
The two of them pause as Itadori just sits there, snow completely covering his head. Megumi watches as Itadori wipes the snow off with his bare hands and they make eye contact. Megumi is the first to break and starts giggling. Itadori fuels him and eventually the two of them collapse into laughter.
Itadori’s laugh can only be described as pure. It’s where his innocence truly shines through and it’s one of Megumi’s favorite parts about the man.
“Oh man,” Itadori complains, bringing his hands up to his mouth to warm them up. “I’m freezin’ now!” Megumi rolls his eyes and takes the boy’s hands in his own gloved ones.
“You should’ve taken my spare mittens, stupid,” he chastizes, starting to slip his own gloves off his hands and fitting them over Itadori’s shivering ones. The skin to skin contact makes his ears flush red. Thank god for his earmuffs.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll make sure to get 'em next time,” Itadori reassures. “What would I do without you, Meg–, er, Fushiguro?”
Megumi frowns at the correction. “How long have I known you?” he asks, flicking the other’s forehead. “As long as I get to address you as Itadori, you get to call me Megumi.” This earns him a splitting smile from the pink-haired sorcerer. He can practically feel the warmth radiating off of Itadori.
Megumi finishes wrapping Itadori’s hands in his gloves and for a moment, he just holds Itadori’s now gloved hands in his own bare ones. The cold bites at his fingertips but he doesn’t care. Itadori doesn’t pull away, so he’s going to savor this warmth.
Megumi looks up at Itadori, who has a small clump of snow sitting atop his head. It’s almost shaped like a snowman. He chuckles at the sight of it.
Itadori tilts his head to the side like a confused puppy at Megumi’s lighthearted giggle. “Is it really that funny?” he asks, eyes gazing at him lovingly.
Megumi flushes again and glances to the side. “Yeah, sure is,” he says with a smile. Itadori notes that he would give anything to see that smile again.
———
Itadori would give anything to see Megumi’s smile again.
It’s been about 60 years. Maybe more. He’s wandering the streets of Shibuya alone, gazing at the street vendors, wondering what to eat, when it starts to snow.
All he’s wearing is a white hoodie over his tee. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he wanders over to a woman selling skewered shogayaki slices. He purchases an order with extra ginger. Megumi loved ginger with his meals.
He eats slowly, walking down an empty street. After he tosses his garbage, Itadori catches his reflection in the window of an office building he passes. He looks the same age he’s always been, yet somehow he looks older at the same time.
He glances down at his shivering, scarred hands. If Megumi were here, he’d scold him and tell him to bundle up.
He’d wrap his red scarf around his neck, the one that tickles his nose and smells like lavender and cinnamon. The one that smells like Megumi. Itadori would inhale the scent.
He’d tug his beanie over Itadori’s ears, hold his face and then place a kiss on his forehead for good luck. Itadori would return the favor, more than once.
He’d hold his hands and transfer his own gloves to Itadori’s hands. Megumi would hold his hands for a while after he was done, like he always does. Itadori would kiss each of his fingertips.
But Megumi isn’t here, so Itadori remains cold.