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( the thing about drinking--that he's only learning through experience, and more often than not, trial and error--is that it can produce alarmingly different effects depending on the kind of liquor. the clear kind, which yuuji seems to favor, goes well in juice, and seems to sneak in under the radar of his taste buds, so too much becomes too much too quickly, and becomes laughter, mostly, and laziness; there's that other gold liquor that makes him happier, productive, more teasing, more lenient. japanese liquor is dangerous: he knew that much from the start.

in this case, creating a safe place to crash, undisturbed, from the rest of the dorm had been a priority that had come easy to drunken hands; even yuuji had dozed in it for a little while, but had left while he himself had been sleeping, which had earned the initial, playful ire of a text he hadn't meant to send to megumi to begin with.

not that he would complain, at this point, about the situation. especially not when his gaze lifts at the movement and he sees megumi's face there, framed by the low light inside the fort and the relative darkness of the evening outside of it. )

You can enter. ( easily, amicably, a little too eager, a little too commanding--one of his hands lifts, idle, pushing a few stray hairs behind one ear. ) Come sit.

( there are enough blankets and cushions for the both of them, though pointedly, he's not using any at all. he's seated, legs criss-cross, in his usual get-up: as though he'd pulled on something more 'proper' for megumi's arrival. )

Thank you for playing. ( he says solemnly, even though they haven't started at all. )

[ megumi chuffs a small laugh at the greeting, equal parts fond and amused as he slips out of his shoes and steps quietly into the fort.

he hadn't asked, when itadori had rushed out, what the occasion was. they tend not to ask each other much these days, trusting each other to make their way back and leaving matters at that. it's— probably not how he'd have liked their friendship to float towards, this laconic companionship pregnant with unsaid sentiments, but megumi thinks they have time. time enough to heal, time enough to remember who they used to be before their losses in shibuya and shinjuku; time enough to remember they're changed people who have also gained new family and friends in the aftermath.

such as choso-san, for one.

there remains several matters — really, questions — that megumi desperately wishes he could ask. bald-faced curiosity, bordering on indecent; how much do you remember? how much did you know before switching sides? how much hurt and pain did you suffer then, and now, and do you miss them, do miss their grasping hands and plaintive questions and shared loneliness while we'd left you all alone in a sealed shelf miles below ground?

family lost, family gained. and right now, maybe a friend too.

(doubt will never stop pressing itself against his skin, megumi thinks. sharper now, without gojo satoru's unwavering faith and pride; some things just don't snap back into place.) ]

Thank you for having me, [ he answers politely, first setting down the unopened bottles of aspirin and expensive water between himself and choso-san then bowing his head. it's been a long week of playing to clan head type (ass-kissing), and it's taking a minute to shake off the playacting. ] Though I think I'll insist you drink first before we start playing. I'll feel guilty otherwise.

[ look after yourself is their little refrain, his and itadori's and kugisaki's, sits somewhere between binding vow and curse. room enough for more in the contract. ]

You found the materials for this yourself, Choso-san?

( the bottles, which megumi lays out with care, garner his attention from the way he's almost pointedly focused on the sharp tufts of megumi's hair, as though trying to decide whether it's styled any differently than usual--something that he recalls, with some vague haze, from the talk with yuuji the night before. it means something, to put yourself together for another person; it means something, to be presentable, to wear proper clothing, to tame one's hair into proper little twintails instead of leaving it down, a sodden mess, around one's neck. it means something, to have tidied up the remnants of last night's game of misfortune, to have tried to lay out the blankets and cushions with some measure of invitation--

--and it means something, he knows, has always known, to want to look after someone else. out of everyone, fushiguro megumi is boldly proficient at it, though it comes with a stern gaze rather than soft words.

tonight, it comes with aspirin. fascinating sort of thing, human medicine. of course, back when he'd been born, or unborn, made, or unmade: traditional medicine had been more popular, more effervescent and welcoming than a stark bottle full of foreboding white pills. even so, he reaches forward with both hands--polite--to wrench the top off the bottle, struggling only minutely before popping it off into his palm.

(damn child locks.)

two pills, then, because that seems polite, too, and he doesn't want to read the label. the bottle shut, squeezed off, to be replaced with an alarmingly fancy-looking bottle of water; he holds the pills on his tongue, jaw dropped, and takes only the smallest swallow of water to wash them out, and down, before sealing the bottle again to set it where he got it. everything back in its place, in a sense, because his eyes are now back to megumi's hair, and megumi's eyes, and, as he talks again, megumi's mouth.

a swallow. two, before he realizes he hasn't answered. hurriedly, his gaze flicks back up again-- )

I did. For this, you mean. ( one large hand lifts, points a finger up to indicate the fort around them. ) We looked together for a bit, but Yuuji got tired fast.

( that is to say: he told him to stay put, after awhile, to take care of it all himself. )

Rest assured, I'll dismantle it once we're done. I understand it causes some issues of visibility.

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