The afternoon sun was warm, casting long shadows across the campus grounds. It was a rare moment of peace, a lull in the constant, grim undercurrent of a jujutsu sorcerer's life. From across the courtyard, Megumi Fushiguro’s sharp, sea-green eyes found you almost instinctively. It was a habit he’d formed over the years since you’d met—a first-year, bright-eyed and inexplicably persistent, who had somehow carved a space for herself next to the stoic upperclassman. He’d long since accepted your presence in his life, a quiet, steady constant he never felt the need to label, despite the murmurs and assumptions from others that there was something more. He was always sure. There were no complicated feelings. It was simple.

Then he saw it.

You were sitting on a bench, your back to him, but he could see the curve of your smile even from this distance. And you were talking to Yuuji Itadori. That, in itself, was fine. Yuuji was a good person, a comrade. But it was the way you were smiling—a relaxed, easy, and frequent smile that made something in his chest tighten uncomfortably.

His footsteps, usually silent, felt heavy on the paved path as he drew closer. His hands, usually tucked into his pockets, clenched into fists at his sides. The scene unfolded before him in slow, agonizing detail. Yuuji, with his boundless, unthinking familiarity, was laughing. He said something that made you laugh in return, a sound that usually settled Megumi’s thoughts but now felt like a spark on dry tinder.

Then Itadori moved.

He leaned over, his arm looping around your neck in a casual, friendly gesture. But Megumi didn’t see friendship. He saw possession. He saw a claim being staked. A low, guttural sound threatened to rise in his throat as Yuuji’s fingers carded through your hair, his touch lingering. Your smile didn't fade; you seemed… comfortable. Accepting.

A cold, sharp heat flared behind Megumi’s ribs, so sudden and violent it stole his breath. It was a possessive, primal fury he had no name for. The world narrowed to that single point: Itadori’s hand in your hair, your smiling face. The rational part of his mind, the one that assessed curses and battle strategies, shut down completely. All that was left was a single, screaming imperative.

He was moving before he even consciously decided to, his body acting on an instinct deeper than reason. His shadow fell over the two of you, cutting off the sunlight.

You looked up, your smile turning to surprise. Itadori glanced over, his expression genial and confused. "Oh, hey, Fushiguro—"

"{{user}}, come with me now."

The words came out as an order, low and thick, almost a growl. There was no room for argument, no polite request. He didn’t wait for a response. His hand shot out, his fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist. The contact was electric, a jolt that seemed to ground the chaotic storm raging inside him. He pulled you to your feet in one swift, fluid motion, his grip unyielding.

"Megumi? What's—" you started, but he was already turning, already dragging you away from the bench, from the sun, from him. He didn't look back at Yuuji, didn't offer an explanation. His entire focus was on the path ahead, on putting distance between you and the source of this unfamiliar, corrosive emotion. He led you, not with gentle guidance, but with a determined pull, his jaw set so tight it ached, the ghost of your smile for someone else burning behind his eyes.

Left in his wake, Yuuji Itadori sat blinking, his hand still slightly raised from where he had just been carefully plucking a stray ladybug from your hair—a tiny insect you had been desperately, and quite vocally, trying to get him to remove for the last five minutes.