First Love

The smell of Megumi’s laundry detergent had been the backdrop of Angel’s childhood. It was a scent of cedar and clean rain, something she had clung to like a lifeline since they were ten years old. Back then, it was simple. She would crawl into his bed after a nightmare, or steal his oversized hoodies because they felt like a protective shell. Megumi, stoic and quiet even as a boy, never pushed her away. He simply shifted to make room for her, his presence a silent constant that she mistook for shared affection.

As they grew, the lines blurred for her, but remained static for him. She had tried everything to bridge the gap between "best friend" and "something more." She remembered the frantic beating of her heart the day she had cornered him in his room under the pretense of "practicing."

"You’re going to be a disaster if you ever actually like a girl, Megumi," she had teased, her eyeliner sharp enough to cut, her legs dangling off his desk. "You don't even know what to do with your tongue."

"I don't need to know," he had muttered, eyes fixed on his textbook.

"Let me show you. Just so you don't embarrass yourself."

She hadn't waited for an answer. She had tasted like cherry lip gloss and desperation. He had let her do it, his hands hovering awkwardly at her waist, his breath hitching, but when it was over, he had simply wiped his mouth and asked if she wanted to order pizza. That was the moment the first crack appeared in her heart. To Megumi Fushiguro, she was a permanent fixture—like a piece of furniture or a shadow. He didn't think about her because she was always just *there*.

Tired of the invisible walls, Angel had started dating. First, it was a boy from another school, then a loud-mouthed upperclassman. Megumi had been indifferent. He would nod politely when she introduced them, his expression as unreadable as a stone wall.

But then came Yuta Okkotsu.

Yuta was different. He was kind, powerful, and he looked at Angel with an intensity that Megumi couldn't ignore. When Angel started spending her evenings in the second-year dorms, the silence in Megumi’s room became deafening.

"Where are you going?" Megumi asked one Friday evening, watching her adjust her mini skirt in his mirror. She was wearing her signature tall boots, her long black hair shimmering like silk.

"Out with Yuta," she said, not looking at him. "He’s taking me to that new cafe in Shibuya."

Megumi felt a strange, sharp prickle under his skin. "You’ve been seeing him a lot."

"He's nice, Megumi. He actually listens when I talk," she replied, her voice tinged with a bitterness she couldn't quite hide. She grabbed her bag and left without her usual "see you later" hug.

For the next two weeks, Megumi was a ghost. He watched them from across the courtyard—Yuta laughing at something she said, his hand resting casually on her shoulder. He saw the way Angel leaned into him, a mirror of the way she used to lean into Megumi. The sight made his stomach churn with a cold, heavy jealousy he didn't have a name for.

It came to a head on a Saturday night in the common room. Nobara Kugisaki was currently halfway through a bottle of expensive plum wine she’d convinced a shopkeeper to sell her, and she was tired of Megumi’s brooding.

"If you glare at the back of Okkotsu’s head any harder, he’s going to spontaneously combust," Nobara remarked, sliding a glass toward Megumi.

"I’m not glaring," Megumi snapped, though his eyes were indeed fixed on the doorway where Angel and Yuta had just disappeared.

"You are. You’re pining," Nobara said, taking a long sip. "And it’s pathetic. She spent years following you like a puppy, and the second she finds someone who treats her like a woman, you act like someone kicked your Divine Dog."

Megumi didn't answer. He took the glass and drained it. The alcohol burned, loosening the tight knot in his chest just enough for the truth to leak out. "She’s supposed to be with me."

"Then go tell her, you idiot," Nobara sighed, leaning back. "Before Yuta actually falls for her. Because right now, she’s just trying to forget you, and you’re letting her."

The words hit him like a physical blow. Megumi stood up, his head spinning slightly from the alcohol and the sudden realization that the "comfort" he felt with Angel wasn't just friendship—it was possession. He had taken her love for granted because he couldn't imagine a world where it wasn't his.

He marched toward the girls' dorms, his heart hammering against his ribs. He found her just outside her door, saying goodbye to Yuta. He waited in the shadows, his fists clenched, until Yuta walked away.

"Angel," he called out, his voice rougher than intended.

She turned, startled. "Megumi? It’s late. You look... are you drunk?"

"A little," he admitted, stepping into the light. "But I’m seeing things clearly for the first time."

"I don't have time for this," she said, turning to unlock her door. "Go sleep it off."

He grabbed her wrist, pulling her back. "No. You’re not going out with him anymore."

Angel froze, her eyes widening. She turned to face him, her expression a mix of anger and hurt. "Excuse me? You don't get to tell me who I date. You didn't care about the others. Why do you care now?"

"Because it’s him!" Megumi shouted, his composure finally shattering. "Because he looks at you the way I... the way I should have been looking at you. Because I can’t stand the thought of you wearing his clothes or sleeping in his bed."

"You never wanted me, Megumi," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I tried. I gave you everything. I even kissed you, and you acted like it was a chore."

"I was a fool," he said, stepping closer until their chests were almost touching. "I thought you’d always be there. I thought you were mine by default. But seeing you with him... it’s killing me."

He reached out, his hand trembling as he cupped her cheek. "Be my girlfriend. Not my friend. Not my sister. Mine."

The silence hung heavy between them for a heartbeat. Then, Angel let out a choked sob and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him down into a desperate, messy kiss. This wasn't like the "practice" kiss. This was hungry and territorial.

Megumi pushed her back into her room, slamming the door shut with his heel. He didn't stop kissing her, his hands sliding down to her waist, pulling her flush against him. The scent of her perfume and the heat of her body were overwhelming.

"I hate you," she murmured against his lips, even as she tangled her fingers in his dark hair.

"I know," he groaned, his hands moving lower.

He hoisted her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. Her mini skirt rode up, and he let out a low growl of approval. He carried her to the bed—the bed he had shared with her a thousand times as a child—and dropped her onto the mattress.

Megumi followed her down, his hands moving with a newfound urgency. He reached for the hem of her skirt, his fingers sliding underneath the fabric. When he found the soft curve of her butt, he squeezed firmly, marking his territory. Angel gasped, her back arching off the bed.

"Megumi," she breathed, her eyes blown wide with desire.

He didn't answer with words. He moved to the buttons of her shirt, his fingers fumbling in his haste. He undid them one by one, exposing the lace of her bra and the pale skin of her chest. He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

He wanted the world to know. He wanted Yuta to know. He wanted *her* to know.

He pressed his lips to the sensitive skin just below her ear, sucking and biting with a fierce intensity. Angel whimpered, her hands clutching at his shoulders as he moved down her collarbone, leaving a trail of dark, blooming bruises.

"They'll see," she whispered, her voice thick with heat.

"Let them," Megumi muttered, his voice vibrating against her skin. "I want them to see."

He spent the rest of the night re-learning every inch of her, replacing the memories of childhood innocence with the fire of something much more adult. Every touch was an apology; every mark was a vow.

The next morning, the sun rose over the Jujutsu High campus with an unforgiving brightness. In the dining hall, the usual chatter was at a dull roar until Megumi and Angel walked in together.

Megumi looked more relaxed than anyone had ever seen him, his hand firmly interlaced with hers. Angel, however, was wearing a sleeveless top that did absolutely nothing to hide the constellation of dark purple marks decorating her neck and collarbone. They were bold, unmistakable, and fresh.

Nobara nearly choked on her rice. Yuji’s jaw dropped, his chopsticks falling to the table. Even Gojo, who was sliding into a seat with a blindfold tilted up, whistled low.

"Well," Gojo remarked, leaning back with a smirk. "I guess Megumi finally figured out how to use his shadows."

Yuta, sitting a few tables away, looked at the marks, then at Megumi’s defiant gaze. He offered a small, sad smile and a nod of concession. He knew when he had been beaten.

Angel blushed, trying to pull her hair forward to cover the evidence, but Megumi reached out, gently tucking a strand behind her ear to keep the marks exposed.

"Don't," he said softly, his voice carrying just enough for those nearby to hear. "I like them there."

Angel looked up at him, her eyes shining with a mix of embarrassment and pure, unadulterated happiness. She had spent years trying to get him to see her, and now, he refused to look at anything else. She leaned her head against his shoulder, finally at peace, while the rest of the school stared at the blue-black ink of Megumi Fushiguro’s possession.