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seiwas · 1 month

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₊˚⊹｡ i'll stay on this drive for as long as you'd like | fushiguro megumi

wc: 3.2k

summary: megumi knows you a lot better than you think.

contains: f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!reader, non-curse!au, college!au, established relationship, hurt/comfort.

a/n: some songs for the vibe: streetcar - daniel caesar, the movies - nightly, night drive - red velvet.

part: 1 | 2 | 3 series m.list: by your passenger seat

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: acting like it’s okay when you know it’s too much

sponsored by @ceroseis and @itskilau for the @ficsforgaza initiative. please check it out and support if you can!

It’s on the drive back from one of your friends’ graduation afterparty that Megumi can tell something’s off.

The trees whizzing past your window begin to dwindle, commercial buildings replacing them bit by bit—a clear sign of your trip drawing further away from the party venue and closer to the bustling streets of home.

He looks over to you every now and then, your back pressed against the black leather seats of his sedan. That spot is yours, adjusted and fitted to your liking; on most days, you settle into it comfortably, but tonight, you sit with unease.

There’s a tightness around your shoulders that extends all the way down to your clenched fists, and if it still isn’t any obvious from that, it’s one look at how you bite down tensely on your jaw that gives you away completely.

Are you cold? He wonders, then checks the AC.

Spring has brought in warmer days, but the nights are unpredictable—

His brows furrow, one hand tightening around the steering wheel as he uses the other to increase the temperature slightly. Just in case.

—you’re still wearing the microfleece jacket he brought to the afterparty.

Only a few words have been exchanged between you two so far—which is not unusual. Car rides with you are typically silent, comfortable in that either of you can speak whenever you want; there’s never any pressure to fill in empty pauses and long stretches of nothingness.

It’s always a shared look, maybe a touch; a joint experience in enjoying each other's company despite not doing much.

But, this quiet is different. Tense. One that’s riddled with feelings you seem to be hiding.

Megumi can tell.

You pick your nails from his periphery, your lower lip caught between your teeth as you focus on the road straight ahead. On your lap rests your phone, filled with songs queued up for CarPlay—a task you’ve made your own since marking your permanence in his passenger seat.

A slow reverb plays as the accompaniment to your silence, and the song is familiar, one he knows full well exists in some of your vaguely named mood playlists.

“Sometimes you just want to feel something, y’know?”

And Megumi thinks that’s all fine and good; Kugisaki’s called him ‘moody’ more than a few times. But he watches you now and he can’t even tell what you’re feeling exactly, just that you don’t feel okay.

He hears you take in a breath.

In the years you’ve known each other, Megumi’s learned that you tell him most things, but only when you’re ready. It’s not a problem with him, it’s just your way of processing things—is how you explained it.

Still, something about the way you’d gradually curled in on yourself and avoided most of the night’s conversations makes him feel worried. It gives him the sinking feeling that if he doesn’t ask about it now, you’ll let tonight play out like nothing’s wrong; you’ll sweep it under the rug and when he asks about it next time, you’ll dust it off like it never happened to begin with.

Then he’ll never know.

And, that doesn’t sit well with him at all.

His eyes glance over at the directions on his CarPlay. The breath he takes is crucial, inhaled with contemplation before it’s released with his decision.

At the end of the song’s chorus, right before it changes key for the bridge, Megumi takes a detour. His palm lays flat on the wheel as he turns it to the left abruptly. An excuse waits at the tip of his tongue, ready to spill out for when you say—

“I think we were supposed to go straight…” your voice trails off, equal parts unsure and fragile.

“Gojo-sensei wants me to check out a property,” he lies, straight through his teeth. It doesn’t sound too far off from a real possibility.

“Oh,” you mumble, more resigned than usual as your fingers reach for the screen. “Do you want me to pin it?”

“No need,” he pauses, eyes momentarily flitting over to your hand.

The thought simmers for only a second before he reaches for your fingers with his own, interlacing them together and stroking your knuckles with his thumb; back and forth, gently.

It’s a habit he’s developed in well over the year that you’ve been together; a grounding sign of his affection that no longer flusters him as much as it used to. It means many things, but he hopes you can tell what he’s trying to say right now—

“I want you to tell me what you’re thinking,” as he rests your interlaced hands on your thigh.

The warmth on your lap causes you to look up, your lips curling up into a tight smile.

His grip on the steering wheel tightens.

Maybe you think it does the job, but Megumi knows you; he knows how you breathe when you’re anxious, knows the way your eyelashes flutter when you’re on the brink of tears. He knows when your smile isn’t any bit genuine, when it fails to reach your eyes and you turn away quickly as if to hide that fact.

He clasps your hands together and squeezes.

You hold your breath, turning your head to watch the view: city buildings reverting back to trees.

It runs down the side of the road in an endless stream, along with time, and the unease that settles in his stomach when you don’t respond to his squeeze with familiar grip.

He looks on ahead.

Megumi has no idea where the fuck he’s driving to; the directions on his CarPlay constantly reroute him back to your neighborhood, but he’s taking every wrong turn and crossing every road he isn’t supposed to just to buy some more time to stay in this ride with you.

“This is that new artist you’ve been talking about lately, right?” he attempts.

You only hum.

The car slows for a red on the stoplight ahead, and he tells himself he’ll give you this time and wait until it ends. If after this, you’re still quiet—

It turns green.

—”Is everything okay?” he makes sure to look at you when he asks.

When your eyes meet his, he can already tell what front you’re about to play up. It’s painful when he watches your face shift into something else, eyes forcibly widening as your smile pulls tightly at your cheeks.

“Yep! Why wouldn’t it be?”

He hates it.

How can you pretend to sound happy in front of him, of all people, too?

He turns away, eyes focusing back on the road. Your hand remains clasped in his, still unmoving; Megumi doesn’t know you like this—you’ve only ever squeezed back just as tightly, if not more, holding onto him all the way home.

The furrow between his brows deepens as his finger taps lightly on the wheel. Restless.

He allows the silence to stretch on.

A few more minutes find him driving past missed turns and wrong roundabouts, the scenery around you transforming into empty fields of tall grass dimly lit by lampposts. The lights fade in and out on repeat, casting itself as hazy, muddled hues upon your face.

Megumi glances from time-to-time, catching your reflection on the window of his passenger seat.

The expression on your face remains tight, pulled together in an effort to keep it together. And Megumi isn’t typically one to pry, nor is he the type to outright intervene with what others are going through—

But, he just wants you to tell him what’s wrong.

The feeling scratches at him, a quiet torture as it turns him impatient. He can only grind his teeth.

Your songs continue to play as he drives down empty roads, each one turning sadder than the last. And he wonders for a moment when it’ll end; if listening to these songs for long enough will make you feel any better—enough at least, for you to begin to open up.

In the midst of his rumination, you move, angling yourself away from him ever so slightly as you reach up to run your fingers through your hair, microfleece sleeve brushing against your cheeks lightly.

You don’t think he sees you, he’s sure, but he spots you on your reflection—

The window of his passenger seat is pitch black, already heavily tinted on its own, but exacerbated more by the darkness of the evening outside. It lends itself as the perfect blank slate to return any image that light casts upon it. Tonight, its subject happens to be you.

—with tears streaming down your face.

And it makes his chest ache, heart sinking straight to his stomach.

The breath you take is heartbreakingly still, a staggered inhale that is so careful and so considerate of the fact that you don’t want him to hear it hitch. Your lips are trembling, bitten down to keep in any sob that might spill out.

Megumi hates this the most, he’s decided.

He clenches his jaw.

Just a few meters ahead is a clearing lit up by another lamppost. The road is vacant enough for him to pull the car over to the side, still leaving room for other cars to pass by.

So he decides.

Pushing the hazard button and signaling to turn, Megumi slows the car down to a stop. You wipe at your face quickly when you notice, trying discreetly to fix yourself up before facing him.

“Did something happen?”

Your sniffle slips.

He doesn’t say anything, shifting the gear into park as he leans back on his seat. The leather squeaks under his movement, each noise amplified now that the car is completely still.

Megumi takes a deep breath.

“Nothing happened,” he starts, considering his next actions very carefully as he turns to face you.

His fingers reach up slowly, gently wiping at the tips of your eyelashes; your tears glisten at its tips.

Something in your expression shifts, the front you put up gradually turning into guilt.

(He knows; he’s noticed you this entire night.)

Time stops for Megumi in moments you never know: when you laugh, and your cheeks lift life to your eyes; when you hold him, by hand or by heart—he can’t tell the difference sometimes; when you tell him you love him, whether whispered against his collarbone or spoken through your lips locked in his.

You look pretty in all of them, you always do; even now, drowning in the fabric of his clothes with strands of your hair kissing your nose.

It’s enough to already make his chest hurt.

But then your tears begin to spill over, rushing down in streams over your cheeks, and he can’t put a name to this feeling—this immense pressure that sinks down to his stomach, twisting and aching. It’s worse than what he felt moments ago.

His thumbs press themselves to the dampness under your eyes, wiping away where he can as he cradles the rest of your face.

Megumi is the last person anyone would ever call to handle tears, but his body moves on its own when it leans towards you. It feels natural, right, when his lips rest softly against your forehead, fingers slotting themselves around your ears.

Your hands hold onto his wrists firmly, as if grounding yourself.

“Please tell me what’s wrong.”

He adjusts himself, quickly releasing his seatbelt to lean over the center console. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, and—

(It’s hard, you want to tell him. Nothing ever seems enough sometimes.)

You tuck your face in the crook of his neck, your arms hooking themselves around his back and onto his shoulders.

“Did I–” he starts, unsure, as he brings a hand up to cradle the back of your head, “Is it it me?”

You shake your head.

(Of course, it isn’t. How can it be?)

“I don’t know what to do, Megumi,” you mumble, choked up as you inch away from him to rub at your eyes.

He waits for you to continue.

“We just graduated,” your fingers grip at your pants, “I should be happy, and I am, but,” you hiccup, “everyone has all these plans and big dreams and,” a deep breath, “I don’t even know what I want to do.”

(Your tears soak through your speech, punctuating them in drenched uncertainty.

Everything throbs, a heavy thumping beating in your head. The only thing that cuts through is the familiar ‘click’ of the door unlocking, Megumi’s hand on the handle as you turn towards him curiously.)

“Let’s step outside,” he directs, his door already half-open.

When you move to follow suit, he turns off the engine before stepping outside.

The crisp air of spring is sharper in the evening, littering goosebumps down the sides of his arms. A breeze picks up and brushes against his ears, but being near you, in any capacity, has always been enough to make his insides feel warm.

He circles around the front of the car to get to your side, pausing a few steps in front of you, as if asking for permission.

You take a step and then another, tears welling up as you inch closer for a hug.

“I don’t know,” you admit, voice small as you slack in his hold. He tucks you under his chin, hand cradling the back of your head again. “I always thought I’d figure it out eventually,” you continue, “but we’re here and I haven’t, and…”

Your grip on him tightens.

“Did anyone trigger this earlier?” he asks softly, his finger rubbing against the nape of your neck.

(That’s the problem, though—there isn’t anyone in particular. You know Megumi is asking so he can steer you clear of any future interactions with said person, but that’s not the case; it’s all you and the things you’ve overheard. All you and the things you see on your social media feed—an insecurity that drowns out anything else around you.

People often mean well when they ask what you’re up to, but your response always leaves a bitter, acrid aftertaste when you feel like you can never give them an honest answer.)

You shake your head, digging your face deeper into his neck. Your lips tickle his skin when you speak, “Just overheard stuff.”

Megumi sighs, holding you closer.

He blinks once, taking in the clear open fields and the endless road ahead. Up above, stars splatter white against the sky, and if he listens closely, he’ll hear the faintest hiss of the springtime breeze.

“It’s all just… noise,” he mumbles, lips pressing on the crown of your head. “You always tell me…” in the depths of his mind he fishes for a memory as proof, “everything else is just noise when you have me and good music with you.”

He feels shy recounting it word-by-word, heat rising to his cheeks; but Megumi has never been good at comfort, and this is his honest attempt at that.

You chuckle sadly, a little watery as you reply, “It’ll just be me and the music when you leave though.”

And even though this is your honest attempt at taking the situation lightly, the statement hits him square in the chest with its gravity.

He hums and chooses to linger with you in the quiet, the occasional wisps of wind whizzing in the background.

There’s not a lot Megumi can say that’ll make any of his statements valid, because all his plans have been laid out since his third year in uni: work his way through his course (which he did, in flying colors, actually), bag an internship (which he also did, for an extended contract too), and eventually land a job offer (which he also just did, a few days ago for a company in Kyoto).

But, there is one thing he knows he can say with utmost certainty:

“We’ll figure it out together.”

Your head whips up quickly, brows furrowing as you give him a look.

(If it’s what you think he’s implying, you won’t allow it. He has to—)

“...’ll still go. You’ll kill me if I don’t.” he huffs, leaning back to get a better look at you.

You look confused.

(Megumi staying behind in Tokyo isn’t even an option for you; not when he has an attractive offer waiting for him in Kyoto, and most especially not when the only reason he’d be staying is because of you.

You’d been the one who encouraged him to apply and you promised yourself that you’d continue to support him all the way through. The fact that he’s leaving is sad, but you’ll never forgive yourself if you end up being the reason he’s held back from something so good.)

“I’ll visit,” he tucks your hair behind your ear, “or you can stay with me whenever you want while we figure something out for you.”

“You can lean on me.”

(His eyes meet yours sincerely, deep blue speckled with street-lit hues. It’s honest, and he only means to reassure you, but something inside you is saying—)

“You’re not… you’re not a failure, or a disappointment, or whatever, just because you’re having a hard time figuring it out by yourself.” he continues to speak, finding the right words as his hands fall down to press on your waist. “It’s why I’m here.”

(—you should still feel bad. Your life is your responsibility, and Megumi shouldn’t be the one holding onto all the pieces when you’re struggling to get it together. And yet—)

When you open your mouth to rebut, Megumi, somehow, already knows what you’re about to say.

“It’s not baggage, and even if you insist it is,” he pauses, as if working a way to verbalize how he feels. His eyes hold yours in this moment, tears welling up along your lash line; there is a weight to what he’s about to reveal.

He takes a breath, swallowing.

“I want to take it on with you.”

Your tears fall and Megumi catches them, his thumbs gently pressing against your cheeks.

(There are a lot more thoughts racing through your mind, but for now you focus on the peace he offers you. Megumi is rarely verbal with his feelings, so hearing him be so open like this means more to you than anything.)

“Okay,” you rest your forehead against his collarbone.

Megumi pulls you closer as you both stand by his car, his arms a steady stronghold that grounds you. He gives you a few more moments of quiet until he feels ready to ask, “Are you ready to head home?”

You lift your face from his chest, eyes puffed up and a little dry. Your hand searches for his, interlacing your fingers together when you find it resting against the small of your back.

“Can we drive for a little bit longer?”

He nods and his lips curl up into a smile, small and knowing as he opens the car door.

But before you go back in, his hands take hold of yours, rubbing them gently to heat them from the cold. He brings your fingertips up to his lips, the display of affection rendering him pink, still (to you, the look on his face never gets old); he kisses them lightly before he lets go, walking to his side of the car so he can stay on this drive for as long as you’d like, until you’re ready to go home.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed! thank you so much for reading 🥺 writing this was deeply personal, and writing megs will always be one of my favourite things 🥺

thank you notes: @pastelle-rabbit for thinking about drive megs with me and sending me songs! 🥺 + @ceroseis @mieiri for everything always 🥺

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡