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1-
The first storm that Meguni witnessed was when he was still little more than a baby. He shouldn't remember, considering how small he was, childhood memories were always hazy things that got tangled up in the back of his head in an amorphous mass, but for some reason, that March night he remembered.
The torrential rain drumming on the ceiling, the thunderous noise, rays like angry arrows of God reflecting luminous and terrible through the windows for seconds of great light.
Megumi remembered to cry and his screams were drowned out by the noise and, therefore, cry even more.
Everything was very big, very high, very clear, very scary and no matter how much he hid under the covers and pillows, he still felt like he was going to shatter into millions of pieces at any moment. He felt alone and full of mountains. Cliffs and shards of glass and lead with mercury on the tongue.
He cried until his voice was gone and when it did, he cried silently until his tears dried up.
The storm roared, wild and angry, outside and Megumi trembled, trembled, trembled ...
That was the first storm of many. The first collapse of many.
Megumi, until today, did not like storms.
2-
Gojo was immature, irresponsible and, for the most part, appeared to have only one neuron that often took smoking breaks. Megumi knew this even at the tender age of six, when he was conferred on the man's shifting tutelage and began to wonder if he would even survive to adolescence.
Megumi was not a demanding child and knew that. He barely spoke, barely ate and barely complained. A perfect boy, sculpted by silence and caution, fingers too shaky to be rebellious, eyes too frightened to pose a challenge.
Children are to be seen, not heard, and Megumi was a porcelain doll perfect for the wide range of adults he met. The tall, serious men with feverish eyes who said that he must be theirs, that they could have bought him seemed content with his dumbness and stillness and so, even when he ended up at Satoru's house, he did not insist on trying to be something different from that.
Even so, it was still a surprise when Gojo acted differently than expected so far from those other adults who looked at him as if he was a commodity to be bargained for.
The man's hands were always the softest when they took him in his arms, the right hand cradling the curve of his spine and the left carefully holding the back of his neck, as if he were still a very small child or a baby, as if a very sudden movement could hurt him forever.
But Megumi didn't complain about it, it was always like that on stormy nights.
Gojo would sit in his armchair, the one that faced the windows and nest him in his lap, close enough for Megumi to smell the sweet vanilla, licorice and powdered sugar. Gojo always smelled like a walking candy store and the boy couldn't care less. It was a soft, comfortable scent that didn't bother him. Familiar as lying on a soft bed.
The rain running down the glass, the noise of thunder and the brightness of the lightning were easier to face when he was so close to someone like that.
The man's fingers slid through the dark tangle that was his hair, the blunt nails brushing his scalp in an easy, steady motion. Predictable. Comforting. Megumi liked things that had patterns that he could see and understand.
The boy clutched the green yukata in his hands. Gojo always used those when it was late and wanted to relax a little, it was soft and pliable against his fingers almost the same as the blue he was wearing at the time. He peeked his curious fingers over the white obi, where there was a small opening, just enough for him to stick his hand in.
The man's heartbeat on his palm also had a rhythm. It was constant. It was a pattern. It was good.
Gojo hummed softly, his blue eyes uncovered that had previously stared out at the storm, bending down to meet his.
“When I was your age, storms scared me a lot too, you know?” he commented quietly, as if confessing a secret “I spent hours crying on my futon, shaking with fear.”
Megumi could imagine. He had done the same thing multiple times.
“Do you know what they were doing to raise babies in Greece, Megumi-chan? Those in particular who were supposed to be soldiers?”
Megumi shook her head slightly.
Gojo smiled at him. Kid and very sad. Full of edges.
“When the baby started to cry, you shouldn't go to the bedroom to comfort him. You have to let the boy cry for hours and hours and hours” Gojo held his face between his fingers very carefully, very softly, very hesitantly “This was how strong and capable soldiers were created, Megumi-chan, with an iron will”
Man's thumb stroked his cheek once, twice, as if he were something immensely precious.
"I'm going to raise you to be weak," he murmured as if it wasn't for him to hear.''It's okay?"
The boy didn't feel like it was a question for him, he just imagined that there was some line between him that he couldn't read. A question or secret that was being said and that he still couldn't hear.
However, the smell of sweets and the sound of the rain calming down were too tender. He was warm and comfortable.
Megumi contained a yawn.
“I want to sleep” he mumbled, the fragile timbre pulling on the sleeve of Gojo's yukata “Can you play with my hair again?”.
The man's expression slowly softened and he leaned over, placing a soft kiss on his forehead, as he always did when he started to doze.
“Of course, Megumi-chan, please get some sleep” And his fingers went back to their constant work on his hair. The brushing slowly, but calmly.
The storm was a background noise.
3-
He was already an adult.
Well, almost an adult.
Granted! He was a teenager, but it was still an excuse.
By the age of 15 he must have been old enough to stop being frightened by lightning, thunder and the like. It was just rain outside. Noisy and luminous rain, but only rain after all. Nothing to fear when he was protected in the dorms, not a drop of water apparent.
He could also leave the room and try to sleep, but he had the subtle feeling that not being able to see anyone in his vicinity would only make him more anxious. Not that he was no longer trying not to jump at the sound of thunder or sudden flashes, but still ...
Even Yuuji, who had the sensory perception of a door, had started to ask if he was okay and he could see the concerned looks that were being thrown at him from the kitchen along with Nobara.
Gojo had been in there too for few minutes now and Megumi was pretending that he wasn’t two little thunders away from going there as well and begging for a few minutes of attention. Maybe even a tranquilizer for him to be knocked down until dawn and not have to go through the experience of splintering his nerves.
“Here!”
Megumi flinched in fright, suddenly anchored in reality and not in his mental spiral.
Gojo was leaning close to him, holding out a steaming cup filled with a whitish, pasty liquid.
That was ...
“Burned milk, with honey and cinnamon” Gojo supplied cheerfully with a smile plastered on his face “You still like it, don't try to hide it.”
Megumi felt the blush go up her face, looking away with a sullen snort.
It was a cold day drink and living with a person so widely addicted to sugar it was no surprise that he, too, had acquired at least one overly sweet drink as his guilty pleasure.
It was also his comfort drink for when he wasn't feeling well.
Like now.
Megumi sighed, taking the cup from between her fingers. Hot, but not enough to burn your fingers. Gojo had probably cooled the cups as he always did when he gave him something to drink, as if he were too fragile to withstand a slight change in temperature.
It has always been that way since he was a child.
"Thank you," he grumbled reluctantly, not looking at the man, staring at the steam coming out of the liquid.
“Drink, you will feel better afterwards” Gojo sat down next to him, crossing his legs “It will calm you down a little.”
"I don't need to calm down," he lied, sipping the milk. It was hot and very, very sweet, almost nauseating despite the taste of cinnamon. Perfect.
“It's an bad storm, it's okay to feel a little uneasy, Megumi-chan” Gojo ruffled your hair, the most gentle gesture you could imagine “You can go to my room today if you think you won't be able to sleep well , OK?”
The boy rolled his eyes, shuddering at the loud, sudden noise of thunder in the distance. His fingers tightening on the warm ceramic in his hands, nervous.
Gojo frowned and despite the blindfold, Megumi knew that his eyes were narrowed with concern as well.
He took another long drink. The heat was good, at least, even though he was still a bundle of nervous energy. The rain was just increasing, with no sign of a respite.
Gojo leaned over, sighing, an arm wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer until they were almost glued together. He kissed her temple gently and Megumi made a noise of displeasure, even though he didn't feel particularly displeased.
But Nobara and Yuuji were still watching and he had a reputation to maintain.
“Finish your drink, then let's go to bed, all right?”he muttered under her breath, just for him to listen “I'll even let you put one of your fleas on top of the sheets.”
“They don't have fleas” he huffed, rolling his eyes, but leaning back a little more against the man. He was still small enough, at least by comparison, to sand fit under your chin “You have a better chance of having fleas than they do.”
“What an ugly thing to say to your dad, Megumi-chan” Gojo shook his head, in denial “And after I was so kind to you.”
Megumi looked away, suddenly ashamed.
Dad.
He had started at some point after his seventh birthday. There were no major revelations or confessions or tears or cries.
He called. Gojo accepted. It was what it was, but at times he still felt weird and strangely comforted by that prospect.
He was probably allergic to feelings.
He finished the cup with a few more long, satisfied sips. The lingering taste of sugar on the tongue and the roof of the mouth along with the mild heat in the hands and stomach, landing him there, despite the storm that was raging through Tokyo. There was also the familiar warmth of the arm weighing against his shoulders, the smell of confectionery, cakes and icing that accompanied Satoru wherever he went. Familiar. Constant.
He felt his eyes heavy, unintentionally. It was too early for him to start feeling sleepy, but the yawn that he forced himself to contain proved the opposite.
“Sleep?” Gojo took the cup out of his hands, placing it on the small table next to the sofá “Don’t worry about it, you really need to rest.”
Megumi leaned her head against his chest, burying her nose in the fold of the older man's collarbone, pressing her fingers reflexively into his shirt. Her eyes closed without her permission.
There was something about a cup of cinnamon-burned milk and hugs that automatically made him want to curl up in a ball and sleep.
Gojo laughed softly and Megumi more felt the sound resound in her sternum that she heard resonate.
“Okay, get up now, let's go to bed” He gently shook his shoulder, being rewarded with a little grunt “Nah, Megumi-chan, you can't sleep on the couch.”
"Why not?"
“Because” he replied calmly, pushing some unruly strands out of his face “Let's go to the room now, before you pass out here.”
Megumi considered for a solid two minutes just to extend her arms in a silent request to be carried, like the spoiled child he had been and, in some ways, still was, before dismissing the idea.
Gojo would never let him forget that again.
However, he still had a potent secret weapon that still fulfilled his wishes.
He opened one of his eyes, slightly glazed by the prospect of a long nap, and looked at the man from under his lashes. A small pout insinuates himself on his lips.
"Daddy, please?"
Megumi contained the smile, watching the man dismount right in front of his eyes and accepting the tightness on his lightly colored cheeks.
Gojo cooed softly at him, kissing his forehead fondly.
"You have me wrapped around your little finger and you know that, don't you?" The man sighed dramatically, pulling him into his arms as if he were no heavier than a feather.
Gojo got up with him in his arms and Megumi vaguely rambled on whether the man was really that strong or was using some spell to aid the movement. He was not that light.
The way to the bedroom, at least, was not a long one. Just a few steps above the living room and around the first left.
Megumi was used to it, having made the same journey since he was just a shy little boy and very listless for his own good.
It was a large room and even today Megumi found it completely unfair that he was relegated to a single bed, while Gojo had a king-size bed in which he barely slept.
Satoru carefully deposited it on the dark sheets.
Always the same care since when he was only six, as if he hadn’t aged one day.
I will raise you to be weak.
It seemed slightly mean at the time, but now it was more like:
I will create you with love.
Gojo pulled the covers up, covering him. The sheets were impregnated with the sweet smell, but there it was deeper with more characteristic notes that were part of his entire childhood. Megumo pressed his nose there hard.
At that point, he had probably slept in his father's bed more often than in his and he didn't regret it, although as the years went by, he started to wonder when exactly he should have stopped. Or if he ever would. Or if for the first time in his life Gojo Satoru was going to set parental limits and kick him out on some random night.
Gojo sat on the bed, fluffing some pillows on which he was leaning.
“When I caught you, I was always told not to let you sleep in my bed" he commented, as if reading your thoughts “Because you would get used to it and then I would have a teenager who won't come out of my pillows as if it were a big , big problem, you know?”
Gojo laughed softly, as if it were a joke that only they both understood.
“As if there was something wrong with allowing a child to come to you when they're scared or nervous” Gojo ruffled his hair “I'd rather you never sleep out of my bed than spend a night in fear, Megumi-chan, you know that, don't you?”
Megumi bit his lip, fidgeting on the sheets, hiding his face in the soft pillows.
“I know, pa” he murmured almost inaudible, pressing her fingers on the sheets “Are you going to sleep now, with me?”
“Not yet, but I'll stay here with you” Gojo stood up with a last pat on her hair “Unless you want a closer company?”
“Nah” Megumi yawned for a long time “But can you play for me?”
Satoru smiled slightly, nodding, as he headed for the dresser where he kept the violin case. It was a beautiful piece that was present in all moments of Megumi's childhood. The wood was white as snow, contrasted with the dark bow and the ropes.
“What do you want me to play?” he asked, opening the case and taking out the instrument “Something classic?”
“Something easy” he answer, squinting, he didn't think he was going to spend much time concentrating on the sound before going to sleep.
Gojo threw himself on the chair next to the bed, the relaxed posture that would infarct any violinist, and leaned the violin under his chin, positioning the bow on the strings and starting to play.
Megumi snorted loudly, listening to the familiar notes of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star filling the room.
It was good like that, Megumi could hardly hear the rain or thunder. The curtains closed hiding the brightness of the rays, bringing a comfortable half light to your eyes that weighed more every second.
He sank his nose deeper into the sheets, breathing in the familiar scent, his muscles relaxing on the mattress.
With the storm as nothing more than an insignificant background noise, Megumi slept.