Work Text:
Toji wakes from his light doze when Tsumiki kindly shuts the door as quietly as she can. He inhales deeply, and relishes in the warm afternoon sun dancing softly behind his eyelids, awareness of the world coming to him in a slow trickle, and daydreams of a past life fading away. On his exhale he opens his eyes, and though he means to stretch himself out into wakefulness, a weight against his side stills him.
Megumi sits tucked into his left. There’s plenty of room on their living room couch, yet Toji is squished completely to the edge, nestled between the right arm and his sleepy little son. He’s nodding off, head bobbing this way and that, yet he wears an incredible pout on his lips, brows furrowed in concentration as he folds a new origami piece. Another frog, probably. He’s accumulated an army of them, lime green and bright, each with a pair of googly eyes glued on and littered throughout the living room. Already he’s mastered the classic crane, bunnies, and even wolves. Toji glances at the clock. It’s nearly time for Megumi’s nap, and some fuzzy part of his mind pieces together that he must’ve dozed off after expending his energy trying to encourage a fussy Megumi to eat. He’d been ill this whole week and throwing up a lot last night, as if he were vomiting the last of his fever out of him, and while the fit did for the most part break the sickness, Megumi had grown awfully weak from it as a result, low on nutrition and too afraid to eat in the aftermath. Toji had only managed to coax a spoon of porridge into Megumi before he ducked away and sneaked off into Tsumiki’s room.
Toji doesn’t want to move just yet. He blinks his eyes lazily, zoned out and head oddly empty. He’s been feeling that a lot lately. He spares a glance down at their coffee table. There’s a post-it note stuck on his coffee mug that hadn’t been there before. No words adorn it, but there is a message. A drawing of a girl. Forehead lined neatly and trimmed with bangs and boxy glasses, topped off with an evil grin in Tsumiki’s graceful penmanship. It looks kind of like a gremlin, very well done. So she’s gone over to Maki’s then.
A body shifts, and Megumi’s tiny hand comes into view, grabbing the glue stick and the final pair of googly eyes from the arts and crafts box. His folded frog sits in his lap, and he wrestles with the cap of the glue stick, twisting his wrists all kinds of ways, expression somehow looking even grumpier. Toji can’t help but chuckle at his sour faced son, trying not to find too much amusement in watching him struggle.
But then the cap does suddenly pop off, and the force of it pulls his elbow back right into Toji’s ribs.
“Oh!” Megumi exclaims quietly, delighted at himself and wholly oblivious. He turns to see his father’s reaction, and gasps when he sees Toji doubled over and trembling.
“Oh!” he exclaims again, however it sounds distressed now, and he frets in panic, dropping everything in a clutter to scramble up on his knees. “D-daddy? Daddy, what’s wrong?”
Toji can’t answer just yet, trying his damndest to remember how to breathe and get the air back in his lungs. It doesn’t work out too well though, because when he finally inhales he chokes on his saliva and goes through a coughing fit. Pathetic. Head still bent down, he gestures for Megumi to hand him his coffee mug, and Megumi passes it quickly into his hands, confused. Toji tries to sip. It’s empty. He finished it earlier. He hacks wildly, and stumbles out of the couch and to the kitchen, slipping on a few on the frogs. He rummages for the water pitcher in the fridge. Megumi says something, but Toji can’t hear through his ugly noise. At last he pours the water, some of it sloshing onto the counter and dripping down, and there is only silence as he takes big gulps down, throat finally soothed and lungs easing. He breathes, sighing heavily. Glad that his wife wasn’t home to see that (talk about embarrassing). Grateful that Tsumiki or Maki wasn’t here (that whole fiasco was one-hundred percent blackmail material).
He hears a sniffle.
Oh. Oh my god.
Megumi stands in the center of the living room, stock still and tears streaming down onto the carpet. Toji rushes to him and Megumi begins wailing before he’s even scooped into his arms.
“Oh no, no no no baby shhh,” he soothes, stroking Megumi’s head and tucking his face into his shoulder. Megumi sobs, wrapping his arms around him. “What’s wrong? Did I scare you? Hm?” He walks back to the couch, shuffling the frogs in his path delicately out of the way with his feet, and shifts Megumi’s weight to one arm to pick up the dropped art supplies and place them away back into the box. Sagging back into the couch slowly, Toji tries to lift his son’s face to inspect his damage. Megumi stays stubbornly put, nose pressed into Toji’s neck. Tears soak into his shirt. He strokes Megumi’s back in downward motions, slowing his breathing so that Megumi unconsciously begins to try and match it. A few minutes pass with Toji repeating this pattern, until he tries again.
“Baby, will you talk to me? What’s made you upset?”
A long pause. Toji knows he’s not being ignored. Megumi’s always been very introspective. He doesn’t speak much for his age, though his vocabulary is above average. Not because he doesn’t want to or can’t, but simply because he places such great care into the things he says. Each word is weighted, and all holding immense value. Toji will always be patient if it means that Megumi will continue to practice this rare honesty.
“Y-you were struggling with something, and I couldn’t help you,” he admits, voice broken. “I felt helpless. And then you left! Again. Without a word.”
... Again? Something tugs insistently at his mind, in his soul, begging him to remember. Had he done this before? Made his only son cry this way? He can’t remember. Not yet, at least.
Megumi whimpers, lifting himself up to look right into his eyes. “I was afraid.”
Something breaks down and crumbles. Maybe it’s Toji’s heart. He lifts Megumi’s chin, taking a good look at his face. Cherubic. Round. His cheeks are flushed from exertion, and perhaps sleepiness still, yet his doe eyes are clearer than ever, deep green and absorbing everything the world has to offer with a vulnerability like no other. Tears cling to his lashes. Toji lifts his thumb to gently swipe them away.
“Afraid of me?”
A hand wraps around his thumb. “Of losing you,” Megumi corrects.
“None of that was your fault,” Toji says urgently. He swallows a lump in his throat. Why are feelings so hard to talk about? Why the hell is his son way better at this? It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t. Toji is a firm believer in equivalent exchange. Megumi gave him his truths today, so who the hell would Toji be if he didn’t reciprocate?
He resumes stroking Megumi’s back. “Sometimes baby...sometimes Daddy’s head feels weird. Kind of empty. Like - well, like I’m missing something. And when Daddy feels like that, he gets so caught up on what’s missing on the inside, it’s easy to miss things on the outside. Does that make sense?”
Megumi hums. “That’s a lot of misses.”
“Yeah,” Toji agrees.
“...I think, I think I’m missing something too. So sometimes I miss things, just like you do.” Brows furrow against his neck. Always in concentration. “Maybe we can find what’s missing together.”
Megumi hugs him again. Despite his tiredness, he still musters up his strength to cling desperately to his father.
An emotion wells up in Toji then, unbidden and overwhelming. This was all so bizarre. There has to be some explanation for this behavior. When he thinks about it, Megumi is just as oddly cautious of Toji as he is clingy, and it makes him question how he’s doing as a parent. Dwelling on doubts wouldn’t get him anywhere though, so Toji promises that he’d open up about it to his wife and prayed that he would keep it. And for now, he’d commit to showing Megumi that he was loved in any shape or form he could think of.
Sweet, sweet Megumi. Fascinated with the creatures of the earth. Stubborn in what his young mind is gradually cultivating him to believe. Devoted t0 his family. Resilient in living.
Toji wants to cry.
“My blessing,” he whispers instead, trying for composure. He’s never called him that, but it comes out naturally, albeit choked. Megumi doesn’t say anything, just sighs happily and in peace in his father’s arms.
“That’s me.”