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Satoru jolts awake to silence.
He blinks up at his ceiling blankly, more than a little surprised by the abrupt awakening and the lack of lingering sleepiness that he would usually feel after first waking up. The apartment is chillingly silent, not in the comfortable, peaceful way that it usually is. Instead, there’s a distinct wrongness to the air, a feeling that something isn’t right twisting in Satoru’s gut.
There are no curses in the vicinity. No sound coming from outside, not even the rumble of a passing car. Which leaves only…
The kids.
Ah, of course.
Satoru sighs and throws the blankets off of himself, getting to his feet and stretching out a crick in his neck as he makes his way towards his shut door. The only source of light in the apartment is the hallway light that he leaves on in case any of them need to get up in the middle of the night for water or the bathroom or anything else.
It’s been a little over four weeks since Tsumiki and Megumi came into his care, and their time together has been… stiff. Well, not really with Tsumiki, who is a sweet child all on her own and hardly ever causes Satoru problems. No, the problem lies more with his unsteady relationship with Megumi.
Megumi is a relatively quiet kid, maybe a bit moody or snarky at times, but overall withdrawn when he’s not insulting Satoru or being a pissy little brat. He doesn’t smile and doesn’t laugh and is loads more independent than any first-grader has the right to be. If Satoru were anyone else, he may even be a little concerned at how self-sufficient Megumi is capable of being.
Unfortunately, he was all too aware of the kids’ situation before he took them into his care. So it doesn’t surprise him, really. In fact, it’s convenient. It means that he doesn’t have to walk Tsumiki and Megumi to school or pick them up (though he doubts that Megumi would allow that either way). Tsumiki is even a fairly decent cook; for all that she has to stand on the tips of her toes just for her chin to reach above the counter.
Tsumiki’s door is closest to his, closed but unlocked. Satoru peeks in, greeted by the sight of her splayed out on her back, mouth open slightly, and blankets strewn around her, hair splayed all over her pillow. He watches the sight for a moment before ducking back into the hallway, shutting the door with a click.
Tsumiki is sound asleep. Which just leaves Megumi.
Progressing further down the hallway, he finds Megumi’s door shut too. Satoru cracks it open and sticks his head through.
Megumi has his back turned to the door, curled up close to himself, blankets covering all but his spiky head of dark hair from view. He doesn’t stir at the slight creak the door makes, his side rising and falling. His breaths are quiet, but there is a distinct wetness to them that Satoru may not have even noticed had his ears not been particularly sensitive from being freshly woken.
He isn’t really equipped for these kinds of talks, but he figures that it is a part of his responsibility, being Megumi’s legal guardian and all. He watches the sight for a little before suppressing his sigh.
“Megumi,” Satoru says matter-of-factly, “if you’re gonna pretend to be asleep, at least be good at faking it.”
Megumi visibly tenses, but doesn’t turn around or even give up the act. Stubborn. Satoru really does sigh this time, widening the door and stepping in quietly.
“Me-gu-mi,” he singsongs, separating each syllable and drawing out the last. “I know you’re awake. Your breathing gives it away.” He approaches the bed and pokes the kid in the back gently. “You wanna tell me why you’re crying?”
Megumi curls further into himself, bringing his knees closer to his chest and tugging the blankets tighter around him. “‘M not crying,” he mutters in an unsteady voice that is definitely raspy and wet from doing that very thing.
He wags a finger—though he knows the kid can’t see it—and plops down on the side of the bed heavily, biting down his amusement when the kid bounces up from Satoru’s weight settling on the mattress and huffs in irritation. “I find it hard to believe that anyone would be willingly awake at—” he glances at the clock on Megumi’s nightstand. “—three in the morning, Megumi.”
“You’re awake too,” the kid hisses, his words muffled by the blanket pressing into his face. “And you’re not my dad.” Which sounds a lot like Megumi for fuck off, Satoru. Satoru winces; he’s the reason that the kid doesn’t have a dad in the first place.
“I’m awake because a certain sniffly someone—” he pokes the kid in the back again, biting down the spark of annoyance that threatens to rise from being roused from his sleep and having to deal with Megumi’s attitude so early in the day. “—woke me up.”
From the tiny sliver of his face that Satoru can see through the dark, Megumi looks a bit guilty. “Sorry,” he mumbles.
Uneasiness pools in Satoru’s gut at the apology. Okay, now he knows that something is wrong.
He sits there debating what to do for a little while, the silence that encompasses them not exactly uncomfortable but definitely not easy either. Megumi sniffles from time to time, obviously still recovering from whatever had caused him to be upset. Satoru is willing to bet that it was some sort of bad dream, as is common with kids like Megumi.
Silently, he gets up from the bed. If Megumi cares, he doesn’t say anything, simply letting Satoru stroll right back out of the room and into the hallway.
Satoru heads towards the kitchen, passing by Tsumiki’s closed door and his own open one. Flicking on the light, he blinks against the sudden brightness and squints his way towards the counter.
He tugs out the kettle, fills it up with water, then sets it on its bottom and flicks the switch to get it going. Reaching for the cupboards next, he tugs out a small box of tea, peering into it when he notices how light it is and clicking his tongue at the single packet he finds inside.
Oh well, it’ll do. Satoru tugs the packet out and tosses the box in the trash, opening another cupboard and fishing out a white mug. He closes the door with his foot, humming softly under his breath. The kettle begins to steam.
By the time he returns to Megumi’s room, a new cup of tea in his hand, the kid still hasn’t gone back to sleep. He does turn around this time when Satoru enters, flicking the light on as he goes, the door creaking when he nudges it open with his shoulder, a hint of surprise visible in his dark eyes before it flattens into annoyance.
“I thought you left,” he says, almost petulant in the way that it comes out. Satoru grins wide.
“Can’t get rid of me that easily,” he winks, stopping at the edge of the bed. He holds the cup out. “Drink this.”
Megumi squints at the cup like it’s deadly poison. “What is this.”
“Tea.” Satoru doesn’t let his smile drop. “Chamomile.”
Megumi probably doesn’t know what that is, if the flat look that he sends Satoru says anything. Nonetheless, he makes a big show of huffing before shuffling to sit up with his back against the headboard, and reaches out to take the cup.
With the light on and Megumi having finally yanked his head out of his blankets, the redness to his eyes is visible, along with the dried tear tracks on his cheeks and the squinty-eyed way he is glaring at Satoru, as if trying very hard not to sniffle or tear up even more.
“Careful,” he warns, mostly because he thinks he’s legally obligated to and because he doesn’t wanna be the reason that he has to take Megumi to Shoko at three in the morning for second degree tea burns. “It’s hot.”
“‘M not stupid,” Megumi mutters. “I can see that.” When all Satoru does is shrug, his smile unwavering, the kid simply huffs again and cradles the mug close to his chest, knees propped up and his hands curling nearly protectively around it. He sniffs it, then glares down at the rising steam like it has personally offended him, and looks at Satoru last. “Why.”
“Helps with sleep,” Satoru says airily. “At least, that’s what Shoko says.” After a moment of contemplation, he settles on the floor beside the bed instead of on the bed itself, leaning back so that his back rests against the hardwood and his head thumps softly against the mattress. Megumi makes a little ‘hmph’ sound, but says nothing other than that.
He crosses his legs and thinks about what to say. It isn’t exactly awkward—the silence—but he can tell that Megumi is wondering why he has stayed, or why he brought tea in the first place.
Not awkward. More like unsteady; uncertain.
Tentative.
Satoru starts with a clearing of his throat.
“Look,” he begins, crossing his legs and drumming his fingers against his knees, staring at the door and following the lines in the walls. Bare walls and clean floors stare back at him, not even a hint of a toy in sight. The only sign that it is lived in at all is a small bookshelf in the corner of the room and a dresser in another, a backpack propped up against the nightstand. If Satoru looked, he is almost certain that he would find Megumi’s stash of Pokemon cards hidden in the bottom drawer.
“Look,” Satoru says again, grasping uselessly at words that, no matter how hard he tries, seem intent on avoiding him. “I know that I’m not your dad, and I’m—I’m not trying to be.” He half expects a scoff from Megumi, or some comment about him being annoying and terrible at this whole ‘taking care of children’ thing, but the kid stays surprisingly silent. A small whooshing noise indicates that he is blowing on his tea carefully. “But… it’s my job to take care of you. So that means stuff like this.” He swallows hard and tugs absentmindedly at his sweatpants, pinching the soft fabric between his fingers. “If it’s—if you’re having bad dreams, then you can… tell me about them. Sometimes it helps to talk about it. I—” he hesitates, for the briefest of seconds that he knows with certainty don’t go unnoticed. “—I get them too, sometimes. So… I get it, you know.”
There is a beat. Then Megumi asks, almost incredulously, “You get nightmares?”
“Well.” Satoru wets dry lips with the tip of his tongue as he tries incredibly hard not to think about a certain Suguru shaped hole in his life. “Nightmares might be a strong word. But… sometimes.” He adds lightheartedly, “Some of the curses out there are really ugly, you have no idea.”
This, surprisingly, gets him a snort. Not one of annoyance, just… vague amusement, maybe. Satoru isn’t even sure if that is the right word for it either. It isn’t laughter, but it’s something. That’s something.
“How’s the tea?” he asks instead of letting them lapse into more silence.
A soft noise that sounds like a shrug. “Good,” Megumi mumbles, sounding a bit more tired than he did before.
“Okay,” Satoru says. “I can… get you more, if you want it.” Then he remembers that Megumi is holding the last of it. Shit.
Thankfully, the kid says, “No.” Satoru releases an internal sigh of relief, making a mental note to buy more on his next shopping trip, which should be… tomorrow, actually. Convenient.
“Okay,” he says again, awkwardly. His thoughts flit back to the entire reason that he made Megumi a cup of chamomile tea in the first place. “Do you wanna talk about it? Your...” Dream, he means to say, but the word falls off the tip of his tongue and he makes no effort to reach after it.
“No,” Megumi answers quietly.
“Okay,” Satoru says, easily accepting. He waits, then asks slowly, “Do you want me to leave?”
A beat passes.
“No,” Megumi mumbles eventually. Satoru nods. The breath that had been locked up in his chest without his knowing eases out, nice and slow. He stays.
They sit there in silence for a while. Megumi drinks his tea and Satoru watches the ceiling, tracing circles on his knee with his pointer finger and thinking absently about things that don’t really matter. And the silence is—is comfortable, he thinks. He certainly feels comfortable.
Maybe this caring for children thing isn’t so hard after all.
A release of a breath from behind him is what stirs Satoru from his thoughts. He rises from his seat on the floor and turns to find Megumi leaning against the headboard, struggling to keep his eyes awake, the warmth and soothing effect of the tea coaxing him towards sleep.
Wordlessly, Satoru plucks the now empty cup from the kid’s hands and, after thinking for a moment, reaches out to give him a gentle pat on the head. He isn’t sure what to say here, so he doesn’t disturb the peace with his stilted, awkward words of comfort. Megumi glares sleepily up at him with dark eyes, long lashes, and chubby cheeks, and a scowl threatening to twist his face. But doesn’t push his hand away.
He doesn’t push his hand away.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Satoru says lightly, cradling the mug in one hand, something warm festering in his chest. “Try not to be grumpy when you wake up, yeah?”
Megumi shrugs, then settles himself back into bed and tugs the blankets around him. Satoru flicks the light off as he leaves, shutting the door with a quiet click.
He deposits the cup in the sink for the later morning, returning to his room.
This time, he leaves his door cracked open slightly, a silent invitation to come in should the need ever arise.