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“Is someone going to step forward, or am I going to have to get the principal involved?”
The class blinks at their teacher. Not one hand raises.
“I’m not mad; whoever that was please just step forward.”
Silence blankets the class.
The teacher sighs. “Really, I’m not mad. It’s a safety violation.”
Tiny heads whip back and forth, eying each other, ripe with accusation. Still, no one makes a peep.
“Alright, you give me no choice. No one is leaving this classroom until someone owns up. I’ll be calling the principal down here if we can’t figure this out in the next twenty minutes.”
One child raises her hand anxiously. “Miss?”
“Yes, Aoi? Are you asking a question or fessing up?”
“What about recess ?”
A wave of murmurs sweeps the crowd.
“I’m glad you asked. We will be skipping recess, unless someone steps forward and takes responsibility.”
The wave turns into a tsunami, scandalized chattering swarming the classroom.
“That’s not fair ,” Complains the crowd, “We didn’t do anything! It’s not fair!”
“Well then whoever did this needs to fess up, and we can put this behind us and go to recess.”
The sun streams through the dusty, fingerprint-smudged windows, casting a smug glow on the pouting, frantic children. As if to mock them, a breeze drifts through the screen, bringing the smell of blooming flowers and playground mulch.
“But we don’t know who did it,” Aoi complains, followed by a chorus of agreement.
The teacher shrugs, taking a seat at her desk. “We’ll just have to sit here until we figure it out, then.”
Another wave of complaints surfaces. Aoi turns in her seat, facing the class.
“Whoever did it, just say so. I don’t want to miss recess.”
Nodding, a boy with a round, blotchy face pipes up, “Me neither. And it wasn’t me.”
“It wasn’t me ,” Says another boy. A flurry of “ wasn’t me ”s springs from the crowd.
“Well, whoever it was, just say something. She already said she isn’t mad,” Aoi tells her classmates, in her best I’m-in-charge tone.
Beside her, a girl with pigtails scrunches her nose, pushing her glasses up with an irritated flourish. “Who even brings a dog to class anyway?”
As if in unison, the class turns towards a boy sitting in the very back, a scowl on his face.
“ What ,” He spits.
“I mean, you’re always reading all those animal books…”
“ So? ” Crossing his arms, the kid sticks his nose in the air defiantly. “That doesn’t mean it was me.”
“But it wasn’t any of us , so it has to be Megumi,” Aoi reasons.
“It wasn’t me .”
“The barking was coming from your corner of the room.”
“I’m not the only one who sits here!”
The round-faced boy shrugs. “But no one wants to sit near you, so they’re all a few desks away. It had to be coming from your desk.”
Megumi glass at the boy. “It wasn’t.”
Pigtails points at his discarded jacket, draped haphazardly over his desk. “There’s dog hair on your coat.”
“How do you know I don’t have a dog at home?”
A wave of murmurs goes through the class. They don’t know if he has a dog; they’ve never bothered to ask.
After a moment, one boy asks tentatively, “Well… do you?”
“I’m not telling you that!”
“Rats,” Curses one girl, leaning backwards in her plastic chair, “Now what?”
Megumi huffs, wriggling in his seat. “What do you think happens to whoever did do it? Not that it’s me , but.” He shrugs.
Aoi hums, tapping her pencil against the back of her chair. “Probably their parents get told.”
Megumi pales.
“Or they have to go see the principal.”
That warrants no reaction from Megumi; he’s not afraid of their tired, frail principal. He’s not afraid of Gojo either, mind you, but he is afraid of losing Xbox privileges. And Nanami being disappointed in him.
The pigtailed girl crosses her arms, shaking her head. “They won’t call the principal. It’s only the first time this has happened, I think, so the person will just get scolded.”
Well that doesn’t sound so bad. A couple kids seem to relax.
“But only for whoever did it. So the rest of us are fine. Megumi, you should just fess up.”
“Why me ? I told you I didn’t bring any dogs to school.” It’s not technically a lie-- he didn’t bring the dogs to school. Manifesting them doesn’t count, he reasons, and how was he supposed to know they’d bite the teacher?
“Someone’s gotta take the blame, if no one will admit it.”
“You only want me to do it because you guys don’t like me.”
No one disagrees. Roundface coughs.
“Did you see it, though? It was huge .”
“It looked like a wolf to me, not a dog. It was scary.”
A boy with a pitiful bowl cut shakes his head sagely. “No they weren’t. They were cool.”
“And scary!”
“It only bit the teacher though,” Aoi says, “Not any of us.”
“And then it went into the hallway, so maybe it bit other people,” Pigtails says thoughtfully. “I hope it bit Ms. Yoshida. She’s mean.”
Megumi sees an opening, piping up, “I hope it bit Ms. Yoshida, too.” Of course, he knows it didn’t; he released it as soon as it was in the hallway. And he didn’t mean to summon him in the first place-- he’d only been practicing his hand sign and done it by accident.
If it bit the teacher, that’s her fault for being in the way, and being so easily biteable. He couldn’t just release it there in the classroom, where everyone was looking at it. His only option was to send it into the hallway, where they couldn’t see it. Besides, it’d only bitten her a little. She didn’t even bleed , so Megumi didn’t see what the big deal was.
But Aoi sees right through him, glaring-- “She’s nice to you . You don’t not like her.”
“Damn,” Megumi mutters.
“Language,” The teacher sighs from her desk, where she’s been watching this all unfold. She, of course, has her own inkling who did this, but really, really doesn’t want to have to have another meeting with a certain white-haired menace of a guardian.
It’s not that she doesn’t like Gojo, because unfortunately, she does, as his disturbingly frequent appearances in her dreams have proven. It’s just that it’s hard to get him to even do anything-- his whole “let Megumi do what he wants and understand the consequences” approach to parenting isn’t necessarily a bad one, she thinks, but not a good one either. Mostly, it’s an approach that leaves her with a migraine and the most moody, unruly child she’s ever dealt with in her many years of teaching. Would this be a bad time to retire? She could just get a job as a checkout girl; it’d most certainly be a far less stressful job than this.
The image of running into Gojo at the supermarket, watching him tote Megumi proudly around the store, picking out all his kid’s favorite foods pops unbidden into her mind. Yeah, bad idea. She’ll just have to stick it out, and pray that it really wasn’t Megumi who somehow snuck an entire wolf into her classroom.
Huffing, Aoi continues her crusade against the sullen black-haired boy. “It has to be you, Megumi. Just say you did it, and we can all go outside.”
“It,” Megumi seethes, “Wasn’t me. ”
Bowlcut groans. “This sucks.”
“If it wasn’t you, then who was it?” Pigtails asks accusatorily, “Because we all already said it wasn’t us.”
“I also said it wasn’t me, but you don’t want to believe me.” Nevermind the fact that it was him.
Rolling her eyes, Aoi turns back around in her seat to face the teacher. “Miss, it was Megumi. Can we all go to recess while you yell at him?”
“It wasn’t ,” Megumi shrieks.
“Please keep your voice down, Megumi,” The teacher sighs, standing back up from her desk, “Was it you?”
“No.”
“It was ,” Pigtails insisted, “The big black dog came out from behind your desk, I saw it.”
Bowlcute tilts his head. “I thought it was a white dog.”
The class erupts into debate again, half claiming to see a white wolf and the other a black one.
“Okay, it doesn’t matter what the dog looked like,” The teacher sighs, who herself could have sworn it was a white dog that bit her, “Please settle down.”
“Maybe there were two dogs. One after another,” Suggests Roundface.
The teacher stills. She didn’t even consider- No, that would just complicate things further. “Yukio, that’s nonsense,” She tells him, hoping that wasn’t the case, “And everyone, please stop shouting. We’re going to figure this out calmly, with no yelling.”
“But it was Megumi ,” Aoi shouts, exasperated, “And I want to go to recess.”
“I’ll ask this one more time, Megumi,” The teacher sighs, “Were they your dogs?”
Megumi scowls. Why’d she have to ask it like that? He was in the clear; Nanami told him not to lie to authority figures and so far he hadn’t , because he didn’t technically bring the dogs to school. But they were his dogs.
“...Yes, they were my dogs,” He mumbles, glaring at his classmates.
Aoi bounces in her seat, “Hear that, Miss? He admitted it. Megumi’s guilty, just like we all knew he was. We can go to recess now, right?”
“Megumi, I’m not mad. We’re going to talk about this later, just me and you, and I’m sorry, but I will have to contact your guardian. The rest of you, I’m very disappointed in you.”
Pigtails screeches. “ What ? We didn’t do anything!”
“I’m not happy with the way you all treated Megumi just now. Even after he said that it wasn’t him, you said he should just take the blame, because you don’t get along with him. Even though he did do it, that wasn’t very nice.”
“But Miss-” Pigtails starts, but the teacher holds up a hand to stop her, face stern.
“We will all be spending recess inside cleaning the desks.” The class groans. “Megumi, come here so we can talk. Aoi, get the wipes from the cabinet and start passing them around.”
“Why me? ” Aoi whines, scrambling out of ehr seat.
“You’re class president, aren’t you?”
“Ugh.”
Dejectedly and sluggishly, Megumi makes his way towards the front of the classroom. He can feel his classmates’ stares on his back as he reaches the teacher’s desk.
“I’m going to have a chat with Gojo after school, but for now you aren’t in any trouble…” The teacher starts. Megumi tunes her out, watching his classmates start on the desks.
Next time, he decides, he’ll have Demon Dogs bite her on purpose. And Aoi, too.
----------
“I’m glad you could make it down to the school this time, Mister Gojo.”
“I thought you said the fights stopped-- what happened? Is Megumi okay?”
The teacher nods. “Megumi’s fine.”
Gojo lets out a relieved breath. “Alright, what happened then?”
“I called you here to talk about something else. Not a fight.”
“C’mon lady, don’t leave me hanging.”
“I wanted to talk to you about the dogs.”
Gojo pauses. “I’m sorry…. what ?”
Shifting the papers on her desk, the teacher holds her arm out across the distance between them, showing him her arm. The faintest outline of teeth can be made out, not scabbed but not quite a bruise either. “Megumi brought at least one dog to school today, and it bit me.”
“It bit y- wait, at least one?”
“Some of the students say they saw a black dog, and the others saw a white dog. Either way, a dog bit me, and we deduced it was Megumi’s doing.”
“...Right, and how did we deduce that?” If someone saw Megumi summon one or both of the Demon Dogs, it could be bad. That’s a lot of lies he doesn’t have the time to think up or maintain, and Nanami would probably get on his case about it….
“Well, no one saw him bring them to school, but- one of the students said she saw the dog come out from behind Megumi’s desk, and he admitted that they were his dogs.”
Gojo sighs in relief, sagging back against the kiddie chair he’s been put in. You’d think with how many parent-teacher conferences this woman has, just with him alone, nevermind other adults, she’d invest in another Grown Up Chair. “So, no one saw him bring them to school?”
“Well, no… But-”
“So how are you sure it was him? What if I said we don’t even have any dogs?”
The teacher flounders, clearly taken aback. “Uh, well, the student said-”
“So it’s this student’s word against Megumi’s? And you’re automatically taking the other kid’s side?”
“Well-” the teacher stops, unsure how to proceed. “Well- the other students… They-”
“They’ve been established to not like Megumi, right? Enough to blame him for anything?”
The teacher swallows guiltily, looking away. It is admittedly a problem she’s failed to do anything about in the past… “I… Don’t know what to say. I-”
Gojo cuts her off with a laugh, crossing his arms over his chest and giving her an easy-going smile. “I’m just fucking wtih you. It was definitely him.”
Letting out a frazzled sigh, the teacher glares across the desk at him. “I did not enjoy that little exercise, Mister Gojo.”
He shrugs. “I don’t enjoy you letting your students bully my son.”
The teacher coughs, “I wouldn’t say they bully Megumi-”
“I would.”
“Well… he doesn’t make much effort to get along with them, either.”
“Because they bully him,” Gojo tells her, rolling his eyes. “I know he acts like a little shit, but he’s actually a sensitive kid, and like I’ve told you, he’s going through a lot of rough stuff right now.”
“Er, right, but maybe if you gave me some details on that, it’d be easier to support him.” It’s an argument they’ve had a few times now, and she knows she won’t get much besides, “ his dad just died, and he doesn’t like his new guardian, and his sister is at boarding school ,” but she can tell there’s more to it, there has to be.
Gojo pushes his bangs out of his face, pushing his sunglasses up his nose pointedly. “I’ve told you everything you need to know. And the rest is none of your business. What is your business is keeping your students form torturing my kid.”
“ Torture is a bit overkill, don’t you think?”
“Kids are brutal these days.”
The teacher glances at the pages on her desk. “I haven’t gotten the principal involved thus far, because frankly, I think that would complicate things, and he really has been doing better about the fighting. But something like this can’t happen again.”
Gojo sighs. “Yeah, yeha, I’ll talk to him about it. And you talk to your students about harassing poor Megumi. He’s done nothing wrong in his life, ever.” Taking in the teacher’s disbelieving look, he backtracks with a grumble, “He hasn’t done much wrong in his life.”
“I’ll talk to them.”
“Great, now that we’re done here, I have a son to feed. I’m thinking ice cream for dinner…”
“One more thing, before you go.”
Gojo rolls his eyes. “What are you going to blame my kid for now? ”
Ignoring the barb, the teacher holds a form out to him. “I’m assuming Megumi has neglected to mention Career Day, so I’m going to just give you this form now. Please don’t miss it. I’ve already got the counselor breathing down my neck about the apparent lack of guidance in Megumi’s life, and you really do need to make a good impression.”
Gojo blinks down at the paper in his hand. “Career day, huh?”
----------
Beneath the table-- it really is ice cream for dinner, but no one tell Shoko-- Megumi kicks Gojo again. “Why can’t Nanamin go instead?”
“He’s going as well , and what? You don’t want me there?”
“No way, old man.”
“How many times am I going to have to tell you, I’m only twenty-one .”
Megumi scowls. “Old.”
“What, is Shoko old too, then?”
Megumi shrugs, shaking his head and taking a bite of vanilla ice cream.
“She’s the same age as me.”
“Yeah, but you’re old.”
Throwing his hands up in defeat, Gojo grumbles, “That makes no sense, kid.”
“Does too.”
“Does not .”
“Does too.”
“Does n- I’m not doing this with you again.”
Megumi sticks a frozen tongue out at him.
“And I’m going to your damn Career Day, and that’s final.”
“Booo.”
“Don’t boo me,” Gojo cries, “That’s so mean, Megumi.” Sighing, he shovels a scoop of ice cream into his mouth. He’s going, of course he is, but he’s not entirely sure what to do once he gets there. He doesn’t actually know the first thing about pest control… maybe he can say he recently quit the pest control business and taken on the full-time role of a stay-at-home dad.
No, that won’t work. Not only would Miss What’s-her-face then expect him to come running at her every beck and phone-call, but there’s the problem of the school then asking how he’s getting the money to keep him and Megumi afloat. If only he were… married…
“You’re making a creepy face again.”
“I am not, and what do you mean again ? I only have beautiful expressions.”
“You look constipated.”
Gojo snorts. “How do you even know that word? You’re like… five.”
“I’m eight.”
“I knew that. How does an eight-year-old know the word constipated?”
Megumi glares at him across the table. “Because I’m not dumb. And it was in one of my books, so I had to look it up.”
Gojo wrinkles his nose in distaste. “What kind of book for eight-year-olds is about constipation?”
Shrugging, Megumi takes another bite. “It was about dogs.”
“Ah. Speaking of, I hear there was at least one dog in your classroom today. What do you have to say about that, hm?”
Megumi pales. “Nothing.”
“Really? I heard it was a big dog, maybe black, maybe white… and it bit your teacher. That’s crazy, huh, Megumi?”
Sliding down a little in his seat, Megumi looks away. “Uh-huh.”
“Say, what color were your Demon Dogs, again?”
“...Black and white.”
Gojo nods, as if the realization had just hit him. “Oh, what a coincidence…”
“Ugh,” Megumi spits, “You suck at this.”
“What? Megumi, I’m being a stern parent right now, stop throwing me off.”
“Be better at it. Nanamin is good at being the mean parent.”
Gojo’s eyebrows raise. “So you already think of him as the other parent, that helps.”
“Helps what,” Megumi asks through a mouthful of half-melted ice cream. He’s taken to swishing it around his bowl, making cold vanilla soup.
Gojo hums. “Megumi, what if we take Nanamin with us to Career day, and we pretend that he and I are married? Sound fun?”
“Sounds stupid.”
“Oh, come on, why not ?” Gojo whines, not caring much that the scenario has all but flipped, leaving him to whine like a child.
“Nanamin would never marry you.”
“Okay, ouch . Kid, you wound me.”
Megumi shrugs again. “It’s true.”
“He totally would. Just you wait-- we’re going to be the most convincing married couple ever.”
Megumi outright giggles at that. “He’s already tired of you, so that part will look true.”
“Exactly- hey!”
-------
Nanami Kento, having found himself in the last place he wants to be, could, as of now, be considered a man at the end of his rope. Where he wants to be is at home, a good book in his lap and a glass of wine in his hand.
“Yes,” He says through clenched teeth, “Gojo is my… spouse.”
“Husband,” Gojo whispers helpfully.
The teacher blinks at him, then blinks again at where his hand is being held hostage by a certain sorcerer’s.
He’s had a nice red set aside for ages now, saved for some phantom idea of a special occasion; he resolves to break it open the moment he gets home. There’s probably some crackers in the cupboard, and he’s got that cheese from the farmer’s market…
“I… see. That makes a bit of sense, actually.”
No , Nanami corrects mentally, it makes positively zero sense. Not a lick, not an inkling, not even a smidge of sense.
Gojo hums, pleased. “Oho?”
“Mister Nanami did seem a bit uncomfortable referring to you as a friend; it’s all coming together now.”
Gojo cackles. “Yes, that’s exactly it!”
Nanami squeezes his hand in warning. He had not agreed to this for Gojo’s amusement; he was unwittingly and unwillingly the man’s puppet enough for his own tastes. No, he hadn’t agreed to this for Gojo’s sake, but with the stupid moony eyes the shithead kept sending his way, Nanami was losing sight of why he’d ever agreed in the first place.
“Well, I’m glad Megumi will have a positive, stable force like you in his life,” The teacher tells him earnestly.
Ah. That’s why.
Nanami nods solemnly, clearing his throat. “We’re to give a presentation, correct? In front of the children?”
“Aw, he’s just messing around,” Gojo butts in, “We went over the whole thing earlier. That’s my Nanami, such a comedian.”
The teacher laughs, a high, tittering and nervous laugh, gaze darting between the two anxiously before another parent drags her away. Nanami turns to the menace beside him, sighing heavily.
“If you had told me about this beforehand, we could have actually prepared.”
Gojo shrugs half-heartedly, giving him a cheeky grin behind his sunglasses. “Oh, please, don’t you do ‘presentations’ all day at your boring job anyway? You’re a pro.”
Nanami’s eye twitches. “Preparation is important for-”
“Blah blah blah. We’ll be fine. Besides, if you’d known beforehand, you wouldn’t have said yes.”
That’s true, Nanami must concede. If he hadn’t been legitimately kidnapped, teleported here against his will, snatched right out of his own office, there’s no way in heaven or hell that he’d be here. Megumi’s best interest aside, he was supposed to be in a meeting with a very important client right now. Fortunately, the man had been understanding when Nanami had called to cancel, giving his best fake cough, only to be interrupted by a despicable, giggling Gojo telling him to ‘get back to bed ’. Nanami could only pray his client was mature enough to see through that ruse.
Nanami adjusts his tie and opts to ignore the other man, surveying the classroom. Of the twenty or so students, only about half have a parent with them, and Megumi seems to be the only one to bring along two. Said child has been sitting in the desk furthest from where they stand, sulking up a storm. The other kids are sending confused, terrified glances in his direction, the ones nearest to him drowning in the overpowering threatening aura Megumi’s putting out. Nanami feels, not for the first time, a sense of kinship with the kid and wonders, once again not for the first time, whether Gojo got saddled with the kid or the poor kid got saddled with Gojo.
Thoughts like those inevitably lead Nanami to the conclusion that yes, Megumi is in fact stuck with Gojo (being the more mature of the two, naturally), not the other way around.
“I bet,” Gojo whispers to Nanami, leaning in close enough that the tips of his white hair brush against Nanami’s cheek; his breath smells like green tea, “That woman is a secret agent for the government.”
Nanami’s gaze slides down a long arm to the woman Gojo is so politely pointing to, a sturdy woman in her early forties or so, fawning over a proud-looking boy with crooked teeth.
“Why,” Nanami says, bewildered.
“Look at the way she stands.”
Nanami looks. He sees nothing out of the ordinary, and tells Gojo so.
The man has the audacity to laugh. “Clearly she’s used to watching her back; she won’t turn completely away from the door.”
“Maybe she’s waiting for someone, or is simply an anxious person,” Nanami suggests, taking on his usual role in any given conversation with Gojo: the voice of reason.
Gojo shakes his head stubbornly, giving Nanami his I’m older than you and therefore smarter look, one Nanami has come to know well. “Definitely up to something sneaky.”
Nanami just sighs, making the executive decision not to pursue that line of conversation further. Instead, he focuses his attention on their ward, still sulking in the corner. He’s taken to directing his glare at anyone who comes within a few feet of his desk, leaving him with quite a wide berth. “What are we going to do about Megumi?”
“What do you mean?” Gojo asks, dumbly.
“He’s going to murder you in your sleep tonight,” Nanami replies, unamused.
“Probably not.”
As has become his custom when Gojo says something unbelievably stupid, Nanami ignores him. “He didn’t want you to come.”
Gojo huffs, pouting. “But he’s my- I mean, I’m supposed to take care of him, and that means do all the silly parent things like this. I am also thinking of joining the PTA…”
“I’m sure you would be a hit with the moms.”
“I agree. That’s why I wanna do it.”
“Of course it is,” Nanami says, surprising himself with the bitter tone. He pays it no mind, still watching Megumi repel every poor soul in the vicinity. “I’ll try talking to him.”
“Good luck with that,” Gojo bids him, “I’m going to go hit on the secret agent lady.”
“Good luck with that,” Nanami parrots, that same bitter note to his voice. Shaking it off, he makes his way through the gathering of children and their guardians to squat beside the corner desk, finding himself level with Megumi’s angry face. There’s going to be creases in his work pants from crouching down like this, but the humiliation of those tiny plastic chairs is a worse fate.
Before he can figure out where to begin, Megumi beats him to it. “Make him go away.”
“He isn’t going to; I already tried. Sorry, bud.”
Megumi sighs, as if he were expecting that. “He’s going to embarrass me.”
Nanami nods. No use in beating around the bush. “He’s going to embarrass you for the rest of your life.”
“I don’t want him to.”
“I know, kid, I know. But it’s unavoidable.”
Megumi glares harder.
“It’s how he shows he cares. By being the absolute worst.”
“Then I don’t want him to.”
Nanami almost flinches at that, and feels that familiar twinge in his chest. In some unexpectedly horrible, convoluted way, Nanami’s begun to go against the natural order of things and feel sorry for the Six-Eyed bastard. He’s spent enough time with the kid to get a good grasp on the situation, to understand that Megumi has been as reluctant as he can manage about all this. Despite Gojo’s best efforts, despite all his good intentions and the nights Nanami knows he’s spent up reading book after book on childcare, on aiding children through grief and trauma, on being grown up enough to raise someone else, Megumi seems dead set on hating the guy. “One day you’ll understand how much he’s sacrificed for you, and you’ll come to appreciate it.”
“I just don’t want him to be here,” Megumi insists.
“That’s too bad,” Nanami tells him, “Because he’s not going anywhere.”
At the front of the room, the teacher claps her hands a few times, the kids echoing in unison. A look around the room tells Nanami that unfortunately, Gojo is a hit with the parents, men and women alike having flocked to him on the opposite end of the room. The ‘secret agent’ woman has a hand on his forearm. Nanami’s eye twitches.
“Thank you all for coming,” The teacher starts, grinning enthusiastically, “We’ll start presenting in a moment, but first I’d like to…” Nanani tunes her out, watching his companion from across the room. A tall, thin woman with grey hair says something and Gojo laughs, saying something back.
“Are you mad?” Megumi whispers.
“Why would I be mad at you?” Nanami asks, still watching the other man.
“At Gojo.”
Whipping his head towards the eight-year-old, Nanami scowls. “What makes you think that?”
“You look like you’re going to bite him.”
Nanami sighs, and schools his expression into something blank once again. “I am not going to bite Gojo Satoru,” He says, half in assurance to the boy beside him, half self-affirmation.
Megumi shrugs. “You should.”
“And now, we’ll all take turns having our parents present, going alphabetical by first name,” The teacher says cheerfully, “Aoi, are you ready?”
A smug-looking girl makes her way towards the front of the room. The tall, grey-haired woman detaching herself from the group around Gojo follows her up, turning towards the class.
“ My mom is a librarian,” The little girl starts, looking proud, “And she…”
“Am I going to have to talk too?” Megumi pouts, glaring forward, “I don’t want to. I don’t know what you do. And Gojo doesn’t do anything.”
“I will talk about what I do. Gojo can talk about whatever he’s going to talk about,” Nanami placates the child, “But if you have to talk, you absolutely cannot mention jujutsu. Megumi, look at me.”
Rolling his eyes like even the act of turning his head is a great pain to him, Megumi swivels that wicked glare on him.
“Do you understand? Promise me you won’t mention it.”
The kid has the audacity to shrug. Once again, Nanami feels almost sorry for Satoru.
As if summoned, the white-haired menace himself appears at his side, kneeling beside Nanami. “What are we talking about?” He whispers conspiratorially.
Nanami sighs, “I was telling Megumi not to mention jujutsu. Are you done flirting?”
“Why? Jealous?” Gojo asks, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Negative.”
“Boo, no fun. He’s right though, Megumi, you probably shouldn’t mention you-know-what.”
Nanami feels his eyebrow twitch again. “No, not probably . You absolutely cannot mention it.”
“Why do you care? You quit,” Gojo points out unhelpfully.
“That doesn’t mean I’m going to be irresponsible like you .”
Gojo pouts, crossing his arms. Unlike Nanami, he’s opted to cram himself into one of the plastic kiddie chairs-- sue him, they’re starting to grow on him-- and he leans back in it now, the thing creaking dangerously under his weight. “I am not irresponsible. I have a kid .”
“That changes nothing. If anything, it highlights how much of a child you are.” Nanami’s lying through his teeth and he knows it, knows intimately just how much effort Gojo has been putting in.
“I’m not a child. I am a mature adult who does mature adult things.”
Nanami opens his mouth to refute that, but is cut off with a loud, pained groan from Megumi. “Get a room.”
Nanami balks. Where did the kid even learn a phrase like that?
At the head of the room, the librarian is finishing her presentation, smiling like she’s about to win some award. She seems nice enough, Nanami decides, but he just can’t bring himself to like her; such quick judgements are unlike him. He must be falling ill.
“Alright, next… Daiki?”
The teacher moves swiftly through the list, whittling away at the class. Each new parent, Gojo has some cheesy or inappropriate comment to whisper in Nanami’s ear, his hand resting gently on Nanami’s shoulder. Megumi swings his legs petulantly the whole time, looking all the world like he wants to be anywhere else.
“Very nice, Kaiji. Next, Megumi? Are you and your… guardians ready?”
“You bet your a-...butt we are,” Gojo says cheerfully, catching himself halfway through as he scrambles out of the kiddie chair, knocking it over gracefully in the process. Internally, Nanami facepalms, but follows Gojo up nonetheless. The teacher, looking apprehensive, takes a seat at her desk.
“Well,” Nanami starts, unsure where to even begin, “I work in finance, in a tall office building. My job is to help rich people take care of their money, and to make sure nothing bad happens to it.”
Without raising their hand, one kid interjects, “Like a babysitter?”
“Er, yes. I suppose I am sort of a babysitter for their money.”
“That’s stupid,” The kid says. A murmur of agreement sweeps the crowd.
Clearing his throat, Nanami tries again. “It actually isn’t. It can be very rewarding to know you helped someone-”
“But you didn’t,” One girl points out, looking bored out of her mind, “Money isn’t a person, so you don’t have to babysit it.”
“Well…. there are a lot of rules when you have a lot of money, and-”
The kid from earlier shugs. “Then they should give it to someone else.”
“Er.” Nanami scratches the back of his neck.
“Why don’t you just take the money? Being a bank robber is cooler,” One boy says with a shrug.
The teacher sighs. “We do not condone crime in this classroom.”
“It would be cooler, though. So you should just take it, right mister?” The kid asks, watching Nanami with beady eyes.
Helplessly, Nanami shoots a look towards Gojo, as if to say, your turn .
Laughing easily, Gojo scratches at the back of his head. “What he’s trying to say, I think, is that he has a very boring job and you’re right, rich people suck.”
Nanami wants to hit him. “Not helping,” He whispers. Beside him, one hand gripping tightly to his pant leg, Megumi makes a disgusted sound, whether at his guardian’s words or Nanami’s assessment, he isn’t sure.
“Class, we agreed to be respectful,” The teacher interjects from her desk, “Mister Nanami came here out of the kindness of his heart to teach us-”
“Oh, it wasn’t out of the kindness of his heart; I totally kidnapped him,” Gojo tells her earnestly.
“Er… Mister Nanami came here to teach us about the amazing work he does-” The teacher amends, giving Gojo a disappointed stare.
He laughs again, grinning without a care in the world. “It’s not that amazing, really. I’m the one with the amazing job.” Nanami tenses. “Yup, you see, being a stay at home dad is truly the best job of all.”
Oh, that. Relaxing infinitesimally, Nanami sighs, reluctant to listen to whatever bullshit Gojo is surely about to spew.
“It’s very difficult, actually, because there’s a lot to get done. First I have to make sure everyone is up and ready for school, and then I have to make sure Megumi actually goes to school instead of wasting his allowance at the arcade all day, and then-”
The girl from earlier raises her hand.
“-I have to clean the house, and double-check with the school that Megumi hasn’t gotten into any fights yet- yes? Ya got a question?”
The girl puts her hand down. “But you’re not his dad.”
Gojo blinks. Blinks again. A third time. “That wasn’t a question.”
“I thought you were his older brother,” One boy pipes up.
“His… I mean, yeah, I’m young- but, wait, what about Nanamin?” Gojo asks, pointing to his right, where Nanami is wracking his brain for a way to salvage the trainwreck unfolding before his eyes.
The children stare at him. “...That guy’s like forty,” One boy offers, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Gojo snorts. “Yeah, so true.”
“I’m a year younger than Gojo,” Nanami corrects, tensing his jaw.
“You can’t trick us; we’re smart,” A kid missing two teeth says proudly, “You’re like fifty.”
“I thought I was forty,” Nanami says, panicking internally. They were aging him up even further ? “And I’m not forty.”
The kid shrugs. “Yeah, you’re fifty.”
“He’s not ,” Gojo tries defending; Nanami’s oddly touched by the gesture. “And even if he was, he’d be one of those sexy fifty year olds, the sugar daddy kind-”
“Mister Gojo,” the teacher interrupts sharply, “Need I remind you these are children you’re talking to?”
“Right…”
“Being a stay-at-home dad is lame anyway,” Says a girl with goggle-looking glasses.
Gojo sticks his tongue out at her maturely. “Is not.”
“It is,” Megumi comments, the first thing he’s said since they started this disaster of a presentation. None of the other students’ parents had to endure interrogations like this; maybe the kids really don’t like Megumi afterall. Nanami feels like a bug under a microscope.
“That’s not helpful, kid,” Gojo says, dropping a hand heavily on Megumi’s head. The kid squirms, trying to get out from under it. “And you all,” He points his free hand at the class, shaking his head at them in disappointment, “Definitely are wrong. Being a stay at home parent is cool as h-e-double-hockey-stick, and one day you’ll appreciate how much your parents do for you.”
A few of the parents clap a bit at that, and Gojo pats himself on the back internally. The children give no reaction, much to his dismay.
“It also means I get to spend most of the day alone, just doing chores and things,” Gojo tries, but to no avail once again. He sighs.
“Okay, I lied. Being a stay at home parent is cool, but actually…” He grins. “I am a magician. I spend all day killing evil monsters.”
“ Satoru ,” Nanami growls, horrified.
Half of the children seem to perk up at that, a few leaning forward in their chairs in interest.
“Really?” The girl with the goggles asks, “Are monsters actually real?”
“No,” Nanami insistes, at the same time Gojo gives an emphatic, “ Yes. ”
Nanami is going to kill him. As soon as they’re in the car, he’s going to take his knife to the bastard’s throat.
Gojo doubles down. “I’m the best at what I do, and people like me keep the world safe. It’s very hard work, but very rewarding. Right, Megumi?”
Maybe slitting his throat isn’t enough; the man needs to suffer.
Don’t encourage this, Nanami pleads mentally, Megumi, do not encourage this, for the love of fuck.
Unfortunately, the kid doesn’t seem to receive the message, instead widening his eyes and glancing up at Nanami, taking stock of his horrified expression, and deciding that means, go ahead . “Yeah, it’s true. It’s really cool.”
At this rate, Nanami will just have to crash the car on the ride home, send all three of them to hell.
“See? Megumi, tell them how awesome I am.”
Megumi shrugs. “He’s okay. The monsters aren’t that scary, but they’re really ugly.”
A boy with a round face and splotchy cheeks raises his hand. “What happens if you don’t kill them? Do they eat people? Or turn them into zombies or something?”
“Er, sort of. It’s not zombies, it’s more like…” He trails off, tapping his chin in thought. “I don’t know how to describe it. Nanamin, what would you say it’s like?”
The man-- this slimy, weaselly, evil bastard of a man--- has the audacity to turn imploring, amused eyes on Nanami. He knows exactly what he’s doing, a stupid smile barely contained as he tries to act serious for the class.
“He’s lying,” Nanami says to the children. A few deflate, the others looking at him skeptically, as if Nanami is the one being ridiculous right now.
“Nu-uh,” Megumi says unhelpfully, “Gojo is telling the truth this time.”
“Exactly, thank you, Megumi. they’re not zombies, they’re more like…”
He launches into an obnoxiously descriptive explanation, waving his hands frantically for emphasis, Megumi chiming in every once in a while to correct a detail or tell an embarrassing story about Gojo. The kids are eating it up, bouncing in their chairs and asking a million questions.
The thin librarian even chimes in, asking Gojo somthing stupid with a flirtatous grin on her face. Nanami hates her.
And he hates the teacher, too, for not only allowing but encouraging this, laughing at all the right times and letting Gojo carry on, an amused smile on her face. Even she is watching Gojo enraptured, and while Nanami is mature enough to admit Gojo in his element is a wonderful sight to see, he can’t be on board with it when it means putting the entire jujutsu world at stake.
Given, he doubts any of the adults present believe a word he’s saying, but it’s the principle of the thing.
“Lovely,” The teacher says once he’s finally, blessedly through, clapping her hands, “Everyone say thank you for the stories.”
The class thanks him, and Nanami’s eye twitches. None of the other parents required a thank you, and at this point it’s just getting embarrassing.
“Alright, next is…”
Nanami can’t get back to his seat fast enough, forgoing squatting this time to just sit directly on the ground. Gojo sits beside him, leaning against his shoulder familiarly.
“I hate you,” Nanami informs him.
He hums.
“I’m serious. I really do. You’re so immature and irresponsible, you know that?”
“Oh, relax, Kento. It’s fine. The kids had fun, and no one’s going to believe me. Plus, look how happy Megumi looks.”
Indeed, Nanami can’t deny the kid look significantly happier than he did ten minutes ago, still obviously not paying attention to the presentations, but looking slightly less murderous than before.
Nanami decides not to crash the car on the way home, instead stopping at McDonald’s, if only to stop the unified chanting of the two menaces in the backseat. (Gojo had been exiled from the front seat as punishment, though it was a close call with those expert puppy dog eyes of his.)
At the next teacher-parent meeting, which Nanami had been dragged along to under the guise of “she thinks we’re married, Nanamin, you have to make a few appearances,” the teacher doesn’t bring up their mess of a presentation, or even mention Career Day at all, opting instead to fawn over the both of them and what a cute little family they make with Megumi. Nanami can’t bring himself to come clean, watching Gojo animatedly talk through how in love he is and how happy the three of them are, and how much happier they’ll be when Tsumiki comes home.
It almost feels real, watching Gojo tell her that he thinks Nanami’s eyes are the warmest shade of brown he’s ever seen. Gojo snakes a hand under the table to latch his pinky with Nanami’s, smiling when he doesn’t pull away.
This might not be so bad, Nanami decides.