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When Gojo wakes it’s to the feeling of tiny hands poking and prying at his poor beautiful face.
“Get your greasy paws off,” He grumbles, turning his head, “You’re fucking up my skincare routine with your slime.”
“I’m not slimy,” Megumi informs him, “And it’s almost time to go get her.”
“I know that, kid. I need my beauty rest though, so would you please get off me?”
Megumi squirms where he’s kneeling on Gojo’s stomach, effectively kneeing the man in the ribs.
Gojo lets out an umph . “Since when are you so heavy?”
“Since I got tall.”
“Get un-tall then. You’re going to crush my lungs.”
“I’m not sitting on your lungs. This is your stomach.”
Gojo swats at the kid, finally opening his eyes. “Don’t sit on me at all!”
Megumi shrugs. “Wake up then.”
“I’m up!”
Deeming that god enough, the kid gets up, tumbling off the bed with a thump .
Gojo snorts. “Get dressed.”
“I am dressed.”
“Not in pajamas.”
Megumi huffs, stalking out of the room sullenly, slippers squeaking down the hall. Gojo needs to remember to smack Nanami for buying him the damn things; the kid won’t take them off.
With a grimace, Gojo makes it out of bed, yawning. Today’s the day they go to pick Tsumiki up from boarding school, a date Megumi has been reminding him of everyday for the past month. It’s not a far drive, really, but car rides with the kid have a tendency to be a debacle without Tsumiki around to play peacemaker. That won’t be much longer, he supposes.
If he had to describe the relationship between Megumi and his older sister, Gojo would go with confusing . Tsumiki is such a caring and kind person, and Megumi is just a downright menace, oscillating between awed devotion to his big sister and tantrums over how she’s “ not even related to me, I don't even KNOW her.” Tsumiki, for her part, angel that she is, sent from heaven for sure, takes it all in stride, patting her little brother on the back and offering her support at every turn.
He’s looking forward to having the girl home again. When she’d gone away, it’d altered their home dynamic drastically, Megumi becoming more moody and irritable than ever before, leaving Gojo frantically trying to understand what was going on. Shoko had told him unhelpfully to act like Megumi was a colicky baby, which meant nothing to him. He’s never had a kid before, that was the whole issue, how would he know what to do with an irritable baby? Tsumiki, although having only just turned ten, was possessed of a strange maturity and independence that Gojo would guess traced back to her-- excuse him-- absent bitch of a mother, not that he knew much about the woman. Having her around was a relief, almost; not only was she fantastic at understanding and dealing with Megumi, but she was also patient and understanding with him where Megumi was a demanding brat.
“She’s like his handler,” Shoko had said when he’d told her, just after taking the Fushiguros in. They'd been painting the spare bedroom in his apartment, newly outfitted with bunk beds and a closet full of children’s clothes that Megumi would later tear off their hangers in the act of christening the apartment with its first tantrum of many.
“ Exactly like that.”
At that moment, Tsumiki had trailed in from the living room with Megumi koala-ed onto her back, digging his heels into her sides. “I like that color,” She had said cheerfully.
“I don’t,” Megumi grumbled.
“It’s too late to change it, booger,” Shoko had told the kid, making him only frown harder. It’d become clear over the next few weeks that the kid was just saying that to be contrary, and that green was actually one of his favorite colors, partially because of his own eyes, and mostly because of his budding obsession with Minecraft.
Huffing now as he finishes getting dressed, Gojo has to laugh at the image that’d faced him when Nanami had first brought the kid home the first time, holding those goddamn Creeper slippers away from his body like they were a biohazard. Since then, they had become a staple to Megumi’s wardrobe, though he’d only agreed not to wear them outside the house after Gojo bribed him with a month of gummy-bears-for-breakfast, which the kid had invariably grown tired of after two weeks anyway. The gummy bear budget has thankfully stopped taking such a toll on Gojo’s wallet after that, especially since the kid had taken a liking to the over-expensive organic kind.
“Let’s gooo ,” Megumi whines from outside his bedroom, stomping his feet loud enough that Gojo can hear him, “I want to leave already.”
“In a fucking second, calm down,” Gojo replies, running a comb through his hair. He pauses. “Megumi, come here.”
With a bit of sullen fanfare, the kid appears at his side, kicking the bedroom door open in the process. There’s a dent in the wall where the door handle hits, worn down from the frequent barging-in Megumi likes to do without regard for Gojo’s privacy. “What.”
“When was the last time you brushed your hair?”
Defensively, the kid covers his head with both hands.
“That’s what I thought. Get over here.”
“No!” Frantically, the kid turns and runs off into the apartment, hands still guarding his head. “I knew it was a trap!”
“Then why did you even come in here?” Gojo replies, resigning himself to chasing the boy around the apartment. He will make the kid presentable, even if it kills him.
-------
They’re twenty minutes late to pick Tsumiki up, another black mark on Gojo’s already-testy track record with the school. The fanciest boarding school for girls he could find nearby, this particular academy already had it out for Gojo, but it wasn’t his fault there’d been a scene the last time he’d visited, when he’d dropped Tsumiki off and Megumi had tipped a table, screamed, bitten more than one employee and… Gojo shudders. That’s a story for another time.
There’s only a few stragglers left behind, waiting for other tardy parents, a couple teachers interspersed in their midst, tapping their feet and looking at their expensive wristwatches. Tsumiki is sitting against one wall, a book in her lap, looking all the world like she’d be content to stay here the rest of the afternoon.
“Hiya,” Gojo cheers, making his way over. He waves at the nearest teacher, noting with a victorious inner cry that he wasn’t one of the ones to be bitten in that past incident. “Wait long?”
The teacher grunts, eying him uneasily.
“No,” Tsumiki says, smiling first at Gojo before turning to gaze fondly at her little brother, who’s feigning shyness by clinging to his pant leg. Take that, Shoko , Gojo thinks childishly, patting Megumi’s head patronizingly.
“Oh, c’mon, bud, I know you’re happy to see her.”
Megumi pinches him, making an irritated grunt. He continues to stare at Tsumiki, who remains unbothered, standing and gathering her things.
Gojo snorts. “Oh, I get it, you just don’t want to make a scene this time, huh kiddo? Here, let me take that.” Carefully, he takes hold of Tsumiki’s frankly huge pair of suitcases, the very ones she’d gone off with Shoko to get on their last shopping trip before Tsumiki started school.
“Why can’t I come?” Megumi had protested, stomping his foot.
“It’s a girls day ,” Tsumiki had said matter-of-factly, “So if you go, you have to be a girl for the day.”
Megumi had scrunched his nose up at that, and let the subject drop. The day had wracked up a downright impressive charge to Gojo’s credit card, which Shoko had justified with a simple, “Clothes are expensive. And so are mani-pedis.”
Nevermind the fact that Shoko had originally told Gojo she’d be using his card just for the luggage, not a whole new wardrobe to go in it.
“Ready?” He asks the girl now, grinning. She nods, snatching up Megumi’s hand and starting off in the direction the two came from, Megumi grumbling a little the whole way.
The trip back-- about an hour usually-- is even more of a disaster than usual.
“He’s like, really boring, but in a nice way,” Megumi is saying earnestly. He’s been chattering nonstop since the doors had closed, bouncing a little in his booster seat in his haste to relay every detail Tsumiki’s missed in the past few months. Bitterly, Gojo has to admit the sight is adorable, even if he’s a little hurt that Megumi’s never spoken to him so excitedly-- or with such a distinct lack of curses or glaring.
Tsumiki tilts her head. “He’s boring? I thought you liked him.”
“I do,” Megumi says solemnly, “But he works in like an office or something, and that’s boring.”
“So he’s not a jujutsu sorcerer?”
“No, he quit.”
Tsumiki nods understandingly. “I will have to meet him.”
The kid seems satisfied with that, thumping his head back against the headrest. “Yes, Nanamin is the best. Better than Gojo.”
Gojo scoffs to cover up how giddy it makes him that Megumi’s taken up his own nickname for the blonde man. “That’s rude, but I’ll allow it.”
“Stronger than Gojo?” Tsumiki pushes, sounding blessedly doubtful.
Megumi, the absolute brat, has to think about it for a second. Gojo holds his breath, prepared to lecture the kid if he gets this wrong. “...Well,” Megumi says at last, “No. Not in jujutsu. But he’s cooler than Gojo.”
He’ll take it, Gojo decided, filing it away as a paltry victory. One of few, when it comes to the kid.
Tsumiki looks impressed. “Then I can’t wait to meet him.”
“I think he’s in love with Gojo though, so he has bad taste.”
The car swerves, pulling into the nearest parking lot.
“What’s wrong?” Tsumiki asks, worried.
Gojo turns around in his seat, leaning into the back of the car. Megumi pushes as far back into his seat aws he can, looking distressed.
“You look creepy again,” He informs his guardian.
“He’s what now?”
“Huh?”
“Nanami. You said you think…?” He prompts, sounding a little crazy even to himself.
WIth an audacity he could only have gotten from the man in the front seat, the kid shrugs. Gojo’s almost proud.
“Kid, don’t give me that. I need answers.”
“No.”
“Kid-” Gojo huffs. “I’ll buy you McDonalds if you tell me.”
Megumi tilts his head to the side, the huffs. “Go away, I need to talk to Tsumiki,” He tells Gojo, making a shooing motion.
The man’s eyebrows knit. “What do you mean, go away? We’re in the car.”
“Get out,” Tsumiki cheerfully suggests.
“Get-” Gojo repeats, then stops himself with a sigh. “Fine.”
Grumbling up a storm, he gets out of the car, leaning against the side. Now would be the time to pull out a cigarette, he thinks, if this were a dramatic movie. But he doesn’t smoke, and isn’t willing to start, so he settles for looking out into the distance with his best brooding expression, arms crossed as he eavesdrops on his children’s conversation through the cracked backseat window.
“Should I tell him?” Megumi asks Tsumiki.
“I don’t know,” She replies, “Why not? We’d get McDonalds.”
“But then maybe him and Nanamin would get together.”
“Is that bad?”
In a grave voice, Megumi mutters, “Yes. I think it would make him more annoying.”
“But then maybe Nanami would be around more,” Tsumiki reasons.
Megumi pauses, evidently considering it. “I guess so… But he won’t let us eat ice cream for dinner.”
“We can still eat ice cream for dinner when he’s not there.”
“Hm, okay. So I’ll tell him?” Megumi checks. Gojo can just imagine the unsure expression he must be making, cooing internally. For all his griping and grumbling, Megumi values his sister’s opinion greatly, and follows her lead like a dedicated soldier, even when he decides to be a brat about it.
“Yeah, I think you should. Gojo’s funnier when he’s happy.”
After a second, there’s a knock on the window behind him. Gojo pretends to be startled, as if he wasn’t listening in and was really zoning out like the stuffy protagonist of a movie. “All sorted out?” He asks.
Megumi nods through the window, and Gojo takes that as permission to get back into the car, sliding into the driver’s seat. “So, what’s the verdict?”
“I’ll tell you… If you take us to McDonalds, and get us ice cream too.”
“Jeez, kid, you’re going to break the bank,” Gojo jokes, “But I agree to your terms. However, I’m expecting a lot of juicy details. Leave nothing out.”
“Sure.”
“Whoo, McDonalds!” Tsumiki cheers, waving her hands excitedly, “Whoo, true love!”
-----------
“For the love of fuck, Megumi, please stop that.” Gojo sighs, tearing a hand through his hair. They’re making a scene in the McDonalds, not that he’d usually mind, but the employee has been sending him angry looks for the last half hour, and he’s not in the mood to get banned from yet another establishment.
Megumi remains undisturbed by Gojo’s strife, flinging another ketchup-covered french fry missile at the glass door. There’s a sad pile of discarded potato soldiers on the ground, ready to be smushed into the welcome mat by the next unknowing customer, probably too distracted by the smears of red on the door to notice the landmines.
“Megumi,” Tsumiki tries in that gentle tone that usually gets the younger to listen, “Let’s not do that.”
And just like that, the kid stops, dropping his fries back to the table in favor of digging his fingers into his burger, leaving little white imprints on the bun. “I want chicken nuggets,” He informs Gojo.
“You asked for a burger when we were ordering, so that’s what you get.”
Glaring at his guardian, Megumi picks the top bun off and takes a bite feral, tearing into it with his teeth with a vigor that frankly frightens Gojo. It might just be the bread, but at least the kid’s eating something, he consoles himself, even if he looks like some strange wild beast while doing it.
“So,” Gojo tries, looking away from the disturbing sight that is Megumi’s rage-eating, “Let’s chat.”
“I need to pee first,” Tsumiki informs him helpfully, “Don’t start without me, I want to hear everything.”
Gojo waves a hand dismissively. “Alright, okay, go ahead. We’ll wait here.”
She slips out of the booth and totters off towards the unisex bathroom, leaving Gojo alone with a sulking Megumi who has now moved on to lining his french fries on the countertop, forgoing the tray altogether. Gojo decides not to ask, sitting back in his seat to wait.
A beat passes, then another, and then it’s been ten minutes since Tsumiki made her way to the bathroom, and Gojo tries not to be a clingy parent, but he’s getting worried. Megumi’s eaten his way methodically through the line of fries and is now wrigging boredly in his seat, staring at the toy in his hand.
“Bud, let’s go check on your sister.”
“I don’t wanna. You do it.”
Gojo sighs. There’s only two other patrons in the McDonalds-- an old man playing chess on his phone, sound all the way up, and a tired-looking woman in a suit-- but who knows what could happen if he left the kid alone? A band of thieves could come in and take him for ransom, a pack of wild dogs could come and vandalize the store, masked vigilantes could bomb the place in the name of anti-corporate justice, the possibilities are endless. Granted, he’d be away from the table for just a few minutes, and could probably see the whole thing from outside the bathroom door, but…
Screw it, clingy parent it is.
“Too bad kiddo, up.”
Huffing, Megumi kicks his legs but slides out of the booth, following Gojo towards the bathroom.
“Tsumiki?” Gojo asks, rapping against the door, “All good?”
There’s rustling inside, and then the door opens. Tsumiki’s head pops out, paler than ever. Immediately, gojo is on high alert. “What’s wrong?”
Eyes darting down to her brother, then back to her guardian’s face, Tsumiki clears her throat. “I got my period.”
Gojo’s heart sinks. His stomach churns. His blood runs cold. He’s going to die, here in the McDonalds, because what is he supposed to do ? He knew this day would come, the day that this massive responsibility finally eclipsed his measly abilities and swallowed him whole, he just thought he wouldn’t be in a dingy fast food restaurant when it happened. He also always thought it’d be Megumi that got the best of him,but the girl was full of surprises too.
“What’s that?” Megumi asks, tilting his head.
“I need to call Shoko,” Gojo decides aloud, ignoring the question for the sake of his sanity, “Let’s not stand outside the door; Megumi go wait in the bathroom with her while I call Shoko.”
Megumi shrugs, and Tsumiki opens the door wider so he can shuffle inside, looking like he couldn’t care less what was going on.
The door shuts. Gojo pulls up Shoko’s contact and hits the call button, just as an inhuman screech rips out of the bathroom.
“ You’re DYING ,” Megumi shouts, screaming again, “ Why are you bleeding?!”
Gojo hangs up, barging into the bathroom. He’ll have to talk to her later; this is apparently something he has to deal with himself.
----------
They don’t end up getting the promised ice cream, and Gojo forgets entirely about his precious intel, but no one brings it up on the drive home.
By some freak accident, they all make it out of the establishment unsccathed, if not a bit shaken. It took one rushed trip across the street to the conbini, a bewildered look from the cashier there, ten different boxes of pads and tampons-- he didn’t know which one to get; there are so many different kinds and what the hell is “medium flow”? that’s not a real unit of measure-- and almost getting hit by a car in his hurry to get back, but they’re leaving the restaurant now, Megumi on wobbly legs and Tsumiki flushed with embarrassment.
Gojo thought this wasn’t due for a few months at the very least; he wasn’t prepared. He hadn’t gotten to the chapters about periods in any of the parenting books stacked on his bedside table, hadn’t gotten the chance to watch even one video on the matter. If it weren’t for Shoko’s lectures back in high school, Gojo possibly wouldn’t even have known what menstruation was , seeing as he had quite the unorthodox, sheltered upbringing.
Megumi was inconsolable, near-catatonic as they exited the building. As homage to how shaken he was, he was clinging to Gojo’s hand like it was his last lifeline, white-knuckled, squeezing so hard Gojo might have been losing circulation in his fingers. He’s not one to complain though; it’s rare that Megumi will be so openly dependent on him and he’s dead set on treasuring it while he can.
By the time they get home, the cheerful attitude from earlier has evaporated, Tsumiki and Megumi both retreating to their bedroom, the door closing behind them with a somber finality. For the second time that day, Gojo wishes he were one for more earthly vices, wishes he could just drown this disaster in a bottle of whiskey or a pack of cigarettes.
Instead, he collapses to the couch, pulling out his phone to add ‘ puberty talk’ to the list of things to look into. He’s sure this is just the beginning, and there’s only so much he can ask Shoko to do for him. She’s been more of a help than he could ever rightfully ask of her, but she has a life, and an important job, and it’s starting to weigh on him.
Speaking of-- his phone rings, as if she’d known he was thinking of her. She used to say the three of them-- him, her, and Suguru, that is-- had some kind of psychic connection, that they were bonded for life.
He swallows, then presses the connect button.
“What happened,” Shoko deadpans by way of greeting.
“I don’t know if it could have gone worse,” Gojo tells her, “And hello.”
She grunts. “You almost never call me, and then you hung up before I could even answer. What happened ?” She repeats, urgency leaking into her tone.
“Nothing serious.” There’s a sigh of relief on the other end of the line. “Tsumiki got her period in a McDonalds, and I was horribly unprepared, because of course I was. There was blood, there was screaming, there was disgruntled employee interference, it was a massacre, Sho.”
“Oh, that’s all? You had me actually worried.”
Gojo sputters. “What do you mean ‘ that’s all ’? Megumi threw up a little!”
“He’s sensitive,” She says dismissively, “Is ‘Miki okay?”
“She’s fine. Shaken up and more embarrassed than I’ve ever seen her, but fine. It took the both of us to figure out how to get the damn pad on-- why are they so complicated?”
“It’s not that hard. You figured it out, right? And you’re an idiot.”
Gojo sighs. “I couldn’t get it. Tsumiki did.”
“Of course,” Shoko snorts, “You’re hopeless.”
“I know that ,” Gojo snaps before he can catch himself.
There’s a pause. Then, “You know I was kidding, Satoru. You’re doing just fine.”
“Am I? Because I traumatized both my kids today with my incompetence.”
“They’re not traumatized. It might have been… unorthodox, but that’s just fine. They know you’re doing the best you can.”
“Megumi’s pissed at me, and Tsumiki wouldn’t even look me in the eye for the rest of the trip home.”
“They’re kids. They’ll forget it even happened by tomorrow.”
Gojo scoffs, disbelieving. “Megumi still won’t let me live down mixing the salt and sugar up in his birthday cake, and that was months ago. He’s going to be bringing this up at my retirement party.”
Shoko pauses, then there’s a stifled laugh over the phone line.
“What.”
The laugh turns to outright giggles, and Gojo’s not really in the mood for this right now.
“ Whattttt ,” He whines, dragging his glasses off and tossing them on the coffee table.
“Nothing, it’s just… Cute that you’re already thinking about them being there for your retirement.”
“I mean… yeah, they’re my kids?” Gojo wonders aloud, confused.
“You know,” Shoko starts, and judging by her tone, he’s not going to like where she’s going with this, “Last month was the first time I ever heard you say ‘my son’, and now you do it all the time.”
“What? No I don't. I’m not his dad.”
“You literally just called them your kids.”
“I- Well, yeah, but-” He coughs. “I’m not actually their dad.”
“How so,” Shoko prompts, sounding amused.
“You know how.”
When she replies, Shoko sounds like she’s almost irritated with him, that tone he gets when she can’t decide if he’s being funny or being an idiot. (Usually, it’s a cocktail of both.) “Just because you don’t share DNA doesn’t mean that they aren’t your kids. Tsumiki and Megumi aren’t blood-related, but she’s his sister, right?”
“But that’s different-”
“How?”
Gojo can’t find an answer for that, so he settles for a different tactic. “As soon as he’s older, Megumi’s going to be through with me. He already hates me, why would he want to stick around?”
“Megumi doesn’t hate you, Satoru. He’s just a fucking brat.”
“I disagree, and even if he didn’t hate me, he’s not going to want me around.”
Shoko hums, sounding like she doesn’t believe him in the least. “You never know. I bet six, seven years from now, he’s still going to be in your life. I bet ten, twenty years, he’s going to realize how much you’ve done for him.”
“That’s if I can manage to survive him going through puberty,” He tells her, sighing and running his hand through his hair again.
“You know, that’s fair,” Shoko agrees. “Don’t stress about it. It’ll be fine. And besides, Megumi’s only eight, you’ve got a few years.”
“Right.”
“And they aren’t traumatized.”
“Right.”
“And you’re doing fine.”
Gojo coughs. “Right.”
“I mean it, Satoru.”
“...I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.”
Shoko laughs. “Alright.”
After hanging up-- not without confirming that Shoko was going to take Tsumiki and Megumi to the amusement park like she promised-- Gojo lays back on the couch, contemplating. For a moment, he lets himself dwell on how things might be different if Suguru were still around. The two of them could take on the world together, could clear any hurtle the world sent their way, and ever since Suguru had left, Satoru had been feeling like he was being swallowed whole, limping slowly and lopsided in a daze through his everyday life. He’d turn to show Suguru something, just to find him not there; he’d go to ask for advice, for help, for anything, only to find himself so starkly alone.
If anything, the distance was sobering. Never once had Gojo realized just how wrapped up in each other they were, until they weren’t.
“You were in love,” Shoko had consoled him.
He’d never thought of it that way. It was something unnamed, something that was just there , always, Satoru and Sugaru, Suguru and Satoru. A pair, do not separate. And then Geto had up and left, disappeared like a dream, evaporated into the crowd right in front of his eyes and never looked back, leaving Gojo bereft, deprived, unsure how to even stand on his two feet.
Part of him still thought that Suguru would still come back, that he’d turn around one day and Suguru would be there, like he’d never left. That he’d laugh and say he was sorry, he’d been wrong, that he’d open his arms and Gojo would slide right back in where he belonged. He just knew that Megumi would love him, and Tsumiki would laugh at his jokes, and they could be a happy family, and Gojo wouldn’t be drowning in this responsibility, he wouldn’t be so crushingly alone in this. and he knew-- he knew he wasn’t, not really. Shoko was there, and Nanami might grumble about it, but he was there every step of the way too, but he still felt like he was grasping at straws, unsure who to turn to.
Advice… well, Nanami likely had Suguru beat in that department. He’d always had a more solid head on his shoulders, a few less screws loose than the others, even back in school. More than one occasion found Nanami bailing the pair out, Shoko laughing on the sidelines, making some snide comment about how their junior always had to be the one to knock some sense into them.
Dialing up another number, Gojo straightens, tucking his hair behind one ear. Between Megumi and work, it’d been forever since he could manage the time for a haircut, and it was getting a bit shaggy.
“Nanami speaking.”
Gojo grins, feeling his shoulders lighten immediately. “Why do you answer the phone like that, if you know who it is?”
“You are a professional acquaintance; I’ll answer the phone accordingly.”
“I am not a- did you just professional acquaintance-zone me?! ”
“Did you have something to say, or were you just in the mood to bother me?”
There’s a beep on the other end of the line, and a bit of murmuring. Belatedly, Gojo feels a bit bad. “Honestly, I’m a bit touched you answered me at work. I’m blushing over here.” If he’d actually forgotten Nanami had a day job, no one needed to know that.
“It could be an emergency,” Nanami says rationally, sounding a little strained. “Is everything alright?”
Gojo sighs. “Technically, yes. Emotionally? 8.0 earthquake.”
He can practically hear Nanami raising his eyebrows. “Are you… Would you like me to come over?”
“Yes, please.”
“I’ll be there once I finish work then. Maybe 6:30.”
“Nana miiiii ,” Gojo whines, “I’m in crisis. Can’t you get here sooner?”
“No. I have important work to do.”
“Fine. See you then.”
“Goodbye,” Nanami says, hanging up with a definitive click. Gojo sighs. He should check on the kids sometime soon, make sure they haven’t turned to concussing the day’s memories out of one another, and maybe start on dinner-
Gojo bolts upright, phone falling out of his lap and bouncing to the ground defunctly. He’d almost forgotten, the whole reason they were at McDonald’s in the first place, the whole reason the whole debacle hadn’t taken place in the sanctity of their own home-- that precious information he’d been promised.
“I think he’s in love with Gojo though, so he has bad taste ,” Megumi had said, so nonchalant in that revelation as if he weren’t tipping Gojo’s whole world on its rear end, sending things flying, scattering radio signals, starting fires.
He can’t get to the kids’ bedroom door fast enough, pausing only long enough to rap against the wood and inform, “ coming in ” before damn-near knocking the damn thing over in his haste. Megumi’s curled up in bed, Tsumiki reading aloud from a book entitled Carnivorous Animals and Parallels to Society that Gojo most certainly did not buy for them.
She stops when he bares in, glancing up at him curiously. “Yes?”
“Go away,” Megumi says helpfully.
“Kid, tell me what you were going to tell me earlier. About Nanami.”
Megumi wrinkles his nose, then sticks it in the air. “You didn’t get us ice cream.”
“We can have ice cream for breakfast, lunch and dinner tomorrow, I promise.”
“Pinky-swear it.”
Unflinchingly and without hesitation, Gojo sticks his pinky finger into the bottom bunk, Megumi’s smaller finger curling around it. “I want vanilla ice cream. And we’re out of sprinkles.”
“I’m all over it kid, now tell me .”
“And Tsumiki wants strawberry ice cream,” Megumi carries on, ignoring him.
Gojo looks at the girl for confirmation. She nods, grinning.
“Okay. Vanilla and strawberry, and chocolate for me. More sprinkles. Got it.”
Seemingly satisfied, Megumi releases his grip, leaning back against his pillows once again. “I think Nanamin is in love with you, because he looks at you a lot.”
Gojo nods, eager. This is it- the confirmation he’s been waiting for. He’s had his suspicions for at least a few weeks now, and a crush on the man for longer, but never anything substantial enough to make good on. This is it, this is the moment he’s been waiting for-- “And?”
“And… that’s it.”
Gojo blinks. “That’s it?”
Megumi nods, looking self-satisfied. The bastard .
“You little shit . That's all you’ve got? Were you baiting me this whole time?”
“No.”
“ Liar .”
Tsumiki giggles, reaching over to offer her brother a high-five. “Nice one, ‘Gumi.”
Gojo balks, putting his hands on his hips as sternly as he can manage. “Do not encourage him, Tsumiki!” He says as firmly as possible, but he’s got to hand it to the kid, he got played. Big time. “It looks like we have to get to the store to pick up some ice cream, so get ready to go in five minutes.”
“And sprinkles,” Megumi reminds him, squirming out of bed and flopping onto the floor.
“And sprinkles,” Gojo agrees.
---------
Grocery shopping with two kids, Gojo has discovered in the time he’s had them, is not an easy task. Megumi’s wandered off, Tsumiki is bouncing on the end of the cart, almost tipping the damn thing over, and Gojo still hasn’t even made it to the ice cream aisle, already at the end of his rope.
“Tsu, please get off of that,” Gojo tells the girl, poking at her hands where they’re gripping the cart rails, “It’s going to fall and you’re going to get hurt.”
Reluctantly, the girl clambors off, turning him with a rushed, “I’ll beat you to the ice cream aisle,” before she’s off, feet squeaking on the floor tiles.
Gojo sighs, starting after at a far more appropriate pace, making stops to pick up the things they actually need, secure in the fact that his kids can take care of themselves for a little while. He’s of course been teaching them self defense, and in Megumi’s case, jujutsu, and has no doubts that they’d pulverize anyone who dared lay a hand on them, but a part of him can’t help but be worried. He doesn’t dawdle as he makes his way towards the ice cream aisle, confident that’s where Megumi’s ended up.
Sure enough, both of his kids are there, huddled over one of the ice cream freezers, pointing inside and whispering to one another. Tsumiki’s got an arm curled around Megumi’s shoulders, helpfully pulling him out of the way of other customers, and Gojo can’t help but smile watching them.
“Figure out which one you want?” He asks, coming up behind them.
Silently, Megumi points one of them out-- the most expensive brand, to Gojo’s dismay-- and Tsumiki follows suit excitedly. “That’s the one they had at school. It’s the best.”
“Then that’s the one we’ll get,” Gojo tells her, patting her head and reaching into the case.
“And sprinkles,” Megumi points out for the thousandth time that evening.
“ And sprinkles ,” Gojo echoes in a grumble, “I haven’t forgotten the damn sprinkles, bud. Let’s go pick some out, huh? Then we can blow this popsicle joint.”
Megumi giggles, clinging into the side of the cart dutifully.
It’s as they’re passing the alcohol section that Megumi pipes up again, tugging on Gojo’s sleeve. “Look.”
“Hm?” Gojo asks, not glancing up from the list he’s banged out on his phone. They’ve got everything they need now, except the beloved, all-important sprinkles…
“It’s Nanamin.”
Gojo’s head shoots up, whipping around towards where Megumi’s pointing. And sure enough, scrutinizing a bottle of wine, still in his work clothes, Nanami is there, holding an expensive-looking wine in each hand.
“Nanamin,” Megumi calls, and the man looks up, startled, putting one bottle down to push his glasses up his nose. There’s a crease in his forehead as he turns fully towards where Gojo is pushing the cart towards him, Tsumiki trailing behind sheepishly.
“What are you doing here?” Gojo asks, glancing down at his phone. 5:32pm , it reads. Gojo frowns. “Shouldn’t you be at work still?”
Nanami coughs. “I left early. I was finished enough, so…”
“So?” Gojo prompts. “Why are you here, instead of going home?”
“I wanted to pick something up before going to meet you…” He trails off, looking almost embarrassed, shifting from foot to foot.
Right. In the hullabaloo of getting Megumi to stop complaining about his booster seat, he’d forgotten that Nanami had agreed to come over. His gaze settles on the wine bottle still in the younger man’s hand.
Nanami flushes. “I know you don’t drink, but I was thinking maybe a little couldn’t hurt. To take the edge off… You sounded really out of it on the phone.”
Gojo grins, touched that Nanami noticed something like that.
“Well, I’m flattered, but I don’t drink at all. I appreciate it though. I’d have preferred roses.”
Nanami nods, setting the bottle back on the shelf. “Noted. I’ll,” He coughs, looking anywhere but Gojo’s face, “See you in a bit, then.”
And with that, he hurries off without another word, leaving Gojo to blink after him.
“What,” He mutters. He’s never seen Nanami act like that, so unsure. Normally, the man is all common sense and confidence, stern and unshaken.
“Megumi’s totally right,” Tsumiki says after a moment.
Gojo hums.
“Definitely in love with you,” She goes on.
Gojo looks down at her. “Think so?”
“Hundred percent,” She says confidently, grinning. She’s still missing one tooth.
“In that case… How do you two feel about playing wingmen for a night?”