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“Nanako?”
Mimiko peeks from her cozy fortress of blankets to where Nanako sits on the floor, illuminated by nothing but the TV lights with credits rolling on the screen. Her sister’s knees on the crumbs-littered rug and eyes on the DVD album, intently scanning through whatever cover or title might catch her interest.
“What are you doiiiiing.” Mimiko’s voice drags, syrupy, edging on an aborted yawn.
“Looking for another movie.”
“But Geto-san said not to stay up too late.” Mimiko squints at the clock right above the TV. The clock hands are difficult to see in the low light, but it’s already something past ten, maybe almost eleven.
“Well, Geto-san’s not here.” Nanako’s looking at her now, teeth flashing with an edge of mischief. “And it’s already late, if we’re gonna get lectured anyways we should just have fun while we can.”
Mimiko purses her lips, weighing her options.
“Ooh, what about this one. Looks cool.” Nanako then holds up a disk in her hands, without waiting for Mimiko’s reply, fingerprints all over the shiny surface of refracted light.
“Ion’t wanna watch superhero movies.” Mimiko complains. They’re lame, even though Gojo-san always insists that they’re not. Gojo-san’s lame, too. “Is there anything like what we just watched? I liked the rat.”
“I don’t think he’s a rat. Rats don’t eat bugs, and they’re not that long.”
“Huh? They live in the garbage dump though, why don’t they eat bugs? There’s a lot of bugs in there.”
“I dunno. They just don’t.” Nanako shrugs, putting the rejected disk back to where it belongs, before continuing her search in what Mimiko hopes is more movies with talking animals. As she skips pages and pages of CDs, Mimiko reads through whatever title she could before her sister skips over to the next one.
Their comfortable silence was interrupted by a series of crashes past the halls, dull noises echoing in the silence of their home as objects unknown to them hit the floor. They share a look, heart in their throat, and a moment later Nanako shoots up from her position to stand in front of Mimiko protectively.
”Stay here,” she says, but says nothing when Mimiko follows right behind her, hands on her shoulders.
The journey down the hall is short, but the low light, the anxiety under her skin, and the strained, pained noises where the crashes occurred make every second stretch. Following the sound, Mimiko finds themselves in front of the bathroom, Nanako’s hand on the door, little fingers trembling before she swallows down her hesitation, slamming the door open with one hand and the other closed tight to a fist for defense.
“Oh! Hey, kids!”
What greets them is Gojo-san is all of his lamppost-like glory, one hand waving at them and the other holding up Geto-san’s hair as he plants his face into the toilet bowl. Scattered around them are bottles of familiar hair care products, which must’ve been the culprit of the noise.
Geto-san reemerges with the grace of a rain-soaked cat, eyes puffy and teary with drool down his chin. When he tries to speak, his attempt was rudely interrupted by another retch, and he’s back vomiting into the toilet bowl.
Mimiko promptly covers her mouth and nose. Nanako gags.
“Hey, don’t throw up now!” Gojo-san makes a point to pat Geto-san’s on the back, teasing, while the latter shakes as he empties more of his stomach content. “Can’t you see the poor Geto-sama can’t deal with that right now?”
Geto-san tries to speak again, mumbled attempts that sound like I’ll fucking , a wheeze, then kill you . In which Gojo-san laughs at as he coos sickening sweet words for him right in front of Mimiko’s face. Aww, it’s okay, babe. Take it easy, yeah? Love you. Before kissing Geto-san’s shoulder through the fabric. She thinks she’s gonna throw up too.
A stretch of painful silence as Geto-san blindly reaches and a toilet flush later, Geto-san has his cheek leaned against the edge of the bowl, eyes closed as he controls his breath, wet lines down his face. Gojo-san ties his hair to a low bun behind him, a colorful hair tie taken from his wrist to bundle up the messy locks, sticky with sweat.
Another moment of hesitation before Nanako approaches them, hands on her chest before gingerly placing one on Geto-san’s back, drawing circles like he would for them. He sighs contently, relaxing under the touch.
“Geto-san,” her voice is quiet. “Are you okay?”
“Thank you, Nanako. And yeah, I’m… fine.” He squeezes his eyes with a groan, a slur in his voice. He waves his hand limply, before it blindly lands on the top of her head. “‘Mjust… Don’t worry about it.”
Mimiko trots closer, pointing at herself.
“Oh, mmm, yeah, you too, Mimiko.” And she smiles when he ruffles her hair too.
Then, he blinks, eyes cracking open, like something just computed inside his brain.
“Why are you girls still awake?”
Oh no.
Fortunately, Mimiko and Nanako both got off with only minor scolding, mostly because Gojo-san hauled Geto-san up like a bride in his arms after five minutes of lagging, slurred speech, struggling and failing to gather the correct words for a lecture. Nanako made a face at him, in sync with Geto-san’s own weak protests, when he cheerfully scuttled out of the bathroom, not before telling her and Mimiko to tidy up the bottles.
Fortunately again, that was the last of Gojo-san’s escapades for the night before he blipped off, and Mimiko and Nanako were left with Geto-san’s sleeping form in his unlocked room by the time they were done. He was tucked in on the side of the bed, chest rising and falling evenly.
That should be the end of Mimiko and Nanako’s shared concern, but in the morning Geto-san didn’t eat with them. When asked there was the tiniest grimace in his expression, face turning green, and he simply waved his hand and said that he already ate before them. But she’s seen days when Geto-san would skip meals, where his form wasn't as full with a soft edge to them, limbs thin and hair messy and eyebags heavy, so her concerns only grew.
It doesn’t help that that wasn’t the last time it happened. The next weekend Geto-san came home in a similar condition—teleported to their bathroom, face deathly pale as his stomach was emptied, and in the morning he’d still retain that sickly and grouchy air around him. Mimiko doesn’t have the guts to ask about him again, while Nanako seems to not have noticed, like her own worries have disappeared to thin air.
One day, though, in front of a TV show Mimiko’s barely watching as she busies herself with her old plush and the worn clothes on the floor, the sounds of oil hissing against the pan from the kitchen another background noise, Mimiko decides to swallow down her anxiety and mention it to her sister when she hears the commercial breaks roll in.
“Nanako,” she starts, hesitantly, twirling a loose thread between her fingers. “Do you think Geto-san’s sick?”
“Huh?”
“He came home very sick every weekend.” Something weighs down on her throat, threatening to crack her voice unless she lowers her voice. “What if he’s getting ill again? Like when we started to live with him?”
Nanako further sinks further into the couch, comfortable. “Don’t worry about that.”
Mimiko sniffles. “Why?”
“Well, obviously”—Nanako holds up a finger, confidence flashing behind her grin—“Geto-san’s just pregnant.”
Now it’s Mimiko’s turn to go huh? The cogs inside her brain jam. In response, Nanako gets up from her comfortable position of half-lying against the couch’s armrest, there’s a shine of excitement behind her eyes.
“Think about it! He gets sick and pissy in the morning, he came home all vomiting twice now, and Gojo-san was always there when he came home.”
“Why is Gojo-san important?”
“‘Cuz you need two people to make a baby! You know, when two people hold hands and kiss a lot one of them’s gonna get pregnant, and their belly’s gonna get reaaal big, and a baby will come out.”
Mimiko blinks. Ardently, Nanako points at the TV, colorful ads playing on the screen. “Haven’t you been watching the- you know, the show? Every wednesday?”
She shakes her head. No, she hasn’t. She doesn’t get why her sister’s so excited about watching two people eating together in a fancy restaurant and avoiding direct conversations about ‘what they are’ or whatever instead of just saying it outright, not to mention some arguments Mimiko doesn’t think should be that big of a problem in the first place. Somehow she finds it more infuriating than Gojo-san. Maybe it’s an adult thing.
“You should’ve! Now you missed out.” Nanako looks betrayed, but she still plops off the couch to meet Mimiko’s eye level. She leans closer to her face, volume lowered. “Grown-ups usually like to keep this thing a hush-hush. It’s kind of a big deal. Maybe that’s why Geto-san hasn’t told us. We should just wait for him to tell us himself.”
She glances to the direction of the kitchen where Geto-san is busying himself with lunch, and the pieces of information Nanako just shared with her click to form a picture. Mimiko can’t help her cheeks from dusting red.
“We’re gonna have a baby sister?” Mimiko mutters, and Nanako bounces in her place, taking Mimiko’s hands in hers and shaking them up and down. She can’t help but get a bit giggly, mirroring the gesture.
“Yeah! Isn’t that great?” But Nanako’s face turns pale just as quickly, and Mimiko is once again left confused and worried. “Wait… No…”
“What’s wrong, Nanako?”
“If… If Gojo-san did it then…” Her face quickly fills with horror, hands covering her mouth.
Then, without warning, she grabs Mimiko by the shoulders, shaking her whole frame. Mimiko wails waaaahhhh helplessly.
“Mimiko! I don’t wanna call Gojo-san papa!”
“Girls. Play nice.”
Nanako yells in surprise finally releasing Mimiko from her death grip, her hands up in the air, while Mimiko sways from the sudden release of the motion, room spinning with the inertia, Geto-san’s figure over them a blur.
He sighs, head tilting. “What were you talking about?”
“Nothing!” Nanako blurts first, putting out her thumb. That earns her a raised brow from Geto-san, a flash of curiosity that turns to amusement on his lips, further curling the corner. Mimiko blinks to reorient her sight.
“Alright then. I’ll leave you to it," he says, thankfully willing to set whatever questions he has aside before Nanako accidentally spills their shared beans. Something else catches his attention. "Ah, Mimiko, I didn’t know you still have that dress.”
That snaps Mimiko back to full brain function, lifting her dressed plush. “This?”
“Mhm. That thing’s getting old now, isn’t it?”
“But Geto-san made it for me.” She squeezes it tight, face warm—it’s fuller and fluffier than it used to be. She remembers Geto-san’s hissed swears when he was fixing it up, fingers pricked by his own clumsy needle-work. “I don’t want to throw it away.”
Geto-san’s expression turns soft. “I’m not saying you should. It’s just about time your little friend gets a new fit, hmm?”
Mimiko’s eyes sparkle. “Really?”
“Yup. I could even teach you. We all could learn together.”
Enthusiastically, Nanako lifts up her hand. “Oh! I wanna draw the dress! Lemme draw the dress!”
“Of course,” Geto-san laughs, fond. “Of course.”
It’s Wednesday—three days after Geto-san was last teleported home face-first to the toilet bowl, two after Mimiko and Nanako’s talk, and one after Nanako discovered her cursed technique.
It’s one of those days where Geto-san bring them to the campus, which was an unfortunate choice for today , because now Nanako is off terrorizing the school grounds. Geto-san was manhandled off for an emergency mission as soon as they walked past the torii gate, so now it’s up to Nanami-san to chase after a hyperactive, hyper-excited seven years old before she possibly causes any significant property damage.
Meanwhile, Mimiko huffs as she carries off his paperwork to the teacher’s room, that Nanami-san has shoved unceremoniously to her arms and asked her to please bring them to his table just a blink before he turned to a blur in the distance.
Mimiko’s face turns more bitter when she sees that the couch is fully occupied. It’s quickly gone the moment she notices it’s Geto-san, but the disappointment still lingers on the pout of her lips.
Scuttling closer after her quest was done, there’s now curiosity and intent in the way she observes him, the way his lips slightly part in his slumber, chest rising and falling evenly. Geto-san doesn’t usually take naps, Mimiko realizes, he must be tired.
That thought was quickly followed by the theory Nanako’s proposed about what must be going on with their guardian. He’s grouchy in the morning, takes more naps, gets sick easily. As much as Mimiko wants to believe they’re gonna have a little baby sibling, she can’t really hold that thought just yet.
‘Sides, his tummy is still small. When Mimiko brought up that rebuttal Nanako just replied that it’s gonna take a while for it to grow. Mimiko wonders how long that is.
For now, though, she curiously hikes the hem of Geto-san’s uniform up until his tummy is exposed, and gently presses her palm on the soft skin. She remembers a few scenes from the drama series Nanako liked so much, where people would touch the big tummy of the pregnant woman to… feel the baby? Maybe? It likes to kick? Does it want to get out? She figures she could get some sort of answer for this.
There is no movement, which Mimiko kind of expects, but… there’s a shift.
There's a—something? Something shifting under his skin. It doesn’t feel like Geto-san. It feels… different, the way Geto-san feels different from Gojo-san from Ieiri-san. Mimiko feels its smooth movement under her palm, spinning, spinning, spinning. It’s a slow, continuous, seemingly-endless cycle, like a whirlpool that’s been slowed down to a snail's pace.
Oh , Mimiko thinks, entranced by the motion. Oh, Nanako’s maybe right after all .
The next shift is physical, under the small contact of her hand and his skin, Geto-san squirms. Mimiko pulls her hand away, and his long limbs are stretched as he groans, rising from the depths of his cozy nap, like a big, content cat.
He sighs pleasantly by the end of it. When he cracks his eyes open, sight landing on Mimiko, a smile spreads on his lips. He props himself on his elbow, while his other hand reaches to caress her hair.
"Good morning, Mimiko." Although it's not morning, but Geto-san's warmth feels like the morning sun, making her feel all nice without being too sweaty, so maybe it's not too different. "...I didn't lose weight, did I?"
He noticed? Mimiko sputters for a moment, before shaking her head to compensate for her failing speech.
"Mm… I hope so." He exhales a quiet complaint that she can’t quite catch, before slowly, carefully sitting himself up, stretching one last time. Still, she feels bad.
“I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?”
“No. Don’t worry. I’ve rested enough.” His smile is familiar, reassuring, making her feel lighter. His eyes scan around her, around the room, late to notice the absence of her other half. "Where's Nanako?"
"With Nanami-san."
"And you're not with her?"
She shakes her head again. "No, I can't run that fast."
He blinks, cogs jammed, brows furrowed. "Run?"
"Nanami-san's chasing after he 'cuz she's—"
But there's a loud crashing noise disturbing her sentence and forcing all the residual sleepiness out of Geto-san’s skin. There's a moment where he's still, eyes wide in growing horror, before he practically leaps to the window to peek over through the glass, she follows suit, trotting behind him.
What greets them is the sight of the roof of the building across from them with a small chunk of it gone, the debris has fallen right under, dust not yet settled, and Nanako tightly held in Nanami-san’s arms, flailing and wailing like a fish out of water.
“What…” Geto-san’s blinks, opening the window to lean forward with his eyes squinted. “Is Nanami sparkling?”
She wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t pointed it out, but now that she sees it… “I think it’s glitter.”
“Glitter?”
Nanami-san seems to notice them from a distance, the air around him sharp and wild, like a garden hose let loose, or like the child struggling and failing to get free from his grip. Geto-san takes the hint and climbs out the window, and speedwalking closer while Mimiko trots right behind him—not before struggling to crawl up the window.
Nanako stops wailing at least, eyes wide and wet with a pout like she always does when she knows she’s in trouble, while Nanami-san looks grim despite the glitter—so it is glitter!—and various stickers covering him and his suit.
“Geto-senpai.” Nanami-san is kind of scary, especially like this, Mimiko can’t help but focus more on the cute stickers though. “Your child almost fell off the roof.”
“ What? How did she get there?”
“Fuck if I know.”
“I got my cursed technique now!” Nanako says, half in protest, like she was offended they were talking like she wasn’t there. She wriggles, waving the hand that’s holding her phone as much as she could in her restraint. “It’s super cool. Geto-san, wanna see?”
Nanami-san’s grip is still firm. “No, I’m not letting you down.”
Geto-san makes one of those faces when there’s a headache budding in his temple. He sighs deeply, but he doesn’t let the fatigue win over the honey-sweet he slathers over his words. “That’s great, Nanako. Do you wanna tell me about it?”
“If you don’t encourage her, that would be great.”
“Yuh-uh!” Nanako nods enthusiastically, proudly. “I can edit things with my phone! That’s how I got to the roof.”
Is that where the glitter and stickers come from?
“Looks like you’ve got the hang of it already, too!” Geto-san bounces off of her enthusiasm, while Nanami-san’s face folds further in his lone suffering.
But then he crouches over so he’s on Nanako’s eye level. His hand is gentle as he brushes off some of the dust and debris that got on her hair. “But, Nanako, you have to be responsible with your abilities. It could be dangerous to you or others, like just now, what would’ve happened if Nanami-san wasn’t there to catch you?”
At last, Nanako’s buzzing energy seems to be gone now, replaced by shame as she avoids meeting Geto-san in the eyes. “Sorry…”
“It’s okay, I’m not mad. Besides, it’s not me you should apologize to.” His hand squeezes Nanako’s shoulder. “Can you promise to not use your technique if Nanami-san lets you down?”
She nods, and his smile returns as he stands back straight. “That’s a good girl. Nanami, please.”
Nanami-san does, and Nanako, true to her words, only does as much as swaying lightly, left and right, sheepish.
“Go on, Nanako.”
There’s a moment of hesitation, before Nanako turns to Nanami-san, fiddling with her hands. “‘Msorry, Nanami-san, n’ thanks for catching me.”
The air pressure around him easens to a halt with the release of his sigh, no longer feeling like it would cut if approached.
“That’s okay. You’re still a child.”
When Nanako leaps to wrap her arms around one of his legs, he doesn’t stop her, not reacting further than a non-committal hum.
“But your father will still have to pay reparations for my hair.”
Mimiko’s mouth gapes, the same time Geto-san’s smile turns to half a grimace.
Mimiko hasn’t gotten the time to inform Nanako of her discovery, not after Geto-san announced that they’re going to have a little party to celebrate the revelation of Nanako’s cursed technique. They were both caught up in the excitement—Nanako with pride and Mimiko with wonders of what her technique will be and when it’ll be available for her—so the topic of their investigation was briefly forgotten.
It’s a small party, with her and Nanako sitting on either side of Geto-san. Not counting the two of them, there’s only Ieiri-sensei and Nanami-san and Geto-san, and two other empty seats that must’ve been for Gojo-san and… someone else. She can’t remember who.
It’s only after their orders cluttered the table that Gojo-san walks through the door at the sushi place, announcing himself loudly like the restaurant was his private property and like his long limbs weren’t enough to steal attention in the middle of a crowded street.
Geto-san greets him back cheerfully. Nanako makes a face.
"Nanako. No phone." When her hostility is immediately noticed, Nanako pouts.
Oh, and Ijichi-san is right behind him. Guess that’s who the other chair is for.
Gojo-san scuttles towards Nanako, lifting her by the armpits. She goes wehh! in protest, but ends up not fighting further when Gojo-san starts to sway her up and down. “Look who’s a big girl now!”
Her protests turn to giggles as she ragdolls giddily, their energy bouncing off of eachother. Gojo-san keeps saying things like Oooooh, you’re gonna be such a strong sorcerer! and Manipulation through your phone, now that’s something I haven’t heard! It makes sense that curses and cursed techniques by that extent adapt to human technology, since they were born from humans in the first place. Isn’t that the coolest thing, Nana-chan? You’re likely the first in your family to have this technique!
Mimiko starts to tune out his voice when he starts speaking words she doesn’t understand, but the bright tone in his and especially Nanako’s voice is a pleasant background noise. Nanami-san and Ijichi-san are having their own separate, quieter talk—that Mimiko doesn’t understand either—with Ieiri-san occasionally placing various sushi to Mimiko’s plate, telling her to have a try, it’s good .
When Mimiko offers Geto-san some, though, he only replies: "No, it's okay, you can have them. I'm already full."
But he sits next to her and she knows for certain he hasn't had anything but the miso soup and a sushi and a half. She frowns, but her thoughts are disturbed by the sound of Ieiri-san's chair scraping against the floor.
"I'm going to the restroom."
Mimiko quickly jumps down her own chair. "Wait, me too, me too."
The restroom is empty but the two of them. After Ieiri-san comes out of the stall she was using, she offers Mimiko if she needs help with her own business.
"Actually—" Mimiko stammers. "Ieiri-san, could you…"
She makes a gesture for her to crouch down, which she does. Mimiko leans to her ear discreetly.
"Ieiri-san, do you think Geto-san's pregnant?"
Ieiri-san flinches, a choking noise barely escaping her throat. She pulls away to look at her, face to face, a slight crease at the edge of her lips to her usually impassive expression. "What makes you think that?"
"Well… He gets sick and tired easily. I caught him napping, he usually doesn't nap. He’s not eating a lot. And there's something moving inside him."
"Inside?"
Mimiko nods. "Yeah! In his tummy! And that happened after he came home throwing up with Gojo-san! Twice!"
"And when did that happen?"
"'Turday night. Both times."
Ieiri-san lets out a shuddering breath that could be a laugh, her shoulders shaking. Mimiko frowns.
"Ieiri-san, do you know anything?"
Instead of a proper response, Mimiko only gets a noncommittal hum. She stands back straight, one hand on hip and another on Mimiko's hair.
"I don't think it's my place to tell you." Is all she says. "I'm sure Geto would have a field day answering that, though."
Mimiko doesn't know what that means, but she doesn't ask again. So she lets Ieiri-san guide her with her hand on her back as they head back to their table.
She’s got the time to tell Nanako the next day—specifically, Saturday evening. The energy Nanako has gained from the discovery of her cursed technique as well as the congratulatory party yesterday only subsided when Geto-san went out for the weekend, like he usually does.
“Nooooooooooooo ooooooo .” Nanako’s despair is palpable, her voice dragging out until she’s out of breath. “No… Gojo-san, and when I thought I could finally trust you…”
This isn’t the first time Mimiko’s heard her say that, and she figures it won’t be the last.
Nanako points her finger outrageously at Mimiko, who jumps at how close it is to her face. “Mimiko! We need to do something! I won’t let this be!”
“I actually want the baby, though.”
Her sister stops for a moment to think, which doesn’t happen often. “Ok. I’ll just kill Gojo-san then.”
“Oh.” Mimiko blinks. “Okay.”
Nanako blinks back, like she wasn’t expecting the easy agreement.
“No complaints?”
It seems like the easiest answer that neither of them are against. “Nuh-uh.”
“Okay!” Her face settles back to a determined look, standing up abruptly and miraculously doesn’t sway like Mimiko would when she does the same. “Then we’ll wait for Gojo-san again tonight! If he comes back with Geto-san like yester-weeks, it’s over for him!”
Sleep is a heavy weight on Mimiko's eyelids, threatening to drag her off to the comfortable unconscious. Or maybe it's more tempting than threatening. She's so sleepy.
It's something past eleven and no one's gone home yet, and certainly not a colorless Geto-san like a rain-soaked stray or the broom-head Nanako wants to murk. Nanako went ahead and tried to make coffee for the both of them, both out of necessity and out of curiosity, since Geto-san deems it as one of the adult drinks they both won't like.
And—he was right. It was gross. Just a sip and there was an uncomfortable build up of jitters under Mimiko's skin, forcing her to let out all that energy with a burst of hyperactivity before it all got sucked right out of her.
"Mimiko! Don't give up yet, remember what we're staying up for!"
It was your idea though… Mimiko wants to complain, but all the sound she manages to make is just wehhhhh as Nanako tugs her off the comfort of the couch, landing face-first on the fluff of the carpet with a muffled bweh .
Following suit is a certain noise of two people crash-landing on the bathroom for the third weekend in a week. Mimiko sees in real-time the way it fills Nanako’s rage bar behind her expression, phone in hand as she scuttles off as fast as she could through the hallways silently. In contrast, Nanako slams the bathroom door open with zero hesitation or thought.
“Stop right there!” Nanako shouts, arm outstretched with her phone pointed as a threat to Gojo-san’s face. “Get away from Geto-san, you… you fuck!”
All eyes are wide on her, incredulous and shocked—Mimiko gasps loudly, Gojo-san’s mouth makes a large O shape while Geto-san somehow turns even more paler.
“Nanako!” Mimiko yells in disbelief.
“I’ll fucking do it!” But her sister’s not listening, pressing on with her threat, finger over the screen. Geto-san looks like he’s about to cry. “Get away!”
“Woah, woah, Nana-chan, wait a second.“ Gojo-san holds his hands up, only for a moment before one returns to Geto-san’s back, drawing circles. “What’s all this about?”
“Don’t play stupid! You got Geto-san pregnant!”
The second stretch of silence comes. The tension from the shock of the sudden threat of violence melts away when Gojo-san’s O-shaped mouth slowly splits into a grin, mischievous red dusting his cheeks.
“Oh my god .” He turns to Geto-san, each syllable emphasized, who has his face hidden in his arms now. “Suguru, you haven’t given them the Talk?”
Nanako lowers her phone, out of confusion than anything else. Mimiko scuttles behind her now that she lacks the hostility, grabbing onto her shoulders, equally puzzled.
“Satoru,” Geto-san warns lamely.
“I’m going to.” Gojo-san’s giggles are barely held together, patting Geto-san twice on the back like telling him to watch and listen. “I’m doing it.”
“Satoru.”
“Alright, girls!” Gojo-san promptly ignores Geto-san’s warning, and the latter seems to give up already, a noise of defeat scratching out his throat. Gojo-san claps his hands once, full of theatrics. “Where do you think babies come from?”
Mimiko and Nanako make a brief eye contact, before Nanako answers for him, or tries to. “Uh. If you kiss someone a lot—”
“Wrong!” Nanako’s face folds unhappily. “You see, Nana-chan, when two people love eachother very much…” He makes a circle with one index finger and thumb, his other hand only has the index out. “...Well, and when they have the right parts.”
He sticks the lone index finger in the circle. Mimiko and Nanako blink, irritation returning to confusion.
“They copulate, or, have sex.” They gasp, Mimiko holding on tighter to Nanako. Gojo-san then throws his hands up in a shrug. “Sometimes! They can skip the copulation process through external ejaculation, and external fertilization even occurs in certain species, maybe it'll even be possible for humans in the future, who knows! But we’re talking about the present human beings right now, so, you might ask, oh great Gojo-sensei, what even is fertilization? Well I’m glad you asked! Fertilization is the union of the sperm and the egg, resulting in the—”
“Humans have eggs?”
“Correct, Mimi-chan!” He snaps his fingers at her. “But it’s not like chicken eggs. Human eggs don’t have outer shells for example, nor does a baby absorb the yolk before the birthing process, nor do we lay eggs. The eggs we eat are actually unfertilized, did you know that? Anyway, as I was saying, the union of the sperm and the egg results in the production of a fertilized egg, or a zygote cell. This is a whole new unique organism that contains the DNA information of both parties, but they’re not united yet!”
Gojo-san continues like that, bright and energetic voice further emphasized by his hand gestures, explaining things in a string of sentences with words that only now Mimiko has heard of. He manages to hook on her interest when he mentions that movements can be felt during the second tri-whatever, but not for long until she tunes out whatever words he might be churning out of his mouth.
“And that’s where babies come from!” He ends the crash course the same he started it, with a single clap of his hands. Nanako has his phone completely down, frozen in place by the onslaught of information like Mimiko is. “So, to respond to your accusation, Nana-chan, no, I didn’t get Suguru pregnant. We both have eggs so I can’t impregnate him even if I wanted to. You need the sperm and the egg to make a baby.”
Geto-san makes a strained noise like a dying chicken.
“B-but!” Nanako stumbles over her words, barely processing the twenty minutes worth of information Gojo-san just spilled all over the bathroom. “There’s something moving in his tummy, Mimiko felt it! If he’s not pregnant then what is it?”
That gets Geto-san to raise his head, if only to stare at her with eyes wide in horror.
“Suguru!” Gojo-san gasps dramatically, hands on hips. “ Are you pregnant? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m not! I'm not…” Geto-san tries to bite back as much as he could with the thick molasses dragging his voice, but his face twists into doubt, clearly reading: Oh, god, am I pregnant?
“Woof. Must’ve been Shoko.”
Geto-san’s forehead thunks against the edge of the bowl. “I’d be amazed if she stayed fertile after the hormones.”
“Nanami?”
“Are you listing people that could possibly get me pregnant.”
Gojo-san shrugs innocently.
“Wait, wait… Mimiko,” Geto-san starts again, after a stretch of painful silence. “When Nanako said you felt something move, what does that mean?”
“Um. I felt it in your tummy.”
“Yes,” Geto-san responds, slowly, “but, how?”
Mimiko fidgets, not sure how to answer that. “With my hand?”
“Could be bowel movements,” Gojo-san tacks on.
“Bowl movements?”
“The intestines!” He explains excitedly, waggling his fingers as a demonstration. “They wriggle like worms!”
Color drains out of her face, eyes wide in horror. “But- but it felt different than Geto-san! Like… like something different from him. It spins!"
There's a moment where the gears inside Geto-san's head visibly turn, slowly clicking until they find a rhythm. Then, the tension leaves Geto-san’s shoulders through a deep sigh, all the steam is let out his system.
“Mimiko, that’s not a baby, that’s the curses I ate. They’re…” He vaguely gestures to his stomach. “They’re kept there once ingested. They feel different ‘cause… they are separate from me. Their cursed energy signatures are distinct from mine—wait, Satoru. You know about this.”
Mimiko deflates.
"So… You're not pregnant?"
"No, Mimiko." His face turns apologetic. "I'm sorry."
Mimiko sniffles, lip quivering, and just when she barely caught the shock on either of Gojo and Geto-san's faces, she starts to bawl.
"If you're not gonna drink that, just give it to me."
Suguru groans miserably, forehead flat against the table, the food and beer on his side untouched.
"Shoko, didn't you hear?" Satoru butts in, in a tone Suguru knows will escalate into theatrics. "Suguru's sworn off alcohol! For-evvv- errrr! "
Suguru gets up, grabs his glass of beer, and chugs it down to the bottom. Satoru whistles.
"If you down another dozen I'll pay for everything on your table."
"I'm not"—Suguru stresses—”doing that."
Satoru grins, that shit-eating grin he always wants to punch clean off his face. "What’s wrong, Suguru? I don’t remember when you’ve turned into such a coward."
Suguru glares, but for once doesn't rise to the bait. The last three times he did he ended up face-first to the toilet bowl, stomach protesting violently from the overflowing alcohol, and that was just the least embarrassing part of it.
Shoko’s glass thuds against the table. There's a suspicious tug at the corner of her lips. "Did something happen?"
Before Suguru could stop him, Satoru replies for him, way too cheerfully: “The girls thought Suguru was pregnant."
Shoko’s impassive face immediately erupts into laughter, drawing eyes on them like a magnet. It's the one Suguru recognizes as the kind where she’s been holding it in before letting it all out in an explosive sound. It’s scary how much control she has over her own body. He wouldn’t be surprised if she could stop her heart on command. Horrified, maybe, but not surprised.
Still, he retaliates, reaching over to grab her glass and empties it down to his stomach. He’s too sober for this. She watches in equal parts amusement and annoyance.
“I hope I get to dissect you soon.”
“God, me too.” He inhales deeply. “Of course you knew.”
“Yeah. Mimiko asked me if you were pregnant at the party.” She settles to steal the gyoza off of Suguru’s plate, putting it whole in her mouth while maintaining eye contact. “I thought it’d be funny to let you deal with it. What, did you give them the talk then?”
Satoru points at himself, disgustingly proud. “I did.”
“No, you didn’t ," Suguru argues, "that wasn’t sex ed, that was a fucking biology crash course.”
“Don’t get so riled up over semantics, Suguru. What’s the difference?”
“The difference, being—” Suguru stops himself the moment he lifts up his finger. “Actually, nevermind. I’m just grateful you didn’t.”
“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”
Suguru doesn’t dignify him with a response, instead mourning his plate that’s now empty with the evidence of the crime crystal clear on Shoko’s face, not that she tried to hide it in the first place. The criminal is now reaching for Satoru’s, and Suguru lets her use his thighs to bridge the distance between her and Satoru’s seat. Her efforts are in vain as the chopsticks stop just a moment short of the target, the air between them and Satoru's steaming gyoza ripple.
“Cheat,” she says.
“That’s my food!”
“Oh,” Suguru realizes, the moment Shoko deflates herself on his lap, face pressed against the soft meat of his thighs. “What’s the time?”
She rolls to lie on her back, checking her watch. “9:38. Still early.”
“Shit. I need to go home.”
“It’s Saturday night. Did your curfew get pushed forward,” She tacks on, teasingly: “Suguru-kun?”
He tries not to grimace from the embarrassment, ears turning red. “…Kind of. Yeah. The girls want me home before 9:30.”
Comes the second eruption of Shoko’s ugly laughter. Suguru pouts. When she pokes at his cheek with mischief in her grin, he resigns himself to her torment. “That’s cute. Little Suguru-kun has two new mommies.”
“I think they just don’t want Satoru to get me pregnant. I doubt his lessons came through their heads.”
“Maybe they’re right, Suguru," Satoru adds to his torment. "Maybe we should try for a baby.”
“Ignoring the biological impossibility of that—”
“We could ask for help! I’m sure someone would be thrilled to fill y—”
“—No. I should go home, and you should send me off to my porch. Now.”
Satoru has his hands on his hips now, a very fake pout to his lips. “Oh, now you want me. Is my Infinity just a personal cab to you?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry, bedtime’s over.” He stands from his seat to lift Shoko up by the armpits, lifting her off of Suguru’s thighs like a cat. When Suguru stands off his chair, she’s quickly laid back down on it, and she doesn't make any effort to get back up. “But don’t worry! When I return you can always use mine. Buddy privilege.”
“No way. You're all bones.”
“No one’s appreciating my generosity here!” The pout is still glued to Satoru’s face, his long fingers wrapping around Suguru’s. “I better go somewhere where my kindness won’t be wasted. Hmph .”
“Sorry, Shoko. I’m giving this thing three weeks tops.”
“Figures. Don’t let the girls ground you now.”
Suguru huffs a laugh through his nose. “I can only pray.”
There’s the familiar dizziness of going through the folded spaces of Infinity, akin to be in a speeding car that hit the brake and stopped suddenly. Satoru has always multitasked to be his faithful seatbelt as well, and he’s thankful when he catches him before he falls face-first to the potted plant on his porch.
Arm still around Suguru’s waist, Satoru steals a kiss. “You’re welcome. Geez, Suguru, do you understand the burden of always being the designated driver ever since Shoko got us fake IDs? Words cannot begin to describe it, so I will start with numbers. It’s a two out of ten? Y’know? Two—”
Suguru takes more interest in the stray piece of green onion at the corner of Satoru’s lips than he is in his words. When he thumbs at it to wipe it off, the switch on Satoru’s babble-machine mode seems to turn off with it.
"Got something on your face."
There’s a dust of red across his cheeks, replacing the piece. It’s unsurprising that Satoru remains shameless as he knows him though, the initial surprise spreading across his lips in a giddy smile.
"Is it you?"
Suguru snorts, indulging him for a kiss where the skin of his face makes a dip with the smile. He only pulls away after he licks that same spot, inciting a greatly exaggerated disgust on Satoru’s face, nose scrunched and tongue stuck out.
“You better leave now. If the girls see you they might ground me.”
Satoru blows raspberries, hand wiping his face. “Whatever. Say hi to your mamas for me.”
They wave at eachother just as Satoru blips back to thin air. When Suguru twists the knob of his front door to reach his home, warm light pours from the ceiling of the living room, and two figures way smaller than him stare right at him with varying degree of irk—Nanako, who has her arms crossed and face folded, and Mimiko whose expression is milder, but the way she grips her plush isn’t hiding anything.
“You’re late,” bites Nanako.
“...Sorry,” he replies remorsefully, not breaking eye contact as the door clicks close behind him, blindly turning the key to lock it. “It's only for a few minutes, though. That’s not so bad, right?”
Nanako taps her foot loudly, the furrows between her brows deepening. Suguru feels like crying.
“It won’t happen next time, I promise. How about we all sleep together tonight?”
That earns him an encouraging reaction from both of them, although Nanako remains cautious. “Waffles for breakfast?”
“Of course.”
Mimiko whispers to Nanako, which the latter then echoes loudly: “With ice cream!”
“...Of course.”
Suguru laments, as the girls cheer over their victory with their hands tangled around each other's, when he became such an easy target for bullying—this doesn’t feel far off than having his lunch money taken. He’s not sure if ice cream for breakfast is a good idea for kids their age, especially after witnessing Satoru falling temptation to it multiple times only to be punished by his stomach later in the day. But he’d said yes, which means he has to carry through, it wouldn’t be nice to break promises to kids like that. On another hand, though, kids have a more sensitive stomach, don’t they? If it wrecked Satoru that much at sixteen then what could it do to—
A tiny piece of his brain flicks his train of thoughts, a conductor reorienting the tracks. It’s just ice cream for breakfast, it’s not a big deal, you’re worrying too much. What’s the worst that could happen? Suguru tries to debate, but finds himself too tired to, his brain steering off the wheel to where the designation leads to cottonny sleep.
Alright , he lets that soft, cloud-like feeling encases him. He supposes it’s not too bad to spoil them once in a while.
After he throws his dirty clothes to the laundry basket, changing in to cozier clothes for the night, after they brush their teeth together in the bathroom, he gets on one knee, arms open. “Come here, I’ll carry you to bed.”
Their giggles are infectious as they take seat under his hold, their weight against his muscle a comfort. They’re heavier now, fuller, and it fills his his chest with seeds of a bright sunshine that they will continue to grow. Like sunflowers that grow towards the light.
With his arms busy, Nanako does the courtesy of opening the bedroom door. He puts them on the bed on each side of him, and tuck the three of them together under the blanket like dirt to flower seeds.
Nanako makes not-so-subtle sounds, Mimiko sends flustered glares at her in return.
“Something on your mind?”
Mimiko fidgets with the hem of the blanket. “We were thinking of what Nanami-san said…”
“...Ah, well.” He steals a quick glance at Nanako. “Sometimes people say inappropriate things—”
“No, not that!” Nanako protests with a pout. “Nanami-san, um, called you our father so…”
“...We were thinking…”
“...If we can call you Papa?”
Oh.
Suguru’s heart skip a beat, blood rushing so loudly in his ears. There’s a lump in his throat, coagulated sugar at the bottom of a glass of iced tea, red dusting his cheeks, sunshine squirming by his sides.
“...Yeah,” he answers, before the silence drags on too long, before he could think or worry too much. “Yeah, of course.”
He feels their smiles more than he sees them, snuggling themselves closer to attach their arms to his stomach, and Suguru returns it by wrapping his arms around their shoulders.
“Good night, Papa.”
He releases the breath he’s been holding—in, through his chest, out through his mouth—calming his racing pulse. He kisses them good night like he always does, brushing bangs to expose their forehead for a quick peck, though this time, it lingers a heartbeat longer.
“Good night, girls.”