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Babysit the kid, they said. It’ll be easy, they said.
The last time Nanami had met Megumi, he’d met a small, polite boy of about seven, who refused to go within a metre of Gojo and hid a snicker whenever Nanami said anything particularly cutting. Ten-year-old Megumi was a very different creation: for one thing, he was taller, which was a miracle; all Gojo probably fed him was sweets and carrots (which are the only vegetable Gojo ever deigned to eat). For another thing, he’d gained enough confidence to snark at Gojo by himself, which Nanami wasn’t complaining about. It was tiring being the only one with any common sense.
But apparently, three years of constant Gojo did odd things to one’s psyche.
“If we get red, it’ll clash with the carpets,” Megumi informed him, as Nanami poked around in the plant section. “Better get yellow.”
“I don’t like yellow,” Nanami argued, lifting a pink flower to the light. “Too loud.”
Megumi stared meaningfully at his hair. “Suuuure you don’t.”
“I don’t,” Nanami insisted, forcing himself not to lift a hand to cover his hair. “And yellow wouldn’t fit with the colour scheme anyway.”
Megumi hummed. “Blue, then. You like blue,” he added, nodding to Nanami’s shirt. “Did you know blue is the most common favourite colour in the world?”
Nanami ignored the obvious jab – it was good to be ordinary, thank you very much – and put the pink flower decisively in his basket. “Pink.”
“Very 2006,” Megumi nodded. “I see what you’re going for.”
“I’m not ‘going for’ anything. It’s just the best flower.”
“Oh. So it’s nothing, huh? The pink flowers, the loud patterns-“
Nanami gave in to temptation and put a hand over his tie defensively. Megumi raised an eyebrow.
“You spend too much time with Gojo,” Nanami told him, swapping his flower for a yellow one. Megumi rolled his eyes.
“Duh, he lives with me.”
“Doesn’t mean you have to spend time with him.”
“Have you ever tried being in the same building as ‘Toru? He’ll hunt you down until you spend time with him.”
Nanami winced in sympathy. “Yeah, I see what you mean. You call him by his first name, though.”
Megumi immediately slapped a hand over his own mouth, eyes widened in horror. “I wasn’t supposed to say that in public!” he whined, muffled by his hand. “I meant Gojo. Gojo, Gojo, Gojo, Gojo, Gojo-“
“Careful, if you say his name enough times you’ll summon him,” Nanami warned, having fallen into this trap several times himself. Megumi shrugged and took his hand off his mouth.
“Whatever. If I summon him, he’ll at least tell you not to buy pink.”
“What, are you the masculinity police or something?”
Megumi stared at him, judgement clear in his eyes. “I live with a man who has forcefully put glitter in my eyebrows before. I’m just saying, pink is not your colour. Try yellow.” He motioned aggressively to Nanami’s hair, and then the flower in the basket, as if to prove his point.
Nanami sighed. If he tried to call Gojo – come pick up your kid!!!! – he’d never hear the end of it (the great Nanami gives up because he’s been bullied by a ten year old? Wow. I’m gonna add that to your eulogy), so he stuck with the safe option and simply ushered Megumi towards the counter. “Let’s get out of here, hm?”
“Only if you get me cookies,” Megumi immediately bargained, pulling Nanami the opposite way.
“When did you get so bratty?” Nanami asked, following him obediently. Megumi sighed.
“I am not bratty, I am confident and aware of my own needs,” he recited, not even looking back.
“Oh, very good. Did Gojo teach you that?”
“Yeah.”
“Thought so,” Nanami nodded, followed by “the little shit,” in an undertone he prayed Megumi couldn’t hear.
“Gojo says only he’s allowed to swear,” Megumi told him. Apparently the low tone wasn’t low enough.
“He means only adults are allowed to swear.”
“No, only he’s allowed. Shoko isn’t either.”
“Well, I’m allowed to swear, whoever else might or might not be,” Nanami said firmly.
Megumi fished in his pocket for a minute, before bringing out an electric blue flip phone to wave in Nanami’s face. “Should I call him and find out?”
“No,” Nanami hurried to grab the phone, “No, I don’t think you need to do that-“
“It’s not like he’s busy, he’s probably just in a bar somewhere,” Megumi reasoned, “Wouldn’t it be better if we just asked what he thought-?”
“That is probably true,” Nanami allowed, “But we don’t need to bother him and we don’t need to know. We’re just going to pretend it didn’t happen, okay?”
“Why? You’re allowed to swear, aren’t you?”
Nanami cursed the heavens above for giving Gojo such a mouldable child to work with. “Yes, I am, so I don’t need to ask Gojo for permission,” he reasoned.
“But I can’t tell him?”
“Well, you can, but it won’t be a big thing.”
Megumi hummed distrustfully. “Well, I won’t tell him if you get me cookies.”
“Blatant blackmail,” Nanami complained. “I see how it is. Alright then, for go for it.”
Megumi, who had apparently chosen smiling as the one thing he wouldn’t pick up from Gojo, nodded and continued dragging Nanami all over the store. It was about to be a loooooong day.
Nanami wasn’t really one to question parenting techniques – he’d never had a kid, he wasn’t really qualified to judge. However, Gojo’s odd choices were really beginning to shine through.
First was giving a ten-year-old a phone; Megumi had been sat playing Snake for the past half hour, refusing to interact with anyone else unless Nanami offered him another cookie. Second was telling him to recite ‘I am confident and aware of my own needs’ whenever anyone accused him of being rude, and third was teaching him to announce what he was doing to the world at large every five minutes.
“I hit my lowest score yet,” he informed Nanami, not even looking up from his phone.
“Did Gojo teach you to do that?”
“Hit low scores? Yeah, he sucks at Snake.”
“I mean, telling me you hit low scores.”
“Oh, sorry, it’s habit,” Megumi apologised, not looking at all sorry. “If I give live updates it stops him asking, ‘cos that’s just irritating.”
“Live updates are also irritating.”
Megumi opened his mouth, probably to tell Nanami that he was confident and aware of his own needs, but the doorbell rang.
"Saved by the bell,” Nanami muttered, standing to get the door.
“It’s Gojo,” Megumi observed, pushing himself off the sofa.
“How would you know? You can’t see through walls.”
“I can smell him.”
“He does stink,” Nanami agreed, “But not really enough to get through walls.”
“He’s very powerful,” Megumi shrugged. “It gets everywhere at home.”
“What, does he blow up your house or something? How does his power get everywhere?”
“What, you can’t smell it?”
“Smell what?”
“His power. Duh.”
Now, it wasn’t unheard of for powers to have a smell, especially for those close to the sorcerer, but for it to be recognizable, strong, and distinct, there would have to be an emotional closeness on par with a couple married for about ten years. Since Megumi had only known Gojo for three, and was constantly complaining about him, Nanami felt this was doubtful.
“You can smell his power,” Nanami repeated, disbelieving. “And you’re sure it’s not his deodorant.”
“Very sure,” Megumi agreed. “I can smell them both, but his deodorant doesn’t go through walls.”
“Using my own words against me,” Nanami noted. “Nice. Alright then. If I open the door and it’s Gojo, you win.” This was Nanami’s trump card, since it was three minutes before Gojo was due to pick Megumi up – and Gojo was always, unfailingly, late. Nanami reached for the door handle.
“Hey, Nanami!” Gojo chirped.
Nanami closed the door again.
“Why’d you do that?!” Megumi protested, opening the door himself. “Hey, Gojo. You’re late.”
“I’m early,” Gojo argued, tapping his watch. “By three minutes.”
“Your watch is slow,” Megumi told him. “My phone says you’re a minute late.”
“My watch says three minutes early,” Nanami interjected, mainly because he now knew what it felt like to be targeted by this kid.
“Late.” Megumi’s face didn’t move from its patent apathy.
“Late,” Gojo agreed, giving up. “Ready to go home?”
“Yeah.”
“Had dinner?”
“Cookies.”
Gojo’s expression turned to one of betrayal as he lifted his face to look at Nanami. “Is that it?”
“He wouldn’t eat anything else,” Nanami defended, hands up in a surrendering gesture. “There wasn’t a lot I could do.”
“Aw, Megs, you need to eat vegetables sometimes,” Gojo sighed, ruffling Megumi’s hair before his hand was batted away. “Poor Nanami, you must have been a nightmare.” Having said that, Gojo didn’t look at all bothered about the trouble Nanami went through; he seemed mainly perturbed by Megumi’s eating.
“He probably gets it from you,” Nanami commented. “Only eating sugar.”
“You think he’s like me?” Gojo beamed. “Me too. He’s a superstar. Aren’t you, Gumi?”
Megumi grimaced at the nickname. “No.”
“You don’t mean that~”
“Are you going to stand in my hallway all night?” Nanami interrupted. “Go home, and take that terror with you.”
“Yes, sir,” Gojo saluted. “But he isn’t a terror.”
“Let me guess, he’s confident and aware of his own needs.”
“You got it! Try to reduce the bad vibes next time,” Gojo advised. “See ya later, alligator!”
Megumi rolled his eyes at Gojo’s antics, but waved. “Bye.”
A flicker, and they were gone; Gojo’s show-off power was at full force today, it seemed.
Nanami closed the door with a sigh of relief, welcoming the silence of his empty apartment.
The phone rang.
“Hi, Nanami!” Gojo’s voice echoed through the answer machine. “Just wanted to ask if you’re free for next week?”
He put his head in his hands. Please, God, give him a nice kid next time.
.