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Though he had the entire train ride there to calm down, Megumi is still boiling when he knocks on the front door of the Gojo-Geto residence.
There's a stone statue on the porch. There has always been a stone statue on the porch, almost as long as Megumi can remember. It has oddly placed jewels and four little handprints in the center; The smallest is labeled as his.
Megumi feels like pushing it over.
"Hello, Megumi," Geto says. "I'm sorry, I wasn't looking at my phone, I didn't realize you were coming."
Megumi grits his teeth. "I didn't call. Or text."
"Okay." If he has any confusion, Geto does not let it show. "Did you want to come in, then?"
"Sure," he says, like it isn't the express reason he'd packed his bag, left campus, and arrived here.
"I was just working on dinner," he says while Megumi sheds his jacket and shoes. "There's enough for you, if you want."
"Maybe. Where's Gojo?" he asks, distracted.
Geto raises an eyebrow. "He should be here soon, his last class just ended. I'm surprised you didn't take the train together."
Megumi shrugs half-heartedly. "I guess I forgot."
Geto waves a hand. "You're busy, I know. It's important to focus on school."
Another wave of heat flares under his skin. "Mm-hm."
"And I know it's been a busy semester for him, too. It feels like he's always either grading or researching." Geto glances back at the meal in progress. "Why don't you take seat while I finish this? Then we'll eat and we can just relax, okay?"
"Fine," Megumi says. He has, all things considered, worked up something of an appetite.
The house is essentially the same as when he left it. It's the same photos on the wall, the same eclectic furniture, same trinkets scattered about. The only thing different is the absence of three young, boisterous women and, under more typical circumstances, himself. Instead of fueling the rage that brought him here, like he thinks it should, it brings a sad sort of longing. Dwelling on it for too long cools him.
He doesn't want to cool. He wants to keep burning, rightfully indignant, until Gojo gets back.
"Tell me something interesting," Geto says, breaking him from his thoughts.
It's a game they'd played in Megumi's youth. It throws him.
"Dog are born with their eyes closed," he decides after careful consideration.
"Really?"
"Yes. They don't open their eyes for up to two weeks."
"Why?"
"They aren't fully developed so they're still sensitive to light. It protects them."
Geto hums. "Protection. Interesting, indeed. Good one."
"Yeah." Megumi bites his lip. Angry as he is, he will not forsake the rules of the game. "Now you. Your turn."
"Hmm..." Geto thinks. "Mimiko tells me she and Nanako may be able to visit for a weekend sometime soon. Next month, she thinks."
Megumi sinks closer toward the ache than the rage. "Really?"
"Really."
"Both of them?"
He nods. "That's what she says. I was going to text you, but... Well, here you are."
"That's great," Megumi says. "You must be excited."
"Extremely." Even with his limited view, Megumi can see the smile blooming on his face. "I hope you'll be able to join us, too."
"Yeah," he says, fighting the urge to chew the inside of his cheek.
He could probably arrange it. He'll have to work overtime before and after to ensure it—the thought brings an immediate tension between his eyes—but it could work.
Just as the food finishes, a continuous and persistent chatter erupts from the other room.
"...like you would not believe, Suguru!"
"Perfect timing," Geto says to himself. He leaves to meet him. Megumi hears them greet each other in a hushed tone and whisper some sort of warning before Gojo bursts into the room.
"Look at that! Hello, Megumi!"
He grunts.
"You should've told me you were coming, kid, we could've taken the same train." He punches his shoulder. It's barely a tap, but Megumi feels like he's been knocked over.
"Wasn't thinking," he grumbles.
"I hope that practice doesn't extend to your school work. What brings you here, hm? Come to steal our food?"
Geto places a soft hand on his arm. "Why don't we eat?"
Dinner is routine, if nothing else. Gojo questions him over dinner about applications for veterinary school and college life in general before urging him, again, to take one of his classes despite it being so far out of Megumi's field. He brags, of course, about exciting research and life as a professor. Geto chides him lightly from across the table. They take turns scooping portions onto his plate and he eats, despite himself, glad for a meal that he did not have to prepare himself in his tiny kitchen.
Megumi repeatedly opens his mouth to speak, feels his mouth go dry, and says nothing of worth.
"Well," Gojo says at the end of the meal, "I'd say it's time for a movie. Unless you have to get back to campus?"
Ultimately, Megumi realizes, he had not accounted for was how awkward it is to parse through his feelings and find the accurate words without doing the most humiliating thing of all, which was, of course, revealing anything personal regarding his emotions. When he'd practiced in his head, it'd seemed easy. Now that the rage that propelled him here has settled into his stomach with every other confusing thing, he's no longer sure how to say it. Without the sudden whirlwind of uncontrollable emotion to direct him through it, confronting Gojo is a labyrinth that he's never been able to navigate, even in childhood.
And—though he hates to admit it at the moment—he would be remiss if he didn't acknowledge the warmth of returning to their house. His college apartment is utilitarian, and he prefers it that way. Everything is in its place and designed with the sole function of keeping him alive and productive. The house he grew up in is cluttered and loud by comparison, but it's comforting, if he removes the inciting incident from his peripheral vision.
"I can take a later train," Megumi decides sheepishly.
It's a cheesy comedy with a loose plot. When Gojo looks up from his grading, he guffaws at whatever's on the screen, regardless of its comedic value. Geto pretends not to. Megumi sits still, basking in the warmth of it, blinking slowly, sleepily, until a hand on his knee jolts him awake.
"Hey, kid," says Gojo. "Movie's over."
He rubs the sleep from his eyes. "Is it?"
"Yep."
When he looks, he finds the credits rolling and both men watching him intently.
"Can I sleep here?" he asks, feeling pathetic. He can't meet their eyes.
"Of course," says Geto.
"Thanks," he mumbles.
Gojo looks at him with a gaze so intense he has no choice but to meet it. Megumi's heart spins. "Rest up. And keep working hard."
He nods—It's the easiest response.
"Goodnight, kid." Gojo murmurs it before he ruffles Megumi's hair, offhand and casual, like it's nothing.
It's the final straw. Every emotion from the evening comes back to replay in quick succession and in full force. The emotion rises so quickly that a few hot tears burn their way down his cheek of their own accord.
"Megumi," Geto says calmly, "what's happened?"
"Was the movie that bad?" Gojo jokes.
"Why were you talking to Itadori Yuuji about me?"
Gojo is—for once—silent.
"And don't try to lie to me because I know you did, he told me," Megumi spits. "He told me you spent your office hours asking about his family and his childhood, which is already not your fucking business, and then you decided to tell him all about your kids, especially your son and all the fucked shit that he had to deal with. I mean, where the hell do you get off?"
"I did not know you knew Yuuji," Gojo says quietly.
"He's my fucking boyfriend, Gojo." Megumi regrets it instantly and hides his face, cheeks growing hot.
It's premature to call Yuuji his boyfriend. If Gojo's been speaking to him about this, then he's already well aware of the fact.
Though they've been dancing around each other for months, it was only a few weeks ago that Megumi gained the courage to invite him over under no additional pretense. Yuuji likes him—he thinks, he's pretty sure, he hopes—but they haven't been able to discuss anything more permanent, despite seeing each other more and more frequently. It's all felt very delicate, more than anything else he'd ever found himself entangled in, and he wants to get it right. Now he's rushed and given it a label too soon, and said it to Gojo, of all people.
Maybe, maybe, today might've been the day that he breached the conversation with Yuuji, like he'd wanted. But when Yuuji had arrived at his apartment, he'd worn a tight, pained expression and Megumi had paused.
"What's wrong?"
"I just came from office hours."
"With your mentor?"
"Yeah." Yuuji wrung his hands. "And, you know, he really helps me. Not just with class stuff, I talk about, like, my life with him."
"Yes."
"Yeah, so... I was talking about my brother, and all that stuff... So he has asking me about him, and foster care and stuff like that... And then he told me about his kids. He was really talking about his son, um, and then he showed me a picture... Megumi, I don't really know how to say this. My mentor is Gojo Satoru."
An uncontrollable force froze Megumi in his spot, the cold rushing through his veins. "Gojo is your mentor."
"I had no idea until today," Yuuji insisted. "Why didn't you tell me your dad works here?"
"So you're the young man who's been giving him so much trouble," Gojo says in the present. He glances down at his hands. "I guess I should've seen that."
"You shouldn't have been talking about me at all."
"You're right," Gojo says calmly.
"I know I am!"
"I didn't mean to embarrass you, kid."
Megumi hides his face in his hands.
"I thought it would help Yuuji. You know I wouldn't do anything that wasn't in your best interest."
Megumi's head snaps up. "Stop acting like you're my dad. You're not my dad, my dad is dead."
A quiet tension floods the room. Gojo flexes his hands uncomfortably.
"So, you know." He'd almost forgotten Geto was still there until he spoke.
"It's easy to Google," he replies. "It doesn't take a genius to figure it out. And you know what else is online? Everything you two said against him in court. Why wouldn't you tell me?"
"I didn't think you wanted to know," says Gojo.
"You kids had been through a lot," Geto adds.
"But you're fine talking to Yuuji about it, you fucking hypocrite."
"That was a mistake." Gojo make a motion as if to place his hand over Megumi's heart, but he dodges it. His hand hovers only a moment before retreating. "I see that now."
Megumi stares at the ceiling, wipes at his cheeks with his backs of his hands, and tries to ignore his humiliation.
"Your father," Geto begins, "caused a lot of pain for us. All of us. In many different ways."
"Then why take me?" It's a question he hadn't realized he was going to ask. "Why take Tsumiki? Why pretend?"
They share a look.
"What do you mean?" Gojo asks.
"Never mind. Just forget it."
"No."
"Please."
"You came all the way here because you were upset. Don't give up on it now because—what? Because it's hard? Because you don't want to look me in the eyes and tell me? That's a poor excuse."
"Stop it."
"Megumi, tell me."
"You shouldn't have been talking to Yuuji about me," he reiterates, raging. "It wasn't for him to know, and my childhood is not a show pony for you to parade around. You should be ashamed. "
"I am," Gojo says evenly. "What else?"
"I don't believe you."
"Okay," says Gojo. "But what else?"
He takes a shaky breath, in and out.
"Megumi," says Geto, "I know things have always been a little different with you and your sister than with the twins. Hell, even between you and the girls. But—"
"I'm not talking to you, I'm talking to him." Megumi bites his tongue. His only issue with Geto at the moment is his marriage to Gojo. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay."
"No, I didn't— Sorry."
"You were talking to me," Gojo says. "Megumi, please."
"I wish you wouldn't push me so hard," he breathes.
"I just want to hear this from you."
"No, that's it."
Megumi isn't used to seeing that look on Gojo's face. If he is ever taken aback, he rarely betrays it.
"When Tsumiki—" He takes a breath to steady himself. "When Tsumiki was sick, you kept me away from her."
"Megumi," Gojo says, on the edge of exasperation. "That's just not true."
"I almost lost her," he insists. "She was in the hospital, and half the time I was stuck in fucking organic chem lecture, or something."
"I thought you wanted to graduate on time." Gojo sounds bewildered. "She wasn't alone. Someone was with her everyday, you got to see her as often as you could and still finish your classes. That was the plan."
"You think I wanted to do it like that? Doing coma research in the other tab, checking my phone every two seconds, thinking Gee, I wonder if today's the day my sister dies?"
"But you made it through." Gojo leans forward. "I thought you liked school. I thought you were glad to stay on track."
"I am, I just... I still..." He fights for the words. "Would it have really been so bad if I was behind a year? Who would care, other than you? Would I have embarrassed you that badly?"
Gojo eyebrow raises. "Embarrassed me?"
"That's it, right? You didn't want to admit to all your work friends that your— That I wasn't excelling. You wanted to brag and you couldn't if I took time off. Is that it?"
"I can always find something to brag about," Gojo says. "You underestimate my ability."
"Alright. That's enough," Geto interrupts. "Megumi, it wasn't his idea to keep you in school, it was mine."
"What?" It's like being slapped in the face. "Why?"
"Because I took a year off," he says, "and I never went back. It turned into a very dark time for me. For us both. Satoru floated the idea of letting you take some time off, but I didn't want you to struggle like I did, so we encouraged you to stay."
He turns to Gojo. "Is that true?"
Gojo nods, stoic as ever. "I know what it's like to not be there. But I also know what it was like for Suguru." He glances at his husband, but he won't meet Megumi's eyes. "It seemed like the right choice to make at the time."
"You never told me that." Megumi thinks back to when he'd first started his medication and they'd alluded to some level of familiarity. He'd never asked any further. "I didn't know. I just thought... And now she's abroad and I never get to see her."
It feels childish, saying it out loud.
"I miss her everyday," says Geto. "Paris feels so far."
"Yeah." Megumi sniffles against his will.
"But I feel so grateful that she's well enough to go," he continues. "I like to remind myself of that."
"Yeah, I mean... Yeah, obviously, of course."
Gojo is less interested in their detour. "Do you need to take time off of school?"
"I— No, I can finish."
"Are you sure? Because apparently you wanted time off before and didn't say."
"Yes. Yes, I want to."
"And what about your meds, how're they working?" asks Geto.
"Are you taking them?" Gojo adds.
"Yes." Of course he takes his meds, he's not Nanako, strung together by caffeine and some skewed sense of optimism. "I'm taking the pills, that doesn't mean that I have to be completely fine all the time."
Gojo crosses his arms. "Of course. I know."
"So what can we do to help you, then?" asks Geto.
"I don't know." He looks back at Gojo. "Say you're sorry."
"I am. I'm sorry."
"Mean it!"
"Megumi." Geto's tone tells him he's gone too far.
"I'm sorry," says Gojo. "I mean it."
It's the tone Gojo reserved for bad news when he was younger. It's rarely used, but he knows it well. He's replayed it over and over. We need to talk about the dog. It's the right thing to do. If that's how you feel, then we can get you some help. Tsumiki's going to be in the hospital for while. There's no way to sugarcoat it, but they're trying everything they can. I'm so sorry, kid.
It gives him some credibility, but Megumi wants more.
"What for?"
"For pushing you too far," says Gojo. "I thought you could handle it."
It leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He swallows it and it burns through his whole body. "It's not that I can't handle it. I just... I shouldn't have to."
"Okay," Gojo says quietly.
The anger floods backs. "What else?"
"Hm?"
"What else are you sorry for?"
"For talking to Yuuji. For telling him about you without letting you know, for all of it. I'm sorry."
Megumi wonders if the words sound as strange to Gojo as it does to him. He wonders if Gojo feels as out-of-practice as he sounds.
"Why did you..." He trails off.
Gojo gestures to him with open hands. "Please."
"Why did you say it to him?"
"I know this may be strange to hear now, but Yuuji and I have—unknowingly, of course—but we've grown rather close. He's a bright student. Eager to talk and to learn."
Megumi fights a twinge of annoyance. "Right."
"And I don't know exactly how much he's told you, but I'm sure by now you have some idea of the similarities between you two," says Gojo. "I was mentoring, I suppose."
"I know why you told him about my life. I don't like it."
"And I understand."
"But you said... You said... You called me..." He can't bring himself to repeat it.
Gojo understands him anyway. He nods. "I did."
"Did you mean it?" Megumi raises his head and looks Gojo in the eye. "Or was it just something for you to say?"
Gojo breaks eye contact. He brings a hand to his mouth and examines the wall for a long time.
"I have always thought of you as family," Gojo finally admits. "And because of that, I'll call you whatever you want."
Gojo spares him a glance before turning his gaze back to the wall. Something is different about him, Megumi thinks, before realizing it's visible discomfort, subtle and perceptible only to the trained eye. The wrinkles on his forehead and the corners of his eyes seem more pronounced, too. It makes him look much older.
It's the only part of him that does so. Hunched over on himself, clasping his hands together, Gojo appears utterly small and terribly young. With an instinct that he can't explain, Megumi has the fleeting thought that he is a thing that should be protected.
"But you never said that to me." He has to fight against the heavy weight on his chest to get the words out. "And we don't call you dad."
Gojo blinks. "Do you want to call me dad?"
"No," Megumi answers immediately.
Gojo barks out a laugh. Megumi returns it instinctually, laughter rolling out of them with a force of its own. Suddenly it feels so stupid, laughing wetly on their couch. He wipes his face again.
"Look at you," Gojo says, sounding wistful. He can't tell if it's meant in pity or admiration.
"We used to talk with Tsumiki about everything," Geto says quietly. "Probably not very well, I'll admit. It was very difficult. But we talked, a bit. Satoru tried to talk to you, too, but you'd become very upset when we brought it up. We were advised to wait until you asked to avoid unnecessary stress." He glances at Gojo. "We've still been waiting."
"Do you remember any of that?" Gojo asks somberly.
He shakes his head and looks at Gojo like he's meeting him for the first time. Until today, he'd never considered how truly warped his perception of things might be. Once he was there in that house and things were bad, and then he was in Gojo and Geto's house and things were confusing. Nightmares had mixed with far-away realities and blurred with everyday anxieties. Somewhere in the middle, he grew.
"I read about what he did," Megumi tells them. "Recently. There's articles from when he was arrested, and from a few years ago, when he died. They mention you."
There's court transcripts and photographs, too. He doesn't tell them that. He doesn't want to think about how young and scared they'd looked.
"I see," says Gojo. "What do you need?"
"I just need you to be honest with me," Megumi says.
Gojo pulls away. "You want honesty? Okay. Honestly, do you think I ever wanted children?"
Geto makes a small discontented noise but does not interrupt.
"Of course not," he continues. "Students in the classroom? Fine, I'll manage. But children in my house? They make messes, they don't listen, they break your heart... I'm not Suguru. And yet, here you kids are. Why do you think that is?"
"I don't know. I know it's what he asked for, but I don't know why."
"I don't know why either. I don't think we'll ever know. That's not what I'm asking."
Megumi has no reply.
"Because I met you," Gojo says. "What choice could I ever make after that?"
It hangs in the air and settles between them, so heavy it is almost tangible. He's leaned forward, meeting him with sharp, blinding eye contact despite the vulnerable nature of his admission. Megumi blinks back at him, swallowing painfully.
"And I have never," Gojo pauses as if to collect himself, "pretended with you. Don't say that again."
"Oh," Megumi sniffs. He wipes his nose on his sleeve. Gross.
"Come on, kid. C'mere."
He pulls Megumi into an embrace, chin hooking over his shoulder and one arm wrapped around his back, hand cradling the back of his head.
It feels foreign; They don't hug often. Megumi can only think of one, maybe two times that he knows for sure it happened, when Tsumiki was sick, primarily. He feels stiff and unnatural. Megumi wonders if he can feel his heart pounding against his chest.
"This is weird," he says. "Is this weird?"
"Wasn't weird until you said anything. Doesn't have to be weird."
"It's gross. There's snot all over me."
"Alright, it's gross," Gojo admits. "Just a little."
They pull away.
"Well, I'd love to meet this Yuuji," Geto says, breaking the silence.
They react with dual repulsions.
"Absolutely not."
"It's probably not the right time."
"There's no way."
"Let's let the kids sort it out first," says Gojo. "Maybe then we'll see."
"Maybe."
"Alright, alright," Geto concedes. Megumi has a suspicion this was the reaction he was looking for the whole time.
Megumi pushes his damp sleeves up his arm. Gross, gross, gross. "Can I still sleep here?"
"Yeah, kid, that was never off the table."
"Alright." He's extremely congested, his head hurts, everything is still deeply confusing and complicated and painful. He feels a little better. "Um. I'm going to go to sleep, then. Goodnight."
"We'll see you in the morning, kid," says Gojo.
"Stay all weekend if you want."
"Maybe." He thinks about it. "Yeah, probably."
Before he can move, Geto takes both his hands in his.
"If you have something you still want to say in the morning, then you can say it."
He tries to pull away on his instinct, but Geto's grip is firm. "Watch the sleeves," he warns.
"Or next week. Or next month, whenever."
"Okay, okay. I don't know. Okay."
"And you know, if you're having trouble sleeping, now's usually a good time to call Tsumiki. It's only afternoon there, and I usually talk to her around this time."
"Thanks." Geto lets go of his hands and Megumi rises. "And um, thank you, you know, for all of it."
"Of course."
Gojo waves it off. "It's nothing."
"Right." Megumi turns around just before he exits the room. "Is everything going to be really awkward now?"
"I don't think so." Gojo glances at Geto and shrugs. "Probably not."
"That's not good enough."
"I'm messing with you, kid. You're fine. Get your rest."
They say their final good nights. Knowing that there is more for him to say, more questions to ask, and more to think about, he leaves for bed instead.
Megumi: Hey. Sorry I took off earlier. I hope you got home ok. And I'm sorry if I was weird. Or if he was weird. I don't know. Sorry I left.
Yuuji: thats ok. thanks for texting, i was worried abt u
i got home ok
Megumi: Good.
I'm off campus until Monday. Do you want to come over when I'm back? I can explain it better. Don't want to type it all out.
I'd rather talk to you face to face.
Yuuji: sure
:-)
Megumi: I have to go make a call. But I'll talk to you soon.
Yuuji: TTYL
glad everythings alright.
good nite
Megumi: Goodnight.