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It’s hard to see that Satoru is aging. His skin has few lines besides his scars, his smile is wide, and his hair is white as ever. But Megumi is older, approaching his late twenties, nearly thirty, so he knows that Satoru is aging. He just never thinks about it, never finding the need to. It’s Nobara who notices, who voices that she notices. They’ve come to see Satoru in the winter, when the house is warm and the cinnamon flavored snacks are plentiful. Strings of golden lights are strung almost sloppily around the living room and there’s a collection of gifts waiting on the kitchen table for all of them when they shuffle in, kicking dirty snow onto the porch, bracing themselves for Satoru who descended upon them with hugs and a series of kisses to Megumi’s forehead.
Now, after half a plate of gingerbread from France, and a lull in Satoru and Yuji belting out Christmas carols, Megumi is sitting with Nobara, tucked warm, almost hot, under Satoru’s well loved kotatsu. They’re nursing canned beer that’s gone room temperature, watching where Yuji and Satoru sit across the room laughing. To be fair, Nobara is really the only one of them who’s paying attention to what they’re saying; Megumi’s eyes have strayed over the edges of his childhood home. The little scuffs on the wall from some mayhem, maybe from shikigami or just being Satoru’s kid. The pictures that are crowded almost to overflowing on the entertainment center. Tsumiki’s memorial picture in the middle. Nothing has changed but the addition of new ones where Megumi is older, or old polaroids that Satoru seems to have finally healed enough to display.
“Yo, Satoru,” Nobara calls suddenly. Satoru’s eyes shift from Yuji to focus on her and he grins.
“What’s up?”
“What’s going on with your eyes?”
Eyes? Megumi turns to look at Satoru, squinting at his face.
“Ah,” Satoru says quietly, smiling as he reaches up to touch the tips of his fingers right under his left eye.
“They’re turning gray,” Nobara says. She puts her beer down, and so does Megumi, vaguely concerned. Yuji makes a little choked off sound.
“Holy shit, are you going blind?” Yuji barks, never one for subtlety. Megumi flinches, and Satoru laughs. He leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest, pulling the soft white cardigan he’s wearing down over his wrists.
“That might happen. Doctors say there’s like a forty percent chance.”
Megumi stares at him, “Dad, what the fuck?”
Satoru’s face sobers a little bit, the use of ‘dad’ is liberal in their house, always has been, so when Megumi pulls it out, Satoru tends to be a little more serious. “It’s not a big deal, Megs.”
“Sounds like a big deal.”
Satoru opens his mouth to answer, but Nobara speaks first. “You’re getting old, old man.”
It’s quiet then before Satoru lets out another laugh and pats his chest over his heart. “So unfeeling for my delicate heart, Nobara.”
Old. Old? Satoru isn’t old. Satoru is exactly the same as he always has been. Tall, annoying, the bane of Megumi’s existence, the reason he’s the person he is and so fucking happy. He’s been the same since he came to find Megumi. He’s been the same since he lost the person he loved. He’s been the same since he was locked in a box and nearly died to save the world. Satoru has always been the Satoru who used to carry Megumi on his back after school because he would always just know that Megumi was tired. Satoru has always been the Satoru who is full of life, and power, and the uncanny ability to create family. And now his eyes are fading to gray.
“Don’t worry!” Yuji is saying when Megumi’s mind clears and he manages to blink Satoru’s eyes out of his line of vision. “You’re aging well. I didn’t even notice until Nobara mentioned it. You’ll be the prettiest ninety year old out there.”
Satoru grins at him, reaching over to give him a resounding high five. “For that you get half of my ashes.”
Megumi’s stomach drops. He never considered Satoru aging, and he sure as hell never considered him dying. Satoru doesn’t die. Shit, Megumi came to terms with the fact that Satoru will probably outlive him, years ago.
“I get at least some for putting up with you all these years,” Nobara says. “And I want them in an expensive urn.”
“Are there Gucci urns?” Satoru asks. He digs his phone out of his pocket, and his reading glasses, which he’s had since he turned forty, holy shit Megumi is fucking dumb. He slides them onto his nose and still squints a little at the screen. “Huh, well. They make designer urns. That good enough for you?”
Nobara giggles. She makes grabby hands at Satoru’s phone, he hands it over to her. “Ooh, fancy. Yeah, that’ll look fucking amazing on my mantel.” she flips the phone around to show them a sleek black and gold urn.
Megumi feels slightly nauseous. “Wouldn’t you rather have them spread?” he can’t stomach the thought of pouring Satoru into a small container after he’s died. Not again. Never again.
His question has everyone a little quiet. Yuji is looking at Megumi with big brown eyes. He never grew into his eyes, just out of the trauma that had sunk them. Nobara’s smile has turned a little soft. He can’t look at Satoru.
“I mean. I guess. Doesn’t matter to me, I’ll be dead. Just make sure my body gets burned, we are not doing stitch head again. No one would survive that." No one laughs, and Satoru sighs. “My bad.”
Megumi glances up at him. Satoru is staring at him with his gray eyes. Not blue. Not fucking blue. They’re gray. Like sudden storm clouds on a clear day. How had he not noticed?
Satoru smiles at him, looks away and changes the subject. Nobara elbows Megumi as she gets up. He follows her sluggishly, taking the beer can she shoves into his hand. They end up in the hall between the bathroom and the living room. She’s peering at his face, brows furrowed.
“What is going on with you?”
Megumi takes a drink of his beer, his hand is shaking. “I didn’t notice my dad getting old, and now he’s talking about cremation and I. Fuck. I don’t know.”
“He’s not going to die right now,” Nobara says. “We were just kidding around. And how did you not notice him getting older? Megumi, he creaks when he stands up now.”
The beer isn’t getting him drunk, it might be non alcoholic, it’s Satoru, he should have checked. He wishes it was because now his weird little panic is making him feel stupid while he’s still in the middle of freaking out.
“He’s always looked the same, acted the same, even after everything he was still Satoru.”
Nobara smiles softly at him, even as she punches him too hard in the shoulder, “And he still is, just. With gray eyes now.”
“And plans for after he dies.”
That pulls a smirk out of Nobara. She pulls up something on her phone and shoves it into Megumi’s face. “See that? Those are my plans for after I die. I wrote this when I was fifteen, Megs. Honestly it should be a celebration that we have the chance to die old. You know, like Yuji is always rambling about.”
And yeah. Megumi knows that. He has something that reads like a last will and testament tucked into an old box of paper memories that Satoru forced on him the summer he moved out. And he definitely didn’t anticipate living past sixteen, if he got lucky. But this just feels different.
“Megumi,” Nobara says quietly, not quite gentle, but near enough. “I think, and don’t you dare tell him I said this, that old age will look good on Satoru. He’s earned it.”
Megumi snorts, “That’s surprisingly nice of you.”
“I’ve always hated how your bad mood turns the good vibes on their head. You’re ruining my party.” She’s smiling as she says it, the scarring on her face pulling. Megumi sighs and lifts his beer.
“Cheers to my dad aging with grace I guess.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Nobara says and knocks their cans together. They take sips at the same time.
“This is alcohol free isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Nobara says. “Fucking sucks.”
Megumi decides to stay the night. He hugs Nobara in the entrance hall, and awkwardly almost kisses Yuji, his damn lips landing halfway on his chin just below the corner of Yuji’s mouth. Yuji hugs him quickly and then all but runs into the night. Megumi closes the door and knocks his forehead against it a few times.
“Oh that was smooth, kiddo.” Satoru’s voice makes Megumi sigh. He turns around and glares weakly at the man.
“No thanks to you. I never got to practice.”
Satoru grins mushily at him, he’s leaning against the wall, hands full of dirty dishes. “I was just protecting my dear boy.”
Crossing the space between them, Megumi takes the dishes. “We’re getting there,” he mumbles over his shoulder as he walks towards the kitchen. “It’s just hard I guess.” Hard in a way that Megumi knows is steeped in trauma and a trust that has been unbound by time but tried nearly to the breaking point one too many times.
“He knows though, right?” Satoru is following him.
Megumi nods silently. He dumps the dishes into the sink and turns to lean against the counter. “Yeah, he knows. I should have more grace than this, I’m an adult.”
Satoru laughs. He sits at the bar, making a soft groan as he eases down. “Nah, it doesn’t get easier. It’s all bullshit. You’re awkward, it's bullshit, you’re confident, it's bullshit. Lose the person, bullshit. Get the person, bullshit .”
“You loved one, one , guy forever, Satoru. We all had to bear witness to how that worked out for you. I’m not going to take any of your advice.”
Again Satoru laughs. Megumi looks past him at the fridge. It’s covered in magnets, papers, pictures, lists. Yuta’s phone number on a bright pink sticky note hung up with a postcard of wherever it is that he’s living now. There’s a pair of Megumi’s drawings taped to the fridge. His dogs in one, drawn for Tsumiki so she could understand how cute they were, and then his little family in the other. Satoru is a tall black line surrounded by the fuchsia that pulses with his cursed energy. He’s holding Tsumiki’s hand who is holding Megumi’s hand. The lines are shaky and kind of all over the place. The dogs aren’t really cute as much as they’re little black and white blobs. He’d been six, nearly seven, when he’d drawn those. They were still figuring out if he was left handed, he’s not, but little Megumi insisted he was. Satoru had hung both of those on that fridge when he was nineteen.
“Holy crap,” Megumi says softly. “You’re getting old, dad.”
Satoru is looking at him with a softness that reminds Megumi of some of his fondest memories. “Time flies, kid.”
“I didn’t realize.”
“I age like fine wine,” Satoru simpers before he sighs. “I didn’t either. For a while there. Shoko has gray in her temples and I thought maybe the scars were hiding any wrinkles, but then my eyes started to fade.”
Megumi watches him carefully. Satoru is someone who never really seemed to put any effort into looking as good as he did. And that didn’t really change especially as Satoru got older and started to wear the blindfold almost exclusively. The foundation tucked into the back of the medicine cabinet in Satoru’s bathroom eventually expired and Tsumiki threw it out one spring cleaning. Satoru didn’t need to hide the bags under his eyes when half his face was hidden from the world every waking hour. With that being said, he’s also very aware of how his looks affect those around him, how they elevate him. The amount of simpering school teachers Megumi had to sit through paired with Satoru’s smug little smile, is proof enough. So he can’t help but wonder how the revelation that Satoru’s most alluring feature is fading away is affecting the man.
Megumi doesn’t want to ask outright, make Satoru think that perhaps there is something to be lost in the sway of time. So he picks something that has been eating at him since their conversation in the living room.
“Besides reading, is your eyesight okay?”
Satoru snorts, reaching over to kick lightly at Megumi’s ankle. “When I go blind you’ll be the first to know, and no worries I can still teleport myself to places so I won’t be a danger to anyone on the road.”
“Fine. How does aging make you feel,” Megumi asks, deadpan refusing to crumble under Satoru’s flickering gaze.
Megumi isn’t sure what he’s expecting. Dramatics, a brush off, some weird change in topic. But Satoru reaches over and tucks his arm along Megumi’s shoulders. He brings Megumi against his side. Together they look at the refrigerator, the house beyond. Phantom memories run through the halls, cry on the couch after killing soulmates, screech in terror as the stove explodes in flame, sing happy birthday, bicker, laugh. There’s a messy pile of shoes by the door, half an art project spread across the living room. Hair supplies and a brush tangled in hair while Satoru stands pondering the mess he’s made. Dog tracks and stray kittens, sickness, health. A sleeping sister, the anger, the distance, the way they eventually came back together.
There’s Satoru and Megumi and Tsumiki.
There’s Satoru and Megumi.
There’s Satoru.
There’s Satoru and Megumi standing in the kitchen. Megumi is tall, broad, and grown. Stumbling through his first real taste of an almost normal life. And there’s Satoru, blue surrendering to gray, but the same nonetheless.
“It makes me feel so fucking happy,” Satoru says.