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Gojo Satoru has always been larger than life.
For as long as he can remember, he’s been the loudest voice in the room. He spoke for everyone, even if they didn’t need it. His presence was huge and noisy and always, always there. Satoru couldn’t help it; honestly, for a while, he didn’t think it was even possible to be otherwise. To be quiet, for a change. To be gentle.
He would see it happening. His friends could be gentle— Shoko, Geto, you— he watched it in the way you’d speak to children, and speak amongst yourselves in moments meant to be tender, and sombre. Silent tears, warm hugs. Those sweet seconds characterized his schooling experience; watching love. While he was in the back, abrasive and incapable of being anything but that. Because he was just loud. And big, and took up so much space that he could not be kind. He wasn’t meant to be.
Even when his best friend defected, and his world went concave, and everything broke, he was still there. Just as cruel. Just as mean. Just as noisy, and horrible, and bad. Shoko and you both withdrew, cauterizing the wounds, letting them scab over slow, slowly. Never to heal entirely. But the blood stopped flowing, the warm, warm connection. Gentleness, ceased. Love lost. He watched as his favorite people became more like him. And he hated it.
Gojo’s even worse when he meets Fushiguro Megumi on the streets. A boy if not even 10 years, Megumi glares at him with all the hatred in the world and Gojo smiles because yeah, that’s probably about right. He knows he doesn’t have what it takes to raise a child, let alone one and his older sister, but to hell with it— he was kind of fucked up anyways and these kids were destined to hell so nothing really mattered, right?
But he sees it again. That sweetness, the honeyed edges around a picture frame, that kindness that lingered; one that had long since receded from his life. Tsumiki’s hands holding on so tight to her little brothers. Megumi looking for her in every room. How long had it been since he’d seen such affection? The answer is too long. Far, far too long.
And he doesn’t know what to do.
Gojo’s never been good with feelings. He is too much for them. He doesn’t have time, he doesn’t have space. And he’s known he wasn’t even close to qualified to taking in kids when he did, but at that time, he hadn’t cared. But an epiphany strikes, and it strikes hard, and he thinks that Megumi and Tsumiki deserve better than what he can give them. He thinks they deserve you.
You’ve always been kinder. Than him, most definitely, but more than Shoko or Geto, too. In the little ways, you loved. A trinket from a long trip left on a nightstand as a silent gift, an affirmation, an ‘I love you.’ A gentle touch on the shoulders in comfort. Solidarity. A smile. That’s all it took, that’s all you gave, that’s all he needed.
Your relationship with Gojo had changed over the years. In past times, spring days long forgotten, back in school, he’d been infatuated by you. He hung on your every word, evaluated your movements, watched. But never said a thing because you were so gentle, so kind, even if you didn’t act like it. And he was never that. He could never be that. And then tragedy struck and everything fell to pieces and the possibility of something more ended, just like that. He never did a thing. Contact was minimal, and friendly at best. But you’re still the only pinned contact on his phone when he calls you and tells you that he needs help. (He thinks it’s the first time he’s said that.)
You’re over almost instantly and without question, and Gojo thanks you for that. Because what was he supposed to say? ‘Hey, I found the kids of the guy who killed me that one time, wanna help me raise them,’ did not sound like a viable option. And he thinks you know almost instantly when you see them. The resemblance in the hair, the jaw, the cut-throat smile, adorning a little boy and a little girl. Innocents. Gojo watches you introduce yourself, stooping down to be at their eye level. And there it is— that warmth in you. The same warmth that drew him in, the same warmth that you’ve lost. It’s timid and it’s fleeting but your smile is so sweet he can fool himself into thinking that it’s there to stay. But it’s not, and the both of you know it.
Megumi and Tsumiki cling to you within the first few days. And that connection grows stronger. In real time, Gojo sees the children open up and you follow suit. You smile more. Your laugh sounds real. And you seem happier, like you used to be. And he feels it again, that stupid feeling— being so big and abrasive and incapable of affection that he just stands and watches as the world moves around him because there is not enough space for him to move with it. (He has always taken up too, too much space.)
One night, in the kitchen, he is observing. You and Megumi and Tsumiki watch Doraemon on the television, and Tsumiki points something out and both the kids look to you to see if it made you laugh. It did. So Megumi smiles, too. He wants to sit next to you but he can’t, and Gojo begins to believe that there is a crater where his heart should be when you turn your head and beckon for him to join. And he can’t say no so he does. Almost instantly, your head falls to one of his shoulders. Gojo freezes, but he doesn’t know why. He’s had people touch him before. This isn’t unusual. But he thinks that this might be the first time in a long time it’s been done with any sort of affection, love, or care. He thinks that he feels your warmth dripping slow like honey down onto his cold, cold bones.
And then a little body finds it’s way under his arm, on the other side. It’s Tsumiki, always a giver, nestled underneath his jumper-clad arm. Megumi hesitates before crawling closer to Tsumiki’s side. He doesn’t quite touch him but he’s a part of it now. And now it’s on both sides, this feeling, this affection. It’s inescapable and he thinks he’s okay with that, as he lets his guard down, and feels your breathing into his neck, and Tsumiki’s reactions to Megumi squirming, and the chuffed laughter of children at the show still playing. For the first time, he is small enough to fit.
Gojo Satoru has always been larger than life. But maybe, he begins to think, with you on his shoulder and Tsumiki and Megumi in his arms, he could allow himself to shrink. To be gentle. To love a little.
Maybe this family could make it work.