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“You’re doing a lot better at colouring inside the lines, Megumi,” Tsumiki says, as she watches her younger brother glides his crayon along, plastering reds and blues and yellows across the page.
It’s late afternoon, the entire apartment is cast in a warm honey-gold glow from the sun as it begins to descend below the horizon. Outside, there’s a light drizzle of rain, casting a shine over the streets and buildings, leaving streaks of droplets against the windows. Both of their own homework has been long since completed, tucked away safely in their school bags, which hang from hooks near the front door.
The doorbell shrills all of a sudden, making the two of them freeze in their movements, before immediately looking up at the door. It rings again, this time sounding more impatient. Tsumiki puts a finger to her lips, and Megumi tentatively nods. She slinks off the chair, the soft patter of her socks as she walks over the kitchen tiles. Tsumiki stalks over towards the door, Megumi watching nervously from the table.
“Who is it?” She asks, standing in front of the door.
“Who do you think?” An amused voice calls out from behind the door, and Tsumiki immediately knows who it is. She unlocks the door, relief flooding her at the sight of the man standing there.
“Mr. Satoru, hello,” She greets as she lets him inside.
“Hello, Megumi,” Gojo calls out. Megumi only waves his hand in return, his eyes not quite meeting Gojo’s.
Although he had voluntarily taken on the responsibility of these children, he was certain he was not going to be their parent. He didn’t have it in him to be someone even akin to a parent. That was not who Gojo Satoru was, the kind of person who was tender and caring and attentive, who could actually raise a child, not just support their basic needs. He made sure the college took care of all of the financial business, making sure the children had a roof over their heads, that the fridge was always full, the apartment always kept warm. The oldest one, Tsumiki, was eons beyond her tender age. She took wonderful care of her younger brother. They didn’t need Gojo to be here all the time.
Even so, he always made sure to check up on them occasionally, paying them a visit every now and then to see what they were up to. Beyond that, the two of them were left to their own devices, and Gojo was left to his own life. They were separate and that was how Gojo intended it to be.
“Have you two eaten your dinner yet?”
“No, I was about to make it,” Tsumiki answers.
Something tugs at his chest, though he doesn’t know what, making him feel oddly empty. “You know what,” He says, “Since I’m here, I’ll cook something.” He walks over towards the small kitchenette, standing in front of the fridge. His nose scrunches a bit at the sight of it. The fridge isn’t busted, but its clearly old, some of its edges lightly smeared with a garish yellow colour. There’s a sheet of paper stuck to the front of the fridge with a magnet. At the top of the sheet, he can see the words “Fushiguro Megumi” scrawled in a child’s handwriting. Below it were a series of questions, and for each one a long scribble of an answer in the same handwriting. He glances up and sees a bright yellow sticker in the shape of a star plastered on the corner of the sheet.
“What’s this?” He asks.
“Oh, that’s Megumi’s test,” Tsumiki explains, “He scored the highest in the class.” Her voice beams with pride.
“Did he really? That’s wonderful, Megumi,” Gojo praises, making the boy look up from his colouring. If Gojo strains, he thinks he can make out the slightest hint of a smile appear on the boy’s face.
“Right! I should get dinner started, but what to make?” He opens the fridge, inspecting its contents to figure out what he could make from what the children had left in their fridge. The fridge was still well-stocked, with vegetables in the bottom drawers, a carton of milk standing in the side door, eggs sitting primly in their box.
“I was thinking…” Gojo holds his hand up to his chin, looking over at Megumi, “Oyakodon?” He saw Megumi’s eyes light up, though the child didn’t say anything. “Well, what do you think?”
“Anything is fine, Mr. Satoru,” Tsumiki answers politely.
“What about you, Megumi?”
“I like Oyakodon,” Megumi replies quietly, the excited look in his eyes still present, though he remained composed.
“I figured you would,” Gojo hums, “Oyakodon it is, then.”
He lays out the ingredients for the meal but finds that he’s missing a key one.
“You don’t have any sake,” Gojo says, inspecting the rest of the ingredients.
“Why would we have sake?” Megumi points out.
“Right, of course,” Gojo grimaces, “You’re kids.” He stands up straight and turns towards them. “Do you think you two can stay back for a little bit while I go out and get some sake?” The two kids nod, not moving from their seats, as Gojo walks over towards the front door.
“We’ll be alright, Mr. Satoru,” Tsumiki answers.
“Good, I won’t be long,” Gojo says, as he puts on his coat and shoes, “Behave yourselves.” Is the last thing he says before he leaves, locking the door behind him with a ‘click’.
Gojo quickly returns to the apartment, the bottle of sake clinking inside the plastic bag as he knocks on the door. Tsumiki opens the door again, her features flooded with what seems to be relief, though Gojo doesn’t know why.
Megumi is still seated at the table, his colouring book open before him, his tongue stuck out in concentration, the spikes of his hair falling over his face. Gojo passes him by on his way to the kitchenette and stops for a moment to see what Megumi is doing. A firetruck, drawn in thick, black lines, coloured in a bright, glaring red, with an equally bright yellow for it’s front lights. Gojo hums in approval, before ducking into the kitchenette.
It doesn’t take him long to make the dish, having made it himself many times. As he’s about halfway done, he turns to the children, where Tsumiki has long since joined her brother, the two of them working on a colouring page together.
“The food is almost finished, you two go and wash up,” Gojo says, looking between them and from where he’s stirring the pot. Tsumiki nods, taking her brother’s hand and helping him off the chair, before the two of them disappear out of the kitchen. He hears the bathroom door close, followed by the sounds of water rushing as the bathtub tap is turned on. While he cooks, the muffled sounds of laughter and splashing ring out from down the hallway, and Gojo half-wonders if he should go there and check on them, but decides against it. Hopefully they haven’t made a mess of water on the bathroom floor. Tsumiki he knows is mature enough to know better, but they are still children, and can get just as easily carried away as other children. The laughter soon dies down, Tsumiki’s stern voice being heard clearly enough telling Megumi to wash behind his ears, followed by Megumi’s quiet protesting that he ‘can do it himself’, which makes Gojo shake his head, a small smile appearing on his face.
Just as he’s finished cooking the meal, his own mouth beginning to water at the smell, he can hear the sound of the bathroom door opening, followed by the gentle pattering of footsteps coming closer and closer to the kitchen. First Tsumiki appears, a towel wrapped around her shoulders, her hair damp and tucked behind her ears. She smiles politely at Gojo, her hands folded in front of her. Soon, Megumi appears by her side, looking less scruffy than he did before. Megumi has a similar towel wrapped around his shoulders, the water dripping from his hair onto the fluffy surface. Even when wet, his hair still sticks out in spikes, some of which are sticking to his forehead, and Gojo reaches over pushes those out of his face.
“Go, sit down, I’ll be out in a second,” Gojo tells them, taking out some dishes from the cupboard.
He walks out to the dining area in the small kitchen, where he sees the two of them sitting there. Gojo sets out the bowls and chopsticks in front of the two kids, who watch him curiously as he ducks in and out of the kitchen. Soon he comes out with the pot of Oyakodon, setting it down on the small, rickety table. Immediately, the savoury, aromatic smell wafts in the room, making its occupants nearly drool.
Gojo begins to pour heaps from the pot into their bowls, the steam drifting around, making the food look all that much more appetizing. Gojo pours his own helping, settling back down into his chair. Megumi and Tsumiki stare fixedly at their bowls, but neither of them move.
“You can’t eat with your eyes, you know. Go on, start eating,” Gojo insists, picking up his own chopsticks. The two children glance at each other, before they too pick up their chopsticks, pulling their bowls towards themselves. Megumi begins to eat with slow, tentative bites. Every few seconds he looks up at Gojo, or between Gojo and Tsumiki, as though he’s trying to gauge their reactions. Soon, he begins to eat quicker, slurping the broth noisily, sucking the noodles into his mouth with an audible thwap. Tsumiki continues to take slow, careful bites, watching her brother eat, the slight curve of a smile on her face.
“Thank you for the meal, Mr. Satoru,” Tsumiki says, stopping between her bites, “It’s delicious.” Next to her, Megumi continues to slurp spoonful after spoonful, ignoring the two people seated with him at the table. Gojo watches him, half-amused and half-wondering if he should tell the boy to slow down. “Megumi…” Tsumiki stares pointedly at him.
“Hm? Oh,” Megumi looks up from his bowl, and swallows, “Thank you, Gojo.”
“Mr. Satoru,” Tsumiki corrects.
“I don’t mind, Tsumiki, it’s alright,” Gojo says, “And you’re welcome.”
The bowl is quickly emptied as Megumi leans back in his chair, letting out a small sigh, his mouth slightly agape. His cheeks are pink with satisfaction, a healthier glow on his face than was before when Gojo first walked into the apartment. Megumi stares, fixedly, at the pot, though he remains silent. Gojo looks between Megumi and the pot, biting back an amused smile.
“Do you want more?” Megumi nods, and Tsumiki lightly pokes him on the head.
“Yes, please,” He says, holding out his bowl.
“You just had to ask, Megumi,” Gojo laughs, pouring another helping of food into Megumi’s bowl, “Do you want some more, Tsumiki?”
“No, thank you,” She replies and Gojo shrugs, as Megumi begins eating, this time a lot slower than the first, though his eyes are still bright with excitement.
“Well, at least I don’t have to worry about him choking this time,” Gojo smiles.
The pot soon becomes empty, the sides of it completely scraped of its flavourful broth. Gojo himself had his own second helping, asking Tsumiki once again if she was sure she didn’t want more, but she didn’t, content to sit back and watch her brother eat. Megumi ended up with a third bowl, and this time Gojo felt that same tug in his chest that he’d felt earlier, the one that had made him feel hollow, as he watched the boy slurp back his noodles.
Gojo picks up the dirtied dishes, walking over to the kitchenette and setting them in the sink. Megumi nearly leaps off his chair, running towards the living room. Tsumiki follows suit after Gojo and turns on the tap, rolling up her sleeves. Gojo is surprised for a moment, and he touches her shoulder, making her look up at him.
“Tsumiki, you don’t need to help me with the dishes, go and play.”
“But,” Tsumiki looks down, “You cooked for us, I want to at least help with the dishes.”
“Thank you, but I can do them,” Gojo says, “Go play with your brother.” Tsumiki stands there for a few moments, unsure of what to do with herself, still staring pointedly at the stack of dirty dishes.
“Tsumiki! Play hide and seek with me!” Megumi’s voice calls out from the living room.
Gojo looks over at her as though to say “see”? and Tsumiki finally resigns, running out of the kitchen, followed by a loud, delighted squeal from Megumi.
As Gojo washes the dishes, he can hear the muffled sounds of giggling coming from the sitting room and can’t help but smile himself. Droplets of rain pitter against the window, providing a calm ambience in the background, making the atmosphere feel oddly serene and domestic. When he’s finished, the dishes all put away to dry, he returns to the sitting room, where he sees Tsumiki standing there, Megumi nowhere to be found.
“What are you two doing? Where’s Megumi?”
“I’m trying to find him,” Tsumiki answers, looking around, “We’re playing hide and seek.”
Gojo doesn’t care for children’s games, but he can’t help but begin to glance around at the room.
It isn’t long before he spots a tuft of spiky, dark hair peeking out from behind the couch.
“Well, I certainly have no clue where he is,” He drawls, as he saunters over towards the couch, “Not a clue in the world, it’s like he’s disappeared.” Tsumiki looks at him, confused, as she watches him lean on the couch. Gojo points towards the back of the couch, putting a finger to his lips. “Where could Megumi possibly be?” A smile stretches across Tsumiki’s face as the realization catches up with her, and Gojo grins back, leaning further down on the couch. “I…have…found you!” And Megumi yells with delight, as Gojo lifts him up from his hiding spot, presenting him to Tsumiki, who muffles her giggles with her hands.
“That’s not fair, you weren’t even playing!” Megumi protests, kicking his legs about in the air.
“Who said anything about fair?” Gojo retorts, setting Megumi down, who looks up at him with a pout, his arms crossed. Gojo glances outside at the window, and sees that the sun has already set, the sky becoming a cacophony of purples and deep oranges, the faintest sighting of stars beginning to show.
“It’s starting to get late, I think I’m going to head out soon,” Gojo says. When he looks over at the children he can see dismay displayed across their features, Megumi looking away from Gojo.
BOOM!
A loud crash of thunder sounds out from outside, startling the three of them as the rain begins to come down harshly, the wind growing stronger in almost an instant. Megumi quickly slinks behind his sister, only the thick spikes of his hair peeking out, his hands holding onto her arm. His features are set into worry and Tsumiki matches the expression, slowly backing away from the window.
Gojo really needs to get going. This was only meant to be a small visit. But he can’t help but feel conflicted at the sight of the two kids, clinging to each other with fear. Should he leave them here like this? They would be fine, it’s just a storm after all. They’ve a warm place to stay inside, nothing would happen.
But…they both look terrified. And, well, he doesn’t want to get soaked anyways.
“I suppose I’ll stay here for the night, then,” Gojo says, looking back out the window, as the two kids sigh with relief.
“We have a spare futon in the hallway closet,” Tsumiki pipes up, her voice slightly shaky.
“Works for me,” Gojo shrugs, as Tsumiki leaves to get the futon, leaving Megumi standing in the living room with Gojo, still not meeting his gaze.
Gojo lies down on the futon, his hands folded underneath his head, as he stares up at the ceiling. The house is so warm, much warmer than the outside, that he doesn’t feel the need to wrap himself in a blanket. The children have long since retired to their beds, and the entire apartment that was filled with the sounds of giggles and noodles being slurped, has now fallen completely silent, making it feel all eerie in its emptiness. The wind howls from outside, the harsh pattering of rain against the glass of the windows, along with the occasional flash of lightning that’s soon coupled with a loud boom of thunder.
Just as he’s falling asleep, his eyelids feeling heavy like bags of sand, Gojo hears a series of strange, choked noises coming from down the hallway. He immediately sits up in a panic, his heart thrumming against his chest.
“What the hell is that?” He whispers to himself, looking into the empty hallway. The noises continue, becoming more desperate and strangled, increasing in pitch. Gojo slowly rises from the futon, creeping down the hallway. As he approaches the kids’ bedroom door, the noises become much louder and clearer, until he can easily make out what is the sound of muffled crying, and he can feel a chill run down his spine. He swings open the door, cringing at the loud squeal Its hinges make, but he brushes the thought aside, as he comes upon a heartbreaking sight.
Megumi is curled into himself on his bed, a tight, shuddering ball. His knees are brought up to his chest, his head bent down, hair falling over his face. Tsumiki is standing at the edge of Megumi’s bed, her hands clasped in front of her.
“What’s wrong? What’s happened?” Gojo whispers, walking towards them.
“Mr. Satoru,” Tsumiki looks up, her face weary, “He’s just having a nightmare.”
“Does this happen often?” He asks, looking down at Megumi’s trembling form.
“Not all the time,” Tsumiki says, her voice nearly inaudible “But he’s been having more nightmares recently, I don’t know why. I think the storm might have made this one worse.” Her voice is shaky and Gojo knows she’s just as panicked as he is.
“Megumi,” Gojo bends down, resting his hand on Megumi’s shoulder and gently stirs him, “Megumi, Megumi, wake up.”
Megumi’s face scrunches up further, his bottom lip protruding, eyes squinched shut. As Gojo continues to lightly shake him, he makes small noises of distress, his fist opening and closing like a claw. He eventually begins to slowly open his eyes, as his breathes become less hitched and stuttered, instead more heavy and weary, like he’d just run a marathon. Megumi blinks blearily, making some tears escape from his eyes. His eyes are so unfocused, so unseeing, that it nearly frightens Gojo. His face is sticky with tear stains, running down his face to his chin and neck, with little damp spots on the sheet below him. His nose and cheeks are blotchy, uneven patches of red splattered across them like rashes. There’s a small trail of snot dribbling from his nose.
“Megumi..?” Gojo asks, trying to hide his panic from the kids, though his voice cracks a bit.
Megumi slowly turns his head from where he has his face half-buried in his pillow, hitched sobs still escaping him. His eyes begin to focus as they look up at Gojo. His bottom lip begins to wobble and his eyes soon begin welling up with fresh tears.
Gojo isn’t good with kids.
When he’d decided to care for Megumi and Tsumiki, he’d already resigned himself to the occasional visit, just to check up on them, as well as assuming financial responsibility.
He had never thought, and still feels apprehensive, about taking on the role of an active parent. Someone wholly reliable, someone who knows how to deal with children, how to deal with their whims, and joys, and grievances, and night terrors. This wasn’t who he was, he knew that much, and it’s some he can never be.
But right now, he can only see the shaking form of this teary little boy, who is so terribly frightened, and he cannot help himself, to ignore all of what he has previously made certain in his mind.
He climbs into the bed, his weight making the mattress dip slightly, back pressed against the headboard. He puts his hands around Megumi, slowly lifting him up from the bed and into Gojo’s chest. His arms wrap around the young boy, holding him close, his head tucked into the crook of Gojo’s shoulder.
“Hush, you’re okay,” Gojo rubs soothing circles on his back, “You’re okay, Megumi.”
Megumi continues to cry, his cheek pressed against Gojo’s collarbone. His running nose leaves sticky spots of snot plastered to the front of Gojo’s sweater. His little shoulders heave with every painful sob, leaving his form wracking with the effort from crying so hard. His fingers are scrambling, before his small hands find the collar of Gojo’s sweater, gripping it tightly.
A bright flash of lightning illuminates the window, shrouded by the closed curtains, sending stripes of bright yellow across the bedroom floor. Not soon after, does a loud crash of thunder boom out from outside, making Megumi yelp, burying himself further into Gojo’s chest. Gojo hands comes up to run his fingers through Megumi’s hair, trying to soothe the boy. He leans his cheek over the top of Megumi’s head, and he can feel how badly he is shaking.
“Gojo…” Megumi hiccups, “Gojo…”
“What is it, Megumi,” Gojo says, his voice impossibly quiet.
“How come my father didn’t want me?”
“Megumi…” Gojo was taken aback, rendered nearly speechless.
“Why did he leave us?” Megumi whimpers, “What did I do?”
“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Gojo says, trying to soothe him, “Nothing.”
“But I must have done something!” Megumi wails, “Why did he go away?”
“I don’t know, Megumi,” Gojo whispers, his hand coming down to cup Megumi’s cheek, making the boy look up at him, “I don’t know why he left, but it has nothing to do with anything you did or didn’t do.” Megumi’s fist clenches where it is gripping Gojo’s sweater, shaking with the strain. His tear-stained face contorts from sorrow to anger, his shoulders hunched up to his ears.
“I hate him! I hate him! Why won’t he come back!” Megumi cries, and each word shatters a piece of Gojo’s heart, the yearning and betrayal and grief so clearly present in the young boy’s voice.
As Gojo continues to hold Megumi tightly against him, his arms wrapped around the small boy, whispering assurances and words of comfort into his hair, He can’t help but feel like something is off. That he’s forgetting something. Or someone.
Right. Tsumiki
Gojo turns to look for her and finds her still standing by the edge of Megumi’s bed. Her face is blank, her eyes focused on her little brother. But when Gojo looks down, he can see her hands violently shaking as they are clenching the fabric of her dress. He looks back up at her face, and now can see little pools of tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes.
Gojo puts out his arm, beckoning her forward, “Come here, Tsumiki.”
Tsumiki rushes towards him, burying herself in his side. Gojo’s arm wraps around her, easily picking her up to seat herself besides him. He can feel her tears beginning to soak the front of his sweater, but he only tightens his hold on her, not daring to let go.
He holds the two of them like for what feels like hours, though he knows from the darkness outside that it hasn’t been that long, until their sobs have quieted down to little, hitched hiccups, and even then he wonders if he should let go.
“Right,” He begins, making the two kids look up at him, “You two must be exhausted, you need to sleep.” They don’t protest, only nodding wearily, but not letting go of Gojo.
Gojo begins by taking Megumi, slowly taking him off Gojo’s lap and lying him back down on his bed. He carefully adjusts the boy’s head, making sure his neck isn’t resting at a precarious angle. As soon as Gojo takes his hands off Megumi, his hand wraps around Gojo’s fingers, his grip impossibly tight for such a small kid. Tsumiki quickly gets in beside Megumi, putting her arms around her brother. Megumi relaxes into her embrace, his small hand finding hers, lacing their fingers together. Gojo takes the blanket, pulling it over the two of them, tucking it up far enough that their faces are half-covered by it. Megumi’s hand is still wrapped around his fingers, and he feels the boy tighten his hold as Gojo begins to rise from the bed.
“Don’t go,” Megumi whispers.
“Okay, okay,” Gojo reassures him, “I won’t go, I’ll stay here.”
Gojo gently gets back into the bed, lying down on top of the blanket, not wanting to lift it from the two kids. He throws his arm over the both of them and he can see their tense shoulders begin to relax. The three of them are completely silent for a while with only the sounds of their breathes and the rain descending harshly on the windows from outside being present. Soon, the sounds of Tsumiki’s snoring are added, leaving only Megumi and Gojo wide awake still.
“Gojo?” Megumi’s small voice pipes up from beneath the covers.
“Yes?”
“Will you ever leave us?” He mumbles, his eyes wet and shiny as he looks up at Gojo.
Gojo swallows, hard, his throat feeling tight, “Never, not in a million years,” Gojo promises, “Go to sleep, okay?” Megumi nods tiredly, his eyelids beginning to droop.
As the thick, heavy clouds begin to dissipate, the rain coming to a slow as the thunder and lightning becoming a distant memory, the night sky becomes speckled with stars, illuminating the city with their twinkling lights. The wind continues to howl, only gently this time, becoming a soothing breeze that whispers along the air, making the leaves on the trees rustle. In the bedroom, two sets of snoring fill the silence, the once hitched, grievous breaths slowed down to a steady, calm pace. Only Gojo remains awake, his eyes fixated on the two children under his arm.
Morning come, he will have the children pack their things. They’ll come live with him. He doesn’t care what anyone has to say about it, he cannot leave them here to spend another night by themselves. He’s already providing for them financially, so why not? Why? Why had he thought they’d be okay staying here on their own? They were children. As much as they needed someone to feed them and keep a roof over their head, they also needed someone to comfort them after a nightmare or to congratulate them for a well-done performance on a school test.
Maybe Gojo thought he couldn’t be that kind of person for them, but dammit, he can at least try.
These children have been put through so much hurt within their short lifespans. They have grown up far too fast, living a life of uncertainty and fear, marred by the grievances left behind by the people who were meant to love and care for them the most, and instead had left them behind in the dark.
But tonight, they are safe here, under Gojo’s watchful eye, and no hurt will befall them so long as he is there.