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“Hey Guys,” Choso calls, attempting to balance three bags of groceries while opening the door to the Fushiguros’ apartment. One of the bags is mostly sweets: cookies, tea cakes, and chocolate. Each painstakingly picked out in order to appeal to a child. For the older one, Tsumiki, a sakura and white chocolate tea cake; something sweet yet graceful. For the younger, Megumi, a dark chocolate bar; something Satoru wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole, which made Megumi all the more happy to have. The cookies (chocolate chip and sugar) were mostly for Choso, but Satoru would really eat anything sweet so Choso didn’t have to put as much work into those.
“Choso?”
“Choso!!” Tsumiki’s shout at Choso’s arrival drowns out her younger brother’s confused greeting.
“Hi, hi,” Choso greets, shuffling into the kitchen to set the bags down. Tsumiki happily takes a seat at the tiny island separating the kitchen and the living room. She reaches her hand to root through the bag nearest to her.
“Where’s Gojo?” Megumi asks skeptically. The little frown on his face is adorable, considering how much the kid claims to find the white haired sorcerer annoying. It reminds Choso of his own younger brother, they’d get along, he thinks.
“He’s on a mission, uh it was kind of last minute so he didn’t have time to tell you guys,” Choso explains, leaving out the part about it being an emergency that only Satoru could handle. Megumi frowns some more, for a second Choso worries that the kid will see right through his lie of omission, but Megumi doesn’t ask any further questions.
“What did you get for us?” Tsumiki takes her turn to ask. She’s holding the cakes Choso bought with a satisfied smirk on her face.
“Well, that’s for you,” Choso says to Tsumiki. “And this is for Megumi.” Choso hands Megumi the chocolate bar, which is accepted delicately by small hands.
“Thank you Choso!” Tsumiki squeals, seemingly satisfied with her sweets. Choso mentally gives himself a pat on the back for the success—sakura can be a polarizing flavor, but the gamble paid off.
“Can we really eat these before dinner?” Megumi, ever a stickler for the rules, inquires. He’s still holding the unopened bar in his hands. The sounds of Tsumiki tearing through the pink plastic packaging of her treats pretty much answers Megumi’s question for Choso.
“Sure, or you can wait until later, whatever you want,” Choso reassures.
Megumi nods, “I’ll wait.”
Choso can’t help but smile at Megumi’s decision. At times, the siblings can seem so different, but really they’re both good kids. Elements of Tsumiki’s practically relentless optimism shine through in Megumi’s small acts of decision. Some of Megumi’s seriousness also lends itself to Tsumiki in the necessary instances. Choso hasn’t known the two for very long, only just about a year now, but even he can see the way they depend on each other. It might be a miracle that Satoru has been able to avoid his bad influence rubbing off on the kids. On the other hand, taking care of the Fushiguro siblings at least seems to be helping Satoru grow—especially considering everything that had been going on with Suguru.
Choso gets to work making some soup—chicken noodle—for the three of them, with extra portions of course. Not only do the kids love Choso’s chicken noodle soup, for reasons unknown to Choso, but it’s also an easy food to digest. In all honesty, Choso is worried about Satoru’s mission. Even though Satoru is the strongest, whose very birth altered the balance of the world, anxiety crawled in Choso’s throat whenever Satoru took too long on his missions. A part of his mind would start to run wild, Choso couldn’t help but think about Satoru leaving the same way Suguru did. Call it selfish, but Choso wouldn’t be able to bear being a sorcerer if Satoru left too. Losing Suguru created a rift in their class, something even the Fushiguros couldn’t fill. Shoko was devastated the first time, spending days at a time in the morgue, so Choso couldn’t help himself from worrying almost constantly. Therefore, his chicken soup, which takes the least amount of brain effort, was the natural choice. As soon as the siblings figure out what he’s making, they practically jump around the kitchen with excitement.
After about an hour, Satoru still hasn’t returned, and the three sit down for dinner. They eat at a small table in the kitchen corner, Megumi and Tsumiki crowded on the bench. The kids both eat two bowls. Choso can barely bring himself to finish the one he has, nerves tearing up the insides of his stomach. After everyone’s finished Choso gets to work cleaning the dishes. His obsessive scrubbing is a little unnecessary, chicken soup isn’t exactly hard to get off of dishes, but it’s a welcome distraction. Tsumiki runs off to her room with a final thanks and Megumi stays at the table to eat his chocolate bar.
“Is it good?” Choso asks Megumi, referring to the chocolate.
“Yeah, thank you.” Megumi nods.
“You’re welcome. And if you don’t want to eat it all you can save some for later since Satoru won’t steal any,” Choso points out.
Megumi smiles for the first time that night, “Right.”
Anyone who’s spent any amount of time around Satoru knows he loves sweets. However, this doesn’t extend to anything with sugar. Of course there are things he finds distasteful, dark chocolate is one of them. Choso had asked him about it one time and Satoru said it was much too bitter. Coincidentally, Megumi happened to love bitter chocolate. The kid would happily scarf down a bar with more cacao than sugar. Choso can’t help but wonder if it’s an act of defiance, perhaps it’s a sneak peek into what the kid’s rebellious phase will be in a few years. For now, Choso can just be grateful that the Fushiguros are still children.
“Will Gojo be home soon?” Megumi asks, eerily quiet. Choso has his back turned toward the kid, bowls in hand, and hopes Megumi doesn’t notice the way Choso stiffens slightly.
“I don’t know,” Choso sighs. He focuses even harder on scrubbing.
“Okay,” Megumi says simply. There’s no hint of Choso’s anxiety in his response. At least Choso has managed to keep the kids from worrying.
“Wanna watch something?” Choso asks Megumi.
“Sure.”
It’s easy enough to settle on something to watch, Megumi isn’t very picky—unlike his sister. Choso picks a Studio Ghibli movie, one he knows is suitable for Megumi. He asks Tsumiki if she wants to join them, but she declines his offer, citing the book she wants to finish. Choso and Megumi share a blanket and a bag of popcorn, and start the movie. A little over a half an hour into the movie Megumi falls asleep, cheek pressing into Choso’s upper arm. Megumi likes to pretend he’s too old for hugs and things of the nature, but as soon as he’s tired he’s all too open to anything of the sort. He’s like a sleepy kitten in that way. Choso doesn’t move until the movie ends, afraid of disrupting Megumi’s peaceful slumber.
After all the end credits have passed, Choso carefully carries Megumi to his bed. By a miracle of god Megumi doesn’t wake up. Choso returns to his seat on the couch. After a moment of deliverance, he turns on another Ghibli movie. They’re quite engaging, not enough to distract him from the nagging in his gut, but enough to give him something to watch while he waits. One more movie turns into two, and Choso isn’t sure if he’s waiting or hoping. Rationally—Shoko always tells him to be rational—he knows Satoru is fine. Probably. He’s the strongest, but he should be back already.
Halfway through the third movie, Choso’s eyelids become heavy. That is, until the door creaks open. Satoru walks in, for some reason he isn’t wearing anything to cover his eyes. He doesn’t immediately notice Choso on the couch, his attention is fixed on the kitchen before he realizes he is being watched. Satoru’s bright blue eyes widen almost comically when he sees Choso.
“What are you doing up so late?” Satoru immediately whispers, making a beeline to where Choso is sprawled on the couch, after taking off his shoes. He kneels on the floor next to where Choso is on the couch.
“I was waiting for you,” Choso whispers back.
“Why? I told you it might be a while,” Satoru insists. “A while? That was like eight hours Satoru,” Choso bites back, trying not to raise his voice above an accusatory whisper. Satoru winces. “I was worried.”
“I know I’m sorry,” Satoru relents. “It got a little…tricky.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah I’m fine, you don’t have to worry about me,” Satoru assures. He’s being sincere, and it’s not that Choso doesn’t believe in Satoru—he would trust the other with his life—but there’s that nagging feeling again.
“What went wrong?”
“What?” Satoru says, like he didn’t hear Choso. Like he’s surprised. One of his hands scratches the back of his neck, expression turning from caught off-guard to sheepish. “There were three, not one,” He meekly explains.
“Three?!” Choso exclaims, still attempting to be quiet while immediately sitting up from his slouched position.
“Choso.” Satoru tries to be calming. He grabs Choso’s hands in his.
“How does that even happen?” Choso reels, afraid at having been right to worry. He’d always had a sixth sense when it came to trouble with curses, he chalks it up to being half-curse himself. He supposes it might have been the higher-ups intentions to catch Satoru off-guard. At any point in time, it almost universally benefits them to have Satoru incapacitated. Why any of them still obey the higher-ups, Choso himself can’t even verbalize. For all of them, Choso thinks, it has to do with Suguru. Everything now goes back to his departure.
“I don’t know, but it’s okay Choso. I’m okay. Please don’t worry,” Satoru practically begs. Choso hates to admit it, but at times like these, he can exponentially more so see eye-to-eye with Suguru’s philosophy.
“Satoru,” Choso protests. The man in question lets go of Choso’s hands to place them on Choso’s knees instead.
“Please don’t go in that direction,” Satoru requests. He sounds worn out.
“I-“ Choso stops himself, he too is tired. Satoru rests his head on Choso’s legs. “I just worry about you.”
“I know,” Satoru says again to Choso’s admission. “I’m okay though, I’m always okay.” He pauses when Choso’s expression hasn’t shifted. “We’ll be okay,” he promises softly.
“It’s all we can be,” Choso replies simply.
“Always the relentless optimist,” Satoru teases, a sly grin on his face. Choso smiles tiredly. "Let's go to bed."
“Not without a shower first,” Choso retorts. Satoru’s comical shift from smirk to pout is almost enough for Choso to feel better. They need to talk about this, the higher ups and their incessant distaste for both Satoru and Choso, preferably with Shoko and the other sorcerers of their generation. For now, for tonight, this is enough. It has to be enough.