Chapter Text
Megumi sets down his suitcase with a soft thud, looking around his new, temporary bedroom. He had seen plenty of rooms like it–chipped white paint, creaky floorboards, barely running heaters– but Megumi didn’t mind, because he knew he wouldn’t be living here long.
He decided the room looked nicer than most of the other houses he had been in. Megumi hoped Toji wouldn’t make them move for another job offer anytime soon. Maybe this could be the last time.
No, Megumi. Don’t get your hopes up. You’ll be leaving soon, enough.
Megumi dragged over to the bed, examining the mattress. He distantly traced invisible patterns across the sheets.
“Megumi!” Toji calls, “dinner!”
Megumi grumbles, shuffling down the hallway towards the kitchen. There wasn’t a table yet, the counters were shabby, and the stick-on tile was starting to peel. Megumi had barely seen it before he ran to unpack.
“Hey kid, finally gonna eat dinner with your dad for once?” Toji teases lightheartedly, ruffling Megumi’s hair with a grin.
Megumi bats his hand off, recoiling with a side glance, “I always eat with you, when you're home,” he mutters. “And stop calling me kid; I’m fifteen.”
Toji rolls his eyes, clapping Megumi on the back casually before going back to the pot on the stove. “So,” he starts, using the same slow, calculating tone he uses when he needs to break news, “I have to go on a business trip for a couple days, I’m sure you’ll be fine, right?”
Megumi sighs. Toji always had trips at the most inconvenient times. “Yeah, whatever.” His voice was brittle, wishing his dad didn’t have to pick up so many odd jobs. He couldn’t count how many parent-teacher conferences Toji had missed, or school concerts, or simply things that had mattered to Megumi.
“Okay, just checking. Anyways, I made ramen.” Toji passed a sad looking ceramic bowl over to Megumi.
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Megumi watched from his dusty window as Toji’s car drove off, fading into the darkness of night. He fished the 50$ bill that his father gave him out from his pocket, finger tracing over the fold in the paper. Megumi shoved it back into his pocket, sharply inhaling. He needed something to take off the sting of being left behind again.
His thin and tattered jacket is rapidly pulled onto him, the sleeves bunching up against his forearm. He slams the front door closed, stuffing his clenched hands in his pockets.
Megumi keeps his eyes trained onto the sidewalk, he doesn't want to see where his feet carry him.
He ends up at a dingy gas station, and he can only hope its a laidback teenager working the till.
Megumi pushes open the door, a wave of heat slamming into his face. He hadn't realized how cold it was outside until now. Megumi scans the store as he shuffles in.
The worker is, in fact, a tired teen who couldn't care less about what you bought or how old you were.
Perfect.
Megumi looms near the nicotine isle, tracing his pale fingers over a box of Marlboro, inhaling through his gritted teeth. He felt terrible wasting his dad’s money on cigarettes, but he couldn't help himself. Before Megumi can decide to put it back, he has already made his way over to the counter and was forking out the crumpled bill in his pocket.
The kid behind the counter didn't look up as he scanned it, simply trying to calculate the change.
The bell tinkles as Megumi shoves open the door, stepping into the street. Cold air rushes past him, biting at his skin.
Megumi stomps down the sidewalk, hurrying to get back home.
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Megumi balances the cigarette between his nimble fingers, pressing it to his lips. He sharply inhales, taking a drag. The acrid burn of smoke in the back of his throat is a welcome distraction to his loneliness, and he shakily lets the smoke flow out from his mouth in a defeated exhale.
He knew he needed to stop. He knew that if his dad knew he was using grocery and bill money to smoke, he would be grounded until he was 18. He hated how aware he was of the problem, and still couldn’t get himself to stop.
He wanted to forget even thinking about it.
He takes another breath from the cigarette, staring out his window.
A car blurs past. Then another. And another.
Megumi loses track of time, staring down the street and taking unsteady inhales from the cigarette.
He lets a shaky sigh escape from his lungs, slouching forward in the chair he pulled over from his desk.
“School tomorrow,” Megumi reminds himself while checking the time from his phone. The screen reads 10:28 P.M.
Megumi snuffs out the hot end of the cigarette and jumps into his bed, jeans and shoes still on. He didn’t bother to waste his time taking them off earlier.
He rolls onto his back, spreading his limbs across the full-size mattress. His eyes close, tugging the blue comforter over his body, eventually tangling his legs through the sheets in an attempt to get warm.
“Ughhh,” Megumi groans, tossing the blankets off. He sits up, rubbing his eyes harshly until white spots swim on the edge of his vision. He walks to his dresser, grabbing one of the thick sweatshirts he had put away so far. Megumi rips off his coat, shivering before he pulls the sweater he had laid aside previously over his head.
After a few minutes of shuffling through his few unpacked suitcases and mostly empty drawers, Megumi ends up looking like an insulated marshmallow of fabric.
Megumi releases a content sigh, burrowing under the covers.
He really hated January. His central heating was usually shut off or couldn’t work properly, and most of his clothes weren’t the warmest, so one could imagine how chilly he felt.
Megumi sat for a few minutes, his eyes screwed tightly shut, He couldn’t stop thinking about how his first day would go. He imagined it would probably be the exact same as other schools; pre-established friend groups and every other shared terror to an average 10th grader. But something inside him felt a flash of hope. Maybe he could make friends here. Maybe he wouldn’t just blend into the background this year.
Megumi decided he could live with that idea, finally releasing the tension from his shoulders and drifting to sleep.