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A benefactor. On paper, officially, that was who Gojo Satoru was to Megumi. And initially, that was all he had been.
At seven years old and with a mindset well beyond his years, Megumi had never faulted Gojo – a teenager – for that. He hadn't expected anyone to care for them in the first place, so when Gojo had taken on the responsibility of keeping them alive, he hadn't expected him to stick around to do more than that. The papers he'd signed assured Megumi that he and Tsumiki would be financially cared for even if Gojo walked out, so what did it matter if one more person left? All that mattered was that Tsumiki would be taken care of, and their futures were assured.
It was different from the father Megumi could hardly remember, and Tsumiki's mother. They had left, and Megumi and Tsumiki had to struggle just to stay alive. That wouldn't be the case if Gojo left. So, no, Megumi didn't need Gojo to be anything more than a benefactor.
He didn't want him to be, anyway. The guy was annoying and obnoxious and weird. He asked stupid questions, didn't seem to know how to speak to children, irritated Megumi just for kicks, and kept messing up his hair. Tsumiki liked him, a little. She was wary and distrustful under her smiling demeanour, but she liked him despite all that.
Maybe it was just because he was the first person to take an interest in them since their parents, even if that interest had to do with Megumi's father and curses. Maybe it was because of the simple fact that Gojo kept them fed and warm, with hot water and electricity in a home that was no longer in disrepair, and didn't pull them out of school.
Or maybe it was because that was just who Tsumiki was at her core – willing to think the best of people. Willing to hope. To trust that a person could be good, even though the last few months had stripped them of those soft notions.
So even if Megumi didn't really want Gojo around, it was okay when he was because Tsumiki liked him even if she tried not to. His stupid jokes made her laugh for real, and her smiles were sometimes genuine when Gojo was around. It was nice to see; she'd gotten really good at faking the perfect smile for everyone other than Megumi.
Things started changing after a couple of months, until the neat box that was benefactor didn't fit Gojo as perfectly as it had before. Megumi didn't know what changed to make Gojo start showing up more. Sticking around. Crashing on their couch. Buying a meal for three instead of one and dropping by to share it with them. By proxy, he got to know them better, and so the questions he pestered them with became less about how they were and what they did that day, and more about if Tsumiki enjoyed her club activity today, and what about you, Megumi, need help with any maths homework? I'm great at maths.
Megumi did. He sucked at maths. He hated that Gojo knew that about him, and he hated that Gojo actually was good at maths. He didn't want his help with anything. He shot him a glare and ignored his obnoxious laughter.
(And, later, when Megumi was still sitting with his maths book open and his homework incomplete, Gojo sprawled in the chair next to him, ignored his grumbling and complaints, and helped him finish it.)
Tsumiki, on the other hand, brightened at Gojo's questions, launching into a description of her day, and Gojo matched her energy in a way Megumi couldn't. He listened to his sister's chatter, but he wasn't the best conversationalist. Tsumiki never seemed to mind his short answers, but the way she engaged with Gojo said everything she wouldn’t.
He watched them silently, pushing his food around his plate, and didn't know what to think or feel. Didn't know how to think or feel. It had been too long since they had anything like this – whatever it was – and Megumi was…scared, maybe, to think about it too hard. As if thinking of it might make it go away. As if his thoughts would be too loud and make Gojo leave.
(And wasn't that something? When had he started caring if Gojo left? Uncomfortable with the thought, he shovelled food into his mouth, tuning back into their conversation and leaving no space for thoughts of his own.)
So, things changed. Gradually. Gojo started staying longer until his things littered the place and the shelf in the lounge was filled with his stuff. He left his dishes in the basin instead of washing them; his shoes in the genkan almost always left behind grass and dirt; his blanket was never folded on the couch; his clothes were always on the floor instead of the laundry basket. Honestly, he was a mess, and Megumi didn't know how he expected to look after two kids when he couldn't look after himself.
Eventually, Tsumiki started insisting he take the bedroom and they could sleep in the lounge, but Gojo refused. That led to the first big change since Gojo became their benefactor: They moved into a bigger place, with three bedrooms, and the implication was not lost on either of them. Tsumiki and Megumi exchanged looks but didn't voice their thoughts.
Hope was a fragile thing. Voicing it gave it life, and tangible things broke. So they didn't speak of it. They dared to hope, and they feared it too.
But months passed, until they'd been living together for a year – making it almost two years since everything – and Gojo still didn't leave. He walked them to school when he could, and he stopped leaving such a mess when he noticed that Tsumiki cleaned up after him. Megumi even heard him on the phone with someone once, when he'd woken up from a nightmare in the middle of the night. He'd gotten up to go to the bathroom, and Gojo was nodding along to someone's instructions as he stirred a pot.
Megumi had paused, somewhat dumbstruck, feet rooted to the floor. Was Gojo learning to cook? For them? Had he realised growing children needed better nutrition than frozen meals and takeout? It was an uncharitable thought given that Gojo had done a lot for them, but Megumi had never claimed to be a charitable person.
He turned around and went back to bed.
(And if he let a smile slip through when Gojo presented his first meal to them a few weeks later, then that was no one's business but his own. He'd done it carelessly, flippantly, as if it didn't matter to him, as if he hadn't spent the nights he couldn't sleep learning something he'd never done before. Megumi had begun to learn that that was his shield against the world. One less tangible than Infinity, but no less true. A shield, he thought, similar to his own. Similar to Tsumiki's. All different in appearance, but guarding their hearts all the same.
What did it mean that Megumi could see through his shield? It made him wonder if Gojo could see through his.
The thought slipped away when Gojo caught his eye, blue peeking over his sunglasses, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. Megumi scowled and looked down at his bowl, and when he looked up again, Gojo was smiling at Tsumiki as she chattered about her day. His smile looked real, not the grin he wore for everyone else, or the wide one he plastered on his face when he came back after a long mission.
Before Megumi could look away, Gojo turned to him, that smile still on his face as he started speaking to him, still on his face when Megumi gave lackluster responses.
It was with a funny feeling in his chest that he realised that, yeah, Gojo could see through his shields, too. He didn't mind as much as he thought he would.)
So, a benefactor. Not such a fitting category anymore, but the one that fit the most. Megumi would still call Gojo his benefactor if asked, gun to his head. None of them were the types of people who'd use normal labels, softer labels. Truthfully, they were dysfunctional and unusual, so the normal and soft labels didn't apply to them in any case. What did labels matter, anyway? They had each other. Gojo was never leaving. That was all they needed.
He was more of an annoying older brother in any case. He didn't fit the image of parent or parental figure or guardian, because he laughed when the school told him Megumi was getting into fights, and he teased Tsumiki about her crushes instead of getting protective or whatever it was normal people did.
But he wasn't an older brother, either, not really. He couldn't fit into such a normal role, the same way Megumi and Tsumiki couldn't be normal, carefree kids. He snapped at them when he had long days, and he disappeared for a week or sometimes two, and he'd come back bearing gifts and a smile and a meal, ruffling their hair and running his mouth a mile a minute. Normal families didn't do that, Megumi knew. But he didn't care; they weren't normal, and they weren't a family.
(But sometimes he was closer to a parent than any other label. By definition, at least. He provided for them, he looked after them, he sent them to school. He helped with what he could, and he sometimes did things he didn't even need to, like learning to do Tsumiki's hair in braids, or signing Megumi up for a sport because he expressed the slightest bit of interest in it.)
But what did labels matter? None of them spoke the words, but it was there in the silence of their actions. It was there in Tsumiki draping a blanket over Gojo's body when he fell asleep on the couch; it was there in Gojo messing up Megumi's hair and buying a kid's nail kit for Tsumiki because she mentioned that her friend at school had one; it was there in Megumi accepting Gojo's help when he was sick, and denying that he'd fallen asleep against his shoulder the next morning.
Hope became almost tangible as they inched closer to it everyday. Hell, maybe it already was – actions spoke louder than words, didn't they? But for the first time in a long time, Megumi couldn't bring himself to worry about it too much.
For the most part, Gojo looked after them alone. There was Shoko, who popped in every other week with takeout or very rarely slept over if Gojo was away for especially long and one of them was sick or something. Sometimes Gojo left them with her in the morgue or her office, and they'd do their homework or take turns on the Game Boy while waiting for him to pick them up. That didn't happen too often though – neither Tsumiki nor Megumi minded being alone at home.
Megumi liked being at home, but he also didn't really mind being around Shoko. He liked her, although she was a little strange. He was starting to wonder if that was a sorcerer thing, or if it was just the people Gojo surrounded himself with.
And then there was Yaga Masamichi, the principal at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. There was a baby panda attached to him, and Tsumiki's eyes nearly popped out of her sockets when she first saw him. By Jujutsu Law, anything related to sorcery should be hidden from non-sorcerers, so not only was Tsumiki technically not allowed at the school, but she definitely shouldn't have been allowed to see Panda. That was his name – Panda the panda. A cursed corpse, although she didn't really understand when Megumi tried to explain it to her. To be fair, he wasn't sure he understood it himself – Gojo hadn't told him much about Jujutsu, and sometimes he wondered why that was.
Whatever the case, Yaga Masamichi didn't seem to mind if Tsumiki was at the school. When Shoko was busy, she left them with him in his office, and Tsumiki played with Panda as if he was a real baby. He sort of was, Megumi guessed. He'd asked Yaga about it, and the man sighed, his hands busy with a new cursed corpse, but he explained it in a way Megumi, a ten year old, could understand.
There was a soul in Panda's body, and it was the soul of a child who would grow the same as any other child would. For all intents and purposes, Yaga was Panda's father. Even Tsumiki stopped playing with Panda for long enough to look at Yaga in surprise.
So, Gojo mostly looked after them alone, but sometimes he needed a little help. These were the only times they got a glimpse into who Gojo was – what his life was like – outside of them. Megumi thought it was kind of sad. He seemed to just work, all the time, and his relationship with Shoko didn't fit easily into the category of friend the same way none of them fit easily into such normal labels.
So it came as a surprise when Megumi, age twelve, came home from school on a random Tuesday to find Gojo in the kitchen with a woman. A sorcerer he hadn't met yet. He blinked, more surprised to see Gojo at home in the middle of the day than to see a strange woman in their kitchen. Didn't he have first-years to teach, curses to exorcise?
Gojo looked over his shoulder before Megumi could decide how to react, flashing him a grin.
“Hey, you're home! Where's Tsumiki?”
Megumi shrugged off his bag and swapped his shoes for slippers. “Club.”
“Right, forgot it's Tuesday,” he said, turning back to the stove. The woman next to him turned around to face Megumi, not so subtly jabbing Gojo in the side. He waved a careless hand in response. “Megumi, meet Utahime. Utahime, Megumi.”
Utahime glared at him and muttered under her breath, probably because Gojo's introduction could use some work. Megumi decided he liked her.
She smiled at Megumi. “I've heard a lot about you. It's nice to finally meet you.”
Megumi looked between them. Gojo spoke about them to his friends? He felt suddenly unsure, thinking about what she knew about him when he didn't know her at all. “It's nice to meet you too,” he mumbled.
Gojo chuckled, not turning away from the stove. “Don't be offended, he just doesn't know you,” he told her. To him, he said, “Didn't mean to spring this on you; Utahime was in Tokyo and she had a new recipe for me so I figured she could rate it one time.”
“A new recipe?” Megumi raised his eyebrows. “So you're the one who taught him how to cook?”
“No one had to teach me anything,” Gojo scoffed.
“So all those late nights learning recipes was you knowing how to cook?”
Gojo gaped at him. “How do you know about that?”
Megumi was unimpressed. “Six Eyes and you can't sense what's happening in your own home?”
Utahime laughed, earning a betrayed look from Gojo. The motion pulled at the scar on her face, and she easily sidestepped Gojo as he tried to jab her side.
She gave Megumi a grin. “I'm so glad I have someone to insult Gojo with now.”
Megumi took note of the wording; it suggested they'd see a lot more of her. That was interesting, given that Shoko didn't even come over for no reason. Megumi mulled over that as he excused himself until supper, but he could hear their voices and the sounds of cooking through his bedroom door, and it felt…strange. Odd. It had only ever been the three of them at home; having someone else there was different. Not necessarily bad, just…different.
He waited until Tsumiki came home to see how she felt about it. They exchanged a quiet look across the table while Gojo purposefully annoyed Utahime and she tried her best not to react. (Megumi was grateful for the reprieve of being his number one target.) He could read the same vague emotion in Tsumiki's eyes. It comforted him; he wasn't being ridiculous. They just weren't used to whatever this was. They had never had someone in their home like this before, so it was just different.
They found out Utahime was also a teacher, although she taught at the school in Kyoto and therefore wasn't in Tokyo often. She knew Gojo from the time he was her kouhai in school, and he annoyed her as much then as he did now. Megumi noted the ease and familiarity between them despite her clear annoyance with him, and he thought it was a bit strange since they lived in different cities. Did they see each other often despite that? Or maybe they just weren't normal friends, because normal and normal labels never fitted any of them anyway.
They didn't initially see a lot of Utahime; she rarely came to Tokyo, but whenever she did, she stopped by. If Gojo made nothing that day, she got groceries or used what was in the fridge to make them a meal. She brought Megumi a book they'd spoken about when she'd seen him last, and she took Tsumiki out shopping and refused to let them come because she needs girl time, Gojo; she sees you boys enough as it is.
Megumi couldn't argue with that.
Once Megumi started high school, though, they started seeing her more. Megumi and Tsumiki pretended not to know why, because Gojo and Utahime apparently didn't know why. It was painful how oblivious they were: Utahime would brush past Gojo in the kitchen and his eyes would follow her; Gojo would invade her personal space while watching a movie and she'd go bright red; they'd stand too close together at the door when Utahime was leaving and Megumi always turned away in case he saw something he didn't want to.
He and Tsumiki had formed a sort of exasperated camaraderie over their shared suffering.
After a few suffocating months, there was a change. They never came out and said it, but actions spoke louder than words, right? The lingering looks didn't stop, which was annoying and, frankly, Megumi wished they'd remember they were surrounded by two high schoolers. But at least there was no more of the exasperating tip-toeing, and Megumi and Tsumiki no longer had to pretend like nothing was happening.
In a way, though, it made them more insufferable: If Utahime brushed against Gojo in the kitchen now, he shot her a cheeky grin and reeled her in to give her a kiss. He hooked his ankle with hers under the table, which was fine because it was at least out of Megumi's sight, but it meant he got kicked at least once before he pulled his feet out of the way, and then he had to finish his meal with the knowledge that they were nauseatingly in love.
It was strange to think about. Gojo in love. Megumi scrunched his nose in disgust, never wanting to piece those words together again.
Utahime's presence in their home became more apparent after that. Throw pillows started appearing in the lounge; there were cutesy mugs in their cupboards; a plant in the windowsill that none of them remembered to water and then felt guilty about when Utahime came over to find it wilting; a pretty bowl for all their keys because none of them could keep theirs safe.
The fourth chair at the table was occupied most weekends. Home cooked meals became more regular, and the stretches of time they spent alone when Gojo went away for long missions were sometimes filled by Utahime if she had time to spare.
Megumi thought back to the first time he'd met her, and how he'd thought it was strange to have someone else in their home. He never could have imagined that Utahime would become such a staple in their lives. She was part of their not-family. She'd been the one to help Tsumiki when she hit puberty, and she was the first person they thought to call if Gojo was unavailable and it wasn't medical help that they needed. Megumi had even stayed at her apartment once, when he'd been on a mission in Kyoto and it had run way over time.
It hadn't even felt strange – her apartment was strange to him, sure, but they already had a routine that felt like home.
It was a thought that made his mind go quiet. She was home, he realised. That was the only normal label that could ever fit them and what they all were to each other.
“You okay?” she asked, eyeing him over her mug of tea.
He nodded, not even surprised she could tell when he was normal-quiet, and thinking-quiet.
Home. Huh. Maybe he had known that for a while, deep down. He couldn't remember the last time he'd thought of Gojo as his benefactor.
(He'd still say so if asked, gun to his head. Words like home were too embarrassing to say out loud, and Megumi never wore his heart on his sleeve. Not like Tsumiki always did, not like Gojo did when it was just them, and not like Utahime sometimes did.)
Megumi had been a full-time sorcerer for three years and Tsumiki was in her final year at university when they had their first big change in a long time.
Calling it a change was putting it lightly: Megumi felt like his world had been turned upside down.
Utahime was pregnant. She'd found out a month ago, and between deciding if she wanted to keep the baby, what they'd do if she did, and what it meant for everyone involved, another month had passed. So, she was two months pregnant, she and Gojo were going to be parents, and Megumi didn't know where he stood. Where he and Tsumiki stood.
He was happy for them. They seemed happy, if not a little stressed and unsure, but he figured that was a normal reaction to any unexpected pregnancy. They weren't even married. They had a lot on their plate.
It felt selfish to worry about himself, but he couldn't help the sinking feeling in his stomach. He'd avoided Tsumiki's gaze when they'd broken the news, afraid she'd read him instantly, and left as soon as he could. He didn't want to ruin their happy mood, and he would if he'd stayed any longer.
Megumi never wore his heart on his sleeve, but that didn't mean he had an excellent poker face. Especially not around them.
—
“Okay, tell me what's wrong,” Tsumiki said later that night, barging into his apartment like she owned the place.
“Why do you think something’s wrong?” he asked, closing the door. “And why are you here? Weren't you staying at Gojo's?” he asked with a frown.
As an adult earning a salary, Megumi moved out last year. His apartment was a far cry from home, but he couldn't live with Gojo forever. That was made more apparent now, he thought, with a baby on the way.
“See, that,” Tsumiki said, gesturing at his face. “That's what's wrong. You tried really hard to hide it, and I don't think Utahime or Gojo caught it, but I know you, Megumi. So spit it out.”
He sighed. The quicker he got this over with, the quicker she could leave so he could sleep.
“Gojo has a baby on the way.”
“Uh-huh.”
“He and Utahime will probably get married.”
“Probably.”
He hesitated, grasping for words. “I don't even live at home anymore – you'll probably get your own apartment next year too. It's just…” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots. When he looked up, Tsumiki's eyes were soft.
“I know we don't say these things, but I think it's time we do.” She took a deep breath. “Gojo's never leaving us, Megumi. And neither is Utahime. A baby isn't going to change that.”
Megumi stared at her. How did she always just get him?
“Fine, you already moved out, but that's normal, right? Kids move out. It's normal. Their parents don't stop being their parents because of it.” She paused. “You don't stop caring about someone because you don’t live with them anymore.”
She searched his eyes, silence cloaking them for a few seconds. “Listen, you need to talk to Gojo about this. Don't let this fester in you. I know it's – it's a big change. I'm a little scared too. But it'll be okay.”
“Why are you scared?” he asked after a moment of considering her words.
She blew out a breath. “Same as you, I guess. Like you said, by next year, I'll move out too… What if they forget about us?”
She laughed as she said it, as if it was silly – and it was. Deep down they knew it was silly, but old fears were hard to break. They always resurfaced.
“What if – I don't know – they're having a baby. They'll be a real family if they get married, and, you know, that baby is theirs.” She swallowed painfully. “Not like…not like us.”
Megumi moved away from the door, taking a seat on the couch beside her. It was the only way he could lend some comfort. Tsumiki leaned into his shoulder, and he could hear her trying not to cry.
“It's stupid, right? I'm being stupid.”
He let out a little chuckle. “Yeah.”
“Then you're being stupid too. These are your same fears. I had to voice them for you because you wouldn't.”
He smiled. “Yeah.”
“Repressed bastard.”
He laughed, and Tsumiki laughed, her body shaking against his for a different reason now, and everything felt a little lighter. A little clearer.
He needed to talk to Gojo.
—
He hadn't even knocked on the door when it swung open. Megumi gave him a judgemental look, which Gojo merely grinned at, but privately, he was pleased. It meant Gojo was waiting for him to come around. He'd kept an eye out for his cursed energy and couldn't even wait for him to knock before opening the door.
Megumi followed him into the kitchen, casting a glance around the living area, but Utahime was nowhere to be found.
“She's sleeping,” Gojo said over his shoulder. “We were in the middle of making supper and she was falling asleep on her feet,” he said with a chuckle.
Megumi couldn't suppress a smile at that image. “She must be really tired, especially with all this travelling.”
Gojo grimaced. “Yeah. I don't think she'll be able to come over as often anymore. She's tired enough just teaching.”
Megumi gave a noncommittal hum, his mind already working over what that meant.
Gojo carried on chopping the vegetables on the chopping board, and Megumi leaned against the counter because it looked like everything else was done. He cast Megumi a sideways glance, not ceasing his motions.
“So,” he started. “You're not here to talk about Utahime.”
“Don't put it like that,” he groaned, making Gojo smile. He swiped the carrots into a pan and then gave Megumi his full attention.
He sighed at the expectant look. Tsumiki was wrong; they did know something was up. Or, at least, Gojo did.
“I'm happy for you guys, first of all. I don't want any confusion about that.”
A teasing grin. “Tsumiki tell you to say that?”
Megumi glared at him. “...Yes. But it also made me realise that might've been how it came across.”
Gojo was shaking his head before Megumi even finished his sentence. “I'm not worried about that.” He drummed his fingers on the counter. “I think I get it. I should have thought more about what a baby would mean to you guys.”
Megumi sighed. “I was just being stupid last night. I needed time to think.” He paused. “And Tsumiki to knock some sense into me,” he admitted.
Gojo laughed. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah. She is. She also needed to talk, I guess, but we're good now.”
Gojo nodded, his shoulders drooping the slightest bit in relief. Megumi hadn't realised how tense he'd been until then.
“She owes me a night now,” he joked. “The weekends are too short as it is, barely see her,” he said offhandedly.
He turned back to the counter to put his dishes in the basin. He started washing them, so Megumi took his place next to him to start rinsing and drying. When they were done, Gojo turned off the stove and faced him again.
“I don't see you guys as often anymore,” he said, making Megumi look at him. “But that doesn't mean I don’t want to.”
He tilted his head down so Megumi could glimpse his eyes over his sunglasses. There was no grin on his face, and he looked serious in a way he rarely did.
He let out a breath, cracking a smile. “Talking is hard, huh?”
Megumi huffed a laugh, looking away. “It is. Guess that's why I left instead of trying.”
Gojo hummed. “Don't blame you. But, Megumi, even if we never speak of this again, I need you to know – both you and Tsumiki – that I wouldn't trade you for anything. I want you and Tsumiki, and I want Utahime and this baby, and I don't want to choose.” He cracked a grin. “I'm a selfish bastard, and I want it all. Okay? You're stuck with me.”
The words reassured Megumi more than he wanted to admit. It was also the first time Gojo had said anything like I want you. It said everything they couldn't say.
“Even if you get married?” He was half teasing and half asking.
Gojo shrugged. “We haven't decided yet. But even if we do, you and Tsumiki will have your own rooms. Actually, don't think you're getting out of house shopping with us – everyone gets a say!”
“We'd never agree on a house,” Megumi said flatly, but his chest ballooned with feeling and refused to deflate.
The next few months were a bit of a blur. Utahime came to Tokyo less until she stopped commuting at all, too tired to even think of getting on a train. Tsumiki started going to her apartment on weekends instead of Gojo's place – Gojo was practically living there already – and Megumi popped in whenever he could. Unfortunately, he didn't have many missions in Kyoto, but Gojo and Utahime were careful about not letting him feel left out.
It made him bristle a little, not wanting to be treated with kid gloves, but he ultimately let it go. They were just being considerate. He was being a prick.
Gojo started looking for houses in Kyoto soon after: With Tsumiki staying on campus, Megumi having his own apartment, and Gojo being able to warp to Tokyo, it was better to get a place closer to Utahime's work than in Tokyo.
Once he had a selection, they made a day of looking at the houses. It had been a mission and a half getting them all free, and Utahime had to find all that walking difficult, but she didn't complain about it. Once they decided on a house, Gojo wasted no time getting them moved in. He fully furnished the rooms Megumi and Tsumiki chose, even though they would hardly use it.
The gesture mattered though, as much as Megumi wanted to pretend it didn’t. They had always been more reliant on actions than words, and that hadn't changed.
Utahime started showing as her pregnancy progressed, and Megumi was surprised by his own reaction to it. He felt oddly protective of her and the child she was carrying. When she put his hand to her stomach and he felt a kick for the first time, he thought he understood how parents could love a child who wasn't even born yet.
For the first time, he realised this baby was more than just Gojo's and Utahime's: it was his too.
(His brother. He didn't mind the label too much.)
Gojo proposed to Utahime when she was six months pregnant. Tsumiki couldn't stop crying, and Megumi didn't even try to tamp down his smile. He was so perfectly content there wasn't even space in his head for any old fears to surface.
Later, as they sat in the lounge catching up – Tsumiki had exams, so she hadn't been home in a while, and Megumi had been swamped with missions – Gojo and Utahime shared a glance that made Tsumiki instantly pause.
She narrowed her eyes. “That's your I have something to tell you look.”
“We have one of those?” Gojo asked, amused.
“You have a lot of things to tell us,” Tsumiki pointed out.
Utahime laughed, starting to sit up. Gojo took her hand to help her.
She huffed. “I can sit up on my own, you know.”
He shrugged, unapologetic. “Should I get it?”
She nodded, and he disappeared into their bedroom. Tsumiki and Megumi exchanged a look, neither of them sure where this was going.
Gojo was back a moment later with papers in his hand. Megumi was well and truly befuddled; he looked nervous. Gojo never looked nervous. Utahime reached out to squeeze his hand as he sat back down next to her.
Tsumiki tried to peek at the papers and Gojo tilted it away with a smile. “Not yet.”
Megumi frowned. They just looked nervous. If Gojo got nervous, it meant he cared. Whatever they wanted to tell them wasn't bad.
“What's going on?”
Gojo took a breath. “We were talking, and…Utahime and I are getting married.”
Tsumiki frowned. “Right…as implied by the proposal today…”
Gojo rolled his eyes. “Did going to university give you an attitude? Maybe I should make you come back home. Give me a chance!”
She giggled, leaning back into the couch with a go for it gesture.
“Thank you – what are you laughing for now?" he demanded, poking Utahime's side.
She squirmed away from him, not going far with his hold on her hand. “Stop drawing this out.”
“Yes please,” Megumi agreed.
Gojo muttered something about them ganging up on him, then looked down at the papers in his hand. “We just thought, we're making us official, and the baby will be official, obviously –”
“Obviously,” Utahime echoed, a laugh in her voice.
He poked her again. “You're enjoying this.”
“Can't deny it. You look so uncomfortable.”
“Why am I marrying you again?”
She laughed, gave him a kiss, then urged him to continue.
Gojo sighed, looking at them again. He met each of their gazes straight on, letting them read the sincerity in his eyes.
“We just thought, since so many things are becoming official, this can too.” He flicked his fingers between the three of them. Megumi's chest constricted. He was pretty sure Tsumiki stopped breathing next to him.
“Only if it's what you want. We want it – I want it. No more room for anyone to doubt anything, right?” He smiled at them, something soft and painfully sincere. “You'll be stuck with me in a way you can never undo.”
Utahime smiled at them, small and warm. “Even if we don't see each other often, or you move out or live a city away.”
Gojo nodded. “That too. You can take some time to think about it, obviously –”
“Yes,” Tsumiki blurted, her voice choked. She shot up from the couch, and then paused abruptly, her hands coming up to hide her face. “Is this real?” she whispered shakily.
Gojo got up immediately and wrapped his arms around her so tightly Megumi wondered if she was able to breathe. Hugs had been given sparingly as they grew up, Gojo not really a hug person to begin with. Megumi knew he'd struggled with the emotional side of dealing with kids, not always sure what to say or what they needed. But he'd gotten better over time. He tried his best, even if he was uncomfortable with it. He gave hugs freely if he thought that was what they needed, but he always looked awkward doing it.
He'd looked awkward doing everything, Megumi thought now with a smile. But he'd done it anyway.
Now, though…He hugged Tsumiki like he never wanted to let her go. And, with a jolt, Megumi realised, that was it. He didn’t. He didn't want to let them go. His eyes drifted down to the papers Gojo had abandoned, and they burned. He blinked quickly, his gaze lifting when he heard Utahime's soft laughter.
She was laughing at him, softly and tenderly. She smiled, her own eyes shining. “It's okay to cry now and again, you know.”
Megumi looked away, embarrassed and warm all over and fuzzy feelings crowding his chest, but then he was being pulled up from the couch and enveloped in strong arms and he didn't really want to fight it. He lowered his face into Gojo's shirt, not wanting anyone to see the tears he couldn't stop from leaking, and it was perfect.
He was surrounded by his family, and it was perfect.
Gojo was on a mission and Tsumiki was in class when Utahime's water broke. Megumi was the one who grabbed their bags, drove her to the hospital, and held her hand while she suffered through contractions. Tsumiki got there as soon as she could, having run out in the middle of class, and they tried their best to keep her comfortable while they timed the period between contractions. Thankfully, before she was truly in labour, Gojo got there, pristine despite just finishing with a mission, thanks to Infinity.
Megumi was glad; he really hadn't wanted to fight Gojo for missing his child's birth. He'd tried not to miss any appointments during the pregnancy, so it would've been a real shame if he'd put in all that effort just to miss the birth.
Megumi and Tsumiki excused themselves, and when they were called back into the room, there was a bundle in Utahime's arms and a tired smile on her face. Gojo's smile was blinding, giving Megumi a moment's pause at how unrestrained it was, but the second he saw the baby's face, he got it.
He was pure and innocent in a way nothing else was. It was impossible to restrain a smile, impossible to tamp down the feeling in his chest. He didn't want to. He allowed himself to feel without restraint, and he didn't even hesitate when Utahime asked if he wanted to hold him.
“What name did you decide on?” Tsumiki whispered when it was her turn. Her eyes were glued to his little face.
Utahime sighed. “We haven't decided on anything yet. None of the names are sticking.”
Tsumiki laughed softly, not wanting to disturb him. “There's still time. We'll figure it out.”
We'll figure it out. It was so easy to say now. No hint of doubt in her voice.
“Hey, little guy,” she whispered to him when his eyes fluttered open for a second, brown like Utahime's. “Nice to meet you. I'm your sister.”
Megumi caught Utahime and Gojo exchanging smiles. He was getting really used to the fuzzy feeling in his chest.
So, a benefactor. On paper, officially, that was who Gojo Satoru used to be to Megumi.
Now he was his father. On paper, officially. It didn't end there. On paper, officially, Megumi also had a mother, and his baby brother was born one month ago. Tsumiki was no longer his step-sister; she was his sister, on paper, officially, and not just in his mind.
He still wouldn't say mother or father if asked, gun to his head. It was embarrassing, and Megumi got enough of that at home. But labels didn't matter to him. They never had. They were nice, and they kept old fears at bay, but they didn't truly matter. Family wasn't legal documents and signatures on a page. It was overlapping conversation because everyone was excited to see each other after a while; it was a baby's babbling because he wanted to join in even though he couldn't yet speak; it was a hand with a gold wedding band ruffling your hair and a smile meant just for you.
It was home, and it was everything.