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Nanami knew something was wrong the second Gojo called him before seven in the morning. Usually, Gojo preferred inconveniencing people after they were fully awake. It made the experience more rewarding for him.
“Nanaminnnn.”
Nanami stared at the ceiling of his apartment for a long moment before answering. Rain tapped steadily against the windows and the pale gray light outside barely counted as morning yet. He had gone to sleep four hours ago.
“I need a favor,” Gojo announced.
“No.”
“You didn’t even hear what it was.”
“That has never mattered before.”
There was an offended silence on the other end of the phone. Nanami sat up slowly, already exhausted in anticipation.
“You’re such a negative person.”
“And yet somehow still consistently correct.”
Gojo sighed dramatically into the phone. “Hypothetically speaking, how do you feel about children?”
Nanami hung up immediately.
For exactly three minutes there was peace.
Then someone started pounding on his apartment door hard enough to shake the frame.
Nanami opened it with the full intention of violence.
Gojo stood in the hallway wearing sunglasses despite the rain. Beside him, small enough that Nanami almost missed him at first, stood a child holding a worn backpack against his chest.
Megumi looked half asleep. Damp dark hair clung to his forehead, and his expression carried the kind of quiet resignation Nanami usually only saw in overworked adults and people waiting in government offices.
“No,” Nanami said immediately.
Gojo smiled brightly. “Good morning to you too.”
“No.”
“It’s an emergency.”
“The last time you said that I found out you just ran out of candy.”
“And it was devastating.”
Nanami started closing the door.
Gojo shoved his foot into the gap with the confidence of a man who had never once feared consequences in his life.
“Just for a couple days.”
“No.”
“You won’t even notice him.”
Nanami looked down pointedly at the child standing in his doorway. Megumi looked back at him calmly.
Then, very quietly, he said, “I brought homework.”
Something unpleasant settled in Nanami’s chest. Because children did not say things like that unless this sort of thing had happened before. Gojo either did not notice or chose not to acknowledge it. With him, it was genuinely impossible to tell.
“See?” he said cheerfully. “He’s prepared.”
“You are unbelievable.”
“I know. That’s why people like me.”
Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose. He could already feel the headache forming.
Megumi stayed completely silent during the argument, fingers curled tightly around the straps of his backpack. He wasn’t nervous exactly. Nervous children fidgeted or hid behind adults or looked around unfamiliar places with curiosity.
Megumi just looked like he was waiting, like he already knew adults made decisions around him instead of with him.
Nanami hated that he noticed things like that. Behind the glasses, Gojo’s expression softened for only a second as he looked down at the boy beside him. Then the usual grin slipped back into place so quickly Nanami almost thought he imagined it.
“I’ll be back tomorrow night,” Gojo promised. “Two days max.”
“You said a few hours.”
“Time means nothing to sorcerers.”
“That is not how time works.”
“Agree to disagree.”
Nanami should have refused.
Logically speaking, he had every reason to. He did not particularly like children. He valued silence, routine, and the ability to exist in his own apartment without unexpected guests appearing at dawn.
But Megumi still stood there holding that tiny backpack with both hands, quiet enough to disappear into the hallway if Nanami looked away for too long.
With the deep exhaustion of a man accepting divine punishment, Nanami stepped aside.
Gojo grinned immediately. “Knew I could count on you.”
“You could not.”
“Megumi,” Gojo said, crouching slightly, “remember to eat actual food this time. And don’t summon dogs in the apartment.”
“I only did that once.” Megumi responded with a slight frown.
Gojo stood back up and waved as he walked backward down the hallway. “Love you both!”
The door slammed shut before Nanami could answer and silence settled over the apartment.
For a moment neither of them moved.
Then Megumi carefully slipped off his shoes and lined them neatly beside the door without being asked. Nanami watched him straighten them twice before standing again. Children who expected to stay somewhere temporarily always tried to take up less space.
Megumi had been doing it since he arrived.
His shoes had been lined up neatly beside the door. His backpack never stayed where someone might trip over it. He apologized for things that weren't mistakes. He stood in doorways instead of entering rooms.
As if existing too loudly might convince someone to send him away.
Nanami hated that he noticed things like that. He hated even more that he understood them.
Megumi was six.
Six years old.
Children his age were supposed to be loud. Messy. Demanding.
Instead, Megumi moved through the apartment like a guest who was afraid of overstaying his welcome.
“Did you eat breakfast?” Nanami asked.
Megumi shook his head once.
Of course he hadn’t.
Nanami sighed quietly and turned toward the kitchen. A second later he heard soft footsteps following behind him. Not close enough to be clingy, just close enough to make sure he wasn’t alone.
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Nanami’s apartment was not designed for children.
That became obvious within five minutes.
Not because Megumi touched anything or made noise or behaved like a typical kid. Quite the opposite, actually. The boy moved carefully through the space, eyes flicking over unfamiliar furniture with quiet awareness, like he was mentally cataloging everything he might accidentally inconvenience.
Nanami found that significantly more unsettling.
He opened the refrigerator and stared inside for a moment. There were vegetables, leftover curry, bottled tea, and exactly one sad piece of bread. Behind him, Megumi stood silently near the kitchen entrance.
Not inside the kitchen.
Not far away either.
Just standing there carefully outside the boundary of the room like he was waiting to be invited closer. Nanami glanced back at him.
“You can sit down.”
Megumi nodded once and moved toward the table immediately. Even that was quiet. Small footsteps against hardwood floors. No dragging chairs. No unnecessary noise. Gojo had once described Megumi as “a haunted Victorian child,” which Nanami had assumed was exaggeration.
Unfortunately, it was proving remarkably accurate.
Nanami set water on the stove and pulled ingredients from the refrigerator while Megumi sat at the table with both hands folded neatly in his lap. His backpack rested beside the chair instead of on it, tucked out of the way. Making himself smaller again.
Nanami hated how obvious it became once he noticed it.
“You don’t have to sit like that,” he said without turning around.
Megumi blinked. “Like, what?”
“Like you’re attending a meeting.”
There was a small pause behind him.
Then, cautiously, “Sorry.”
Nanami tilted his chin up and closed his eyes briefly.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said finally.
Megumi accepted that with another quiet nod, though he still sat unnaturally straight afterward. The rain outside intensified, tapping steadily against the apartment windows. Morning light filtered weakly through the clouds, turning everything pale gray.
Nanami cooked mostly in silence.
Not awkward silence exactly.
Megumi seemed comfortable with quiet in a way most children weren’t. He didn’t fidget or ask unnecessary questions or try to fill the empty space with chatter. Every so often Nanami glanced over to find him watching the rain through the window with the distant expression of someone much older.
“How old are you?” Nanami asked suddenly.
“Six.”
That explained absolutely nothing somehow.
Nanami handed him a bowl once breakfast was finished.
Megumi looked down at it for a second too long before quietly saying, “Thank you.”
Then he began eating carefully.
Slowly.
Not picky. Not reluctant. Just measured.
Like he was trying to make sure there would still be enough left afterward.
Nanami sat across from him, coffee untouched in his own hands.
“You eat like someone’s going to steal it.”
Megumi immediately froze. The reaction was instant enough to make Nanami regret the comment before the silence even settled.
“…Sorry,” Megumi said quietly.
There it was again.
Nanami exhaled slowly through his nose.
“You apologize too much.”
Megumi lowered his gaze back to the bowl.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Then, almost too quietly to hear over the rain, Megumi said, “Tsumiki says that too.”
Nanami paused. That was the first voluntary thing Megumi had said since entering the apartment.
“Tsumiki is your sister?”
Megumi nodded slightly.
“She’s nice.”
There was such simple certainty in his voice that Nanami unexpectedly felt something tight settle in his chest again. Children talked about safe people differently. Less carefully.
Nanami took a sip of coffee.
“And Gojo?”
Megumi looked thoughtful at that. The pause lasted long enough that Nanami almost assumed he wouldn’t answer. Then;
“He’s annoying.”
Nanami snorted before he could stop himself.
Megumi looked startled at that.
Not nervous. Just surprised, like he genuinely had not expected Nanami to laugh at all. That expression, more than anything else so far, made him actually look six years old.
Nanami looked away first.
“You’re correct,” he said.
Megumi looked down at his breakfast again, but Nanami caught the tiny hint of a smile before it disappeared.
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
By noon, Nanami had learned several things.
First, Gojo had packed catastrophically. Second, Megumi apparently owned approximately one and a half outfits. Third, the child followed him from room to room with the subtle persistence of a shadow.
Nanami noticed it gradually.
When he cleaned the kitchen, Megumi sat at the table nearby doing homework. When Nanami moved to the living room to answer emails, Megumi relocated to the couch with a book. When Nanami stood to make tea, small footsteps followed several seconds later.
Never too close.
Never asking for attention.
Just nearby.
Like Megumi needed visual confirmation that Nanami still existed whenever he left the room. The realization sat heavily in Nanami’s chest. He wondered briefly how often Gojo disappeared on missions without warning.
Too often, apparently.
Nanami was halfway through organizing paperwork when he realized the apartment had gone completely silent. He frowned immediately. Silence meant trouble with most children. With Megumi, though, silence had become normal enough that Nanami didn’t notice its absence until several minutes later.
Still.
He stood.
“Megumi?”
No response.
Nanami checked the living room first.
Empty.
Kitchen.
Bathroom.
Then he stopped in the doorway of his bedroom.
Megumi sat cross-legged on the floor beside the bed with his backpack open in front of him. Clothes had been folded neatly back inside. The zipper was halfway closed.
Nanami stared for a second. “What are you doing?”
Megumi looked up immediately. His expression shuttered so quickly it was almost impressive.
“I cleaned up.”
Nanami’s eyes moved to the backpack again.
Packed.
Ready.
The unpleasant feeling in his chest returned immediately, sharper this time.
“Why?”
Megumi hesitated.
The silence stretched long enough that Nanami almost repeated the question. Then, quietly he said,
“You looked annoyed earlier.”
Nanami went very still.
Children noticed everything.
Tone changes. Sighs. Footsteps. Expressions adults’ thought were hidden and apparently Megumi had interpreted one irritated sigh over paperwork as enough reason to prepare himself to leave. Nanami crouched slowly in front of him.
“I am always annoyed,” he said flatly.
Megumi blinked once.
“That has nothing to do with you.”
The boy stared at him carefully like he was trying to determine whether or not adults were allowed to lie about things like this. Nanami held the gaze evenly and finally Megumi nodded once.
Small.
Careful.
But he stopped zipping the backpack shut. Nanami stood before he did something deeply unwise like touch the kid’s hair.
“Come help me make lunch.”
Megumi rose immediately and followed after him.
Again, not close enough to touch.
Just close enough to make sure Nanami stayed within sight.
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
After lunch, the rain finally stopped.
The apartment felt brighter afterward. Not sunny exactly, but less gray. Thin strips of light filtered through the clouds and stretched across the living room floor. Nanami settled onto the couch with a book he had been trying to finish for almost two weeks.
Across from him, Megumi sat on the rug with a small pile of papers and pencils he had found in his backpack.
The apartment was comfortably quiet.
Not the tense kind from earlier.
Just silence.
The sort that happened when two people occupied the same space without feeling obligated to fill every second with conversation.
Nanami turned a page while Megumi erased something aggressively. Nanami turned another page. Megumi did more erasing. Then he let out a frustrated sigh.
Nanami glanced over the top of his book.
Megumi was staring at a drawing with the intensity of someone preparing for battle.
"What are you doing?"
Megumi looked up quickly like he forgot Nanami was there. Then he held up the paper.
"I'm trying to draw Pikachu."
Nanami looked at the paper.
The yellow mouse looked less like Pikachu and more like it had survived a small explosion.
"...I see."
Megumi frowned.
"It's harder than it looks."
"I'll take your word for it."
Megumi stared at the drawing.
Then, very seriously, he asked, "Do you know Pokémon?"
Nanami took a sip of tea.
"No."
Megumi looked genuinely horrified.
"No?"
"No."
"At all?"
"No."
The expression on Megumi's face suggested Nanami had just admitted he couldn't read.
"You've never watched it?"
"No."
"Or played the games?"
"No."
"Or collected cards?"
"No."
Megumi sat there for several seconds processing this information.
Finally he asked, "What did you do as a kid?"
Nanami considered that.
"Mostly studied."
Megumi looked even more horrified.
Nanami almost smiled.
Almost.
"I like Pokémon," Megumi announced.
"I gathered that."
"It's better than Digimon."
Nanami raised an eyebrow.
"Is that a controversial statement?"
Megumi nodded immediately.
"Gojo likes Digimon."
That explained everything. Nanami leaned back against the couch.
"Of course he does."
"He says Digimon are cooler."
"They aren't?"
"No."
The answer came so fast Nanami nearly laughed while Megumi looked personally offended that Nanami would even say that.
"Pokémon are way better."
"Why?"
Megumi blinked. Then his entire expression changed. It happened so quickly Nanami almost missed it. For the first time all day, Megumi looked excited.
Actually excited.
The carefulness disappeared, instead Megumi immediately scooted closer across the rug closing the distance between him and Nanami.
"Because Pokémon have types."
Megumi then scrambled to his feet, like actually scrambled.
Nanami blinked.
It was the first time he'd seen the child move faster than a cautious walk. Megumi dug through his backpack and emerged with several worn Pokémon cards.
He then sat back down trying not to drop anything "I'll show you."
Nanami regretted asking instantly.
The next twenty minutes became an unexpectedly detailed lecture.
Cards spread across the rug.
"This one's a water type."
Nanami nodded.
"And this one evolves twice."
Another nod.
"And this one is cool because—"
The explanation continued.
The longer it went on, the more animated Megumi became. At some point he stopped sitting properly. Then he stopped checking Nanami's reactions every few seconds.
Eventually he ended up sprawled across the floor surrounded by cards and half-finished drawings, talking so quickly he occasionally stumbled over his own words.
Nanami wasn't paying attention to the Pokémon anymore.
He found himself watching Megumi instead.
Watching him act six.
Actually six.
Not quiet.
Not careful.
Not waiting for permission to exist.
Just a child.
Then suddenly the words stopped.
Nanami looked up. Megumi had gone completely still.
"What?"
The boy stared down at the cards. "Nothing."
A familiar answer.
"You were saying something."
Megumi shrugged, the excitement that had filled the room moments earlier seemed to vanish. "You don't care about Pokémon."
The statement wasn't bitter, just matter-of-fact. Like he'd already expected Nanami to stop listening eventually.
Nanami looked down at the cards scattered across the floor.
Then back at Megumi.
"No."
Megumi's shoulders lowered slightly.
"But you do."
The room went quiet. Megumi blinked. Nanami picked up his tea.
"You care about them." Nanami continued "So I'm listening."
For several seconds Megumi simply stared at him. Then, slowly, he picked up another card.
When he started talking again, his voice was smaller. But it didn't stay that way for long.
He talked with his hands.
Tiny gestures.
Quick explanations.
Every few minutes he would pause just long enough to make sure Nanami was still listening before continuing.
"And Charizard is cool, but everyone likes Charizard " Megumi explained.
"Is that bad?"
"No. It's just predictable."
Nanami stared at him.
"You're six."
Megumi shrugged.
"Still predictable."
A laugh escaped before Nanami could stop it.
Megumi froze.
The words stopped instantly.
"I'm laughing because you're ridiculous." Nanami explained.
"Oh." Megumi said quietly.
"You sound eighty." Nanami continued.
Megumi considered that. Then nodded. "Gojo says that too."
"Gojo is occasionally correct." Nanami said emphasizing “occasionally”.
"Don't tell him that."
"I won't."
The conversation drifted naturally after that.
Pokémon became favorite animals. Favorite animals became favorite foods. Favorite foods somehow became complaints about vegetables.
Nanami learned that Megumi liked dogs.
Not surprising.
He disliked bell peppers.
Expected.
He thought sharks were cool.
Reasonable.
And apparently he once spent three days convincing Gojo to stop buying dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets because they were "embarrassing."
"You're six."
"I know." Megumi responded looking a little confused.
Nanami just shook his head.
The afternoon passed quickly after that. At some point Megumi abandoned the drawing entirely and stretched out across the rug. The position was messy but comfortable. One sock had somehow disappeared and Nanami had no idea where it went. Neither did Megumi. They spent several minutes looking for it before discovering it trapped underneath the couch.
The entire situation felt absurd.
Even more absurd was the fact that Megumi laughed when they found it.
A real laugh.
Short and quiet but unmistakably there.
Nanami stared and Megumi blinked back.
"What?" he asked
"Nothing." Nanami responded quietly while looking away to hide his smile.
It wasn't nothing, it was the first time all day that the apartment felt like it actually contained a child and not a tiny adult. Not someone constantly preparing for disappointment.
Just a kid.
A weird kid with strong opinions about Pokémon.
But a kid, nonetheless.
For some reason, Nanami found himself hoping that version of Megumi would stick around a little longer.
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
By the time evening arrived, Nanami had accidentally developed a routine.
He wasn't pleased about it but the problem was that children apparently required things. Meals. Entertainment. Sleep schedules. Basic care. It was all deeply inconvenient.
Unfortunately, Megumi made it difficult to remain annoyed about any of it.
Dinner had been uneventful. Megumi helped wash dishes despite Nanami insisting it wasn't necessary. They had somehow ended up arguing over whether Blastoise or Venusaur was a better final evolution. Nanami still wasn't entirely sure what either of those things were. Afterward, Megumi accidentally fell asleep on the couch.
One minute he had been sitting beside Nanami reading.
The next, his head had gradually tilted more sideways. Until he was completely unconscious. Nanami only looked over when the room became suspiciously quiet.
Megumi was curled against the armrest, one hand still loosely holding his book. His hair stuck up in six different directions.
For the first time all day, he looked completely relaxed.
Nanami stared for a moment, then quietly took the book from Megumi before it could fall.
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
His phone rang twenty minutes later.
The caller ID read: Gojo.
Nanami answered with all the enthusiasm of a man answering a tax audit.
"Hello?"
"Nanaminnn~."
"I see the mission did not improve your personality."
Gojo ignored him. "How's Megumi?"
Nanami glanced toward the couch. Still asleep. One sock had vanished again.
"I assume you're asking because you're incapable of basic communication and not because you're suddenly interested in responsible parenting."
"I'm a fantastic parent."
"You abandoned your child on my doorstep."
"Temporary abandonment."
"That's not better."
Gojo laughed.
The sound was familiar enough that Nanami barely registered it anymore.
Then, after a brief pause Gojo said,
"Seriously though how is he?"
Nanami looked back toward the couch. Megumi had shifted slightly in his sleep, pressing his face deeper into the cushion. The blanket Nanami had draped over him earlier was tangled around his legs.
"He's fine."
The answer came automatically. Simple and honest. For a moment neither of them spoke.
Then Gojo sighed.
The sound was softer than usual.
"He wasn't upset?"
Nanami frowned.
Something about the question felt important.
"No." He responded then paused "He asked where you were at lunch though."
Gojo went quiet.
"He did?"
"Yes."
"What'd you tell him?"
"That you were working."
"...Oh."
Nanami narrowed his eyes slightly. The response was odd but not odd enough to question him about it.
"He also informed me that Pokémon are superior to Digimon."
Gojo gasped dramatically.
"Traitor."
"Apparently this is a longstanding disagreement."
"Nanami, I raised him better than this."
"You left him on my doorstep."
"Details."
Another laugh echoed through the phone.
Then silence settled again.
Not uncomfortable.
Just thoughtful.
Finally Gojo spoke.
"He doing okay?"
This time the question sounded different.
Less casual, less like a joke.
Nanami understood suddenly.
Gojo wasn't asking if Megumi was fed. Or entertained. Or behaving.
He was asking something else, something harder.
Nanami looked across the room.
At the sleeping child who had packed his backpack because Nanami looked annoyed. Who apologized for existing. Who followed adults from room to room without realizing he was doing it. And who spent the afternoon talking about Pokémon until he forgot to be careful.
"He's acting like a kid."
The silence on the other end lasted several seconds.
"Oh." Gojo breathed sounding relieved.
Nanami pretended not to hear it.
"I'll be there tomorrow morning."
"You said tonight."
"Time is an illusion Nanaminnnn~." Gojo said in a sing song voice.
"You continue to misuse that phrase." Nanami responded starting to get annoyed.
"Tell Megumi I'll bring souvenirs."
"No, I’m not encouraging your behavior."
"You’re no fun Nanaminnn~"
Nanami hung up before the conversation could become more irritating.
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The next morning arrived quietly. Sunlight streamed through the apartment windows for the first time since Megumi arrived. Nanami woke to the smell of something burning.
He sat up immediately.
A second later he heard a familiar voice.
"Maybe if we flip it—"
"Gojo."
"—it won't count as burnt."
Nanami closed his eyes.
Of course.
Of course he was already here.
The man had somehow entered the apartment without waking him.
Again.
Nanami walked into the kitchen to Gojo standing beside the stove holding a spatula and Megumi standing on a chair beside him.
Both looked guilty.
"Good morning~" Gojo said brightly not turning around.
Nanami stared.
Gojo turned around and smiled.
Megumi smiled too.
That was significantly more dangerous.
"When did you arrive?" Nanami asked while running s hand through his hair.
"Ten minutes ago." Gojo responded.
"So, you broke into my apartment."
"I have a key."
"You definitely should not."
"I disagree."
Nanami decided to ignore that and looked at Megumi.
"Have you eaten?"
"Maybe."
"No." Gojo cut in and pointed at Megumi accusingly. "He doesn't trust me."
Megumi just nodded while Gojo clutched his chest dramatically.
"You wound me."
"You're still alive." Nanami deadpanned.
Gojo responded by sliding down the kitchen island slowly, still clutching his chest.
Nanami sat down at the table before either of them could make the situation worse and Megumi climbed down from the chair and immediately carried over a plate.
The eggs were slightly burnt; the toast was somehow even worse.
Nanami ate it anyway.
Megumi watched carefully while pretending not to. The same way he had watched all weekend.
Waiting.
Checking.
Making sure.
Nanami hated how much easier it had become to notice.
Eventually Gojo got back up and stretched.
"Well."
The single word changed the atmosphere instantly.
Megumi looked up and Gojo smiled.
The same smile as always.
Bright.
Easy.
But this one was softer around the edges.
"Ready to go home?"
For just a second, Megumi hesitated.
It was tiny, almost invisible.
It was gone so quickly most people wouldn't have even noticed it, but Nanami did.
Then Megumi nodded.
"Okay."
Gojo started walking over to the table then and Megumi started to gather his backpack.
The apartment suddenly felt like it was getting smaller.
Quieter almost.
Nanami disliked the realization immediately.
Gojo slung an arm around Megumi's shoulders. "Did you terrorize Nanamin?"
"No." Megumi responded plainly.
"Did Nanamin terrorize you?"
Megumi’s mouth twitched up "A little."
"Good."
Nanami ignored both of them.
Megumi slipped on his shoes by the door.
Then paused.
Slowly, he looked back at Nanami. Nanami looked at him for a moment, then reached into a nearby drawer.
Megumi blinked as Nanami held something out. The Pokémon drawing from yesterday. The one he had nearly thrown away after deciding it looked bad. Nanami had retrieved it from the trash before bedtime. For reasons he preferred not to examine.
"You forgot this."
Megumi stared, then carefully accepted the paper. Like it was something important.
His face lit up.
Not dramatically but enough for Nanami to notice. The kind of smile people give when they weren't expecting kindness.
"Thanks."
Megumi carefully folded the drawing before sliding it into his backpack.
Then he hesitated. The silence stretched. Gojo glanced down at him. Nanami waited.
Finally, Megumi looked up.
"I liked staying here."
Simple.
Like he was commenting on the weather and for some reason, that hit harder than if he had said anything else.
Something uncomfortable tightened in Nanami's chest.
Before he could think of a response, Megumi added "Your food is better than Gojo's."
Gojo gasped dramatically. "Excuse you?"
"It's true."
"After everything I've done for you?"
"The eggs are always burnt."
"That is slander." Gojo yelled
Nanami looked down trying to hide his smile, something warm settled in Nanami's chest and Gojo noticed immediately.
The bastard looked delighted. "Oh no."
Nanami narrowed his eyes. "Oh no what?"
"You got attached."
"I did not."
"You absolutely did."
"I tolerated him."
"You kept the drawing~"
Nanami wished violence was legal.
Gojo laughed the entire way into the hallway Megumi following after him. Halfway down the corridor, he looked back one last time and waved.
A small wave, barely more than a movement.
Nanami lifted a hand in return.
The elevator doors closed.
Silence settled over the apartment. For several moments, Nanami simply stood there.
The living room was cleaner than usual. The couch was empty. No abandoned socks. No Pokémon debates. No quiet footsteps following him from room to room.
The apartment had returned to normal, which was unfortunate.
Because he was beginning to suspect he liked it slightly better with Megumi.