Chapter Text
Megumi knows something is wrong because Satoru cooks.
Not orders food.
Not convinces a private chef from one of the Gojo hotels to send something over.
Not appears in the kitchen with expensive sushi and claims he personally supervised its creation. Cooks. There is a pan on the stove. Ingredients on the counter. An open recipe on Satoru's phone. And smoke beginning to gather beneath the ceiling. Megumi stops in the doorway. Demon walks into the back of his legs. Shiki peers around him. All three of them stare. Satoru turns from the stove wearing a white shirt, black lounge trousers and an apron printed with tiny strawberries. His dark glasses are pushed up into it despite the apartment being dim enough that he does not need them.
He smiles too brightly.
“Hi, baby.”
Megumi looks toward the pan. Then at Satoru.
“What happened?”
Satoru's smile falters.
“What do you mean?”
“You're cooking.”
“I cook.”
“No.”
“I am literally cooking right now.”
“You set water on fire when I was nine.”
“That was a manufacturing defect.”
“It was a saucepan.”
“Exactly.”
Megumi sets his university bag on the kitchen island. Demon immediately moves toward Satoru, presumably hoping that whatever disaster is occurring might produce food. Shiki stays beside Megumi. Satoru points a wooden spoon at him.
“I resent the lack of faith in this household.”
“You once put metal in the microwave.”
“One time.”
“Three.”
“Allegedly.”
Megumi walks closer. The pan contains something that might have originally intended to become pasta. He turns off the burner. Satoru gasps.
“I was using that.”
“You were creating carbon.”
“Texture.”
“Poison.”
Satoru puts one hand over his heart.
“After everything I have done for you.”
“You gave birth to me twenty years ago. You need new material.”
“It was extremely difficult.”
“You bring it up daily.”
“I had stitches.”
Megumi closes his eyes.
“I am going to order dinner.”
“No.”
The answer comes too quickly. Megumi looks at him. Satoru reaches for the spoon again.
“Sit.” Megumi does not move.
“Mum.”
Satoru's expression changes at the name. Only slightly. It always does. Megumi mostly calls him Dad now. Sometimes Satoru. Sometimes an unflattering variation of his full name when annoyed. But Mum remains. It survived Satoru's transition because it had never felt like a contradiction to either of them. Mum is not a gender in their home. It is history. It is the person who carried Megumi at eighteen. The person who sat beside his bed through fevers. The person Megumi used to find by reaching for long white hair in the dark. The person who stayed. Satoru lowers the spoon.
“What?”
“What happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
Megumi studies him. Satoru holds his gaze for approximately two seconds. Then turns back to the stove. Megumi knows Satoru is lying. Not because Satoru is bad at it. Megumi will later learn that Satoru Gojo can lie convincingly enough to run a criminal empire beneath his son's nose for twenty years. He is simply bad at lying to Megumi about small things. Feelings. Fear. Whether he has cried. Whether something matters. Megumi walks toward the refrigerator.
“There is food from yesterday.”
“We're not eating leftovers.”
“You ordered enough for twelve people.”
“I didn't know how hungry you were.”
“You watched me eat lunch.”
“You could've developed additional hunger.” Megumi takes out the containers anyway. Satoru watches him. Megumi watches Satoru watching him. Then: “You're staring.”
“I look at you.”
“You're doing it weirdly.” “I gave you that face.”
“Toji contributed.”
The sentence comes naturally. It does not always. Tonight it changes something in Satoru's expression. Megumi notices. Of course he does.
“What?” Satoru turns away.
“Nothing.”
“That is my line.”
“I invented it.”
“You invent a lot of things that aren't true.”
The words are casual. They will become cruel later. Tonight, Satoru only flinches slightly. Megumi does not understand why. They eat at the kitchen island. The failed pasta has been abandoned. Megumi reheats yesterday's food while Satoru complains theatrically that his artistic vision has been destroyed. Demon lies across Satoru's feet. Shiki rests his head against Megumi's knee. The penthouse stretches quietly around them. Too large for two people. It has always been too large. Satoru claims the space is necessary because he needs an observatory, several offices, enormous wardrobes and enough room for two dogs who behave like horses. Megumi knows the real reason. The Gojo family owns the building. The penthouse is inheritance disguised as architecture. Old money. Security. Height. Glass. A beautiful place designed to ensure nobody reaches them without permission. Megumi has spent most of his life there. At twenty, he still lives with Satoru. Nobody who knows them finds this strange. Megumi attends university less than thirty minutes away. He has an entire floor to himself. Satoru would visibly deteriorate if Megumi moved out without sufficient preparation. And Megumi— Megumi has never been in a hurry to leave. He has Yuji. Nobara. University. His own life. But home has always meant Satoru. Not the penthouse. Satoru. That distinction will matter. Satoru pushes food around his plate without eating. Megumi puts his chopsticks down.
“Are you dying?”
Satoru looks offended.
“What?”
“You're not eating.”
“I ate earlier.”
“When?”
Silence. Megumi waits. Satoru sighs.
“A pastry.”
“That isn't food.”
“It was French.”
“That doesn't make it nutritionally complete.”
“You sound like Nanami.”
“You trained me to outsource common sense to him.” Satoru smiles faintly.
The smile disappears almost immediately.
Megumi watches him.
Then reaches for his phone.
“I'll call Shoko.”
Satoru's head snaps up.
“No.”
“So you are dying.”
“I am not dying.”
“Then tell me what's wrong.”
Satoru looks toward the windows. Outside, Tokyo glows beneath rain. The UV-filtered glass darkens the city slightly, muting the sharpest light for Satoru's eyes. Inside, he is not wearing his glasses. Megumi has always loved that. The world gets lenses. Megumi gets blue. Bright. Unhidden. Tonight those eyes will not quite meet his. Megumi feels the first real edge of unease.
“Dad.”
Satoru finally looks at him. Megumi straightens. Satoru never looks frightened. Not like this. He is dramatic. Emotional. Loud. He cries at advertisements and becomes personally offended when Megumi fails to answer a text within seven minutes. But fear on Satoru is different. It makes him still.
“I need to tell you something.”
Megumi's stomach drops. His mind immediately produces disasters. The Gojo family. His grandparents. Illness. Shoko. Nanami. Riko.
“Is everyone okay?”
Satoru's face softens painfully.
“Yes.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“Am I?”
Satoru almost laughs.
“Yes, Megumi.”
“Then what?”
Satoru looks down at his hands. Megumi notices they are shaking. Barely. But they are. He reaches across the island before thinking. His fingers close around Satoru's wrist. Satoru looks at the hand. Then at him.
“Mum.” That does it. Satoru's eyes fill. Megumi's fear spikes. “What happened?”
“Nothing bad.”
“You're crying.”
“I cry recreationally.”
“Satoru.”
Satoru exhales. Then turns his hand under Megumi's and holds on. “There is someone.”
Megumi waits. Satoru does not continue.
“What does that mean?”
“There is…” Satoru looks almost embarrassed. “Someone I'm seeing.”
For a second Megumi simply stares. Then the tension drains out of him so quickly that he almost laughs. “That is what this is about?”
Satoru blinks.
“Yes.”
“I thought someone died.”
“No.”
Megumi releases his wrist. “Jesus Christ.”
Satoru looks slightly offended. “This is important.”
“I didn't say it wasn't.”
“You sounded dismissive.”
“You made pasta.”
“I wanted the environment to feel nurturing.”
“It felt like an emergency.”
“It is emotionally significant.”
Megumi picks up his chopsticks again. “Okay.”
Satoru stares. Megumi takes a bite. Satoru continues staring.
Megumi sighs. “Congratulations?”
“That sounded like a question.”
“I don't know what response you want.”
“I don't want a response.”
“You cooked.”
Satoru looks down. Megumi's amusement begins fading. “How long?”
Satoru does not answer. Megumi stops chewing. The room changes. Satoru's fingers tighten around one another. Megumi puts the chopsticks down carefully.
“How long?”
A pause. Then: “Seven months.”
Megumi hears the number. Does not understand it. “Seven?” Satoru nods. “Months?” Another nod.
The rain against the windows suddenly sounds louder. Megumi stares at him. Satoru begins speaking quickly.
“I wanted to be sure before I brought someone into your life.”
Megumi says nothing.
“I've dated before, obviously, but this is different.”
Nothing.
“And I didn't want to tell you too early and then have it become something you had to adjust to if it wasn't going to—”
“Seven months.”
Satoru stops.
Megumi's voice is quiet. “You've been with someone for seven months.”
“Yes.” “And you're telling me now.”
“Yes.”
Megumi looks around the kitchen. The penthouse. Their home. Seven months. He thinks backward. Birthdays. Dinners. Satoru being late. Satoru smiling at his phone. Satoru disappearing on evenings he claimed were meetings. Megumi had noticed. Not understood. Because he trusted that anything important would eventually be shared. Apparently eventually means seven months.
“What is his name?”
Satoru hesitates. That hurts too.
“Suguru.”
Megumi repeats it internally. Suguru. A stranger with seven months of Satoru that Megumi knows nothing about.
“How old is he?”
“Forty.”
“What does he do?”
“He works in business.”
Not exactly a lie. Not remotely enough of the truth. Megumi nods slowly.
“Does he have children?”
Satoru's expression flickers. Megumi sees it. His stomach tightens.
“He does.”
“How many?”
“Two daughters.” The word daughters lands strangely.
Megumi looks down at his plate. “How old?”
“Nanako is seventeen. Mimiko is fifteen.” Satoru says their names easily. Familiar names. Names he has apparently known for months. Megumi hates the feeling that creates.
“You've met them.”
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
Satoru goes quiet.
Megumi laughs once. There is no humor in it.
“Right.”
“Megs.”
“Don't.” Satoru freezes.
Megumi rarely rejects the nickname so directly.
Megumi looks at him. “Have they met you?”
“Yes.”
“Do they know you're together?”
“Yes.”
“So his daughters knew.”
Satoru's face crumples slightly. “Megumi—”
“Your boyfriend's children knew about you.”
“Yes.”
“But I didn't.”
“I wanted to tell you.”
“Apparently not enough.”
“That isn't fair.” The words leave Satoru before he can stop them. Megumi goes still. Satoru immediately regrets it. “No. Sorry.”
Megumi pushes his chair back. “Who else knows?”
Satoru does not answer quickly enough.
Megumi's throat tightens. “Riko?”
“Yes.”
“Shoko?”
“Yes.”
“Nanami?” Satoru looks away.
Megumi laughs again. “Of course.”
“Megs.”
“Hiromi?”
“Yes.”
“Yuji?”
“No.” The answer is immediate. Megumi looks at him. “Suguru?”
Satoru frowns. “What?”
“Did Suguru know you hadn't told me?”
Silence. That is an answer. Megumi stands. Satoru does too.
“He told me I should.”
Megumi looks at him.
“What?” “Suguru wanted me to tell you earlier.”
That should help. It doesn't. It only makes Satoru's choice more deliberate. “So even he knew this was wrong.”
“I didn't say it was right.”
“Then why?”
Satoru's eyes fill again. “I was scared.”
Megumi stares. “Of me?”
“No.” The answer is fierce. Immediate. “Never of you.”
“Then what?”
Satoru looks around the penthouse. Their life. “I was scared of changing this.”
Megumi follows his gaze. Something in his chest twists.
“This?”
“Us.” Satoru's voice breaks. “For twenty years, everything has been…” He gestures helplessly. “You and me.”
“Dad too.”
The correction comes automatically. Satoru flinches. Megumi sees it.
“Before.”
Satoru whispers: “Yes.” Before Toji died. Before Megumi and Satoru became a closed system. Before the penthouse became an enormous structure built around two grieving people trying not to lose anyone else.
Satoru continues: “I didn't know how to tell you there was someone I wanted inside that.”
Megumi's eyes burn. “So you put him inside it without telling me.” Satoru stops.
Megumi's voice becomes sharper. “You changed it anyway.”
“I know.”
“No, you don't.”
“Megs—”
“Seven months.”
Megumi points toward the floor as if the relationship exists physically beneath them.
“You built an entire life somewhere else for seven months and came home every night pretending nothing had changed.”
“I wasn't pretending.”
“Then what were you doing?”
Satoru has no answer that will not hurt. Megumi sees it.
“Did he come here?”
Satoru goes still. Megumi's stomach drops.
“Did Suguru come into our home?”
“Once.”
The lie is technically limited. Still a lie. Megumi looks around as if the stranger might have left fingerprints.
“When?”
“You were staying with Yuji.”
Megumi laughs in disbelief.
“You brought him here when I was gone.”
“I didn't want your first meeting to happen accidentally.”
“So you made sure I had no idea he had been here at all.”
Satoru steps closer. Megumi steps back. The movement is small. It destroys Satoru. Megumi has moved away from him in anger before. Never like this. Never as if Satoru's hands might become another demand. Satoru stops immediately.
“I am sorry.”
Megumi looks at him.
“You keep saying you were protecting me.”
“I haven't said that.”
“You're going to.”
Satoru's mouth closes. Megumi knows him. Or thought he did.
“You were going to say you wanted to protect what we had.” Satoru's expression confirms it. Megumi shakes his head.
“You weren't protecting me.”
“No.”
The answer surprises him. Satoru's voice is quiet. “I was protecting myself.”
Megumi becomes still. Satoru wipes beneath one eye. “I knew you would be hurt.”
“I knew you'd ask why I waited.”
“I knew I wouldn't have a good answer.”
“So every week I waited made telling you harder.”
Megumi looks away.
Satoru continues: “And then Suguru became important.”
“His girls became important.” “And I thought…” His voice breaks. “I thought if you saw how much they mattered to me, you'd think you mattered less.”
Megumi's jaw tightens. “Do I?”
Satoru's entire face changes. “No.” “Megumi, no.”
“Then why was I the last person to know?”
Satoru has no answer. Megumi nods. That is worse than an answer. He turns away. Satoru says his name. Megumi keeps walking.
“Megs, please.”
Megumi stops near the stairs. Does not turn. Satoru's voice becomes small behind him. “I didn't hide him because I don't trust you.”
Megumi looks toward the dark windows.
“Then why does it feel like you don't?”
“I trust you with everything.”
The lie hangs between them. Neither knows yet how enormous it is. Megumi turns.
“Everything?”
Satoru looks at him. For one second— one dangerous second— the Syndicate exists in Satoru's silence. The guns. The maps. Yuta. Shoko. Nanami. Hiromi. Toji. All of it. Megumi does not know enough to see it. He only sees hesitation. And it hurts.
“Right.”
Satoru's face drains.
“Megs.”
Megumi walks upstairs. Shiki and Demon follow immediately. Satoru stands at the foot of the stairs.
“Megumi.”
This time Megumi turns. Satoru looks terrified. Not of physical danger. Of distance.
“I love you.”
Megumi's throat closes. That is not the problem. It has never been the problem. Satoru has loved him loudly enough to fill every room Megumi has ever entered. Megumi knows that. Which is why this hurts.
“I know.”
Satoru waits.
Megumi does not say it back. Then he goes to his room. Megumi does not slam the door. That would be easier for Satoru. He closes it quietly. Shiki lies down in front of it. Demon climbs onto the bed despite knowing he is not supposed to. Megumi sits beside him. For several minutes, he does nothing. His phone vibrates.
Yuji: movie tonight?
Megumi stares at the message.
Megumi: no
Three dots.
Yuji: you okay?
Megumi types: yes Deletes it. Types: dad has a boyfriend.
Yuji responds immediately.
Yuji: WHAT
Yuji: wait
Yuji: is this bad or good?
Megumi looks toward the door. Beyond it, the penthouse is silent.
Megumi: seven months
The typing bubble appears. Disappears. Appears again.
Yuji: oh
Yuji: that's fucked
Megumi exhales. Relief. Not because Yuji has solved anything. Because he has not immediately explained Satoru to him.
Megumi: everyone knew
Yuji: i didn't
Megumi: apparently
Yuji: do you want me to come over?
Megumi looks at Demon beside him. Shiki outside the door. Then toward the ceiling. Above this floor is the observatory. The place he and Satoru have always gone when the world becomes too large. Tonight Megumi cannot bear to share it.
Megumi: no
Yuji replies: Yuji: okay
Then: Yuji: i'm here though
Megumi sets the phone down. A soft knock comes at the door. He goes still.
“Megs?”
Satoru. Megumi does not answer.
Satoru waits. “I know you don't want to talk.” Still nothing. “I put your food in the refrigerator.” Megumi closes his eyes. “And I ordered the sushi you actually wanted because apparently my cooking was not appreciated.”
Silence. Satoru's voice wavers. “I am sorry.”
Megumi looks toward the door. He could open it. Part of him wants to. Satoru has always been physically incapable of letting Megumi hurt alone. When Toji died, Satoru slept beside him for nearly a year. When Megumi had nightmares, Satoru sat on the floor until morning. When Megumi had his first panic attack, Satoru called Nanami and Shoko and then cried afterward in a bathroom because he thought Megumi could not hear. Satoru always comes closer. Tonight Megumi needs him to stay away. That feels like betrayal too.
After a long time, Satoru whispers: “Goodnight, baby.”
His footsteps move away. Megumi presses his face against Demon's fur. He is twenty years old. He feels seven. Satoru does not sleep. He sits alone in the kitchen beneath lights dimmed for his eyes. The failed pasta remains on the stove. Megumi's blue mug sits in the cupboard. Satoru looks at it. He thinks of Toji making it badly. Megumi at three, pressing his hand beneath the clay. Megumi at seven sitting in a hallway because he wanted to make sure Satoru was still there. Megumi at twenty walking away because Satoru had been too frightened to tell the truth. His phone lights up.
Suguru: How did it go?
Satoru stares at the message. Then types: Satoru: badly Suguru calls immediately. Satoru declines it. A message follows. Suguru: Is Megumi okay?
Satoru's eyes fill. Even now, Suguru asks about Megumi first.
Satoru types: Satoru: no
Satoru: i hurt him Suguru's reply takes longer.
Suguru: Give him space tonight.
Apologize without asking him to make you feel better tomorrow. Satoru closes his eyes. He knows Suguru is right. He hates it.
Suguru: I love you.
Satoru looks toward the stairs.
Satoru: i love you too
The words do not take anything from Megumi. Satoru knows that. He just has not yet learned how to make Megumi know it too.