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“Just leave me alone–” He snaps, throwing his water bottle vaguely in her direction.
“Megumi– Don’t–” She squeals and jumps out of the way, just before the plastic hits the hardwood and cracks, liquid quickly seeping out into a spreading puddle.
“Calm down–” Tsumiki pleads.
“I’m not doing this–” He grits his teeth and breaks his pencil, then throws that at her too.
“I’m just trying to help–” She insists. “Please–”
“Go away–” He shouts, face hot and probably embarrassingly red.
“Can you just–” She tries, but he’s already balling up his worksheet and hurling it at her like a baseball. “Megumin–”
“Don’t call me that–” He stands, kicking the coffee table on his way up. “Just get away from me–”
“Okay, okay–” She acquiesces, innocently lifting her hands as she packs away. “I’m sorry–”
“Get away from me–” He screams and stomps. “I hate you– Just go–”
“I’m sorry–” She says again.
“Go away–” He shrieks with all the breath support he can muster. “Just go away and die–”
“I’m sorry…” She whispers as she bumps into her bedroom door backwards, fumbling for the handle. “I’m really sorry. I was just… I was trying to help–”
“I don’t care–” He growls. “Just go die–”
The hinges squeak and the latch clicks before he’s done yelling, leaving him alone with the echo of his own voice bouncing off the open kitchen and the mess he’s made all over the living room.
Tsumiki tried to push through after he started whining and refusing to write down anything she explained, and he doesn’t know why, because it always ends up this way. He always ends up falling apart…
He sniffs and realizes there’s warm wetness running down his cheeks, which he promptly wipes on the back of his hands, but it just keeps coming.
“Damn it–” He kicks the coffee table again, knocking the leg out of alignment. “Ow–”
He also gloriously stubs his toe, sending a wave of discomfort up the back of his leg and through his spine to join the stuffy heat encircling his neck.
“Stupid, stupid sister…” He mumbles, a high-pitched whine sitting in the back of his throat as he trips backward onto the couch, falling at an odd angle that gives him enough leverage to accidentally push one end slightly off the carpet, scraping the floor.
“I hate her…” He says to no one in particular. “I fucking hate her…”
He pulls his knees to his chest, curling tight into a ball.
There’s a sudden, soft scrape and twist of something turning within a mechanism, then a loud metallic rattle and swoosh of winter air.
His heart skips a beat, since unless burglars have gotten a lot more polite about breaking and entering, there’s only one person yet to arrive home, and said person is surely going to notice the discarded homework and wood chips soaking in the drink his sister offered in a lame attempt to soothe him.
He’s not going to be nearly as gentle as her.
Megumi takes a quick breath and wipes his face on his shirt. He sits up straight in his seat, trying to look as calm and natural as possible, despite the shuddering, off-kilter rise and fall of his chest.
Gojo’s already closing the door behind him, so there’s no time to clean up, but the least he can do is try to keep things professional when he’s already made such a fool of himself tonight.
He expects him to immediately recognize and analyze the scene before him then take it upon himself to do something about it, or at least start bothering him like usual, but he just goes straight for the kitchen instead, lazily dropping his stuff on the floor like he doesn’t even see Megumi watching him.
He grips the edges of the sink with white knuckles, leaning slightly over the basin with his lips pale and loosely parted. He’s trembling at his core, Adam's apple bobbing.
Megumi stares, trying not to move, lest he make his presence known.
He almost looks like he’s going to pass out as he sways in place, but he just ends up coughing weakly, then winces, brows furrowing beneath his blindfold.
His cheeks puff out as he exhales, before he clears his throat and straightens up.
“Oh–” His gaze finally lands on Megumi as he turns away from the sink. “You’re awake?”
His voice is thin and a bit raspy.
“It’s late, isn’t it…?” He looks over his shoulder like he’s going to check a clock, but bails and pinches the bridge of his nose instead, putting all his weight on the one palm he’s planted on the countertop.
Megumi shrugs, too nervous to say anything. It’s only 10 PM, but usually he’d be getting into pajamas right now, if Tsumiki wasn’t so frustratingly dedicated to making him study.
“What um–” He presses his fist to his mouth and swallows, then vaguely gestures at the mess. “What happened there?”
And as if this idiot took a jack hammer to a dam, the floodgates burst open.
“I’m sorry–” He chokes out as his face forcibly scrunches up, lower lip quivering.
“Oh, no– I’m sorry–...” Gojo quickly says, clapping his hand over his eyes even though they’re already covered. “Don’t– Don’t do that…”
Megumi curls into a ball again and drops his forehead on his knees, trying and failing to suppress a sob.
The room is quiet for a few seconds too long, and he almost wants to lift his head to make sure the world hasn’t ended, but neither the fresh burn of another person’s presence or the lasting humiliation of struggling with simple arithmetic have faded, so he can’t.
But he doesn’t have to, because there’s a hand on his back and crackling hips bending down beside him.
“Hey? buddy…?” Gojo murmurs, then gulps. “Can you–... Could you tell me what’s uh… what’s wrong…? Please?”
“No…” He sniffles, then coughs as snot’s sucked the wrong way down his throat.
“Please?” He tries again, oddly desperate. “Megs, I–”
“You’ll be mad at me–” He cries into his lap, tears running down his thighs, soaking into the fabric of his shorts.
“Look, kid–” Gojo thickly swallows again. “I… I don’t care- Just–... do me a favor and make this easy on me because I really need to lay down–”
“What?” He looks up, wiping his nose on his shoulder.
Gojo opens his mouth to say something else, then promptly shuts it and holds up one finger, turning away to breathe heavily for a moment, before he hauls himself back to his feet, sweat breaking out across his chin and nape.
“I’ll just… ask your sister…” He decides, already starting toward her door.
“NO–” Megumi screams without thinking.
He tenses, dead in his tracks.
They’re both still for a long, long beat of silence.
“Please, be quiet–” Gojo rasps as he turns back toward the kitchen, fingers loosely cupped over his mouth.
“Wait– I’m sorry–” Megumi scrambles to his feet. “Gojo–”
He almost makes it to the sink before his entire upper body jerks, but he has to pivot, doubling over the trashcan instead. He pants and he emphatically waves like he wants him to leave; however, it’s already too late.
Megumi jumps backward as vomit pours out of his mouth in a milky beige stream with the force of a garden hose.
He gasps as soon as he can, then retches again. His tongue rolls out of his mouth like a red carpet for the next gush, which makes up for what it lacks in volume with viscosity, sticking to his teeth and triggering another gag.
“Sorry–” He manages, grabbing a paper towel off the nearby roll to hold over his lips as he straightens up and speed walks the rest of the way to the sink.
When he only pants over the basin, Megumi figures it’s safe enough to approach and quickly gloms onto him, tugging on his shirt.
“Please stop–” He begs. “I’m sorry–”
“Just– Just, hold on–” Gojo whispers, weakly trying to push him away.
“I didn’t mean to–” He tells him. “I’m really sorry–”
“I know–” He dry heaves loudly, folding completely at the waist so he can rest his temple on the metal rim.
“I’m sorry–” Megumi sobs against his hip.
“Megumi, give me a second–” He says stiffly. “Just… I really don’t feel so hot, so please–”
He sinks to a crouch, still loosely clinging to his leg like a lifeline. There’s a wet splotch left on his shirt, and now there’s one spreading on his jeans.
“Are you okay?” He asks, the lump his throat growing sorer and sorer.
“Yeah, bud…” Gojo breathes. “I just… have a really bad headache right now…”
“Is that because of your eyes…” He mumbles.
“Yeah…” He stands up properly again, but only long enough to wriggle out of Megumi’s grasp, before he unceremoniously drops flat on his ass on the tile a few feet away.
Megumi wipes his eyes on the backs of his knuckles, but he doesn’t know why he bothers, since Gojo’s too busy putting his head between his knees to pay attention to how teary he is.
“I’m really sorry I yelled–” He blurts out. “And I’m really, really sorry I threw stuff at Tsumiki–”
“Eh…” Gojo hoarsely interrupts. “It’s… it’s fine…”
“But–”
“I forgive you,” he insists. “Just… just get me some water to make up for it… okay?”
“But… Tsumiki…” He clenches his jaw, fighting not to bawl. “I… I’m sorry–”
“I’m sure she’ll… forgive you too…” He replies tiredly. “I just need you to get me water or ice or like… Gatorade or something, because my head is killing me…”
“I… Okay–” He acquiesces. “Don’t die though–”
“I won’t if you can… help me get hydrated…” he says. “Please…”
“Yeah, okay, hold on–” Megumi steps around him to the fridge. “One second–”
“I appreciate you, kid,” he murmurs. “Thanks.”