Chapter Text
Megumi does not fret. He does not. He may tap his foot slightly and rub his pointer finger over the weapon callus on his thumb repeatedly when he’s worried but that does not mean he frets. Especially over things like talking. He doesn’t care if others think of him as rude because the important ones always know exactly how to interpret his biting words. So logically, he should not be worried about a conversation with his newly adopted child, because in theory, he should not care how he sounds. But Gojo doesn’t understand Megumi, the kid, his kid, doesn’t understand him and Gojo will not take Megumi’s blunt tone well because it will sound rude and uncaring and not what Gojo needs right now.
“You’re fretting.” Nanami says as they wait for the elevator to Shoko’s apartment. “Don’t worry too much.”
Megumi glares at him.
“He’s probably just as scared as you are.”
“I am not scared.” He snaps.
“Right, merely fretting.”
“Shut up.”
Nanami hums, amused, but doesn’t have time to respond as the elevator arrives. They step on and Megumi pauses for the tenth time to check the grocery bag dangling from his hold. Eggs, check. Rice, check. Chicken, check. Onions, check. Milk, butter, salt, and pepper, in Shoko’s kitchen, check. Nothing to worry about, he’s made omurice a hundred times, he can do this.
Shoko’s not outside when they arrive so Megumi raps three sharp times on the door and takes half a step back to wait. A muffled cursing starts up in the apartment and it immediately puts Megumi on guard. Nanami’s eyes narrow at the door and he tenses. Something’s wrong.
They wait for a beat, two. Shoko doesn’t come to the door. Scenarios start running wild in his head. What if there’s a curse in there? There shouldn’t be, Megumi did the seals on Shoko’s apartment himself, but Saturo oozes curse energy, more than enough to attract a rare special grade with the strength to worm through the barrier. He sends a quick warning glance to Nanami, telling the man to step back before summoning a cursed dagger and placing his hand on the door, ready to break it down. He could compensate Shoko for it later, after he makes sure everyone inside is okay.
Just as he’s about to smash through the door, it’s yanked open and Megumi nearly falls head first into Shoko.
She catches and shoves him up in one smooth motion and glares at him, “Get in there now. The kid’s having a panic attack and isn’t listening to me.”
Fuck.
Megumi drops the dagger and his bag of groceries and pushes past Shoko to the room he’d left Saturo in, fear turning into concern so quickly it makes him nauseous. Dimly, he’s aware of someone gingerly picking up the items he’d discarded and the back of his mind hopes that the eggs aren’t broken. You can’t make an omurice without eggs, that defeats the whole purpose of an omurice, but then he’s in front of the room he’d left Saturo in and none of that matters anymore. The only thing that does is his kid.
There’s a lady when Satoru wakes up in the dim room without a blindfold he can finally see and he immediately stiffens. Someone was watching him sleep. Someone had seen him vulnerable and hurt and… He gulps in a deep breath of air as quietly as he can, he doesn’t want to not breathe again. That was bad and it made him feel, it made him feel not good and not safe, he doesn’t want to feel that way again. The lady is typing on her computer and hasn’t noticed him yet, that’s good? He doesn’t know.
His father’s voice, no, not his father anymore, he needs to remember that. Hideaki-san’s voice echoes in his head softly like it sounded back when Hideaki-san still liked him and was his father , telling him that the first thing he always needs to do when he’s in a confusing situation is watch his surroundings and try and understand what is happening. So Satoru starts scanning the room, hoping to find out where he is and where Megumi-sensei, no, Megumi went.
“Finally awake?” Satoru statles at the voice, freezing up as all his attention goes to the woman in the room who’s still staring at her computer.
Silence. The suffocating silence that he hates.
“M-ma’am?” It comes out as a soft desperate rasp, perhaps she’s waiting for his response, and he’s immediately ashamed at how pathetic it sounds, like he’s weak. He is.
“Mhm. Gimme a second, finishing up a report.”
The woman’s phone buzzes and she briefly looks away from her computer, with an annoyed crinkle in her brow, only to sigh when she sees the screen.
“Be right back, kid. Stay there.”
The woman slams her computer closed and drops it into her chair with a thunk. Satoru’s hand tightens around the bedsheet at the sudden noise and he barely manages to suppress a flinch. Then she walks out, bringing her phone to her ear and shutting the door behind her with another loud noise.
He nearly flinches again and Satoru decides that he doesn’t like this woman and her sudden noises very much.
“....Gojo Satoru.” He perks up at the sound of his name. His full name. It sounds weird. Gojo is Hideaki-san’s last name and his mother’s last name. No one had ever called him like that before. But he doesn’t have too much time to ponder it as the woman continues speaking.
“...Yes. Five. ”
Satoru bristles, he’s not five. He’s, he’s… He doesn’t know how old he is. He doesn’t even know what the date is.
“Megumi Fushiguro, that’s the name. Okay. Yes. Good, he’ll be by shortly. Thank you.”
A sharp click and then the door reopens and the woman re-enters the room, tapping at her phone. She wanders slowly to the chair, still tapping and Satoru can hear the click-clack of her nails on the screen.
Click-clack-click-clack.
It grates on his ears and Satoru decides he hates that noise.
Click-clack-click-clack.
Click-clack.
Click.
Something in his head starts hurting and his lungs tighten. The soft sheets suddenly feel too rough and his body burns. Everything in the dim room is too bright and, and…
Click.
A whine escapes Satoru as stars dance across his vision. He cowers, body tensed and waiting for the hit to come. He knows this sound. It’s the harsh clicking that his mother’s feet make whenever she’s angry because he did something bad because he isn’t good enough.
There’s a too loud thud and Satoru keens, his body feels like ice and he can feel himself shaking. He doesn’t want to hurt, but he always does so there’s no point in wishing he doesn’t but he always hopes anyway because he’s weak.
“---ck. Hey kid! Hey!”
Satoru covers his ears and curls up defensively, back to the loud noise, squeezing his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to see the hate in his mother’s eyes as she hits him. The hate hurts more than the hits do. Hate means no one loves him. Three ear-piercing thuds cut through his thoughts and a fresh wave of fear floods him. He doesn’t want to know what those noises mean. He just want mother to punish him and leave him alone.
Suddenly, there’s a hand on his head and a wave of something calm and gentle washes over him, soothing the overwhelming fear that is drowning him. Satoru whimpers before twisting around to latch onto that hand like a lifeline. He doesn’t want to let go.
“---oing to be okay. Deep breaths.”
Deep breaths. Satoru can do that. He did that with Megumi earlier so he can do it again now. Maybe if he does, whoever he is holding will let him hold onto them a little longer? He can only hope.
Okay, okay, listen to the voice and maybe he’ll get to keep this comfort a little longer. The voice wants him to take deep breaths.
Big gulp in.
Hold.
Release.
Big gulp in.
Hold.
Release.
“--od job.” The voice murmurs softly, “Keep going, you can do it.”
Something inside Satoru starts to feel warm and suddenly, everything doesn’t seem like it’s too much anymore. He can keep breathing. Deep breaths. He takes a couple more and the hand strokes his head gently. Satoru lays there for a few more moments as the hand keeps moving, rubbing him softly like he’s something precious and not a monster.
But all good things have to end and Satoru isn’t about to let the voice be the one who decides when things end. That would mean he’s being clingy and no one likes a clingy child, they’re disgusting. So Satoru slowly cracks open his eyes, vision blurry for a few moments as he frantically blinks to clear them, and there’s a tired-looking man very close to him with his hand on Saturo’s head.
The man doesn’t seem to notice Satoru’s watching him as he continues to concentrate on stroking Satoru’s head. It’s very nice but that man should not be wasting time concentrating on Satoru, there’s nothing about him worth focusing on.
The man drags his hand through Satoru’s hair again and then gently scratches his scalp making the boy melt into the touch. He doesn’t want this to end. It’s nice. Satoru doesn’t have to think about the fact his whole family is dead and he’s alive and still a monster.
“Better?” Satoru freezes when the man speaks. So he had noticed.
Satoru’s tongue feels dry in his mouth and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to get anything out even if he opens his mouth so he settles on nodding his head and hoping it won’t get him in trouble. Mother sometimes wanted him to speak and sometimes wanted him to be quiet. It had always been hard to tell what she wanted when and he always got hit for it.
“Good. That’s very good.” The man hums, though it sounds like he’s talking to himself so Satoru keeps staring. Then he remembers Mother had hated his eyes; he quickly adverts his gaze to the floor and tries to suppress a shiver. Hopefully the man hadn’t noticed or didn’t mind.
With one last head scratch, the man gently removes his hand from its tangle with Saturo’s hair. “Can you look at me?”
Saturo, the starved beast he is, immediately misses the touch and he has to bite down hard on his bottom lip to choke off the needy whine that rises in his chest. Then he remembers the order. A fresh wave of panic floods him and with a body-shaking tremor, he drags his cursed eyes up to meet a soft green-blue gaze. It makes Saturo uncomfortable. No one is supposed to look at him like that. With kindness.
Then the man slowly, very slowly opens his long arms and carefully, careful enough that Saturo can see each and every movement, wraps him into a loose hug. Suddenly, it doesn’t matter if he’s going to be punished, it doesn't matter if all he can feel is panic, it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t deserve this, Saturo can’t focus on anything other than the strong, warm limbs around him. The love.
Please, he silently begs both nothing and everything as he holds so perfectly still in the embrace, let this dream last just a little bit longer.