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Satoru isn’t stupid enough to think that this is sustainable. There was no part of him that was happy about bringing two children into his very small dorm room. No part of him thought, oh yeah, this is fine , but damn. He didn’t think it would be this bad.
It is currently three in the morning and Satoru is cleaning vomit off his bed, or well, what used to be his bed. Megumi is half asleep on Satoru’s futon, damp from an emergency shower and hot with fever. Tsumiki sits with him, carding a hand through his hair and watching Satoru with a harrowed look that makes him feel more nausea than child vomit. He assured her that he didn’t mind, half asleep himself and stumbling to pull Megumi out of his mess and into the bathroom. But this thing is still new. And Tsumiki is waiting for Satoru to get mad. He is mad, but not at the tiny children he chose to take in–though the garbage conditions they were living in, did prompt the rushed arrangements.
“All good Miki,” Satoru mutters as he passes the kids on the way to the trash.
He dumps the entire sheet into the bin, and shuffles the bin out the door with his foot. Satoru scrapes his hair back from his head, wipes at his sweaty forehead. He definitely has a low grade fever from sleeping a few feet from a diseased child, and a migraine is starting to chew at the back of his eyes.
The linen closet is at the end of the hall, and it’s a reprieve for Satoru to meander towards it in search of new sheets. He wishes, not for the first time, that he had managed not to self-destruct so completely after Suguru’s defection. As a result Satoru is quite alone with his two littles. Yaga’s patience with him had snapped long before Satoru had asked if he could house two kids on campus, and he’d allowed it as long as Satoru handled everything himself. Including and not limited to: Feeding, watering, clothing, trimming, cleaning up vomit, taking kicks to the ribs from a chronically cranky six year old, on and on and on. He’s got it, he's fine. No one has died. Yet. Satoru takes his frustrations out in training, proves a point by keeping up with his academics, and shoves the horrors in his head far away so they don’t inconvenience anyone.
But he could use some help right now. Or at least someone to make the bed while he hunts down medication for himself and Megumi.
Tsumiki smacks a kiss to Megumi’s forehead and helps Satoru remake the bed when he comes back into the room. He smiles at her, and she doesn’t smile back, just watches him. Worried.
“It’s just puke, kid. I’ve seen way worse.”
Tsumiki folds a new comforter over the fresh bed and nibbles her lip.
“It’s your bed.”
“Nah, it’s your bed actually,” Satoru says. “And if it was my bed, I still wouldn't give a shit.”
She startles at the word and shrinks back. Satoru closes his eyes briefly, but doesn’t have the energy to properly assure her that the word wasn’t aimed at her, it just slipped past Satoru’s migraine loose mouth.
Bed made, vomit smell only slightly lingering, Satoru heaves Megumi onto his hip. The boy peels glassy eyes open to look at him before burying his burning forehead against Satoru’s throat.
“Okay, you need some medication and something to take care of any nausea. Come on Miki, we’re going to the kitchen.”
Satoru makes tea one handed, Megumi still on his hip, and pours it one handed, and drinks it one handed. If he lost an arm he wouldn’t even notice.
Megumi turns his face away from the lip of the mug Satoru nudges towards it.
“Come on,” Satoru says. “I don’t want you to vomit again. It’ll settle your stomach.”
“No,” Megumi whines.
He’s sweating heavily against Satoru’s ratty t-shirt, and Satoru is swallowing down the rising panic in his stomach. And yeah, he’s feeling a little annoyed, a lot tired, and achy.
“Drink it, it tastes fine,” Satoru says.
He wrangles Megumi higher on his hip, trying to gently nudge the sweaty little face out of his shoulder. He presses the mug back against Megumi’s lips.
“No!” Megumi yells.
He pushes the cup away. It slips out of Satoru’s grip, falls onto the floor, shatters into a million pieces. Hot tea burns fast and wet against Satpru’s bare feet. He hisses dancing out of the mess and stares down at it with a strange, overstimulated desperation.
“Megumi!” Tsumiki says, hurrying over to them.
Satoru throws a hand out. “Stop. Don’t come over here. Just. Go sit at the table. Let me clean this up.”
Tsumiki freezes and Satoru can’t think about how any progress they’ve made has crumbled. He carries Megumi over to the table and deposits him on a chair. He calls Infinity and walks back to the sink to get a new mug. He sets it in front of Megumi.
“Drink it.”
Tsumiki goes to her brother, leans down to put the mug to his mouth. May she have more success than Satoru.
He cleans up the mug, finds any remaining slivers with his Six Eyes and then collapses next to the kids at the table. The mug has been sipped from and Satoru smiles, tired and small. Megumi watches him with glassy eyes, his face flushed with sickness. Satoru rubs the back of his neck and stands again, he needs to medicate Megumi, and himself.
Satoru feels like an idiot for not realizing that the kids were probably going to get sick soon after moving to a new place. The winter has moved in cold and harsh too, and even the heated dorms aren’t enough to keep children’s immune systems safe from sickness. The medication is stashed under the sink in the communal bathroom at the back of the dorm building. Satoru swallows a little cup of bitter red liquid, spends five seconds gagging and silently hitting his fist against the sink through the after taste. If Megumi wouldn’t drink tea, there is no way Satoru is getting him to take this without holding him down. But it’s all they have. Satoru rereads the bottle, he really shouldn’t give this to a six year old.
But it’s all he has.
“Okay,” Satoru says as he comes back into the kitchen, “got some medicine. Up and at ‘em.”
Megumi flops over when Satoru tugs him up from his slouch against the table. Satoru tucks him against his shoulder, tilts his head up and all but pushes the medicine into Megumi’s slack mouth. It wasn’t even half a cup but Megumi’s eyes flare and he jerks up right, attempting escape that Satoru doesn’t let him achieve. It takes a lot, and maybe Satoru is a little rough, a little harsh, clumsy, the only thing he knows how to be, but he gets the medicine down Megumi’s throat.
Megumi lands a sharp, stinging kick in Satoru’s ribs, so he feels like they’re even.
An hour after the vomit Satoru gets the kids back to bed. He gives Tsumiki the futon and crawls into bed with Megumi. He’s sick already anyways. No need to make the only healthy one of their bunch come down with something. Megumi curls hot against Satoru’s side despite Satoru’s earlier betrayal; he sleeps soon after. Satoru is awake long enough after that the clock hits twelve on December 7th and Megumi’s fever goes down. He stares at the ceiling, turns eighteen and doesn’t think about how miserable he is.
A week later they have survived the ordeal that was the colds and Satoru lets his guard slip. It’s Christmas time and the fairy lights are doing their job of making everything feel better. He’s in Tokyo with Shoko, the first time they’ve been out together in a long time, looking for things to get the kids. They meander, window shopping for toys or clothes or anything that two kids with nothing would like.
“You know, alcoholism would be simpler,” Shoko says.
She thumbs at a stuffed bear hanging off an overflowing shelf. Flipping around the tag she sucks on her teeth.
“And less expensive.”
Satoru scoffs, he reaches for the bear. It’s soft and white, with the date for the upcoming year embroidered on the left paw in gold. Cute, in that kinda boring, conventional way.
“I don’t give a fuck about money,” Satoru says.
He doesn’t know enough about either kid to know if the bear would be a good idea. It feels cheap. Like something picked up if he had no other choice. He puts it back.
“I know you don’t care about money,” Shoko laughs. “It's always been one of your most annoying traits.”
Satoru frowns at her. “I’m paying for lunch. The least you could do is be grateful.”
“I am, I am,” Shoko says.
She walks away, in the direction of the restaurant they picked out for lunch when they first turned onto this street. Satoru lingers in the toy store, thinking about Tsumiki and Megumi. He knows that they’ll take anything, or at least Tsumiki will. They have nothing. The moldering remains of a damp apartment had claimed all of their sparse personal belongings. Satoru got them blankets, clothes, toiletries, only necessities in those first few months. He didn’t have the time to worry about rudimentary things like toys. Neither kid had shown any interest in toys or games or fun to be honest. They aren’t normal kids, and now they’ve left Satoru stranded in terms of gifts.
A pair of stuffed animals is what he does end up settling for in the end. Two rabbits, kind of big, floppy ears and limbs, soft, one light brown, one white, weighted, perfect for cuddling. The girl behind the cash register coos over the selection and bats her eyelashes. Satoru ignores her, looking over her shoulder to trace the stack of stuffed dogs behind her head. He likes dogs. Maybe he should get himself a dog.
“Do you have little siblings?” She asks as she bags the rabbits.
“Nah,” Satoru says. He digs his school card out of his pocket. “Kids.”
The eyelash fluttering stops, she tells him the price and snatches his card out of his hand. It makes his mood all the better, he happily pays for Shoko’s lunch.
“You should take them to a festival,” Shoko says.
They’re walking back to school, the temperature dropping rapidly, and Yaga’s patience as reluctant babysitter is gone.
“Something with a shit ton of lights, candy, all that jazz.”
“Not a bad idea,” Satoru says. “We need to get out of the dorm more often.”
“What you need is more space,” Shoko says. “Three of you can’t live in one tiny dorm.”
“I know,” Satoru snaps. “You think I’m comfortable trying to exist like this? I don’t have a choice right now. My money isn’t entirely mine yet, I can’t get an apartment, and I need to graduate first. I gotta figure out college.”
“Can’t believe you’re actually going to college,”Shoko says. “That’s genuinely laughable.”
“Har har.”
“You did have a choice though,” Shoko says as they shuffle onto the porch of the dorm building. “They aren’t yours, never were yours. You don’t owe them anything.”
But Satoru does owe them something. Even if he can’t explain it to anyone, not even himself. Megumi is the son of his murderer and Tsumiki is absolutely not of this world, and Satoru isn’t the caring type, but he owes them.
“Well it's too late to go back now,” Satoru says.
Shoko gives him a look. “It's not.”
Satoru feels defensive all of the sudden. She should know better. They are the cast off youth, the unwanted, the weird. This crappy campus has been the ramshackle, dangerous sanctuary for all of them. Her dismissal rubs him wrong.
But then again, this has been Satoru’s freedom, for Shoko he doesn’t really know.
“It's Christmas, I’m not a monster.”
Again Shoko snorts. “Debatable. By the way, I’m not going to be here for the holiday.”
“Oh yeah? Going home?” Satoru asks as he digs around in his pocket for his keys.
“Nah, the Kyoto students asked if I wanted to join them on the day, said Kento might be there.”
Satoru falters, peering at her through his lashes. “They didn’t ask me.”
“You’re not exactly around much, Satoru, and what, you’d bring the kids to our party? Fuck that.”
Shoko takes his keys out of Satoru’s hands and unlocks the door. They had new locks put on when Satoru moved in with the kids, no one else lives in the boys dorm anymore, so it doesn’t really matter. Satoru follows her in on numb feet.
“But they didn’t even bother asking me,” Satoru says. “That's not fair.”
“Oh my god,” Shoko mutters.
She turns to face him, smacking his keys into his palm. “Get over it, Satoru. It’s nothing personal, you just aren’t around to ask.”
“Shoko, I’ve been on campus for months.”
Satoru hasn’t had the ability to take as many missions since he brought the kids to live with him. He blatantly refused the higher ups that first week, a shock he’s sure; Satoru had been on a never ending spree since Suguru. But then after a brief reprieve they were back to bugging him about it, and then Satoru was faced with another reality. It's not just for a lack of time, but two snotty noses and barely covered coughs have destroyed any confidence Satoru might have had in his immune system.
Shoko frowns at him, but shrugs helplessly.
“Sorry, I guess,” She says.
“You guys suck,” Satoru snaps.
He says it a little harsher than he means to. But he’d gotten a birthday wish from Shoko in the form of a text and a gruff acknowledgement forced from Yaga, and then went about his existence like normal. No cake, no party, no presents, nothing. And is it pathetic that he’s bugged like this? Maybe, but Satoru is a crippled ball of depression bordering on the line of a manic break. He is very alone, very angry, and Shoko is watching him with tired eyes like she’d rather be anywhere else.
“Satoru, it's not personal. You’re busy and you have the kids, we didn’t want to bother you.”
“Bullshit,” Satoru scoffs, “Utahime doesn’t even know I have kids, unless you told her, which I asked you not to do.”
“Utahime doesn’t like you,” Shoko says slowly. “She never has and she probably never will.”
Satoru squints at her. “And?”
“...and that means she doesn’t want you at her party. You annoy her, Satoru.”
Satoru kicks his shoes off. It’s cold in here. The heating in the floor has been broken for as long as Satoru can remember. He and Suguru had tried to figure out how to fix it last fucking December, when the snow and cold frosted the windows and caught their breathes white inside. Nothing came from their efforts so they spent their time wrapped in blankets and pressed together playing video games. Suguru read more than Satoru–he hasn’t the attention span for it–and he ended up reading aloud to Satoru until he dozed off warm and comfortable, head in Suguru’s lap. Shoko crawled into their nest every once and awhile to tease them about her nice heated floor, but refused to let them into the girls dorm.
That had been a year ago. One puny year. And now this place is haunted the cold of the floors has made itself comfortable in Satoru’s bones unthreatened by books and blankets and kis–
Satoru makes his rounds turning on little plug in heaters and turning on the kotatsu in the kitchen. He stashes the rabbits to be dealt with at a different time, and pulls down cup noodles from a top shelf. Shoko watches all of this, standing a little awkwardly in the door to the kitchen like this room isn’t a second house to her.
“You’re not bad at this,” she murmurs.
Satoru looks up at her, taking his noodle broth fogged glasses off his nose.
“Yeah? And? I’m good at everything.”
Rolling her eyes, Shoko crosses her arms tighter over her chest. “It's just weird that you’re good at this . You aren’t exactly parent material.”
“It’s not hard.”
It is hard
“It’s all patterns.”
Satoru has dealt with curses more predictable.
“Don’t be a dick. Simple.”
Satoru is a dick and he spends an agonizing amount of time beating patience into himself.
“You are a dick,” Shoko says. “And you don’t have a gentle bone in your body.”
The image of a cat comes into Satoru’s head. Fluffy and wet, Satoru with an umbrella and a habit of distraction in his happiness. He’d coaxed her into his arms, took the scratches that she tore down his arms, spoke to her like she was a baby and deposited her somewhere drier, warmer. She’d paused in her new dry shelter and butted her head up against his hand.
He’d run smiling to an impatient Suguru who let Satoru bump up against him, much like that cat.
“I’m not that gentle,” Satoru says. “I had to wrestle medicine down Megumi’s throat last week.”
Pulling out his phone, Satoru flips it open and sends a brief message to Yaga that he’s back home.
“You like them,” Shoko says, her voice a cadence that Satoru has never heard before.
Satoru doesn’t reply and goes to help Yaga get the kids unbundled when he shows up on the porch.
The kids seated under the kotatsu eat their noodles with a sleepy motion that makes Satoru feel tired. He doesn’t sit with them , slinks after Yaga who is making a hasty escape.
“Thanks for watching them, hope they weren’t a pain in your ass, and by that I mean Gumibear.”
Yaga shoots him a look.
“They were fine, I won’t be doing this again though.”
“Oh come on, I was gone for a few hours,” Satoru huffs.
“They are your responsibility.”
“I was getting them gifts, I couldn’t take them,” Satoru says. “But fine, it won’t happen again, but you need to explain to the uppies that I need some maternity leave until Tsumiki is old enough to watch her baby brother.”
Yaga clenches his jaw. “I’ve been patient with you Satoru.”
“Really?” Satoru asks with a smile. He rocks back on his heels. “Cuz it sure doesn’t feel like it.”
He doesn’t get a reply. Yaga just shakes his head and leaves, slamming the door behind him. Satoru sighs, rubs his nose and turns around with a smile on his face.
“So my kiddos, I think I know what we’re going to do this Christmas,” Satoru says. He claps his hands together, jolting Megumi from his sleepy little slouch.
“What are we going to do?” Tsumiki asks with a reserved curiosity.
“We are going to crash a Christmas party,” Satoru cheers, he wiggles his eyebrows at Shoko who sighs long and hard.
But they don’t get to crash the party. Satoru takes the kids to a festival in Tokyo after a grueling mission that he couldn’t avoid. There are bandages around his ribs, his glasses are in pieces, and Megumi had woken up on the wrong side of the goddamn bed.
They’re standing under a beautiful, eye-murdery, display of lights and fake snow. Tsumiki is making her way through a handful of candy, dazzled by the lights, and Megumi is glaring at Satoru. There is no winning with both of them, it’s always one or the other. And that one is always Tsumiki.
“What did I do this time?” Satoru asks, looking down at the scrunched up face.
“I want to leave,” Megumi says.
He has a mustache of hot chocolate around his mouth.
“Well tough,” Satoru says. “We just got here.”
“It’s cold.”
“You’re the one who refused to keep your gloves on.”
Satoru pulls the little mittens out of his pockets. He gets it at least some. He also has issues with suffocating clothes like gloves and Megumi has never been good at shoes, or socks, or gloves, or tight clothes.
“Do you want them back?” Satoru asks.
“ No.”
Satoru sighs harshly. “Well I’m not a damn miracle worker Megumi.”
“I want to leave!” Megumi yells, loud enough to disturb the couple that’s kissing a distance off.
They send reproachful glares at Satoru, he sends one right back, how dare they remind him that he is very alone this Christmas.
“We can leave,” Tsumiki speaks up.
Satoru reaches down and pulls Megumi onto his hip. The child, feral off the cold, burrows into Satoru, proceeds to bite him savagely, and then clings when Satoru tries to put him down. Satoru grits his teeth and opens his coat, tucking Megumi inside he zips it up to little ears and cradles Megumi with his left hand.
“No biting, Jesus Christ. And no Tsumiki, we aren’t leaving yet. Enjoy yourself, we don’t get out enough.”
She watches him for a few moments before nodding. She walks further into the lights, staring up in awe. Satoru follows a few paces behind, poking at Megumi any time the boy starts to fall asleep, until he feels like the bite has been avenged, and then he lets the boy sleep.
It's a fine night, the lights are pretty and Tsumiki is happy. Actually happy, skipping so her ponytail swings, talking loud, laughing with Satoru. She holds his hand as they cross the street, grinning up at him when he comments on useless things. For the first time in a long while Satoru feels settled, and in his happiness, his guard downiness, he takes them to his favorite candy shop.
Satoru pokes the child in his arms awake, and sets him down. Megumi toddles–not really toddles he’s an annoyingly upright child–towards the wasabi candy because of course he does. Satoru looks through the indulgent displays of suckers. The kids pick their snacks and Satoru pays. Megumi a bag of hard wasabi candy and Tsumiki a modest pack of bubble gum.
“Don’t choke on this, okay?” Satoru says as he unwraps a candy that Megumi shoves at him.
“I’m not a baby ,” Megumi says as he shoves the candy into his mouth.
But then halfway home he reaches up to Satoru like he is much younger than he is and cuddles into Satoru’s coat like a cat. It is absolutely stinkin’ adorable. He looks at Tsumiki, lagging a little behind them. She still looks excited, but now it’s dulled with exhaustion.
“You wanna ride too, Miki?” Satoru asks.
Tsumiki looks at him. “You can carry both of us?”
“Sure can, I’m the strongest. Come on.”
They are a bit heavy, Megumi bundled on his front and Tsumiki on his back, it tosses his balance a little off, but he can handle it. And he does. He handles it all the way back to campus but as they reach the dorm building Tsumiki blows a bubble with her gum, it pops and she lets out a little gasp.
“Oh no. Oh no, Sat-Gojo, I got gum in your hair!” Tsumiki wails.
He can feel her yanking on something that stings his scalp. Satoru hisses, kicks open the door and crosses the room to put Megumi sloppily on the kotatsu.
“Hang on, hang on. Stop yanking on it,” Satoru says.
Tsumiki slides off his back, her fingers webbed with pink strings. She cowers away from him as Satoru reaches back to feel out the mess. He’s expecting a hunk of gum, but there’s stickiness webbed across his hair and wads of dampness rubbed all the way down to his roots.
“Crap,” Satoru whispers. “Oh crap.”
He all but runs to the bathroom, stares in horror at the mess of his hair. It’s fucking everywhere. Satoru doesn’t understand how Tsumiki managed to get gum all the way to his roots, rubbed into the thin strands of his hair. Satoru ducks his head into the sink, turning on the tap. Ten minutes later, it’s worse, so, so much worse. What the fuck was in that gum? Why is it spreading?!
“I’m sorry.”
The kids are in the door of the bathroom peering in at Satoru’s soaking wet head.
“I didn’t mean to,” Tsumiki says, her voice coated in tears.
Satoru stares at them.
“Right,” he croaks. “Yeah no, I know. Uhm.”
He looks back in the mirror. It’s fucked. His hair is fucked.
“It’s fucked,” Satoru says. “Well and truly.”
Tsumiki stifles a little sob and Megumi glares up at Satoru when he moves away from the sink, stepping in front of his sister as if his slight frame could protect her. Satoru lets out a breathless laugh; that hurts a little to see, he reaches out a slow hand to pat Tsumiki gently on the shoulder. She curls over her own stomach, ponytail falling over her head and into her face.
“Not the end of the world. Just the end of my hair.”
The kids stay with him as Satoru hunts down an electric razor. Satoru stares at himself in the mirror, clutching the humming tool, and nibbles his lip. This is fine. It’s just hair. It’ll grow back. And yeah. It's one of the only parts of his body that maintains such heavy physical remembrance of Suguru’s touch. This. Is. Fine.
His head shaves nicely. The hair at least, Satoru has to tug the razor through the mass of gum. Megumi whispers a hushed holy shit when the first hunk of hair falls into the sink. It takes an anticlimactic twenty minutes and when he’s done, Satoru is left with thick white fuzz that prickles against his hand, and eyes that look forty times too big for his face. And the scar. The damn scar on his forehead glows in the bathroom light. Satoru runs a hand over the crest of his scalp, then turns to the kids.
“Tada.”
“You look so bad,” Megumi says and it’s almost said in reverence.
“Oh,” Tsumiki says, a hand over her mouth.
Satoru leans back against the sink covering his eyes.
“Fuck. Don’t react like that.”
“No! Uh. It’s fine. You look uhm,” Tsumiki trails off.
“You look like an egg,” Megumi says gleefully. “Or a plucked chicken.”
Satoru turns back around and stares into the mirror. He looks like an alien, the shadows from the lights in the bathroom making the absence of hair seem more severe. He giggles a bit like a maniac at the sight of his forehead, the way his ears jut back, his eyebrows that are so white they’re barely there. Alien indeed. He runs his hand back over his hair.
“I really am sorry, Gojo,” Tsumiki says.
Her voice is quiet and wobbly.
“Don’t worry,” Satoru says, even as the words get a little caught in his throat. “My hair grows fast.”
Or so he thinks. Satoru isn’t actually sure how fast his hair grows. It’s been the same length for most of his life, a little over long when he neglects it, falling into his eyes and covering his ears down to the lobes, but he just trims it.
“And it’s Satoru. I don’t want to be Gojo to you guys.”
Satoru shoos them out of the bathroom not long after, telling them to go and find something for dinner that isn’t sweet and he’ll be out to make it soon. He cleans the bathroom with a detached precision, sweeping up his hair and scrubbing hard to remove any remains of the pink bubblegum from the sink. He makes a mental note to never let Tsumiki buy that brand ever again.
He gets caught mid step by his reflection again on the way out of the bathroom. Satoru leans forward onto the sink, reaching up to touch the scar. Right above his brow, slightly raised and slightly pink in the center. It aches to touch, probably a placebo, but it makes the other points of contact on Satoru’s body remember their pain. He doesn’t like looking at it, doesn’t like touching it, the line of ruined flesh is easy enough to forget about most of the time unless he has a headache that stems directly from it.
Shoko has concealer in her bathroom. Maybe Satoru could nab some. Or maybe he could take one of Suguru’s old beanies from the wardrobe that has sat untouched for almost a year.
Turning the lights out, Satoru leaves.
So the Christmas party was not crashed. Satoru spent Christmas sitting in the common area of the dorm building, tucked tired under the kotatsu, with the kids. He gave them their presents–the rabbits and other little things he had managed to find–and they ate chicken that one of the staff had dropped by earlier. Tsumiki had cradled her rabbit, stroked the face with a gentle, trembling touch. She’d said thank you so meaningfully that Satoru felt humbled in the face of it.
Megumi eyed his rabbit with dubious interest and put it aside to paw through the manga Satoru had picked up for no reason besides he thought they looked cool.
The kids go to bed close to midnight, Satoru tucking them in tight, laughing off Tsumiki’s attempts to apologize again. He goes outside in a slip of a jacket and looks up at the sky. The stars are blown clear by the frigid air, and Six Eyes turns them into living things that dance and war. The cold feels worse without his hair; raking cruel claws over his head. Steam flows out of his mouth, up into the silver. He calls Infinity, lets it flicker over his skin, before fading out. He kind of wants to feel the cold.
Satoru doesn’t like the feeling of being chained down, held to expectation, so he doesn’t say anything to the sky like his heart wants to.
On his way back to his room Satoru hushes into Suguru’s old room, churning up dust around his feet. He ignores everything but the wardrobe. There are pictures on the walls, and a few posters, little artifacts that display their very short time together. Things that Suguru didn’t care enough about to take with him. The wardrobe is left in its usual organized chaos, and Satoru knows exactly where to find what he’s looking for. It takes a little fishing, but Satoru manages to extract a black beanie that Suguru would wear occasionally. Satoru holds it in his palms, smooths his hands over the worn and soft fabric. Real emotion climbs his ribcage, tickles the back of this throat, and it’s only slightly angry. Satoru pulls the hat on and leaves before he can cry, kneeled on the floor in front of a makeshift shrine.
In the morning light, the buzzcut is a new kind of horrifying and Satoru realizes that he needs to avoid as many people as he can, until he gets some growth back.
This is easy.
At first.
The higher ups send him to America three days after Christmas where he spends a few days fighting a curse of discontent that had exploded out of the streets in Washington D.C.. He’d left the kids once again with Yaga, who might have been bluffing about never watching them again, and he relishes in the feeling of being the most powerful sorcerer in a place where no one knows him. The American sorcerers think he’s a god, and his haircut? Oh yeah, so cool.
On the way back he gets a convenient assignment in Canada on Prince Edward Island where he spends longer than he should, freezing and watching the sun set gold-orange over the trees and ocean draped in glittering snow.
He gets back to Japan, skirts Shoko, and declares to the kids that they are going to do every winter activity Tokyo can offer them.
“Why?” Megumi asks in an even voice.
He’s curled on Satoru’s futon with a book, his rabbit carefully propped up with one at his side. It makes Satoru warm and weirdly proud that his gift was received so well.
“Becauseee it's boring here. Aren’t you bored?”
Satoru is bored and slightly paranoid that Shoko is going to come bursting in and see his buzz. He just managed to avoid direct confrontation with Yaga. The report will be hell to pay, but Yaga probably has it done most of the way by now anyways.
“I’m not bored,” Megumi says. He sniffs and looks down at his book.
“I swear, Megs,” Satoru says in a desert tone, “you’re like a seventy year old in the body of a baby.”
“I’m not a baby.”
“Eh, you sorta kinda are.”
Satoru’s hand gets smacked away when he reaches down to ruffle messy hair. He turns to Tsumiki who has been at Satoru’s desk scribbling something in a sketchbook that Satoru apparently had.
“What about you Tsumiki? Wanna go ice skating?”
“You don’t have to, Satoru. You just got back from a mission.”
Satoru waves her away. He is still in uniform–which looks terrible with his god forsaken haircut–caked in curse slime and dust. His duffle bag is still a pile by the front door.
“That’s why I wanna do something fun. I can get us into all the best places, and I know where to get hot chocolate afterwards. It’ll blow your socks off I swear.”
Megumi wiggles his toes. He has a small hole by his pinky toe. Did Satoru wear through clothes so fast when he was a kid?
“I’m good,” Megumi says. “I don’t like hot chocolate anyways.”
“Oh my god,” Satoru groans, “how is my own child so anti sweets?
“We share nothing between us but this smelly room,” Megumi says.
That makes Satoru laugh. He claps a hand to his chest and wipes away accumulated tears.
“You are a constant source of joy to me, Megumi.”
And this time Satoru scoops him up and hugs him. Megumi doesn’t really fight on it, he still has his book on his hand and he seems content enough to let himself hang in Satoru’s grip as long as he has eyes on the page.
They go ice skating. Satoru teaches Tsumiki the basics before skating circles around everyone wobbling their way around the ice. In a different life maybe he could have been an olympic skater. Megumi watches from the sidelines, skates on, glaring. He sticks his tongue out at Satoru every time he zips by and Satoru has taken to slowing just enough to return the gesture.
It is a new kind of thrilling to feel so…normal. Or maybe glossed over is the better description for the new lack of attention. Satoru is dressed in dark jeans and coat, the beanie pulled low to cover his scar and light brows. His shadow is long and lanky, and people avoid him except to comment on his height and his ability to skate.
Tsumiki can make her way around the rink pretty well by the time Satoru manages to coax Megumi onto the ice. It takes a fair bit of taunting, but it works and Satoru takes his kids’ hands and skates backwards slowly. Megumi’s face goes open with apprehension, his mittens–miraculously on his hands–clutch desperately at Satoru’s sleeves.
“S-Sato–woah!”
Satoru catches him easily, props him back on his skates and eases closer to the sideboards.
“You’ll be okay,” Satoru says, “I won’t let you fall.”
Megumi looks up from staring intensely at his feet, pigeon toed in his skates. “What if you can’t stop it?”
Satoru squeezes Megumi’s thin wrists. “Well then I’ll do everything I can to make any hurt go away.”
Megumi is talented. He’s smart and Satoru can’t wait to see the kid surpass him in strength. So once he lets Satoru guide him through steps and balance, and how to live with the idea of falling, Megumi gets it. His eyes are light as he catches up to his sister and Satoru watches them, skating leisurely. Tsumiki laughs, takes Megumi’s hand and they glide in choppy motions together. Satoru wrestles his phone out of his pocket and snaps a picture of them.
They skate an hour longer before they’re asked to leave for laughing at the fall of a dick of a child who had clipped shoulders purposefully with Tsumiki three times. Maybe Satoru didn’t need to skate over at top speed when the little fucker fell over to point and laugh, but it felt good.
Hot chocolate comes in the form of three massive mugs and enough whipped cream to kill an elephant. Tsumiki is giggly and a little rambunctious as they take their drinks to a park. She laughs at everything Satoru says and pokes at Megumi. Her ponytail bounces as she skips, and once she hands her cocoa to Satoru–the little whip cream animals eaten off the top–to perform a series of wonky cartwheels across the frozen ground.
Megumi watches all of this with building horror and a chocolate mustache before he looks at Satoru.
“I think you feed us too much sugar.”
Tsumiki is laying on her back, hands held up to the sky singing a butchered version of some pop song on the radio.
“Yeah,” Satoru says, taking a long drag from his cup. “Probably.”
Eventually though, Satoru’s luck runs out.
His friends prove to him that they aren’t dicks and invite him to the Kyoto New Years Eve party via text. Satoru is standing in an airport in Seoul when the text comes through. It’s from Shoko, bare bone information, and then a second one minutes later telling him that the kids are welcome. Which is really nice. But Satoru still looks like a pluckedchickenalienegg, so his initial reaction to type an annoying YESSSSSSSSS(≧▽≦) is undercut by his terrible cut.
Satoru smacks his phone against his palm. He should just say no. But he’s lonely . Really really lonely. Small children that need him for their survival is not the same as proper company. He hasn’t done anything with his friends since Suguru. It would be so easy to lie about his pride still being hurt, or he could ask Yaga to please send him to Argentina for a year or something. The kids would love Buenos Aires. Probably.
Satoru doesn't respond until he’s safely back in his room with the kids. The kids who are in the middle of a fight that Satoru breaks up with a sharp, cut it out you guys. He lets Megumi pout against his side on the futon while Tsumiki makes petty claim over the bed, and considers the text.
“You guys don’t like parties right?”Satoru asks. He’s wearing the numbers off his keys.
“ I like parties,” Tsumiki says. “Cuz I’m willing to try.”
Megumi scowls. “I can like parties too!”
Oh dear, Satoru thinks dully.
“Why’d you ask, Satoru?” Tusmiki asks, ignoring her brother’s scorn.
Satoru drops an arm around Megumi’s thin shoulders to prevent any sudden movements that could lead to a physical fight.
“No reason,” Satoru says.
The text log is still on his screen. It’s been almost six hours since the text came in. Shoko probably assumes he’s not back in the country yet.
“You got invited to a party,” Megumi says. He’s peering at the screen of Satoru’s phone.
“Mind your business,” Satoru mutters, turning the phone away from green eyes.
Megumi frowns at him. “You don’t want to go?”
“I do,”Satoru says, “but also not really.”
“Cuz your hair?” Megumi asks.
He’s judging Satoru, eyes narrowed and calculating. What a truly terrifying little creature he can be when he so desires. .
“What? Pft. No .”
“Well I want to go,” Megumi says. “We never do anything. It’s New Years and you never take us to Kyoto.”
“You little twerp,” Satoru says in faint disbelief. “You hate parties.”
And Megumi who is a master manipulator, turns large green eyes onto Satoru, they grow larger, wetter; the little shit .
“You’re taking opportunities away from us.”
“Megumi,” Satoru warns
“Keeping us here. It’s not fair!”
Tsumiki gets off the bed then, and marches over. She leans down and puts a finger in Megumi’s face.
“Stop it. You’re being ungrateful. If Satoru doesn’t want to take us to a party he doesn’t have to. If he doesn’t want to go because his hair is tragic, he doesn’t have to. Stop making him feel bad.”
Megumi snaps his teeth at his sister's finger and Satoru decides that he’s done with this. Closing his phone, Satoru tosses it into a pile of clean laundry on the floor, and stands. He brings Megumi with him.
“Okay. You two need to chill out. This is ridiculous, why are you fighting with each other?”
“He’s so mean,” Tsumiki pouts.
“She won’t stay out of my business,” Megumi says. “Always pestering me.”
“I only do it because you think you can handle everything yourself! You can’t!”
“Can so! You’re not my mom .”
Tsumiki huffs a wet little sound. She draws her arms up around her chest.
“I’m your sister.”
“Not really. I didn’t want you to be my sister.”
Tsumiki’s eyes go wide and then bright with actual tears. Her mouth trembles and Megumi bears down, sneering at her from the shelter of Satoru’s leg.
“Hey!” Satoru snaps. “Stop it.”
“You didn’t mean that,” Tsumiki says. There are tears along her waterline, catching in her lashes.
“Did so. My dad didn’t even want you.”
Those words suck the air straight out of the room. Satoru feels dizzy with a roaring anger as Tsumiki’s face crumples completely and tears start to streak down her cheeks. She’s running from the room before Satoru can stop her, slamming the door behind her, barefoot and leaving her coat tucked neatly on a chair in the corner.
“Megumi,” Satoru says and something in his voice betrays his anger. The little boy shrinks away from him. Satoru looks down at him, seething. “What the fuck.”
Megumi tucks himself close to the wall, ducking his face into his own shoulder, watching Satoru with eyes that gleam. The shadows wrap up around his shoulders, make him one with the wall. When Satoru crouches down to look at him, the wall ripples with Megumi’s flinch.
There’s unadulterated fear in those eyes, staring at Satoru like he’s a monster.
“Why did you say that to your sister?” Satoru asks.
It’s level, only slightly tripping over his anger. Satoru has never been a sit down and talk it out kind of guy. He believes that action tends to get results much faster. But Megumi is a delicate creature. Held so tightly between the palms of cruelty, that anymore pressure will destroy him.
“It's true,” Megumi whispers.
“Is it?”
Megumi nods, the wall ripples.
“He didn’t want her. Or. Me. He didn’t want us.”
“Your father was a desperate man, Megumi,” Satoru says.
He doesn’t want to talk about Toji Fushiguro. If he never had to think about that man ever again his life would be so much nicer. He might relearn the pleasure of sleep, the grass would probably be greener, his hair would probably still be perfect.
“Desperation makes people cruel. And your dad was. He was a cruel man that didn’t deserve you two. And in turn we–you didn’t deserve his cruelty,” Satoru says. He swallows heavily, forcing back the phantom pain that’s starting to make itself known across his body.
` Megumi blinks. He’s like a little owl, curled up against the wall.
“I don’t get it.”
“I know,” Satoru says. “It’s hard to understand. I don’t get it either.”
“What did I do wrong?”
“Megumi,” Satoru breathes, he aches. Satoru sits against the wall, tips his head back. “Nothing. You’re a kid, god you were a baby . There’s nothing you could have done that would have warranted disposal.”
“Musta been something,” Megumi says. There is moisture gathering in his voice, his sinuses clogging with the effort not to cry.
“No. Wasn’t anything.”
“People don’t just leave, Satoru.”
Satoru smiles up at the dark ceiling. “They do sometimes.”
What would have happened if Satoru had mercy? What would have happened if he had stayed his hand? Let the man who hurt him so much go. What would have happened if Satoru had died that day, stayed dead. Toji could have gotten the bounty on Satoru’s head, paid off any debts, and gone home. Maybe he would have spared Riko, spared Suguru. Raised his little boy who looks so much like him, loved the woman who gave the world Megumi and Tsumiki.
Satoru took all of that. Destroyed it in a ball of power, caught in a haze of agony and euphoria, drunk on power and pain. Gone in the second it took him to draw his power from the flooding well in his chest.
“They shouldn’t,” Megumi says soft.
“Hm?”
“Leave. They shouldn’t leave.”
“No,”Satoru says. “They shouldn’t. But Megumi, your sister loves you, and she is your sister. Blood or not. She cares for you, and she won’t leave. You should treasure that.”
Megumi releases an open mouth sigh, shuddering, reaching up to wipe at the two tears that roll fat from his eyes.
“I don’t hate her,” Megumi says. “I don’t want her to hate me.”
“She doesn’t, not forever at least.”
Megumi sniffles, a pathetic little sound. “I dunno why I’m mean.”
Satoru opens his arms, lets Megumi slot himself against his chest. Satoru doesn’t know why Megumi is mean either. Cruelty is not inherited, it’s learned, embraced, easy.
“I’m kinda mean too,” Satoru says, “a lot mean sometimes.”
“You aren’t mean,” Megumi mumbles, “just really stupid.”
Satoru laughs, “No. I am pretty mean. I think, between you and me, we’re mean because it’s easier than being kind most of the time.”
“How do you stop?” Megumi asks.
Megumi is picking at Satoru’s shirt, staring off across the room. He is very small in Satoru’s embrace, and Satoru in turn feels very small in the face of this conversation.
“I don’t know. I’m trying to figure that out myself. But you can start by apologizing to Tsumiki and telling her some of the things you’ve told me.”
“Scary,” Megumi says against Satoru’s collarbone.
“Yeah,” Satoru agrees.
He holds Megumi for a few more minutes before the unease of not knowing where Tsumiki went becomes unbearable.
Satoru tells Megumi to stay put, gathers a pair of socks and Tsumiki’s coat and goes to find his wayward child.
It’s snowing outside. Fat, heavy flakes that turn pink and orange in the lights from the lanterns on the porch. It’s not every cold, the warmth from the day caught low by the snow. Satoru steps onto the porch, looks out at the campus slowly being draped in a blanket of white. It’s quiet and still, muted blues and grays and yellows. Tsumiki is a silent fixture among the landscape. She’s sitting on the steps, legs tucked up, arms on her knees. Snow has gathered on her hair, and she stares out towards nothing.
Satoru drops her coat on her shoulders.
Tsumiki looks up at him, eyes salt crusted and a trail of snot dried on her upper lip. Satoru hands her the socks and then sits down.
“You okay?” Satoru asks.
“No,” Tsumiki mumbles. She puts the socks on, wiggles her toes. “Thank you.”
“No thanks is ever necessary, Tsumiki.” Satoru looks at her, “you know that right?”
Tsumiki nibbles her lip. “I don’t know. I-I’m trying, Satoru.”
“Oh, Miki, I know. You try so hard it makes me seem like I’m not doing anything. You don’t need to try that hard, let me worry about things, I’m built for it.”
Tsumiki looks at Satoru. She holds no resemblance to Toji–sometimes she’s easier to look at than Megumi–and Satoru can’t help but wonder if she misses her mother. If she feels abandoned by a family from her mother’s side. Satoru is good at finding information about people. Being an heir to a powerful clan allows him to form connections across the globe. Satoru could find someone who is Tsumiki’s blood, who might think a little girl in their family has gone missing or is dead.
Or maybe they don’t care.
She must be lonely here. Satoru can see it in the down turn of her lips and the careful control over her eyes. It’s a little like looking into a cruel mirror, Satoru staring at his own isolation on someone who doesn’t deserve it.
“Megumi wasn’t wrong,” Tsumiki says, “I don’t think he wanted me. We were never close. I don’t even remember a single conversation we had. I don’t know if he knew my name.”
Satoru lets out a breath. “I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve that, Tsumiki.”
She shakes her head, knocking loose snowflakes. “Maybe I did. I’m not like him, or Megumi, or even you. I don’t belong much anywhere, and I mess everything up, Satoru. I get so happy and have fun but I shouldn’t!”
“Why not?” Satoru asks. “Last I checked, having fun and being happy is the kid thing to do.”
Tsumiki looks at him a little helplessly. “Because it’s at your expense.”
“I have no issues spending on you kids,” Satoru says.
He’d spend more if he could. He already has accounts open for both kids that’ll start to be filled once he gets his inheritance and his teaching job.
“It’s not just money, Satoru. It’s time and you’re always so tired, you sleep in the corner of your own room now. I just.” She clenches her fists into her coat, scrunches her nose up. “You would be better off if you’d just taken Megumi.”
“I wouldn’t,” Satoru says. “I’d be dead in the water without you here.”
Tsumiki slumps a little. “Oh. Well. I’m glad I can help.”
Satoru closes his eyes, “No. That's not what I meant. You help a lot, don’t get me wrong, and you’re like the Megumi whisperer, but I don’t regret taking you in. I get so happy when you’re happy. I want you Tsumiki.”
“I don’t belong in this world. I just slow you down.”
“You’ve never slowed me down. Pretty sure you’re incapable of it.” Satoru laughs. “What makes you think that?”
“Well you take us to do things and fight with your boss about missions and stuff,” Tsumiki says.
“I fight with my boss anyways,” Satoru says. “I fought with my boss before you guys and I’d find any excuse to get out of missions before you guys. Whatever burden you think you’ve put on me, you haven’t.”
Tsumiki leans over tentatively to put her head on Satoru’s shoulder. She sighs so heavily it goes through Satoru’s chest.
“Are you happy?” Satoru asks, even if it’s one of the more terrifying things to ask.
“Yeah,” Tsumiki says, “I think so. Frustrated a lot.”
“At me?”
Her silence is answer enough.
“Sorry,” Tsumiki says.
“Nah, it’s okay. I’m not the greatest parent.”
The word associated with him turns it into a weird abstract thing.
“I get frustrated at Megumi too. He’s so grouchy, I worry about him all the time,” Tsumiki says. She’s turned her face closer into Satoru’s shirt, accidentally wiping her nose across his sleeve.
“He’s a little shit,” Satoru says. “He doesn’t have the right to be unkind to you, okay? If he is then let me know and I’ll sort him out.”
“No!” Tsumiki shoots up. “I don’t want that! It doesn’t matter what he says, I’ll be okay.”
Satoru stares at her. “I’d talk to him. Tell him not to be so mean, maybe to blow off some steam. I’d. Never hurt either of you. Tsumiki, I’d never hurt you.”
He searches her face. Satoru isn’t a monster.
“Have you been afraid of me?” Satoru asks so quietly it’s almost lost to the silence.
“No. Maybe. A little bit. Everything has been good, Satoru, and I’m waiting for it to not be good.”
“I wouldn’t hit you guys,” Satoru says and he feels nauseous. “I can’t promise sunshines and roses all the time, but bad would never mean I’d.”
Satoru breaks off, shaking his head.
“Okay,” Tsumiki whispers. “I believe you.”
“I won’t break your trust,” Satoru says. “And, you should talk to Megumi.”
Tsumiki blows out a breath. “Fine.”
“You choose when to forgive him or if, but you should at least talk to him.”
“I will,” Tsumiki says. “I’m his older sister anyways. It’s my job to be a good example.”
She puts her head back on his shoulder and they watch the snow fall. Satoru feels rubbed raw, cut open along his throat where words spilled. He meant everything, but his heart led the conversation, and he’s not sure how much of what he said will be useful in the long run, how much he actually helped and didn’t just tape over the hurt with comfort. He’s exhausted too, but sitting here is nice. There seems to be nothing else in the world, just him and Tsumiki caught in a snow globe.
“I’m ready to go back in,” Tsumiki says when the snow has picked up and Satoru’s ears are starting to freeze.
Satoru helps her to her feet but follows a few steps behind her when they get inside. He lingers in the kitchen to let the kids talk it out. He gets a cup of water, leans against the sink, has his own silent freak out. What a truly exhausting ordeal. Satoru didn’t think he had that in him, and isn't sure he will for awhile. He’s gotta figure out how to get better at this. They need space, Tsumiki needs friends her age, people she can really relate to. She needs to see the world outside of Satoru and the campus. Graduation will be in a few months, Satoru’s registration packet for the University of Tokyo is filled out he just needs to mail it in. He needs to go to Kyoto, talk to his father and uncle about inheritance. That’ll be fun. Satoru hasn’t talked to his family in awhile. He goes to clan meetings, but he normally just collects intel he thinks is interesting, takes provided refreshments and leaves. It’s his birthright, so there’s nothing that they can do to keep him from it, but he’ll find a Normal lawyer too, make sure Tsumiki is taken care of outside of sorcerer society.
Satoru finishes his water and goes back to their room. The kids are blotchy faced but they’re curled together on the bed with their rabbits. Satoru grins at them, pats their heads on the way past the bed to gather his pajamas.
The good thing about the kids choosing that night to fall apart, is that they forget that Satoru had asked them about the party. Satoru doesn’t text Shoko back, and spends the day before New Years Eve in Sweden getting thrown against mountains and crying over chocolate. He nearly isn’t allowed onto the plane with the amount of chocolate he has stashed in his carry on. Japan is in full celebration as Satoru is driven through Tokyo to campus. There are fireworks and parades and traffic is abysmal. Satoru doesn’t have plans to take the kids out tonight, he’s exhausted, the jet lag smacked him hard with what he assumes is roll over from his time in Argentina. There’s a headache throbbing in his temples, he never got his glasses replaced, he’s been raw-dogging existence lately, low and behold the consequences of his actions have come to bite him in the ass.
The kids are on the porch with Yaga and Panda when Satoru comes meandering up. They’re watching the fireworks off in the distance. Yaga has supplied each child with two sparklers. He raises a brow at Satoru–the hair situation was revealed a few days ago–and holds out a sparkler. Satoru laughs and holds up his bag.
“Gimme a moment, let me put this stuff down and take some medication.”
Satoru hurries to throw his stuff into the room, pulls on new, soft clothes, and pops two pain killers. He leaves the beanie on the bed and heads back out.
The sparklers burn white hot sparks that fleck different colors when sparks jump off the sticks. Satoru chases the kids around the courtyard. Lifts up anyone he catches, letting them ride on his shoulders as he gallops after the other two. The fireworks in the distance are red gold, Megumi is laughing high pitched and a little screechy from his perch on Satoru’s shoulders. Panda might catch fire for a few seconds, but that just made the night better.
Satoru is happy, a little dizzy from his headache, but happy. And then a car pulls up and Satoru’s friends file out. Shoko catches sight of Satoru where he stands in the middle of the courtyard sparklers held between each knuckle.
“What the fuck happened to your hair?” Shoko asks, caught mid step and staring.
Utahime lets out a squawk of horror. “Oh my god, Gojo, what the hell?”
Kento just stares at him, mouth slightly lax, the box in his hands sagging.
“What are you guys doing here?” Satoru asks. He doesn’t have the hands to cover his head.
Shoko narrows her eyes at him. “It’s New Year's dumbass, we’re here to celebrate.”
“I thought the party was in Kyoto!” Satoru wails. He drops the sparklers, uncaring if the whole campus burns down and covers his head.
“It was,” Shoko says. She hands Utahime the package she was carrying and marches towards Satoru.
They grapple for a little bit, Shoko trying to pry his hands off his head, kicking him in the knee and then aiming for his balls when that has little success.
“What. Happened. To. Your. Hair!”
“Stop!” Satoru cries, “Shoko! Let go!”
“No! Let me see!”
Satoru manages to break her grip on his wrists and steps a few paces back, urging Infinity up and over his body.
“Don’t look at my shame!” Satoru says, “it’s hideous.”
The courtyard goes very quiet. The fall off popping of the fireworks is the only sound between them. Yaga stands slowly from the steps, he has a slightly charred Panda on his hip.
“You can put what you brought in the kitchen, Kento. It’s good to see you again,” Yaga says.
Kento tears his eyes away from Satoru and nods, a thin smile quirking his mouth. He walks past Satoru, does a little double take at Tsumiki and Megumi, mutters something, and disappears into the dorm building.
“Satoru,” Yaga says, “stop being dramatic.”
“They were never meant to see,” Satoru whines.
“It’s not the end of the world.”
Satoru begs to differ.
“Yeah, stop being dramatic Gojo,” Utahime says. “We brought the party to you. You’re welcome by the way.”
“It can’t be that bad,” Shoko says. “Come on, let us see.”
Satoru glares at them, but slowly he drops his hands.
Utahime slaps a hand over her mouth, her eyes go bright with laughter. Shoko has no such reservations. She laughs aloud, sticks a finger in Satoru’s face.
“You have no eyebrows! Oh my god.”
“I have eyebrows!” Satoru defends. “They’re just really light.”
“Your eyes!” Shoko laughs so hard she has to lean over and brace her hands on her knees. “You look even more like a bug now.”
Satoru pouts, crosses his arms over his chest and adds bug to pluckedchickenalienegg. Shoko grins at him and reaches forward. Satoru could let her hand hit Infinity, but he drops it, letting Shoko run her hand over the bristles that are taking their sweet time to grow back. It feels better than it should, Satoru’s eyelashes flutter, his knees go a little slack, bending down to accommodate the height difference between him and Shoko. Utahime scoffs but her hand joins.
“That’s so weird,” Shoko says, “don’t tell me you buzzed it as a coping mechanism.”
“Coping mechanism for what?” Satoru scoffs.
Shoko’s eyebrows rise. “Suguru being a murderer and fucking off without you.”
Satoru blinks. “That. Was a while ago.”
And besides, Satoru coped by not thinking about it too hard, and blowing up curses.
“Oh right, your solution is adopting two little kids,” Shoko says.
Utahime looks towards the porch then. “Speaking of, could I meet them?”
“Yeah,” Satoru says, “I don’t have any problem with that.”
“You didn’t want me to know about them to begin with.” There’s quiet accusation in Utahime’s voice.
“That’s cuz I didn’t want them to be influenced by uptight and boring, they’re at that impressionable age.”
Utahime kicks him, yells at him to respect her, mutters about how obnoxious he is, but follows him towards the porch where his kids stand watching owl eyed. Megumi hides behind Satoru as soon as he’s able, putting his forehead against the back of Satoru’s leg. He tends to think that if he can’t see the people encroaching on his personal space, then they can’t see him either. Satoru doesn’t have the heart to tell him that closing your eyes does not equal a people eraser.
“Utahime this is Tsumiki, Tsumiki this is my senpai, Utahime Iori,” Satoru says, motioning between the two of them.
Tsumiki smiles at Utahime, she bows and when she straightens out she says, “I really like your hair.”
Satoru isn’t sure he’s ever seen Utahime go so soft for someone so fast, not even Shoko.
“Thank you, I like your hair too. Did you do it?”
Tsumiki reaches up to touch the careful buns Satoru had twisted her hair into to spare another hair disaster by spark.
“No, Satoru did.”
Utahime casts a dubious glance at Satoru, he shrugs.
“I’m good at everything.”
He introduces Megumi next which is pretty one sided, he refuses to come out from behind Satoru’s leg, clutches harder when Utahime leans down to try and get a better look at him. Satoru ends up picking him up when they finally migrate inside where food has been set out and a few decorations have been set around the room. Megumi curls his arms around Satoru’s neck, tucks his face in and refuses to engage when the process of introductions happens again with Kento.
They spend the night eating and laughing. Satoru regals them with tales of his missions, only slightly embellished, and shares the chocolate from Sweden with the group. Utahime and Tsumiki talk a lot and Megumi falls asleep still in Satoru’s arms. He finally takes them both to bed when Tsumiki slumps against the table, cheek against the surface and eyelids drooping. Satoru heaves her up in his free arm, and walks out of the kitchen. He pretends he doesn’t hear the whispers that immediately start up in his absence.
In the bedroom, Satoru helps Tsumiki take her hair out, leaves the clips on the bedside table, runs a hand over both soft heads and leaves them to sleep.
Shoko is pulling out beer when Satoru comes back. Satoru wrinkles his nose at the cans and settles onto the floor across from Kento. The other boy is slowly becoming a stranger, Satoru hasn’t seen him in a long time. The last few memories he has of Kento is an unbridled rage in his eyes, a stinging hit across Satoru’s face that he deserved, and then nothing. An empty dorm building and Satoru alone. He watches Satoru now, beer to his lips, and nothing really in his eyes.
“So,” Shoko starts, “are you going to tell us what happened to your hair?”
Satoru huffs. “Nothing serious. Tsumiki got gum in it and I couldn’t get it out.”
“And your solution was to buzz your head?” Kento asks, one of the first times he’s directly addressed Satoru that night.
“Uh, what else was I supposed to do?”
“Call for help? I’m sure there was a way to get it out without such extreme measures,” Kento says.
“...call who?”
His friends pass a glance around that Satoru has never been privy to.
“Us, Satoru,” Shoko says.
“It happened on Christmas,”Satoru says. “You were all in Kyoto.”
Another glance around. Satoru shifts awkwardly. He didn’t want this to turn weird.
“It’s fine. I handled it,” Satoru assures. He stuffs a cookie into his mouth and seriously considers getting drunk.
“I mean sure,” Shoko says, “but then you wouldn’t come to a party we invited you to because you thought your hair looked so bad. And I haven’t seen you in days, missions not withstanding. You’ve obviously been avoiding us.”
“Well I look bad. I wanted to keep at least a piece of my pride intact.”
They stare at Satoru, who smiles awkwardly at them, picking at another sweet he liberated from the slowly emptying plate in front of him.
“You’ve been handling all of this alone?” Kento asks him.
“Yeup. Gotta.”
Utahime blows out a breath. “We’re sorry for not inviting you to Christmas, Satoru.”
“It’s okay,” Satoru says, his voice going a little weak. “I wasn’t actually mad or anything.”
“It wasn’t kind of us,” Shoko says.
Satoru grins. “It’s not like any of us are pillars of goodness. I don’t care, it’s okay. And hey, this is great!”
They sit in stilted silence after that. Satoru’s stomach is starting to hurt a little bit from the sweets that only he’s eating. The others drink until Kento is hazy eyed and Shoko is slumping against the floor.
“You’re kids are good,” Utahime says after swallowing a few times and struggling to look Satoru head on. “T-they, you’re good at that.”
“Thanks,” Satoru says. “I hope so.”
Satoru is the only one awake by the time midnight rolls in. Satoru pops a party popper over the slumped bodies of his sleeping friends, prays an informal wish for the new year, asks for patience and kindness, and strength. The fireworks keep going off casting the dark room into long shadows cut with red light. Satoru’s phone goes off with a notification for a mission back across the globe. He reads it, sighs, leaves it for now and goes to find blankets for his friends.