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Suguru was standing by the dining table, looking truly weary and tired. He had just come home from an exhausting 14-hour film shoot, still wearing his work makeup, and he was currently staring at his angry son .
The expensive Italian marble floor felt freezing under Megumi’s bare feet. He was standing in the center of the living room, clutching a crumpled slip like a weapon.
"The answer is no, Megumi. An unsupervised trip to a forest two prefectures away? With five other teenagers and zero check-ins? It’s not safe."
"It’s just camping, Papa!" Megumi shouted, his face twisting in frustration. "Everyone else is going! You’re just being a control freak."
"It’s not happening, Megumi," Suguru said, his voice a low hum. Gosh, he was exhausted. "I’ve seen the weather reports for that region, and the guides for this trip are university students with zero emergency training. I won't gamble with your life.”
"It’s not a gamble. It’s called having a life!" Megumi’s voice cracked with the raw frustration of a teenage boy, finally boiling over.
"You think because you can control thousands of fans that you have to control me too? I’m not your puppet!"
Oh no, where was this argument going?
Tsumiki stepped into Megumi’s view, her brow furrowed. "Megumi, stop it. Papa is just worried. You know how dangerous—"
"Shut up, Tsumiki!" Megumi snapped, his eyes darting to her. "You’re just perfect, aren't you? The perfect daughter who never pushes back! But I’m sick of it. I’m sick of living in a museum where the parents are just cardboard cutouts we see on TV more than in person."
Tsumiki’s face paled instantly, her hands , which had been reaching out to Megumi , froze mid-air. But Megumi was too deep in his anger to see the reactions around him.
Tsumiki, sighing softly and tried again. "Gumi, remember what happened last time you went to the mall alone? You almost got kidnapped by a stalker."
"That was years ago, " Megumi rounded on her. "And maybe I wouldn't have been so unprotected if Dad wasn't in New York every other week for meetings and Papa wasn't locked in a film studio for months." He spat the words out and turned back to Suguru.
“You both aren't protective, you're just trying to make up for the fact that you're never here!"
The words hit like a physical blow to Suguru. He stared at his boy with wide eyes. Even Nanako and Mimiko, who were sitting next to Satoru, flinched.
“Why would you say that? Papa literally flew back on time just to see your middle school graduation," Nanako said, standing up. This was the first time she had seen her brother act like this.
"Oh, wow. One day. Amazing."
He looked up at Nanako, his eyes cold as stone. Pointing a shaking finger at the two men before him, he rasped, "Papa. Dad." He dragged the titles out, letting them hang in the air until they soured. He turned the words into something sharp and ugly, something like an insult.
“You two have absolutely no idea what our lives are actually like,” he spat, the words jagged. “But why would you? You’re too busy being The Power Couple of Japan to notice anything.”
A harsh, dry sob tore out of his throat, but he choked it back instantly, his jaw locking so tight it looked painful.
“You don’t trust me? Fine. I can live with that,” he said, his voice dropping into a low tremor. “But don’t stand there and pretend it’s because you care. Just be honest for once, you just don't want the bad PR if I actually go missing.”
Suguru’s eyes flickered with raw hurt that he failed to hide in time. "That is enough, Megumi. You know we have to work. That does not give you the right to question our love for you.”
"What love?!" Megumi yelled, the sound tearing from his lungs, raw and ugly. His voice cracked.
"You love your career! You love your image! YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ME, SUGURU!"
Suguru flinched as if he’d been physically slapped. The air leaving his lungs in a sharp, pained hiss, but Megumi was far from finished. He stepped forward, his chest heaving, his face contorted into something unrecognizable.
"YOU’RE A COWARD WHO HIDES BEHIND HIS FAME BECAUSE YOU’RE TOO AFRAID TO BE A REAL FATHER—"
He never finished that sentence.
SLAM.
The dining table groaned under the force. Satoru, who had been sitting in silence peeling a pear, had his palm flat against the wood. The small paring knife skidded across the table and clattered onto the marble floor, the ringing metal echoing in the sudden vacuum of the room.
"You do not talk to my husband like that."
The authority in Satoru’s voice was absolute. It wasn’t a shout, but the vibrating growl of his voice settled in the marrow of Megumi’s bones, which was far more terrifying than any shout.
The room went deathly silent. Everyone held their breath.
Satoru rose from his chair and walked in between Suguru and Megumi, his imposing height cutting off Megumi's line of sight to Suguru. Satoru didn't have his glasses on, and his eyes were cold and lethal blue, burning with an intensity that made Megumi shudder.
"Dad—"
"Silence," Satoru commanded
He didn't yell, but the word carried the weight of a physical blow. He brought a single hand up to his lips.
"You think you're grown?" Satoru asked, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on Megumi’s arms stand up. He took a slow, measured step forward, forcing Megumi to either hold his ground or be consumed by Satoru’s looming height. "You think you’re tough because you’ve learned how to raise your voice?"
Satoru tilted his head, his eyes narrowing into slits of glacial blue. There was no warmth there.
“You are a child, Megumi," Satoru stated, his words flat. "You are a child living under the protection of a man who has given up his peace to ensure you never have to know a day of true fear."
He leaned in closer, his presence for the first time becoming suffocating. His hand dropped from his lips to grip the back of a chair, his knuckles white against the dark wood.
"You think we’re busy?" Satoru’s voice was conversational, but it had an edge to it.
"We are. We’re exhausted. But let’s be very clear about where that energy goes. Every second I am in a board meeting, I am making sure your future is untouchable. And every second Suguru is on a set, he is thinking about coming home to you. You can hate our jobs. You can complain against the schedule. That is your right. But you will never question his heart."
Satoru’s eyes flashed with a sudden spark.
"You will honor him."
Megumi stiffened.
"You can be mad at me. You can scream at me until your throat bleeds.“ he continued.
”But you will never point that tone at Suguru. You will not disrespect the man who loves you the most." Satoru’s petrifying gaze pinned Megumi to the spot. ”Do I make myself clear, or do we need to have this conversation in a way you won't forget?"
Megumi was trembling, his hands balled into fists so tight his nails almost drew blood from his palms. He looked at Satoru’s unforgiving eyes, then shifted his gaze to Suguru, who looked smaller than Megumi had ever seen him. The hurt on Suguru’s face was raw, taking Megumi aback.
But Megumi didn't apologize. The pride and the hurt he had were too thick. Instead, he let out a harsh sob, spun on his heel, and sprinted down the hallway. The sound of his bedroom door slamming shut echoed through the penthouse like a gunshot.
The living room remained frozen. Suguru sat back on the sofa, his gaze fixed on the empty space where Megumi had been standing. His tea, which Tsumiki had made for him, was stone cold.
It was Tsumiki who moved first. She walked over to the sofa and knelt by Suguru’s legs, resting her head on his knee. "He didn't mean it, Papa," she whispered, her voice thick with her own tears. "He’s just hurting. We know how much you do for us."
Nanako and Mimiko scrambled forward like they were afraid Suguru might disappear if they didn't hold him down. They threw themselves into his arms, Mimiko burying her face in his chest while Nanako gripped his arm. "You're a real father!" Nanako cried, her voice fierce. "The best one! Megumi is just being a jerk"
Satoru was standing a few feet away, his chest heaving. "Miki, Nana, and Mimi," Satoru said, his voice strained. "Go to your rooms. Now."
"But Dad—" Mimiko started.
"Please," Satoru repeated
Tsumiki nodded at Satoru and squeezed Suguru’s hand one last time before ushering the twins down the hall. As their footsteps faded, Satoru finally let out a heavy sigh. He moved to the sofa and pulled Suguru into his arms, practically dragging him into his lap.
"Suguru," Satoru breathed, threading his fingers through Suguru’s soft, silky hair. "Look at me. Look at me, love."
Suguru let out a long, shaky exhale, his shoulders slumping against Satoru’s chest. "Was he right, Satoru? Am I just... like that to them? Have I been away too long?"
"No," Satoru said firmly, tightening his grip. "Never, Suguru. You are the only reason this family functions. He’s a teenager, Suguru. He is in the phase where he gets upset over everything.”
"Maybe if I explain the schedule better... maybe I should apologize for being away so much last month. I didn't realize he felt—"
Satoru’s hand clamped down firmly on Suguru’s shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. "No," Satoru said, his voice hard. "Don’t move, Suguru. And don't you dare apologize to him."
"Satoru, he’s just a child—"
"He’s fifteen," Satoru countered, turning Suguru to face him. "He’s old enough to know that words are weapons. You have nothing to apologize for."
Suguru looked down at his lap, his fingers trembling. "But he’s hurting." Tears fell onto his palm.
"He’s throwing a tantrum because he didn't get his way, and he chose to strike you where it hurts most to win an argument," Satoru said, his voice softening as he pulled Suguru into a tight embrace again.
"If you go in there and apologize now, you’re telling him that it’s okay to disrespect you as long as he’s sad. It’s not. He needs to realize exactly what he did. He needs to sit in that room and feel the weight of the silence he just created."
Satoru tucked Suguru’s head under his chin, holding him tightly. "You are the most selfless person I know, Suguru. You give, and you give until there’s nothing left, and I will not let our son take advantage of that kindness. He stays in that room until he realizes his mistake.”
Suguru sobbed into Satoru’s shoulder, and they stayed like that, holding each other in the quiet of the home.
Suguru had woken up early, his eyes still a bit puffy. He had prepared a full meal with extra effort to win Megumi over with fluffy tamagoyaki with diced ginger, soft tofu braised in ginger-soy sauce, and Megumi’s favorite miso soup with ginger in its dashi broth. Had he mentioned adding ginger? Because he definitely added ginger.
Everyone took their seat, blinking through the steam of the breakfast that cleared their sinuses instantly. Nobody pointed out that the table was technically filled with Megumi’s favorites.
And the atmosphere at the breakfast table was turning dense as every second passed waiting fro Megumi to arrive. Finally, Megumi walked into the kitchen, his face sculpted in cold indifference. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his jaw was set.
He didn't look at the table. He didn't look at Suguru.
He walked straight to the cupboard, grabbed a dry granola bar, and headed for the door.
"Gumi," Suguru said softly, his hand hovering over a plate of rice. "I made breakfast. At least sit for a moment before school?"
Megumi didn't look back and continued walking, ignoring Suguru. He shoved the granola bar into his bag and headed for the foyer to put on his shoes, pretending not to notice the group stare
Suguru’s shoulders slumped. He started to stand up, his face etched with worry. "Maybe I should—"
"No." Satoru’s voice was sharp. He reached across the table and caught Suguru’s wrist, pulling him back down into his seat. "Don't you dare go after him, Suguru. Sit down."
"Satoru, he’s going to school on an empty stomach," Suguru whispered, looking toward the door.
"He’s clearly miserable."
"He's making himself miserable," Satoru sighed, leaning back and crossing his arms. He looked at the door with a weary expression. "He’s trying to prove he doesn't need us. If you intervene now, you’re just feeding into the drama. Let him walk. Let him see how far he gets on pride and that granola bar.”
Megumi sat in his second-period class, and slowly, slowly, he was breaking.
First, he realized he had forgotten his gym kit. Usually, Suguru would have noticed it sitting by the door and would have sent someone to drop it off at school. Now, Megumi was facing detention.
Second, he felt a dull ache in his stomach. He’d choked down the granola bar earlier, but a single oat-based brick was no match for his growing hunger, and the heavy scent of the cafeteria was making his head swim. He thought of the warm miso soup—his favorite—that Suguru had made that morning; the fragrance of ginger had wafted through the air and reached even to his room.
Thirdly, and this was the part that made Megumi want to actually scream, he opened his bag to grab his wallet and realized it wasn't there. He had left it on the vanity while he was busy being angry at his family. Usually, he’d just text the family group chat that 'Forgot my wallet. SOS.' Within minutes, Satoru would have beamed a digital transfer over with twenty unnecessary emojis, or Suguru would have called the school to pre-pay his tab.
Megumi stared at his empty bag. He pulled out his phone and opened the chat, his thumb hovering over the screen, debating whether he should type or not. In the end, he clicked the phone shut and shoved it back into his bag, zipping it with a final, violent thwip.
Satoru and Suguru were sitting in the living room. Satoru was reading a business report, though his eyes kept flickering upward to Suguru, who had been staring at the same page of a script for over an hour, his thumb hovering over the corner of the paper as if he’d forgotten how to actually turn it.
Then, the front door clicked open.
Megumi dragged himself in, feeling like hell . His stomach was cramping from hunger, and to make it worse, a throbbing headache had started behind his eyes. He walked into the living room, expecting the lecture that he had escaped yesterday, but he was met with silence.
Suguru’s head snapped up with his eyes darting to Megumi as if he had been waiting for him the entire day. Satoru, however, didn’t even look up from his tablet. He leaned back and crossed his legs, radiating a coldness that felt like an iron wall. Normally, Satoru would have been the first to make a joke or a loud comment, but he treated Megumi like he was made of glass, as if he were completely transparent and not worth the acknowledgment.
Megumi felt a lump in his throat. He didn’t say a word. He couldn't. He didn't look at Suguru’s hopeful, aching face, and he definitely didn't look at the frozen statue next to Suguru. He just walked past them, his footsteps heavy on the marble, and locked himself in his room.
About an hour later, Megumi’s bedroom door creaked open, and Mimiko stepped in.Without asking for permission plopped onto the edge of his bed.
"I'm not in the mood, Mimiko," Megumi muttered, staring at the ceiling from where he was spread out on the bed.
"I didn't ask how you felt," she replied, tossing a plastic kit of nail polishes onto his duvet.
"Get up. My left hand is a mess, and I can't do the cuticles."
"Get out, Mimiko," Megumi groaned into his pillow. "Go find Nana"
"Nanako is busy watching Dad mope in the kitchen. It's depressing. I'm staying here."
She didn't wait for an invite and grabbed his TV remote off the nightstand before Megumi could take it and flicked it on. The volume was low, but Megumi recognized Utahime Iori’s latest single. He stiffened. He really liked Utahime’s music were tradition met pop culture; it was the only thing that actually calmed his brain down when it felt like it was spinning at a hundred miles an hour.
"I know you like this one," Mimiko muttered, sitting cross-legged at the foot of his bed. She then unscrewed the bottle of deep, forest-green polish and shoved it toward his hand.
" Now. Paint Or I'll turn it to that idol show Dad likes, where everyone screams."
Megumi sat up slowly, his movements heavy and tired. He took the cold glass bottle, grabbed her hand, and started to paint. He was very careful, his focus narrowing down to the tiny brush strokes.
"You're being a prick," Mimiko said after some time, her eyes on the TV where Utahime was hitting a high note.
"You don't get it," Megumi muttered, carefully swiping the brush. "They're gone for weeks, Mimiko. Then they come back and act like nothing’s wrong. It’s fake.”
"It's not fake," she countered, her voice flat. "Sure, Dad is a freak and Papa is a drama queen, but they literally built this whole world just so we wouldn't have to deal with the crap they did. You think they want to be on planes? Papa hates flying. He gets motion sickness every time, but he does it so he can pay for your stupidly expensive headphones and this room."
"I didn't ask for the headphones," Megumi snapped, though he winced as he accidentally got a smudge of green on her skin.
"Whatever." Mimiko blew on her nails. "Dad's ignoring you because he's pissed you made Papa cry. And you're staying in here because you're too proud to admit you miss them.”
Megumi’s hand froze mid-stroke, the tiny brush hovering over Mimiko’s middle finger.
"He cried?" Megumi asked. He finally looked up from her hand, his eyes searching Mimiko’s face for any sign that she was just messing with him.
"Yeah," Mimiko said, not looking back at him, her eyes fixed on the singer on the screen.
"In the kitchen. While he was cutting the veggies for dinner. He wasn't even hiding it that well. Nanako tried to go in and hug him, but Dad stopped her. He told her to let Papa have a minute."
Megumi felt a cold pit form in his stomach that had nothing to do with hunger. He had fought with Suguru before—they all had—but this time he knew he had gone overboard. He remembered the way Suguru’s shoulders had flinched when he raised his voice.
"Everyone has a limit, Megumi," Mimiko said, finally turning to him, her expression kind.
"You called him a coward. You called him a coward because he wouldn't let you sleep in a tent with some idiots from class?"
Megumi looked back down at the bottle of forest-green polish. The labels were blurry now. "I didn't mean it like that," he whispered.
"Doesn't matter how you meant it. It’s what you said," Mimiko replied. She pulled her hand away, the polish still wet and gleaming. "He thinks he’s failing. That’s why he’s in there. He’s not mad at you;,he’s actually sad because he thinks you hate him for making you feel like that."
She stood up, the light from the TV casting long shadows across the bed.
"Dad is the one you should be scared of right now, though. He’s ignoring you because he’s waiting to see if he actually raised a son, or just a spoiled kid who doesn't know how to say I messed up.”
She checked her nails. “You’re just like Dad, honestly. Stubborn and dramatic."
"I am nothing like him."
"Keep telling yourself that while you're hiding in the dark." She grabbed the remote, flicked the TV off, and headed for the door. "Nails look good, by the way. Better than Nanako does them."
The door clicked shut.
Megumi sat in the total darkness of his room. It felt like he was sitting in a vacuum. He looked at the door, then at the wall, the silence was unbearable.
He was still clutching the small bottle of forest-green polish toying with it ad the words he yelled looped in his brain, shattering the wall of anger he’d spent the last twenty-four hours building.
He looked down at his own hands. They were shaking.
He hadn’t meant to say any of those things yesterday.
The thing was, it hadn't even been about the camping trip. Not really. It was about the three weeks of waiting. Last month, they’d worked on that school project together. Suguru had helped him organize every detail, and because of it, Megumi had poured everything into the work. Every time he’d glued a piece or written a line, he’d thought of Suguru. Papa will like this. Papa will know what this part means.
And when he’d won, when he’d actually held that trophy and the paper with the gold seal,he’d been vibrating with excitement. He’d had his speech ready. He wanted to see the specific way Suguru’s eyes crinkled when he was proud. He just wanted to hear that one person say he had done a good job and actually mean it.
But he was only met with Tsumiki, who told him Suguru had to fly overseas for an immediate re-shoot.
Megumi had tried to be understanding. He’d nodded. He’d listened to his sister's congratulations while the excitement in his chest just… evaporated.
Suguru had video-called later that day, but he didn’t ask about the prize, so Megumi didn’t bring it up.
"Two days," Satoru had promised, ruffling his hair and looking him in the eye. "Two days and he’s home."
So he waited. He’d kept the trophy on the nightstand so it was the first thing Suguru would see. He’d spent those forty-eight hours imagining the reaction , how Suguru would smile, how he’d pull him into a hug and tell him how proud he was.
But then the two days turned into a week, and then two, and then three. The calls kept coming, though, and Suguru talked about everything except the one thing Megumi was holding his breath for. By the time Suguru actually walked through the front door three weeks later, the trophy had turned into a piece of plastic gathering dust on his shelf.
And then Suguru had the nerve to say no. To a camping trip. To the one thing Megumi wanted now. It was the final straw. All that months-old sadness, all that quiet, lonely pride , it just turned into something sharp and ugly. It blotted out the sun.
Megumi regretted it. Hated it.
Coward. He called him a coward. A hot, stinging sensation pricked at the back of his eyes. He tried to swallow it down, tried to pull his knees to his chest, but it was over. The dam broke.
The first sob was silent, like a hitch in his chest that made his shoulders jump. Then came the tears, thick, hot, and fast. They blurred his vision until the room was just a smear of darkness. He leaned forward, burying his face in his hands, and finally let it out. He sobbed into his palms, his breath coming in ragged, shaky gasps.
He was so hungry, his head was spinning, and he felt so incredibly small. The penthouse felt too big. The distance between his bedroom and his family felt like a thousand miles of frozen ocean.
He stayed like that, huddled on the floor by his bed, his tears dripping onto the rug. Every time he tried to stop, he remembered Suguru in the living room, how he looked at him with such raw hurt, and the guilt would hit him all over again, fresh and sharp.
He didn't want the camping trip. He didn't want to be right. He just wanted to go back to forty-eight hours ago, before he’d decided that being cool in front of his friends was more important than the man who had spent fifteen years being his entire world.
He needed to find them. He needed to fix it. He stood on shaking legs and opened the heavy bedroom door. From the landing, he heard the faint, warm sound of a chair scraping against the floor and the low hum of conversation. He quickly wiped his face with the back of his hand, his skin raw and stinging, and forced his feet to move down the stairs.
The dining room was a pool of warm, golden light. Everyone was there. Satoru was leaning back in his chair, laughing and shaking his shoulders as he spoke. Nanako and Mimiko were giggling with their heads bent together over their plates, while Tsumiki sat beside them with a gentle smile on her face. And Suguru was sitting across from them, his expression relaxed and full of light.
Megumi felt a surge of hope. Maybe the fight hadn't been as bad as he thought. Maybe he could just sit down, and the coldness would melt away.
“Papa?” Megumi’s voice was small, cracked, and trembling.
The laughter stopped. Suguru didn't look up from his plate. He didn't smile. The light in his eyes vanished, replaced by a flat, terrifying neutrality. He set his chopsticks down with a precise clack.
“I’m sorry,” Megumi choked out, a fresh sob catching in his throat. “I didn't mean it. I was just-I was being stupid, I-”
“Megumi,” Suguru interrupted. His voice wasn't loud or angry; it felt hollow. He finally looked up, but he looked at Megumi as if he were a stranger who had walked into the wrong house. “And don’t call me that.”
Megumi felt the air leave his lungs. “What”
“Don't call me Papa,” Suguru repeated, the words steady and sharp. “If I’m just a coward who hides behind his fame, then I haven't earned that title. You made it very clear where I stand in your life.”
“Papa, please—”
“Go back upstairs,” Suguru said.
Megumi looked to Satoru with hope, but Satoru didn't even turn his head. He was staring at his glass with his jaw set . Even Nanako and Mimiko didn’t meet his eyes, their expressions turning stony and distant.
He reached out to touch Suguru’s shoulder, to beg, to scream, but as his hand brushed the fabric of Suguru’s shirt, Suguru disappeared into thin air. The warmth of the room evaporated, leaving nothing but shadows.
Megumi gasped, his eyes flying open.
For a disorienting second, he felt as though he were still at that warm dinner table, but the light was gone, and he was in his room. He reached up, his fingers trembling as they brushed his cheeks. They were soaked. Tears had stained his face into a tight, salt-crusted mask, and the fabric of his sleeve was damp where he’d been wiping them away in his sleep.
It was a dream, he repeated to himself like a mantra. It was just a dream.
Dragging himself up, he squinted at the digital clock on his bedside table. 12:14 AM.
He had fallen asleep. It had been a dream, but the house felt dead. His heart hammered against his ribs.
The dream was a nightmare, but what if the reality was worse? In the dream, Suguru had at least looked at him. In reality, he didn’t know if Suguru would ever look at him the same way again.
What if the old rule was right? That some things, once broken, couldn't be glued back together.
Megumi slid off the bed, his bare feet hitting the cold floor. He bypassed the kitchen; the smell of the leftover dinner made his stomach twist with guilt,a nd moved toward the master bedroom at the end of the long hallway. He pushed the heavy oak door open, just a crack. It didn't make a sound.
The room was bathed in the silvery light of the moon coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He could see the large bed. Satoru was sleeping, fully blanketed, but the other side of the bed was shifted.
Suguru wasn't lying down. He was sitting up against the headboard, staring out at the window, his long hair loose and spilling over his shoulders like ink. Megumi took one step in, intending just to look and leave, but the floorboard creaked.
"Gumi?"
The voice was quiet, but it sliced through the dark. Megumi froze, his heart beating wildly. He turned to flee, his hand already on the door handle, his mind screaming at him to run back to the dark and hide.
"gumi, don't go."
Megumi turned to look at him. Suguru's eyes were dark, shadowed with exhaustion, but there was no anger in them. Only aching kindness,unlike the Suguru he had seen in his dreams. Megumi stopped. He stood in the doorway, caught in the sliver of light from the hall.
"I..." Megumi’s voice cracked. "I thought you were asleep."
"I couldn't sleep," Suguru said softly. He patted the edge of the mattress in a tentative gesture.
"Come here."
Megumi hesitated, glancing at the sleeping form of Satoru next to him, but the pull of Suguru was too strong. He walked over and stood there in the shadows, his arms wrapped around himself and his head bowed so low that his dark hair hid his face.
Suguru watched him, his hand still resting on the spot he had patted on the mattress. When Megumi didn't move any closer, Suguru’s hand slowly retracted, his fingers curling into the bedsheets. In the pale moonlight, Suguru’s expression faltered. He misunderstood the distance; he thought Megumi hated him.
The silence stretched. It was cold and suffocating. Suguru looked away, back toward the window, his jaw tightening as he tried to keep his own composure. He felt like he had lost his son, and the physical space Megumi was maintaining felt like a growing canyon.
"If you're looking for dinner," Suguru said, his voice barely a whisper and laced with a fresh wave of hurt, "I left a plate for you. You don't have to stay here if you don't want to."
Megumi’s head snapped up slightly, trying to meet Suguru's eyes. The rejection in Suguru's voice, the way he sounded like he was giving up, hit him.
A sharp sob suddenly ripped out of Megumi’s throat. His shoulders shook violently, and he let out a gasping, wet wail that he couldn't hold back anymore.
"I'm–I'm not– “ Megumi choked out through the tears, his voice thick and distorted. "I'm sorry! Papa, I'm so sorry!"
He clutched the hem of his shirt so hard the fabric groaned.
"I didn't mean it," Megumi rambled, the words pouring out in a rush.
"I was just—I was mad you didnt come home, and I wanted to hurt you because I was selfish. You’re not a coward. You’re the strongest person I know. I’m the coward for saying it. I’m sorry, Papa. Please, I’m so sorry, I’ll stay home, I don't care about the camp, I just–"
He couldn't finish. Another sob choked him, his breath hitching as he struggled to get oxygen. He looked so small in the middle of the vast room.
Suguru swung his legs over the side of the bed. He moved across the floor with urgency, and closed the gap in two long strides.
He didn't wait for Megumi to finish his rambling and reached out and pulled the boy into a crushing embrace.
"Shhh," Suguru murmured, his voice thick with his own unshed tears as he buried his face in Megumi's messy hair. "Stop. Breathe, gumi. Just breathe. I’ve got you."
Megumi froze for a half-second, then his hands flew up, grabbing the back of Suguru’s silk pajama top, bunching the fabric in his fists as he buried his face in Suguru’s chest. He cried harder.
"I’m so sorry," Megumi whimpered into his chest, his voice muffled. "I thought you hated me."
"I could never hate you," Suguru whispered, rocking him gently back and forth."You’re my son. I was hurt, yes. But I could never, ever hate you."
Megumi slowly lifted his gaze. His eyes were bloodshot and heavy, filled with a raw vulnerability that made him look years younger than fifteen.
"I’m sorry, too," Suguru said, his own voice wavering
Megumi blinked, a fresh tear spilling over his lashes. "Why? You didn't do anything wrong. I’m the one who said those things."
"I did," Suguru replied, a sad smile touched his lips. "I’m sorry for the times I wasn’t here when you needed me. I forget that you’re growing up, and that you need to find your own feet. I was scared of losing you to the world that I didn't see, I was pushing you away."
He leaned down, pressing his forehead against Megumi’s. "You weren't wrong to feel lonely, gumi. Or to be frustrated. You were only wrong in how you chose to say it. But I should have listened to the hurt behind the shouting instead of just getting hurt myself. I'm sorry for making you feel like you had to scream just to be heard."
Megumi let out a long, shuddering breath as he slumped against Suguru, resting his forehead against his Papa’s shoulder.
They stayed like that for a while until Megumi whispered, "I got the prize,"
His voice was muffled by Suguru's shirt, his fingers bunching into the fabric as if he were afraid Suguru might disappear again, like in the dream. "I got the first prize for the project."
"First prize," Suguru repeated, the words coming out in a stunned rush.
"Against the entire district? “ Megumi nodded. “My God, Megumi! Why didn't you—" He stopped himself, a small, sheepish laugh breaking through a sharp exhale. "I suppose I didn't exactly give you the chance to tell me, did I?"
Megumi only sniffed, his chest still hitching as he tried to find his voice. "You remember... how you helped me organize the data?"
Suguru nodded quickly, his eyes searching Megumi's. "The judges said the research was exceptional for my age group."
"Exceptional," Suguru echoed. Suddenly, a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth with the look of a man who knew his son was better than everyone else's and wasn't afraid to enjoy it.
"Of course it was. You’ve always had a sharper mind than most adults I know."
"One of them–the head of the panel–asked who taught me to look at the world like that."
Megumi finally looked up, meeting Suguru’s eyes. "I told her my Papa did."
Suguru pulled Megumi back into a firm and grounding embrace,again with his hand resting securely on the back of Megumi's head.
"You are extraordinary," Suguru whispered, his voice trembling. "Do you hear me? You did it on your own baby I only oversaw it ... I am so incredibly proud of you. I'm the luckiest man alive to be your father."
He pulled away just enough to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Megumi’s ear, his hands shaking slightly. His eyes were bright as he asked with eagerness, "Will you show me? The prize?"
But Megumi hesitated, his fingers still curled tightly into Suguru's sleeve. "Can we... why don't we see it tomorrow?" Megumi asked softly, looking up with wide, exhausted eyes. The trophy wasn’t important anymore; it was his Father who was more important.
"Can I sleep here with you both? Just for tonight?"
Suguru’s expression softened instantly, his heart breaking all over again at how Megumi sounded. He didn't hesitate, reaching out to pull Megumi toward the large bed.
"Of course," Suguru whispered, kissing the top of Megumi's head. "You don't even have to ask. Let's go. Satoru is probably already hogging the pillows, but I’ll make room for you, Gumi."
On the far side of the bed, buried under the heavy duvet, a soft, genuine smile spread across Satoru’s face.
Megumi shifted and snuggled deeper into the space between them until there was no room left for the cold. He reached back, his arm hooking around Satoru’s waist in a firm backhug, while Suguru draped a heavy arm over him, pulling him close against his chest.
Locked between them, the world felt small and safe again.
And the old rule was definitely wrong. Because as long as they were both still holding the pieces, they weren't broken at all.
They were just waiting to be put back home.