Chapter Text
i. pokémon
He has a reputation to uphold, one that entails being the strongest and emanating coolness with his very presence. He reminds himself of this, and that no matter what he does, that title will stick. Even as he struggles to open the plastic packaging of the Pokémon cards.
“Fuck,” he spits, tearing at the top of it with his teeth. A loud rip sounds as the brand new set of cards scatter onto the floor.
He stoops over, sliding them into a pile before picking them up to survey.
This is Satoru’s fourth attempt at finding some sort of common ground with Megumi. While they’ve had a few moments that seemed to lay the foundation of the bridges for their gap, they still have a long way to go. They’re nearing the end of their third month together and yet he can only count the number of smiles he’s yanked out of the kid on one hand. Laughs are still an unknown function.
The first few tries had him earnestly wishing that Megumi would at least humor him with an awkward grin. Quickly, Satoru learned that if he wanted to generate any sort of relationship with this kid, the effort would be entirely on his part. He isn’t exactly known for being patient either, so Satoru’s long past the point of hoping for physical expressions of happiness and, at this point, will take anything.
Fortunately for him, he happens to be spectacular at pissing the five-year-old off.
And he just knows that showing any hint of interest in the same thing that Megumi does will anger the kid. It’ll feel like Satoru is infringing on his independence, turning it into some weird superiority competition to be better, better at what, he’s not sure, but it doesn’t matter. Because at least it’ll give him something.
He scans the cards in his hand. His actual knowledge of Pokémon isn’t large whatsoever, so judging solely on the pictures, his loot ain’t so great. When considering ‘bigger is better,’ his Caterpie seems to fall extremely short. And when observing the moves labelled underneath, there is an extremely minimal amount of text, and the point values next to them that indicate damage aren’t very high.
Overall, it’s shit. His whole fucking hand is shit. But there is absolutely no way that he’s going to drag himself back into the game store, and surround himself with losers just to gain the upper hand on a child.
Conveniently, the front door pushes open at that moment.
Satoru quickly crumples the plastic packaging in a fist and shoves it into his pocket, using the other hand to shift the cards in front of his face, as if he’s reading a book.
“Learn anything?” He calls out, listening to the scuffing sounds of Megumi slipping his shoes off and the plopping of his backpack.
He gets a huff in response.
That’s fine, he can wait. He keeps his hip propped against the kitchen counter, humming under his breath. The footsteps pause.
Got’cha.
His smirk quickly grows, smugness settling into his face as Megumi still has yet to move.
“Pok’mon?” Megumi calls out quietly, confusedly.
“Mhm,” he responds, taking care to keep his attention on Butterfree, “you know anything about them?” Satoru asks, fully aware of the stuffed tin Megumi keeps in his backpack.
He lifts his gaze, meeting Megumi’s own narrowed one.
Megumi nods once.
“I’m not going to lie,” Satoru sighs exaggeratedly, “but I’ve been getting bored of my cards, and I wouldn’t mind trading a few of these gems,” he lets his tone sharpen, “d’you got anythi—“
He stops himself, lets the conversation stew in a dramatic silence for a few seconds, before raising the hand from his pocket to give a casual wave.
“Nevermind, nothing you have would be of any interest to me.” Satoru says sadly, letting the little kid play directly into his palm.
A growl sounds out from across the room, he didn’t know he was housing a little animal, and the loud sound of a zipper being aggressively moved carries through the apartment.
Satoru watches as Megumi uses both of his hands to carry the small metal box over to the living room, placing it decisively onto the table and then crossing his arms. He glares at the seat across from him.
Satoru folds his cards into a single stack with a whooshing noise, then strolls over to sit across from Megumi. Once seated he adjusts himself, placing one elbow comfortably on the wood surface and letting his pile of cards sit facedown next to it.
Megumi carefully lifts the cover of his tin, pulling out a few of the top cards, which are labelled by a striking ‘EX’ symbol, to lay flat in front of him. He stares pointedly at Satoru’s facedown stack, still unable to use his words.
Satoru slowly lets his fingers brush over the side before swiftly turning them over and spreading them out. Megumi scoffs.
“S’jus trash.” The pretentious fucker sitting across from him says. Satoru’s sorry he doesn’t spend his time being a fucking nerd.
“M’kay,” he responds easily, keeping his grin plastered on. It doesn’t matter how trash Satoru’s cards are, when Satoru’s the one that bothers Megumi.
He slowly gathers his cards up with another loud sigh, Megumi watching carefully and clearly on edge.
Satoru flits his eyes over to the tin, and stops his movement to snatch up the card on top.
“What an ugly pair of wings for an elephant,” he remarks, scanning Giratina’s statistics.
“He’s not an elephant!” Megumi screeches immediately, ripping the card from his hand to cradle it by his chest.
“But the wings are unsightly,” Satoru reiterates, then lets his fingers play over his own cards for a moment. He swipes the top one off the table and pinches it between two fingers.
“I’ll do you a favor. I’ll take Keratin off your hands, and give you an adorable,” he pauses to check the card in his hand, “Bulbasaur in return.”
“Bulbasaur—Bulbasaur? For Giratina?” Megumi glares at him, hunching over as if Satoru would just steal the card right out of his mittens.
“What, my Bulbasaur’s not good enough for you?” Satoru argues, waving the card in front of Megumi’s face.
“No.” Megumi says pompously, lifting his small head up to glare at Satoru down his nose.
“Fine,” Satoru responds, gritting his teeth and trying to reign in his annoyance. He quickly reaches over to pull up the next card in the tin. “How about this one?” He inwardly groans at the horrendously low number of HP.
“No!” Megumi shoots out of his seat to crawl over the table.
Satoru rises out of his seat. So Megumi likes this one. He skims over the, frankly, unimpressive picture before reading the even less desirable attack.
“Yawn, really? Togepi is going to yawn me to death? At least Bulbasaur has razor leaf.” He complains, holding the card high over his head.
Megumi jumps onto his feet, making the table tremble, as he tries to snatch back his card.
“Give it back!”
“An egg too?” Satoru sighs as he bats away small hands, “of course, the ugly chicken is the one you like.”
“I don’t like him!” Megumi lies, sending a weak punch towards Satoru’s neck.
Satoru snorts but relents, giving the card back to nimble fingers before one of the table legs snaps.
“Don’t lie unless you can do it well Megumi,” he presses a finger to Megumi’s nose, then retracts as soon as teeth chomp after him, “useless duckling—Togepi—is your favorite.”
“Shut. Up.” Megumi snarls in his face, hopping off the table and shoving the rest of his cards away.
ii. anniversary
“Stop it!” Megumi screeches again, falling into the shopping cart in an effort to pull the bulk-sized pocky package out for the third time.
“Last time I checked,” Satoru starts, smug smile amplified by his condescending tone, “I’m the adult here—the one with the paycheck. I’ll buy whatever I please.”
Megumi grumbles as he attempts to right himself, settling his feet on the metal as he picks the large box up and sets it back on the shelf.
“Fruits and vegetables go first.” He directs a nasty look towards Satoru, crossing his arms in a ways to look intimidating.
It doesn’t work, especially after Satoru jams his foot into one of the cart’s legs, sending it into one of the cardboard displays and making Megumi’s arms pinwheel backwards.
The boy huffs angrily before climbing out carefully, crouching as he hops down the final few inches.
“Come on, today’s special.” Satoru says cheerily, using one hand to reign the shopping cart back in and the other to dump twice as many boxes into the basket. “We’ve made it three months together!”
Megumi doesn’t answer, instead remaining silent and letting his sneakers scuff the floor as he trudges over to Satoru before patting the left side of Satoru’s pants.
“What are you—“
The kid switches to the right, then, to Satoru’s confusion, pulls out his wallet. Megumi cradles the bifold in his smaller hands, then tugs out a few bills before snapping it shut and tucking it back away in the pocket.
“Checkout. Ten minutes. Get vegetables.”
Satoru watches as Megumi trots down the aisle and steps left, now completely out of sight.
He shrugs once to himself, before shoving a couple boxes of strawberry flavored pocky into the shopping cart. Whistling as he looks out for other goods, Satoru remains otherwise unbothered, electing to keep one ear listening just in case there’s an unaccompanied child report over the loudspeaker.
***
Megumi’s already waiting past the checkout line, products seemingly purchased based on the plastic bag swinging around his feet.
Satoru swiftly places his items on the conveyor belt and pulls out his card in advance. Eyeing Megumi from the corner of his vision, he can’t quite discern what’s in the bag, as the creases cause uneven shadows.
He nods his thank you to the cashier and grips his own items in his palms, then makes his way over to where Megumi is walking out of the sliding doors.
“Hey,” Satoru says once he catches up, “what did you ge—“
Megumi quickly pulls away, shifting his bag to the opposite hand as he scowls up at Satoru.
“Stingy little urchin,” he bites, thinking with my money too, but doesn’t ask again.
***
He places the last of the fruits in the refrigerator before standing tall, stretching his arms up and letting his joints pop.
“Need to use the bathroom? I’m going to take a shower.” Satoru calls across the space, walking forward once Megumi reports negative.
Before he closes the door he catches the kid running across the kitchen, his plastic bag, items still unknown, jostling in his grip.
“Up to something?”
Megumi spins in surprise then snaps, “take your shower already, you stink!”
Satoru pouts, but shuts the door.
***
He’s running his hands through his hair, massaging shampoo into his scalp and singing the theme song of a cartoon so loud he doesn’t even register the clanging noises coming from outside.
***
After dressing and hanging his towel on the hook, Satoru flips the switch to turn the vent on before exiting into the kitchen for some grub.
Or attempting to, as the doorknob won’t turn.
“Megumi!” He hollers, with much more volume than necessary.
Shuffling and crashing noises come from the other side of the door, then the scraping noise of an object scratching the wooden floor.
“Hey!” Satoru sets his ear next to the door as he tries the doorknob again. “Megumi,” he says again, growing exasperated, “what the hell? Let me out.”
A squeaky voice responds.
“Stay in there!”
Satoru pounds his fist on the door heavily, shaking the door and causing the hinges to loosen.
“The fuck are you up to?” He bangs his foot against it too. Just once, as he’s the one who has to pay to fix it.
“Eight more minutes,” Megumi’s voice is close, on the other side, “s’all, I swear.”
Satoru makes sure his groan is noisier than necessary, before slumping down on the fluffy bathmat.
He acquiesces, “eight.”
***
Eight minutes later, Satoru tries to bust the door down.
Quickly, Megumi gets there and pulls away the chair he had underneath the knob, sending the door flying open.
“Alright,” Satoru sends him a toothy grin, bending over and not-so-kindly gripping the kid’s shirt, “what the shit was that?”
Megumi swallows and looks to the side.
Satoru gives him a good shake before repeating his question. A moment of silence passes between them and Satoru tsks, releasing him and moving to grab something from the freezer.
Pause.
The kitchen is a mess—large mixing bowl turned over on the counter, an assortment of utensils scattered around the space, empty cardboard boxes littering the floor, and a half stick of butter melting next to a carton of eggs, three of which are cracked and have yolk spilling onto the ground.
The table, however, is almost clear. A single cake, lopsided and covered in patchy chocolate frosting, is the only thing resting on it.
Satoru turns towards Megumi, puzzled with a silent question on his face.
The kid tips his head forward—yes, the cake is for him.
“You….you made a cake. Why did you—I’m happy you did, I’ll gladly eat it,” Satoru rushes to say, “—but…why?”
Megumi rubs his socked toe against the small crease in the floorboard. He huffs once afterwards, clenching his fists by his thighs and keeping his eyes locked on Satoru’s knees as he finally speaks up.
“For the ann-iver-see.”
Satoru’s expression morphs to higher confusion, “the what?”
He can see Megumi’s jaw tighten.
Speaking a little louder, he repeats, “the ann-iver-see.”
Satoru remains quiet as he tries to piece everything together. Before the answer clicks Megumi begins to stomp away, obviously upset with Satoru’s inability to understand him.
But then it all falls together, the taking his money, the keeping him away, the baking a cake, the ann-iver-see.
Satoru stills.
“You meant,” he gulps, throat dry, “ann-iver-sa-ry.”
Megumi stops in his position, a sudden slight dip in his spiky hair signaling an affirmative nod.
“You like me!” Satoru immediately exclaims, disaster of a kitchen forgotten as genuine happiness spills across his features.
His feet slap against the floor as he grabs Megumi from his place, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug.
“No, I don’t!” Megumi tries to counter, eyes wide as he pulls at loose threads in Satoru’s sweater.
“You do, you really do!”
Megumi makes a squawking noise as he tugs at the back of Satoru’s collar, making Satoru choke.
He reigns his arms back, both hands going to fix his sweater in hopes that it didn’t get stretched. Though his smile comes back easily.
“Come on,” he swiftly tucks Megumi against his side, securely carrying him despite the loud protests, “we’re going to eat the cake you made me!”
iii. late
For everything he has to do for Megumi, it feels incomparable to the responsibility he has to the rest of Japan.
The school told him that it would be “just a few curses,” something that he “could take care of in under an hour.”
The higher ups—are dirty fucking liars.
(But Satoru had known this already.)
A few was translated to sixty, and under an hour to five. It was a series of curses that had all been akin to a Russian doll, and all were very good at running. They led him around and nearly across prefectures, wearing out the soles of his shoes and leaving him with only enough brainpower to remember which pocket his subway card was, and the correct stop to get off at.
It’s only after he exits the station that he remembers—
Shit, Megumi.
He can’t rack up the energy to walk any faster, but his nerves begin to relax once he recalls the scribbled note he pasted on the fridge.
Got a call, should be back soon, but might not make it home for dinner. Figure it out -Satoru :)
Letting out a tired sigh of relief, he trudges through mud, because of course it rained, and cracks a few of his knuckles. Satoru attempts to read the lamp post clock, but is forced to rub his strained eyes first.
He groans at the hands as they inch away from the two o’clock mark.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters to himself, “better get my damn overtime.”
***
Satoru doesn’t bother trying to fix his mood when he jiggles the wet key into the door, ready to pass out on the couch and shower in the morning. Scrubbing his shoes on the mat, he toes them off before pocketing his key and sliding his coat off to rest on hook.
He doesn’t register that the kitchen light is still on, and is surprised when he finds Megumi still up, sitting at the table.
His immediate response to seeing the kid is to tease him, because that’s what Satoru does. But a second look has him freezing—
The bloodshot eyes, half lidded, no doubt from exhaustion, and the greasy hair tangled with knots from being run through one too many times. The flexing of hands, which once uncurled reveal bitten fingernails. The tension cutting across a small frame, and the unnatural breathing, as if each exhale is released on a countdown and the following inhale only comes after the set alarm has gone off.
It sends an icy fear down Satoru’s spine, because Megumi has been awake this entire time, seated at the kitchen table with a single plate of untouched rice across from him.
Finally, the realization dawns on him. Megumi stayed up for hours—waiting for Satoru to come home.
“You’re…here?” Megumi mumbles, swaying slightly, “I thought you left.”
He did leave, but not—something uncomfortable swirls in the pit of his stomach—not in the way Megumi thinks.
Not the way he thinks his dad did, a sudden disappearance, never to return again.
“No,” Satoru is quick to respond, “no, I didn’t.”
He nears the kid with careful footsteps, watching as Megumi rubs fatigue from his eyes.
“I’m so—”
Megumi’s eyes narrow as he grows more lucid, bringing a hand to roughly push the plate forward.
Satoru hesitates, “is this for me?”
Megumi waits a moment before nodding jerkily, then hopping off the chair to stand at the side.
Before he gets the chance to fuck it up worse, Satoru yanks his seat out and plops down at the table, dragging the food in front of him and spooning in a mouthful.
“It’s really good,” he says between bites, not processing the way it tastes.
Water dribbles off his sleeves and onto counter, making Satoru hyperconscious of his own ugly state.
Megumi stills, opens his mouth to say something, but closes it to look away, unreadable expression growing on his face.
Satoru abruptly stops eating, gently placing the fork along the edge of the place. He flicks his wrist once, removing any stray droplets, before shifting his body and reaching out to grasp Megumi’s shoulder.
“I’m sor—”
The boy flinches away, leaving Satoru’s hand hovering in the space between them.
His fingers curl, and Satoru slowly pulls his hand away, a cruel imitation of an event Megumi isn’t even aware of.
“You’re late.” Megumi states after a moment.
The pain is familiar, an echo of something he’s already experienced weeks ago, multiple months ago. It’s shocking, causing the little people who run around inside his head to hit the emergency button, the shrieking not again, not again, button.
Satoru hates that is has become familiar, that for all his strength he still couldn’t be there. More than that, he despises that it’s something that Megumi, on the opposite side, the worse side, is familiar with.
Despite all of this, the people in his brain must have gotten their shit under control, or rewired the system, because this time is different.
This isn’t that disgusting, aching, feeling cluttering his chest, wringing him dry of energy. It’s a few steps away, an offset, mirrored version. Still horrible, but there’s a difference.
This time he’s late, but not too late, and that counts—it makes something in his heart stop hurting so much.
“Don’t do it again,” Megumi hisses, slapping away Satoru’s concern as he heads to the bedroom.