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Gojo couldn’t figure the kid out.
Really, this shouldn’t have come as a surprise at all, considering his overwhelming lack of experience with children. But taking care of Tsumiki was truthfully an easy job; she was expressive, and affectionate, and sweet all the way down to her soul. The only problem was that her brother was absolutely nothing like her.
Megumi didn’t act like a child, plain and simple. He was all cold shoulders and grumbled words and averted eyes, encased in an outer shell of ice that refused to crack regardless of Gojo’s efforts. Too often, Gojo saw glimmers of the boy’s father in his attitude, which wasn’t exactly a comforting comparison. Though, really, that was no one’s fault but his own - he had chosen to take in Megumi, fully aware of who his father was and what this responsibility would mean.
Gojo tried his hardest, but a few weeks had passed and Megumi was as impenetrable as ever. He was a kid, wasn’t he? Why was he more independent than most of the adults Gojo knew?
“Stop staring at me,” Megumi grumbled, and Gojo blinked, tightening his grip on the can of soda in his hand. The condensation on the outside rolled over the rough skin of his knuckles, and he set it down on the table a moment later, swallowing.
He was wearing his glasses, for heaven’s sake. How did the kid even know what he was looking at? “Right. Sorry.” He winced, regretting the apology as soon as it escaped his mouth. He was supposed to be the adult here, not that he was doing a great job of it.
“Can we have ice cream after dinner?” Tsumiki asked, her eyes curved into small crescents as she smiled, the food on her plate nearly gone.
Gojo couldn’t help but smile as well. Plus, he could never say no to ice cream. “Of course we can! There’s plenty left in the freezer.” He took a bite of the chicken on his plate, speaking around the mouthful of food as he looked at Megumi once more. “But you can’t have ice cream if you don’t eat your dinner, Megumi.”
What he didn’t say was that he was actually quite worried, because Megumi wasn’t a big kid to begin with, and at every meal he left most of his food on his plate. His worn tshirt hung from his small frame, and the corners of his mouth pulled downwards. “Don’t care,” he mumbled. “Can I go now?”
Gojo chewed on the inside of his cheek, a strange twisting sensation in his chest. It felt wrong to eat ice cream with Tsumiki while Megumi sulked in his room alone, but the kid hadn’t eaten his dinner and clearly didn’t want to be out here at the dinner table anymore either. If Gojo gave him ice cream, he probably wouldn’t eat it anyway.
Still, he didn’t want to let Megumi go so easily, either. This arrangement was awkward for both of them, but Gojo had risked a lot in order to take care of these kids, and he didn’t want their relationship to be so sterile forever. Megumi was going to grow up with Gojo as his guardian no matter what, so they might as well try to care for one another.
“Why don’t you want to eat any more of your dinner?” Gojo asked instead of giving Megumi the response he wanted, which earned him a nice glare, more intimidating than a six year old should have been able to produce.
“Not hungry.” A clipped response, just like always. The kid rarely ever strung together more than a handful of words.
Releasing a long breath through his nose, Gojo pressed his lips together. “Fine, kid,” he eventually ceded, way too out of his depth to know what the right response was supposed to be. Gojo was still a kid himself, practically - he didn’t have the slightest idea how to be a parent.
He rose from his chair instead, leaving his can of soda abandoned by his empty plate as he walked to the other end of the table where Megumi sat, with Tsumiki on the right side between the two of them. The kid stared up at him through narrowed eyes, hands resting on the table thanks to the added height from the booster cushion on the seat underneath him. A booster seat - why was Gojo nervous around a kid who needed a fucking booster seat to reach the table?
Crouching down to Megumi’s level, Gojo sighed. “Since I’m so nice, I’ll still let you have some ice cream with us, even though you didn’t eat your dinner.” He shifted his hand to rest on the top of Megumi’s head, patting down the haphazard spikes of his hair. The gesture was subconscious, for the most part; Gojo was always initiating small moments of affection towards the two of them.
Tsumiki always looked back at him with a smile and leaned into the touch, just as Gojo would expect from a kid. Don’t they need love and attention, or something? But Megumi wasn’t a normal kid, as Gojo was continuing to realize.
Instead of accepting the touch, Megumi moved quickly off of his seat, his sock-clad feet dropping to the floor and stumbling back a step. With his fists clenched at his sides, his eyes burned straight through Gojo’s sunglasses, dark blue irises clouded like a thunderstorm. “I don’t want ice cream,” he said in a small voice, before darting off into the kitchen and down the hall to his bedroom.
For a moment, Gojo just stood there, his hand still outstretched over where Megumi’s head had been. As much as he hated to admit it, he was frustrated. Megumi had been through a lot no doubt, although Gojo had no idea to what extent since the kid never talked to him about anything, and opening up to an adult had to be hard for him. Gojo understood that, but it was so rare that he was truly bad at something that he didn’t know how to deal with it.
Running a hand through his hair, he turned on his heel to look towards Tsumiki, though he hated to turn his back on Megumi. He wanted to be there for both of them, but he only seemed to make things worse whenever he tried to reach out to his youngest charge. At least Tsumiki didn’t hate him - that was the best he could do, right now.
“He doesn’t like it,” Tsumiki said, hopping down from her chair and coming over to Gojo’s side.
He frowned, brows knitting together. “Ice cream?” he said dumbly, not understanding. How could anyone not like ice cream? Was Megumi even human?
“No, silly,” Tsumiki giggled, covering her mouth with a small hand. “Being touched. He doesn’t like it.”
Oh. Gojo’s features went slack, and he watched Tsumiki skip off into the kitchen, singing to herself in soft tones about ice cream.
So that was it? Gojo thought back to all of the times he had ruffled Megumi’s hair, or rested a hand on his shoulder, or grabbed his hand. The kid had never reciprocated any of it, always shrinking back or leaving the room, and suddenly Gojo had the overwhelming urge to slam his head down against the table.
Likely because of whatever the first six years of his life had been like, Megumi reacted poorly to physical contact, and it had taken a few words from Tsumiki for Gojo to realize it. How could he possess the six eyes and still be so blind? He could see it all clear as day now, and he clenched his teeth, bracing a hand over his face.
All this time, he had been breaching Megumi’s comfort zone, unknowingly hurting him. A wave of self disgust crashed over Gojo with such force that he was rendered breathless for a moment, and he wanted nothing more than to go find some curses and blow off steam until his body ached more than his chest did, but he couldn’t do that anymore.
A little girl was waiting for him by the freezer, and a little boy was alone in his room, and Gojo’s responsibility was here in this awkward new home. So he took a deep breath, plastering a smile over his lips and stepping into the kitchen. He would have restraint next time, and he would follow Megumi’s lead until the boy was more comfortable around him.
Maybe then the three of them would eventually sit down and have some ice cream together, and maybe everything wouldn’t feel so fragmented.
~
In the weeks that followed, Gojo did exactly that. He made sure not to touch Megumi, engaging him with words and expressions and nothing else. Admittedly, it was hard for him, because sometimes he just wanted to squish the kid’s cheeks and mess up his hair and wrap an arm around those thin shoulders, but Megumi’s comfort was more important.
However, still nothing changed. If anything, their relationship was straining further by the minute, and Gojo’s eyes were ringed with purple smudges from sleepless nights wondering if Megumi ever cried. He was six years old, and his sister was all he had ever managed to hold onto - of course he cried, which only made Gojo feel worse because the kid gave no signs of ever being upset. He never appeared to be happy, or sad, or anything in between. He was simply blank.
Gojo wanted the kid to break down, to scream and cry and throw things and punch and kick and wallow, because at least then he would have some kind of outlet. No one was made of stone, much less a six year old child; he had to be hurting, but he never let any of it show.
Instead of the affectionate touches, Gojo tried to gain Megumi’s trust in other ways. He brought gifts home, ranging from sweets to toys to games and anything else that he assumed most kids would like. He organized movie nights, making popcorn and covering the couch in blankets and pillows. He even ordered specialty dog treats for Megumi’s shikigami, the only two living things the kid seemed to like, aside from his sister.
But none of it made any difference. Megumi was still cold, and he grew colder by the day, frost accumulating across the windows and over the floor. He spent most of his time in his room, and when he came out he refused to meet Gojo’s eyes, shuffling his feet and pushing the food around on his dinner plate. His hair was always a mess, and his skin was paler than it had been when Gojo had first met him. He was falling apart, and Gojo was at a complete loss.
With every attempt that Gojo made to reach out to the child under his care, Megumi seemed to withdraw even further. He found that he missed the glares and the snark in the kid’s voice at the beginning, because at least there had been plenty of life inside of him. Gojo would rather deal with a difficult attitude than an unresponsive imitation of what a kid should be like, but the harder he tried to fix things, the more the ice hardened beneath his palms.
He had talked to both Shoko and Nanami, but their advice had provided little help, since they didn’t understand what Megumi was like. They were convinced that the situation couldn’t possibly be as bad as Gojo made it sound, but in truth he had been sugarcoating the true extent of how bad it actually was. If he couldn’t fix things, he was worried that Megumi’s health would falter. His physical health. His mental health.
His emotional health.
Had Megumi ever been emotionally healthy at any point in his life to begin with? Probably not, and Gojo thought about that often while he stared up at his ceiling, awake in the middle of the night. Megumi probably didn’t even realize how good life could be. How could he realize, when his mother was dead and his father had arranged to sell him off?
Gojo stood at the sink, staring down at the water as it splashed against a dirty plate and ran down towards the drain, the sponge in his hand clenched so tight that all of the soap squeezed right out of it. It was late, hours after dinner, and leaving the dishes to be washed in the morning was never a good idea.
Dinner had gone the same as usual, with Megumi leaving after eating only a few bites of his food, the weight of his poor mood settling over the table even after he was already gone. Gojo kept his demeanor bright for Tsumiki’s sake, but his mind had remained with Megumi even long after Tsumiki had gone to bed, wondering if the boy was asleep or lying awake.
Wondering if he was crying on the other side of the wall.
Gojo’s jaw tightened, and he began to scrub roughly at the first plate, scraping off dried remnants of food from its ceramic surface. Trying not to think about Megumi, he cleaned the plate until it was spotless, setting it aside on the drying rack before moving onto the next one. Such monotonous activities were typically the bane of his existence, but he was grateful for it now, not eager to be alone with his thoughts for any longer.
Absorbed as he was in his cleaning, he didn’t notice the sound of small footsteps that carried down the hall, not until he registered a familiar presence behind him and froze. Heart hammering against his ribs, he forced himself to keep scrubbing, not wanting to alert Megumi to the fact that Gojo already knew he was standing at the entrance to the kitchen. If the kid was finally choosing to come to him, Gojo absolutely refused to ruin it.
For several moments, there was only silence, and if it weren’t for his six eyes Gojo would have assumed he was still alone. But then he heard a hitching breath, followed by a small voice.
“Are you going to go away, too?”
Gojo finally let go of the sponge and the plate, turning around slowly to face Megumi, heart in his throat. In the kitchen light, he looked so small, and Gojo had to restrain himself from reaching out. If this was Tsumiki, he would offer a hug and words of comfort, but with Megumi he would have to try something else.
Anything to convince the kid that he wasn’t going to be left alone again.
Choosing his words carefully, Gojo decided to crouch down, placing himself at Megumi’s eye level. “What?” he breathed, the word sounding more choked than he would have liked. “Megumi… no. I’m not leaving.” Straight to the point - Gojo figured that was the best way to get through to him.
Megumi didn’t respond to this right away, sucking in a heavy inhale, his fists balled up at his sides. He was wearing navy blue pajamas, and his sleeves were rolled up at his wrists, albeit sloppily. He must have done it himself so that they wouldn’t cover his hands, and Gojo’s lips twitched downwards. Such a small detail, but heartbreaking enough to take his breath away.
The kid looked so small standing there at the edge of the kitchen, his tiny chest rising as he inhaled again, like he couldn’t take in enough air to support the weight of the words he wanted to say. He’s so little. The thought came to the forefront of Gojo’s mind, and he couldn’t let go of it once it was there.
His small fists clenched tighter. “You don’t touch me anymore,” he mumbled, so quiet that Gojo almost missed it. Eyes flying open wide, Gojo reached for his sunglasses, taking them off and setting them aside on the tile floor. He wasn’t even quite sure why, but he hoped that Megumi would be more likely to listen to him if their eyes could actually meet.
“I…” Gojo trailed off, and when Megumi shifted back a step, he floundered to say something more. “No, don’t leave! I’m just - I’m not good at this, and I’m terrified of saying the wrong thing and scaring you away. Please, don’t go back to your room yet. Just listen to me first.” He was desperate, and his breath was labored as he pleaded with Megumi, who stayed rooted in place.
Gojo took that as a win, swallowing before he spoke again. “I don’t touch you anymore because I thought that was what you wanted. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, because every time I tried to touch you, you acted like you were… like you were scared, or nervous, and I didn’t want to be the reason you felt that way. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to leave. I brought you here because I wanted to give you a better life, and I won’t go back on that. Ever.”
He meant every word, and for once he felt like Megumi might actually be reading his intentions correctly, a quizzical expression on those young features. A furrow formed between his brows, and his mouth twisted, his cheeks rounded by the sweet shape of childhood. He really was a cute kid, when he wasn’t void of human emotion.
“I wasn’t scared,” Megumi protested, the slightest tremble underlying his voice. “I wasn’t. You’re not scary.”
Gojo nodded, trying for a gentle smile, though it probably came off more strained than he intended. “Okay,” he agreed, letting Megumi take the lead. “I believe you.”
Megumi shuffled his feet, looking down at his socks for a moment. “I wasn’t scared,” he said again, this time no louder than a whisper. “Tsumiki is the only person who touches me like… like that. I thought - I thought that only sisters do that. And maybe moms and dads, but I don’t have either of those. I don’t understand why you would do it.”
A knife to the chest would have been less painful than hearing those words spoken by that small figure on the other side of the kitchen, and Gojo’s lips parted soundlessly before he managed to find his voice. “Sisters do that, yes, and so do parents, but…” he trailed off, clearing his throat. “But other people can do it, too. People who are around you a lot, who want to show you that they care about you. But not everyone likes being touched like that, and that’s okay, too.”
Gojo was trying to be mindful by adding in that last sentence, but Megumi reacted visibly to his words, his lips trembling and his eyes flicking back up from the floor. “I…” he started to say, before clamping his mouth closed tight, small dimples forming at the corners of his lips due to the pressure.
“Megumi,” Gojo said softly, wanting to reach out towards the boy but reining in the urge. “What is it? You can tell me.” He didn’t want to push the boundaries of their limping relationship, but this was the most progress he had ever made with the kid, and he was desperate to not let it end here. If he played his cards right, maybe things could finally be different after this.
Shoulders rising with a deep breath, Megumi blinked a few times, more rapidly than normal. His eyes shone under the kitchen light, and Gojo’s stomach lurched as he realized that the boy was near tears.
“I did like it,” he admitted, like that was something deserving of shame. “I did like it, and I don’t know why. It made me sad when - when you stopped doing it. Made… made me think that you were going to leave.” His voice wavered dangerously, and Gojo finally couldn’t take it anymore, rising back to his feet and crossing the room in three quick strides.
With Megumi directly in front of him, he crouched down again, grateful that the kid didn’t back away. “Let me tell you something, okay?” he said, and when Megumi gave a jerky nod, he continued. “I liked it too. And if you like it - if you like when I touch your hair, and poke your cheeks, and all of that stuff, then I’ll keep doing it, okay? It’s as simple as that.”
Megumi’s cheeks were tinted pink now, and Gojo’s smile came to his lips more easily at the sight of him. “I don’t even care if you shrug me off, and push my hands away. You can be as moody as you want, and you can pretend like you hate it. You don’t have to be like Tsumiki and return all of my affection, I won’t mind either way. If you like it when I touch you like that, then I’ll keep doing it no matter what.” Gojo’s grin grew even wider as the blush along Megumi’s cheeks deepened. “So, what do you say? Do you want that?”
For a moment, Megumi said nothing, and Gojo wondered if he was taking too big of a step. But then the boy gave a stiff nod, looking at Gojo with eyes rimmed red, and when Gojo reached out to touch him, the ice finally melted. He took one of Megumi’s hands into his own larger ones, uncurling his tight fist before doing the same with his other hand.
“There, see?” he said in a soft voice, holding Megumi’s small hands inside of his own, soft skin brushing against calluses. “It’s okay for you to like it. It can even be our little secret, if that would make you more comfortable.”
Megumi nodded again, this time more readily, and Gojo smiled. “You’re just a kid. It’s not healthy for you to handle everything in your life alone. That’s what I’m here for now, got it?”
“Okay,” Megumi mumbled, pulling one of his hands out of Gojo’s grasp in order to rub at his eyes with a small fist. He looked exhausted, the overhead lights casting shadows beneath his eyes, carving out the hollows of his cheeks. A tear slipped out of his eye before he could wipe it away, but Gojo pretended not to see it.
Instead, he leaned forward just a little bit more, moving slowly as he wrapped his arms around the small figure standing in front of him. Megumi stiffened immediately upon the contact, but Gojo didn’t move away just yet, even as his heart hammered out a nervous beat within the confines of his chest.
He didn’t say anything, letting Megumi have the time he needed to adjust, and that wound up being the right call. After a few prolonged seconds, his tense frame finally began to relax, and he melted into the embrace just like a child should.
When was the last time that someone other than Tsumiki had hugged the boy in his arms? A lump formed at the base of Gojo’s throat just thinking about it, and he held onto Megumi a little tighter, feeling those thin arms wrap around his neck.
The two of them stayed there on the kitchen floor for a while, and when Gojo felt moisture soak through the fabric of his shirt, he didn’t say anything. When Megumi’s frame trembled in his hold, and his breath hitched despite his efforts to be silent, Gojo didn’t say anything. There would be time in the future for him to break down the rest of the kid’s walls - for now, a hug was the best support he could give to a kid who didn’t quite trust him with everything else yet.
“Hey, Gumi?” he said eventually, once Megumi had calmed down again.
“Don’t call me that,” Megumi said, his face pressed into Gojo’s shoulder.
Ignoring him, Gojo brushed a hand over the unruly mess of black locks at the back of his head. “Do you want some ice cream?” Maybe he should have offered the kid some actual food, since he was a little freaked out by how thin his frame was, but ice cream felt right after this significant shift in their relationship.
Hesitating for a second, Megumi nodded before pulling back, standing with his chin tucked down towards his chest. Gojo patted his shoulder before finally getting back to his feet, groaning as his knees creaked. “God, I’m too old to crouch down like that for so long,” he complained, if only to foster a reaction from his little companion.
“You’re a teenager,” Megumi deadpanned, fixing Gojo with an unimpressed look, his eyes still a little bloodshot but more alive than Gojo had seen them in weeks. The sight warmed his heart, and he stretched his arms up over his head, yawning wide.
“I’m more powerful than most adults, though,” he countered, yanking open the freezer and pulling out a tub of ice cream. “That adds a few years.”
Megumi watched as Gojo scooped some ice cream into two bowls, following him to the table and climbing up onto his usual chair. Gojo sat down as well, the two of them situated across from each other, moonlight streaming in through the small gap in the curtains and illuminating the space in between them.
“Your behavior subtracts even more years,” Megumi said matter-of-factly, spooning a big bite of ice cream into his mouth.
“Hey! At least I don’t have to use a booster seat to reach the table!”