Chapter Text
The morning light filtered through the curtains of Megumi’s bedroom, faint and cold against his skin. He stirred, groaning softly as he tried to cling to the remnants of sleep, but his heart was still pounding, a dull ache spreading through his chest.
The dream always began the same way, a tender echo of a childhood long gone. Tsumiki’s smile was radiant, her laughter a melody that filled the air as they played in the park. They were children again, unburdened and free, the warmth of her voice calling his name wrapping around him like a familiar blanket.
But then, the light began to shift, as it always did. Tsumiki darted toward the street, her laughter twisting into a scream that cut through the serenity like a blade. He reached out for her, but the park dissolved, its vibrant greens and blues swallowed by creeping shadows.
The details blurred into darkness, his confused memory unable—or unwilling—to grasp the rest. All he knew was the cold jolt of waking, gasping for breath as the remnants of her voice faded into the silence of his room.
Lady nudged his arm, her wet nose cool against his skin. He opened his eyes and found her staring at him, ears tilted back in worry.
“Hey, girl,” he murmured, voice still raspy with sleep. He reached out and pulled her close, burying his face in her soft white fur. Her warmth grounded him, but it couldn’t quite fill the emptiness gnawing at his chest. He held on tightly, as if letting go would mean losing her, too.
For a few minutes, he just lay there, hugging Lady, his breath slowly evening out. Eventually, she wriggled free, tail wagging as she licked his hand. Megumi sighed and sat up, running a hand through his messy hair.
He reached for his phone on the bedside table, swiping it open out of habit. The date on the screen read December 22—his birthday. He stared at it for a moment, the reminder landing heavier than it should have. Another year older.
Another birthday spent alone.
The first thing to greet him was an Instagram post: a photo of two old high school classmates. One of them held his hand up toward the camera, proudly displaying a glittering engagement ring, while the other wrapped an arm around his shoulders, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. The caption read, “We said yes to forever!” complete with hearts and sparkles.
Megumi stared at it for a moment, his thumb hovering over the screen. He could practically hear their giddy voices. He rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt.
“Good for you,” he muttered, dropping the phone onto the bed. He wasn’t bitter—at least that’s what he told himself.
Just... tired.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Megumi stretched, his joints protesting softly as he stood. He made his way to the bathroom, rubbing at his eyes. The hot water from the shower poured over him, soothing his muscles and chasing away the chill of the morning, but it couldn’t quiet his thoughts.
Twenty-eight.
Twenty-eight. By now, he thought he’d have someone—a partner, a person to share his life with. But here he was, alone. The thought of meeting someone—someone meant for him, who could fit into his life like they’d always belonged—felt less like an expectation and more like a fading possibility.
Tsumiki’s face flickered through his mind, her gentle smile like a balm for the ache in his chest. “You’ll figure it out,” she’d told him once, her voice full of quiet conviction. “There’s someone out there made just for you. I’m sure of it.”
But she was gone, and the silence she left behind felt louder than ever.
Lady barked from the other room, pulling him out of his thoughts. He grabbed a towel, dried off, and dressed quickly before stepping into the kitchen. Lady wagged her tail, her eyes bright and hopeful.
“I know, breakfast,” he said, managing a small smile.
As he poured her food into the bowl, tossing in a handful of freshly chopped carrots, a thought struck him. Maybe he was destined to be alone forever. The thought hit him hard, cold and final.
But even so, he still longed for a family, for what he’d lost—a home alive with warmth, laughter, and the fragile, fleeting beauty of life.
He was 28 now.
And he was running out of time.
After a walk with Lady through the park, Megumi headed out. The train was packed as always, a blend of low conversations and the faint screech of metal on metal filling the air. He leaned against the door, his bag slung over his shoulder, trying to ignore the ache that had settled in his chest since the dream.
His gaze drifted, unfocused, until he saw the man standing a few feet away, cradling a baby.
The man was an omega like him, he could sense it, but he was probably younger—he couldn’t be older than 25. He held his baby securely in his arms, gently bouncing them with practiced ease. The baby was tiny, wrapped in a soft blanket, and their chubby face was lit up with a gummy smile. Megumi’s throat tightened.
He glanced away, pretending not to notice, but his thoughts spiraled. That should’ve been him by now, right? He should’ve had a baby to hold, a family of his own. Time felt like it was slipping through his fingers, faster and faster, and he didn’t know how to stop it.
What if he was already too late?
By the time he stepped off the train, the sadness had settled deeper, clinging to him like the chill of the morning air. He tried to shake it off as he made his way to the pet supplies store where he’d worked for the past three years. Patitas & Poter—“Paws & Paws”—was the name Haibara and Nanami, the owners, had chosen as a nod to their Chilean and Danish roots. It was simple, yet warm, much like the shop itself.
As he approached the storefront, he saw Kugisaki-san, the elderly woman who worked in the small office next door. She had a gentle way of looking at him, her gaze warm and understanding, but it was paired with a sharp wit that Megumi couldn’t help but secretly admire.
“Good morning, Fushiguro-san,” she called out, waving a wrinkled hand.
“Good morning,” he replied, forcing a polite smile.
Inside the store, the familiar scent of dog kibble and fresh hay greeted him. He unlocked the register, turned on the lights, and began his usual routine—organizing the shelves, checking inventory, making sure everything was spotless. By the time he was done, he made himself a cup of tea and sat at the counter with a worn copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude, the book Nanami recommended him a while ago.
The book was old, a relic from a time when humanity was simpler, untouched by the evolution that had divided them into alphas, betas, and omegas. He read slowly, absorbing the lyrical prose, but his thoughts kept drifting. What would it have been like to live back then—a time when biology didn’t dictate everything, when who you were wasn’t bound to a secondary gender?
He was midway through the third chapter, his eyes lingering on the line, “There was no greater burden than having a soul never at peace with itself,” when the door jingled, drawing Megumi’s attention away from his book. He looked up to see Toge stepping into the store, a faint smile playing on his lips. He carried a neatly wrapped gift under one arm and waved as he approached the counter.
Megumi set his tea aside and stood, his lips quirking into a smile.
“Hey,” he signed casually, his fingers moving with practiced ease.
Toge responded with a dramatic clap in deaf applause, making Megumi chuckle.
“Happy birthday,” Toge signed, holding out the gift.
Megumi raised an eyebrow as he took it.
“You didn’t have to,” he signed back, but the warmth in his expression betrayed how much it meant to him.
Toge grinned, shrugging as if to say, Of course I did.
Megumi unwrapped the gift carefully, revealing a book titled Like water for chocolate, from Laura Esquivel, a Mexican author. He traced the cover with his fingertips, feeling the smooth texture.
“Thank you,” he signed.
Toge gestured toward the chair beside the counter, and Megumi nodded, inviting him to sit. The two of them fell into an easy rhythm, their hands flying as they caught up.
“So,” Toge signed with a smirk, “how does it feel to be old?”
Megumi rolled his eyes, a faint blush creeping up his neck.
“I’m not old.”
“You’re almost thirty,” Toge teased, exaggerating the sign for ‘thirty’ by pretending his fingers were cracking with age.
Megumi smirked, shaking his head.
“That’s rich, coming from someone barely younger than me.”
They laughed silently, their movements fluid and familiar. Toge leaned back in his chair, studying Megumi for a moment before signing, “Did you make a wish?”
“Shouldn’t wishes be secret?” Megumi signed, his expression playful but guarded.
Toge’s face softened, his hands moving slower now.
“You’ll be lonely if you keep everything a secret.”
The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Megumi hesitated.
“I already feel lonely,” he admitted with a quiet exhale.
Toge’s brow furrowed, his hands lifting immediately.
“You’re not old, Megumi. I was joking, you know. We’re still young. There’s time.”
Megumi wasn’t so sure. He shook his head.
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
The conversation drifted to safer waters after that, Toge quick to pick up on Megumi’s reluctance to linger on heavy topics. His hands moved animatedly as he began talking about Yuta, his new boyfriend, his face lighting up with every detail.
Megumi watched him with a faint smile, unable to ignore how genuinely happy Toge seemed. It was a good look on him.
“Does Yuta happen to have a friend he can introduce to me?” Megumi signed, raising an eyebrow and letting a teasing smile tug at his lips.
Toge laughed, a soft exhale that made his shoulders shake, and nodded.
“I’ll ask.”
As Toge laughed silently, Megumi’s thoughts wandered, unbidden. Toge had been his boyfriend back in high school, a relationship that had ended long ago. Yet, despite everything, they’d managed to rebuild a friendship that had grown steady over the years.
Back when they’d been together as teens, both had been careless, caught up in their youth and the comfort they’d found in each other. They’d been reckless, sneaking around, finding moments to be alone whenever they could. Toge had always been patient, always made sure Megumi felt safe, even when the rest of the world felt overwhelming.
They hadn’t always been cautious about birth control—mostly out of naivety—but when they’d both presented as omegas later, both had felt an overwhelming wave of relief. Megumi’s cheeks flushed slightly as a thought crossed his mind: If omegas could get each other pregnant… I might have a baby by now.
It wasn’t the first time he’d thought about it. Back then, the idea of a baby had been terrifying, something distant and unimaginable. But now, at 28, it felt more like a longing than a fear.
He shook the thought away, focusing back on Toge, who was still signing animatedly about Yuta.
After Toge left, the store fell quiet again. Megumi worked through the day, organizing shelves and helping the occasional customer. By the time his shift ended at 4 p.m., his phone buzzed with messages.
Gojo Satoru, his godfather, had texted him first. He had wished him a happy birthday and asked for a video call that evening. He texted back a simple, “Yes, thank you.”
On his way home, he decided to stop by the bakery and buy a slice of cake. He didn’t particularly care for sweets, but it felt like something he should do—for himself, if no one else. As he walked in, he overheard two women chatting inside the store.
One of them cradled a baby, a child no older than a year, who was tugging playfully at her hair.
“… and I still can’t believe it actually worked,” one of the women said, her voice carrying a mix of awe and disbelief.
“Me neither,” the other replied, adjusting the baby in her arms. “I never thought I’d get the chance, you know? Betas like us don’t usually have it this easy.”
“And the clinic? They were good?”
“Yeah, I think so. I mean, they take care of everything once you pick the donor—an alpha, in my case. They’ve got this catalog, which sounds super weird, I know,” she added with a laugh. “But whatever. They just show you baby pictures of the donors, a bit of basic info, and then you decide from there.”
Megumi froze, her words striking him like a sudden gust of wind.
“Sir? Which cake did you want?” the baker asked, pulling him back.
“Oh, uh... the chocolate one,” Megumi said quickly, barely processing his own response.
“I mean, it’s not cheap,” the woman continued, “but for this little one?” She glanced down at the baby with a soft smile. “I’d do it a thousand times over.”
As he paid and stepped outside, the conversation replayed in his mind, looping over and over. The words had strucked Megumi like a lightning bolt. Artificial insemination.
He’d heard of it before, of course. Alphas donating sperm, omegas acting as surrogates—but he’d never considered it as something he could do.
The thought settled heavily in his chest, but not in an unwelcome way. A baby. A child just for him. To raise, to love, to build a family with.
A baby.
He didn’t need a partner. He didn’t need to wait for someone to come into his life. He could do this. He could have a family of his own.
His hands trembled slightly as he stepped out the bakery, his heart pounding. For the first time in months, maybe years, he felt a flicker of hope. It scared him, but it also warmed something deep inside him that had been cold for far too long.
What if this was his chance?
The cold bit at Yuji’s face, sharp and unrelenting, as he stood motionless in front of the shuttered storefront. The sign above the door still read Itadori’s Chocolates, though the letters were faded and worn, ghosts of the pride and love that had once filled this place.
Yuji shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets, staring at the closed doors like he could will them to swing open, to bring back the bustling warmth that used to live inside. His grandfather’s shop had been more than a business—it was a heartbeat of the neighborhood, a piece of their family’s soul.
And now, it was gone.
The weight of failure sat heavy in Yuji’s chest, more suffocating than the winter air. He’d tried—he’d poured everything he had into keeping the shop alive after his grandfather passed. Late nights, early mornings, endless attempts to bring in customers. But it wasn’t enough. The debts had piled up faster than he could pay them, and in the end, there had been no choice.
His breath puffed visibly in the cold air as he sighed, his boots crunching against the frost-covered pavement when he finally turned away. Today, he was meeting Kenjaku, a potential buyer. The thought made his stomach churn. He didn’t want to sell. How could he?
How could he hand over the shop, his grandfather’s legacy, to someone who didn’t know what it meant?
But there was no other way. He needed the money. He needed to move forward, somehow.
Yuji cursed under his breath, the anger bubbling just beneath the surface. It wasn’t fair. If he’d had the money, everything would’ve been different. If he wasn’t so alone, maybe he could’ve made it work. His uncle had always been absent, uninterested in the shop or its history, and now it was just Yuji. Just him and the shadow of what had once been their family’s pride.
As he walked, the bitter cold seemed to seep deeper into his bones, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his heart.
But then, his phone buzzed in his pocket as he walked aimlessly through the streets. He pulled it out and saw Nobara’s name flashing on the screen.
“Yo,” he answered, trying to sound upbeat despite the weight in his chest.
“You sound like crap,” Nobara said bluntly. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” he lied.
“Liar. Spill.”
Yuji hesitated, then sighed.
“I have to meet a potential buyer, his name is Geto or something, Kenjaku? I don’t feel like going.”
“Sounds like a creep.”
Yuji laughed despite himself.
“You’ve never even met him.”
“I don’t need to. Creeps have a vibe. Anyway, you’re free now, right? Don’t go if you don’t want to, Yuji. Let’s get ice cream.”
“Ice cream? It’s winter, Nobara. Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m serious,” she shot back. “That’s the best time to eat ice cream. No lines, no melty mess. You need to cheer up, and I need an excuse to get the good stuff.”
Yuji shook his head, smiling faintly.
“You’re crazy!”
“And you’re coming. No arguments.”
They met at a small ice cream parlor, the kind of place that stayed open year-round despite the obvious lack of demand in the colder months. Nobara was already there when Yuji arrived, standing at the counter and inspecting the flavors with the intensity of someone making a life-altering decision.
“About time,” she said when she noticed him, barely glancing away from the menu. “What took you so long?”
“I was debating whether or not to freeze my ass off with you,” Yuji said, pulling his coat tighter around himself.
Nobara rolled her eyes.
“Quit whining. Pick a flavor.”
Yuji scanned the options, eventually settling on something simple. They sat by the window, the parlor nearly empty except for an elderly couple in the corner. Nobara wasted no time launching into her usual chatter, telling him about her latest designs, her annoying clients, and the drama in her friend group.
Yuji listened, grateful for the distraction. Nobara had a way of making the world feel less heavy, her sharp wit and boundless energy cutting through his gloom.
“So,” she said after a while, pointing her spoon at him, “what are you gonna do now?”
Yuji shrugged, swirling his ice cream in its cup.
“I don’t know. I wanted to do something right for once, you know? But now…” He trailed off, his shoulders slumping.
“You did do something right,” Nobara said firmly. “You kept the shop going as long as you could. That’s more than most people would’ve done.”
“It doesn’t feel like enough,” he admitted quietly.
“Then do something else,” she said, as if it were that simple. “You’re not some helpless kid, Yuji. You’ll figure it out.”
He looked at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“You make it sound so easy.”
“It’s not,” she said, stabbing her ice cream with her spoon. “But you’ve got me, so you’ll be fine.”
Yuji laughed, the sound genuine this time.
“Thanks, Nobara.”
“Don’t mention it,” she said, waving him off. “Now eat your damn ice cream before it melts.”
The snow fell softly, blanketing the streets of Shibuya in a layer of white. Yuji and Nobara walked side by side, eating icecream, their boots crunching against the frozen ground. The city buzzed around them, people hurrying past with their heads down, but they moved at their own pace, letting the cold nip at their noses.
It was almost christmas, after all.
“So,” Nobara began, her tone light but probing, “how are you holding up? You know... with Yuko?”
Yuji let out a short laugh, more amused than bitter, shaking his head.
“Wow, we’re diving right in, huh?” he said, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “If you’re aiming for the full misery tour, might as well ask about my bank account while you’re at it.”
Nobara rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at her lips.
“I’m serious, Yuji. You should talk about the things that make you miserable. Get it out, throw it away, and move on.”
“Is that how it works?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Of course it is,” she said confidently. “That’s how I deal with stuff. Just... chuck it. Gone. Done. Why are you so bad at this?”
Yuji shook his head, laughing softly.
“Fine. You want to hear it? I feel like crap. There, happy?”
“No, but we’re getting somewhere,” she said, smirking. “So... Yuko?”
Yuji’s steps slowed, and for a moment, he hesitated.
“I don’t know. It’s hard. I thought we were going to spend our lives together, you know? I thought I was doing everything right for once.”
“I know, bud,” Nobara said softly, her tone losing some of its sharpness.
“She gave the ring back. I had to sell it to try and save the shop. Even that wasn’t enough.”
Nobara frowned, her gaze fixed on him.
“Yuji…”
“It’s not just her,” he said, cutting her off. “It’s everything. The shop, the ring, Yuko—it all feels like I failed. Like I keep failing. I don’t know how to fix it.”
Nobara stopped walking, grabbing his arm to make him face her. Her voice was firm but kind.
“Listen to me, Itadori. You didn’t fail. Okay? You tried. You gave it everything you had, and sometimes things just... don’t work out. That doesn’t make it your fault.”
Yuji looked at her, his jaw tight.
“It doesn’t feel like enough.”
“It never does,” she said, her eyes softening. “But you did your best. That’s all anyone can ask for. And Yuko? If she couldn’t see how hard you tried, then maybe it’s better this way.”
He huffed, looking away.
“You’re not gonna let me mope, are you?”
“Not a chance,” she said, grinning. “Come on, let’s keep moving before we freeze to death.”
They started walking again, the city lights reflecting off the wet pavement. Nobara launched into a story about her latest work drama, trying to pull Yuji out of his thoughts. He listened, grateful for her presence, even if her words couldn’t completely silence the weight in his chest.
As they turned a corner, Yuji’s gaze caught on a large electronic billboard. Bright colors and bold text flashed across the screen, accompanied by cheerful music.
“Help build a family—donate sperm today! Generous compensation included!”
He stopped in his tracks, his eyes fixed on the ad. The cartoon image of a smiling baby and a happy couple filled the screen, the words repeating in his head.
“Yuji?” Nobara asked, turning to look at him. “What’s up?”
He didn’t answer right away, his thoughts racing. The words generous compensation echoed in his mind. It wasn’t like he had a lot of options, and... it wasn’t illegal, right? He’d be helping someone, giving them something they couldn’t have on their own.
“Yuji,” Nobara said again, waving a hand in front of his face. “What’s with you?”
He shook his head, forcing a small smile.
“Nothing. Just... thinking.”
Nobara narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “You’re weird,” she said, but didn’t press. “Come on, let’s get going.”
As they walked, Yuji’s mind spun with the possibilities. Maybe this was it—a way to fix things, to start over. It wasn’t what he’d imagined for himself, but it was something.
For the first time in weeks, he felt like he had a plan.
Megumi sat at his small kitchen table, Lady curled up at his feet. The glow from his laptop illuminated the darkened room, the screen showing a loading symbol as the video call connected. His tea sat untouched next to him, wisps of steam curling in the cool air.
The call finally connected, and the familiar faces of Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto filled the screen. Gojo’s trademark grin was as wide as ever, while Geto looked more composed, his soft smile radiating warmth.
“Megumi!” Gojo exclaimed dramatically, leaning closer to the camera. “Happy birthday to my favorite godson!”
“I’m your only godson,” Megumi replied dryly, though a faint smile tugged at his lips.
“Details, details,” Gojo said, waving a hand dismissively. “Still my favorite.”
“Happy birthday, Megumi,” Geto said, his tone quieter but no less sincere. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine,” Megumi replied, adjusting the laptop slightly. “Thanks for calling.”
“It’s a big day! Twenty-eight! Can you believe it, Suguru? He’s practically ancient now,” Gojo teased, earning an exasperated look from Megumi.
“I think that makes you prehistoric, Satoru,” Geto said, smirking.
Gojo gasped, clutching his chest theatrically.
“Betrayed! By my own husband!”
“I wasn’t expecting a call. Don’t you two have more glamorous things to do in Spain?”
“Glamorous?” Gojo repeated, feigning offense as he leaned back dramatically. “We’re calling to celebrate you, and you think we’d rather be doing something else? I’m wounded, truly.”
Geto smirked, shaking his head.
“We wouldn’t miss it. Sousaku’s been practicing his birthday song all day.”
“Practicing?” Megumi raised an eyebrow. “That sounds ominous.”
“Oh, it definitely is,” Gojo said with a wide grin. “My baby’s got zero rhythm, but don’t let that stop you from being impressed.”
Lady perked up at the sound of laughter, her tail wagging furiously as if she could feel the shift in the room. She turned to Megumi, her mouth open in what could only be described as an excited doggy grin, her teeth on full display.
“Yeah, show those teeth!” Megumi said, flashing a grin of his own right back at her. Lady barked softly, clearly proud.
“So,” Gojo began, steepling his fingers theatrically, “how’s the big day going? Did you party? Cake? Balloons? Please don’t tell me you spent it with just a book and tea.”
Megumi hesitated.
“Eh… I bought a slice of cake.”
“A slice?” Gojo looked horrified. “What is this, amateur hour? Where’s the parade? The fireworks? The confetti cannons?”
“Not everyone celebrates like you, Satoru,” Geto said, shaking his head with mock exasperation. “But really, Megumi, did you at least do something nice for yourself?”
“Not much to do,” Megumi said with a shrug. “Just a quiet day.”
“Well, we’ll have to fix that when we see you,” Gojo said, his grin softening into something more genuine.
“See me?” Megumi repeated, frowning. “What do you mean?”
Geto leaned forward, his expression warm but brimming with excitement.
“We’re coming back to Japan.”
Megumi blinked, caught off guard.
“You’re moving back?! Why?”
Gojo’s grin stretched even wider.
“Because we’re getting married again!”
“Again?” Megumi stared at them, confused. “You’re already married. Isn’t this... overkill?”
Geto chuckled.
“We’re renewing our vows, but this time we want to do it at home. Spain’s been great, but it’s time to come back.”
“Plus,” Gojo added, “Sousaku needs to experience real Japanese food. And by that, I mean he needs to know what proper takoyaki tastes like—not the weird, overstuffed versions they sell overseas.”
Megumi smirked.
“So you’re moving back for takoyaki?”
“Among other things,” Geto said, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “We also want Sousaku to grow up surrounded by family—and that includes you.”
Megumi blinked, a flicker of something warm breaking through his chest.
“When?”
“In a few days,” Gojo said. “We’ll have plenty of time to plan the wedding, so don’t even think about trying to skip it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Megumi said.
As if on cue, Sousaku toddled into view, his white curls bouncing as he clung to Geto’s sleeve.
“Meg’mi!” Sousaku called out, waving enthusiastically.
“Hey, Saku-chan,” Megumi said, his voice softening.
Sousaku clapped his tiny hands together, clearly delighted.
“Happy... birfday!” he sang, the words barely intelligible as he swayed back and forth.
Geto laughed, holding him steady.
“That’s the abridged version, I guess.”
“Close enough,” Gojo said, beaming. “Good job, buddy!”
Sousaku’s grin widened, his eyes shining with excitement. Then, as if remembering something important, he turned to Geto and tugged on his sleeve.
“Mama,” Sousaku said seriously, pointing at the screen. “Meg’mi baby?”
Megumi froze, his eyes widening slightly.
“What?”
Geto looked puzzled.
“What are you saying, Sousaku?”
Sousaku turned back to the screen, his tiny face serious.
“Meg’mi married! And baby to play wif me!” Sousaku announced proudly, clapping his hands like he’d just figured out the answer to the universe.
Gojo chuckled warmly, leaning back in his chair.
“Well, you’ve got big plans for Megumi, huh, Saku?” he said, ruffling the toddler’s hair. “That’s quite the suggestion, little guy.”
Megumi flushed slightly, waving a hand to brush it off.
“Sousaku, I’m not getting married, and I’m definitely not having a baby. Don’t you like having me all to yourself?”
Sousaku tilted his head, considering this for a moment before breaking into a grin.
“But Mama say Meg’mi have fam’ly someday!”, he declared with absolute confidence, after a moment of deep contemplation.
The room went quiet, Sousaku’s innocent conviction hanging in the air like a bomb that no one quite knew how to defuse. Geto cleared his throat, stroking Sousaku’s white hair in an attempt to break the tension.
“That’s enough for now, Sousaku,” Geto said gently, stroking the boy’s hair. “Megumi has a family already, and we’re part of it. Let’s not rush him, okay?”
Sousaku pouted dramatically, resting his head on Geto’s chest with a long, exaggerated sigh.
“Okay, maa—,” he mumbled softly.
Gojo, grinning as always, leaned forward with a mischievous sparkle in his eye.
“Speaking of family, Megumi, you’re not secretly seeing someone, are you? Some mysterious person waiting in the wings?”
Megumi shot him a glare, his voice firm.
“No, and if I were, you’d still be the last to know.”
“Satoru Gojo,” Geto said sharply, his tone low and unmistakably warning.
Sousaku perked up, catching onto his mother’s tone, and mimicked, wagging his little finger.
“’Nough, Gojo!”
Megumi couldn’t hold it in, his laughter spilling out as Sousaku nodded like he’d delivered the ultimate judgment.
“Alright, alright, I hear you! But, hey, Saku, it’s Papa, not Gojo. C’mon, say it with me—pa-pa.”
Sousaku tilted his head thoughtfully before beaming.
“Gojo!”
“No, Papa,” Gojo repeated, gesturing to himself. “Let’s try again—pa-pa.”
Sousaku turned to Megumi, grinning mischievously.
“Gojo!”
Megumi snorted, waving his hand as laughter overtook him.
“Hey, don’t look at me. I’m not a Gojo,” Megumi said, raising his hands as if to ward off the idea.
Sousaku, undeterred, pointed triumphantly at both Gojo and Megumi, his little face lighting up with glee.
“Gojo! Gojo!”
Geto smirked, gently rubbing Sousaku’s back.
“See? Even Sousaku knows you’re part of the family, Megumi.”
Sousaku giggled even harder, pointing at Gojo with glee.
“Gojo!”
“Alright, alright, I surrender,” Gojo muttered, slumping back in his chair, though his grin betrayed his amusement.
“We’ll see you soon, Megumi,” Geto said, his smile warm as he ignored Gojo’s dramatics. “It’ll be good to be back.”
“Yeah,” Megumi said, still chuckling. “It’ll be good to have you back.”
Sousaku added with a wave, “Bye, Gojo!”
Gojo threw his hands in the air.
“Mutiny!”
The call ended, and Megumi sat back in his chair, staring at the now-dark screen, laughing. Lady nudged his leg, and he reached down to scratch her ears, exhaling deeply.
But then, he remembered Saku’s words. The innocent declaration shouldn’t have hit so hard. Sousaku was just a baby, too young to know what his words meant or the weight they carried. They were his family too, Geto was right.
But… it wasn’t the same.
“I shouldn’t have felt bad,” he muttered, his voice barely audible in the empty room. But he did feel bad. He felt hollow, the loneliness that had been gnawing at him for months now roaring to life in the wake of that call.
He thought of Tsumiki, her bright smile and the way she used to tease him about being too serious. She’d wanted him to be happy, to live a full life. After her death, he’d promised himself that he’d try. But what had he done, really? He went to work, came home, and went to bed. Every day bled into the next, and the life he’d imagined for himself seemed to drift further out of reach.
But now...
He typed “fertility clinic artificial insemination” into the search bar and hit enter. The first link led to a sleek, professional website. His eyes scanned the text, the words blurring slightly as his mind raced.
Help build the family you’ve always dreamed of.
It sounded so easy, so straightforward. A simple form, a consultation, and then—what? A baby? A family? Could it really be that simple?
Megumi clicked on the “Get Started” button, his heart pounding as a form loaded on the screen. He stared at the fields: name, age, contact information.
He hesitated, but the image of Sousaku’s wide, happy eyes wouldn’t leave him. And maybe the kid was right. Maybe it was time to stop waiting for the perfect circumstances, the perfect partner, the perfect life. Maybe it was time to take matters into his own hands.
He began typing, his movements deliberate as he filled out the form, while a strange mix of emotions churned in his chest: nervousness, excitement, fear, hope.
When he reached the final field, he hovered over the “Submit” button for a long moment. Lady stirred at his feet, letting out a soft sigh, as if sensing his hesitation.
With a deep breath, Megumi clicked “Submit.”
The screen changed, displaying a confirmation message. It felt surreal, like he’d just taken a step off a ledge and wasn’t sure if he’d land on solid ground. But for the first time in a long time, he felt something stir inside him—a spark of hope, fragile but undeniable.
Megumi stared at his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen. His mind raced as he debated whether to send a message or keep what he’d just done to himself. But this wasn’t something small, and Toge had always been the one he turned to when he needed an honest opinion—or someone to scold him when he wasn’t thinking straight.
Finally, he tapped out a quick text to Toge: I just submitted a form to a fertility clinic. Going to have a baby.
The typing bubble popped up almost immediately.
Toge: Ha. Funny.
Megumi rolled his eyes, already expecting the reaction. He waited, his screen lighting up with another message.
Toge: Wait, are you serious?
Before he could respond, his phone buzzed with an incoming call. Toge’s name flashed on the screen. Megumi sighed, bracing himself, and answered.
The video call connected, and there was Toge, half-dressed with his hair sticking out in all directions. He was signing angrily, his gestures sharp and fast.
“Are you out of your mind?!” Toge signed, glaring at the screen.
“Good to see you too,” Megumi replied dryly, his hands moving slower, trying to diffuse Toge’s intensity.
Toge ignored the sarcasm, continuing furiously.
“You can’t just decide to have a baby out of nowhere! What if tomorrow you meet the man of your dreams? What if this isn’t what you really want?”
“It is what I want,” Megumi signed, his expression calm but firm. “And I’m not going to wait around for something that might never happen.”
Toge groaned, running a hand through his already-messy hair.
“You’re rushing. You’re overthinking. You don’t even know—”
Before he could finish, a figure appeared briefly in the background: Yuta, holding a mug of tea and looking confused as he peered at the screen.
Megumi lifted a hand in a quick wave.
“Hi, Yuta.”
“Hi?” Yuta replied hesitantly before disappearing back into another room.
Toge shot Megumi an exasperated look.
“Don’t distract me!” he signed, pointing at the screen. “This is serious! You’re making a life-changing decision without thinking it through.”
“I have thought it through,” Megumi said, his hands steady and deliberate. “I’ve been thinking about having a family all my life, you know that…” His fingers faltered slightly before he continued. “I want a family. I want a child. And I’m not going to wait anymore.”
Toge stared at him, his frustration giving way to something softer. But then, as if refusing to give up, he gestured quickly, signing in an exaggerated manner, “You’ll regret it. You’ll panic. You’ll cancel the form and thank me later!”
“I won’t,” Megumi replied firmly. “I’m going.”
Toge sat back in his chair, rubbing his temples. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared at the screen as if trying to find the right words.
Finally, he let out a long sigh and signed, “Well… I guess if anyone would be a good parent, it’s you.”
Megumi blinked, surprised by the sudden shift.
“Really?”
Toge shrugged, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“You’re stubborn. You’re smart. You care too much. Yeah, you’ll be fine.”
Megumi’s lips twitched into a small smile, his chest feeling a little lighter.
“But,” Toge signed quickly, his expression serious again, “if you need anything—anything—you call me. Got it?”
“I got it,” Megumi signed back, his movements slower, more deliberate. “Thank you.”
Toge rolled his eyes but smiled faintly.
“You’re still crazy, though.”
“Probably,” Megumi said with a shrug.
As the call continued, Toge’s expression shifted from frustrated to resigned, though his hands still moved quickly as he signed, “Alright, fine. But when are you going?”
Megumi hesitated for a beat before signing back, “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?!” Toge’s eyes widened, his gestures sharp with disbelief. “You’re not even going to wait a few days? You just made this decision!”
“I’ve been thinking about it since forever,” Megumi signed, his expression calm but resolute. “It’s not sudden for me.”
Toge’s hands froze for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line as he considered Megumi’s words. Then he signed, slower this time, “Let me go with you.”
Megumi shook his head almost immediately.
“No.”
“Why not?” Toge asked, his gestures deliberate and a little too forceful. “You shouldn’t go alone. What if you get overwhelmed? Or change your mind and need someone to talk to?”
“I’m not going to change my mind,” Megumi signed, his movements steady and certain. “And I need to do this by myself.”
Toge sat back in his chair, his frustration evident.
“Why?”
“Because it’s my decision,” Megumi signed, his hands moving with quiet intensity. “I don’t want anyone holding my hand through it. This is something I have to do for myself.”
Toge exhaled heavily, rubbing his temples before signing, “You’re so damn stubborn.”
Megumi smirked faintly.
“You said it was a good thing, right?”
“Sometimes!” Toge shot back, his gestures sharp. Then, after a pause, he added, “But... if you change your mind, or need anything—anything—promise you’ll call me.”
“I promise,” Megumi signed, his expression softening.
Toge studied him for a moment, his frustration giving way to reluctant acceptance.
“You better keep that promise,” he signed, pointing at the screen with a mock glare. “And let me know how it goes.”
“I will,” Megumi replied, his movements slower, more thoughtful.
Toge leaned back, exhaling deeply.
“You’re still crazy,” he signed, though his lips twitched into a faint smile. “But… if this is what you want, then I support you.”
Megumi nodded, the weight of the conversation settling over him.
“Thank you.”
The call ended shortly after, and Megumi closed his laptop, staring at the now-dark screen. Despite Toge’s protests, the lingering warmth of his friend’s support gave him a small sense of peace.
Tomorrow, he would take the next step—alone. But he wasn’t entirely alone, not really. And for now, that was enough.
Yuji stood in front of the fertility clinic, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. The building loomed before him, its glass doors clean and reflective. His faint reflection stared back—messy pink hair, tired eyes, and a nervous expression that was impossible to hide. He sighed and looked away, taking a deep breath before stepping inside.
The lobby was warm, bright, and modern, with pastel accents and polished furniture that clashed with the cold outside. A large sign divided the space into two distinct sections: one side labeled Omega Services and the other Alpha Donor Program.
Yuji frowned. The separation felt clinical and unnecessary, like the building itself was reinforcing the invisible walls already so common in society. He didn’t like it, but he had no choice.
He walked toward the alpha section, his boots squeaking softly against the shiny floor. Behind the counter, a young woman greeted him with a cheerful smile.
“Hello! Welcome to Shibuya Fertility Center. How can I help you today?”
Yuji rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
“Uh, I’m here for the donor program?”
Her smile widened, and she nodded.
“Of course! Please take a seat, and I’ll get everything set up for you.”
As he sat in the waiting area, Yuji’s eyes wandered back to the sign. The bold lettering separating the two worlds gnawed at him, a reminder of how rigid the lines in society could feel. But he shook the thought away. He wasn’t here to make a statement.
He was here to try and fix his life, one way or another.
The receptionist returned a moment later with a clipboard and a small pamphlet.
“Just fill out this quick form, and we’ll take it from there,” she said.
Yuji glanced at the clipboard. It was simple—basic information, a brief medical history, and a few disclaimers. He filled it out quickly, handed it back, and waited again.
Then a nurse called his name, her tone light and friendly.
“Yuji Itadori? Right this way!”
She led him to a small, private room. The walls were decorated with cheerful posters featuring smiling couples and babies, and a potted plant sat in the corner.
“Thank you for coming in,” the woman said as she gestured for him to sit. “I’ll walk you through the process and answer any questions you might have.”
Yuji nodded, still feeling a bit awkward but grateful for how easy and respectful the experience was so far.
Megumi stepped into the fertility clinic, exhaling as the warmth inside replaced the biting cold of the street. He adjusted his scarf, his eyes automatically drifting to the sign that directed him to the separate entrance for omegas. It was always the same—different doors, different rules, all under the guise of “specialized care.” He sighed, stepping inside.
The receptionist, an older man with graying hair and a clipboard in hand, barely looked up as Megumi approached the desk.
“Good afternoon,” Megumi said, his voice steady despite the growing weight in his chest. “I’m Megumi Fushiguro. I have an appointment.”
The man finally glanced at him, his eyes flicking briefly to the small ‘Omega’ badge on Megumi’s ID card before returning to the clipboard. His lips pressed into a thin line.
“Fill these out,” the receptionist said curtly, sliding over a thick stack of forms without so much as a greeting. “We’ll need your full medical history, last heat dates, hormonal cycle records, and genetic profile. Return them when you’re done.”
Megumi stared at the forms for a moment, his jaw tightening.
“Right,” he muttered, taking the clipboard and turning away, the receptionist’s indifference cutting more than he cared to admit.
He sat in the waiting area, the atmosphere sterile and heavy. A sign on the wall about omega health risks caught his eye, its bold letters reinforcing everything he already knew—about how society saw him, about how much harder this process would be because of who he was.
No warm smiles. No easy explanations. Just suspicion and scrutiny wrapped in professionalism.
As always.
Megumi’s lips pressed into a thin line as he scanned the forms. They were dense, intrusive, and relentless—demanding everything from his detailed medical history to his sexual partners, to a comprehensive breakdown of his genetic profile. It felt less like filling out paperwork and more like exposing every corner of his life.
As he glanced around the waiting area, his eyes landed on a poster plastered to the wall. “Alpha Donor Priority” was written in bold, unapologetic letters, the phrase making his stomach twist uncomfortably. It was a subtle yet glaring reminder of the hierarchy society never let him forget.
Yuji sat on the edge of the examination table, his legs swinging nervously as the doctor tapped away at a tablet. The room was crisp and sterile, the faint scent of disinfectant lingering in the air.
“Well, everything looks good,” the doctor said, glancing up from the screen with a professional smile. “Healthy, young, strong alpha—exactly what we like to see.”
Yuji scratched the back of his neck, forcing a chuckle.
“Uh, thanks, I guess?”
The doctor laughed lightly.
“It’s a compliment, trust me. So, did you have any questions about the process before we move forward?”
Yuji hesitated, his mind flicking through the endless loop of doubts that had been eating at him since he walked in.
“Yeah, um… how many times can my, uh, sample be used?”
The doctor’s smile widened, their tone almost too casual.
“Oh, technically? A thousand times. Maybe more if the demand is high!” They chuckled, clearly amused by the look on Yuji’s face. “But hey, that’s why we alphas are here, right? To keep the population thriving.”
Yuji’s stomach dropped. A thousand?! His mind spiraled as he imagined a sea of toddlers with messy pink hair running wild, all shouting, “Papa! Papa!” The thought almost made him break into a cold sweat.
“Relax,” the doctor said, waving a hand as if reading his mind. “I’m joking. There are strict regulations. Your sample will only be used a limited number of times, and there’s a cap to ensure genetic diversity.”
Yuji exhaled sharply, slumping slightly in relief.
“Oh, good. For a second, I thought I was gonna end up with an army of little me’s running around.”
The doctor chuckled again, shaking their head.
“Don’t worry, Itadori-san. We’ve been doing this for years, and everything is carefully monitored. You’re doing something that could really help people.”
Yuji nodded, the nervous energy still lingering but tempered by the doctor’s reassurance. He wasn’t entirely convinced, but he’d come this far—there was no turning back now.
“Alright,” the doctor said, standing and tapping their tablet one last time. “You’re all set for the next step. Just follow the instructions, and if you have any other concerns, let us know.”
“Got it,” Yuji said, his voice steady despite the churn of uncertainty in his chest. As the doctor left the room, he let out a long breath, trying to focus on the idea that maybe, just maybe, he was doing something good.
Megumi sat stiffly in the chair, the psychiatrist’s office cold and professional, the walls adorned with bland motivational posters that felt more mocking than comforting. Across from him, the psychiatrist adjusted her glasses, her sharp gaze scanning the file in front of her.
“So, Fushiguro-san,” she began, her tone clipped and impersonal. “You’re single?”
Megumi blinked, surprised by the bluntness of the question.
“Yes.”
“Why is that?” she asked, as if diagnosing a condition. “Omegas your age are typically partnered by now, especially those seeking children. Is there no one to... support you?”
The words hung in the air, laced with judgment. Megumi’s jaw tightened, his hands curling slightly into fists on his lap.
“No. This is my decision, and I’m capable of supporting myself.”
The psychiatrist’s eyebrow arched skeptically.
“And if something goes wrong? If there are complications during the pregnancy or after? Do you have an alpha who can patronize you—financially or otherwise?”
Megumi sighed, already exhausted by the conversation.
“I have my godfather,” he said curtly.
“Name?”
“Satoru Gojo,” Megumi replied, his tone flat but pointed.
The psychiatrist’s pen paused mid-note. Her eyes flicked up, a flicker of recognition breaking through her otherwise stern demeanor.
“Gojo... as in the Gojo family?” the psychiatrist asked, her tone shifting slightly, a hint of recognition creeping in.
“Yes,” Megumi replied simply, his voice steady but clipped, hoping it would put an end to the invasive questioning.
For a brief moment, his thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Sousaku’s bubbling laughter—the memory feeling like it belonged to another world, a reality where he wasn’t reduced to his omega status, where he was just Megumi. The weight of the contrast made his chest tighten, and he exhaled slowly, a quiet sigh escaping him.
But the name worked. The psychiatrist straightened slightly, her expression smoothing out as if erasing the last few minutes.
“I see. Well, that’s reassuring.”
Megumi exhaled silently, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. This wasn’t his first hurdle today. He’d been poked, prodded, and scrutinized from the moment he stepped into the clinic—ultrasonography, physical examinations, blood samples, and a never-ending parade of forms. He’d willingly chosen this, but that didn’t make the process feel any less dehumanizing.
As he left the psychiatrist’s office, he felt a familiar weight settle in his chest, the doubts creeping in again. Why am I even doing this?
Just as he reached the hallway, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out, and the screen lit up with a message from Geto. It was a photo of Sousaku on the plane, bundled up in a tiny jacket, his wide eyes staring curiously at the window.
Megumi stopped, staring at the picture longer than he intended. Sousaku’s innocent expression and Geto’s caption—“Almost home!”—stirred something deep in him.
He wanted that.
A child to hold, to love, to build a family with.
He slipped his phone back into his pocket and continued down the hall. He entered yet another sterile room, his patience thinning with every passing moment. The nurse entered behind him, carrying a tablet tucked under her arm and offering a practiced smile.
“Alright, Fushiguro-san,” she said, setting the tablet on the desk in front of him. “Here’s the catalog. These are the available donors. As you know, we only provide limited information for privacy reasons—baby photos, basic health history, and genetic compatibility. Take your time.”
Megumi nodded silently, his fingers brushing over the screen as he began scrolling. The photos blurred together—chubby cheeks, soft tufts of hair, gummy smiles—but none of them stood out.
Until one.
He stopped scrolling, his eyes drawn to a photo of a baby with almost no hair, vivid brown eyes that seemed to sparkle even through the screen, and a wide, infectious smile. Something about the expression—bright, carefree, full of life—made Megumi pause.
“This one,” he said softly, almost to himself.
The nurse leaned over, glancing at the screen.
“Ah, a good choice. Healthy, excellent genetic markers, and compatible with your profile.” She marked the selection on the tablet and looked back at him. “Are you certain?”
Megumi nodded firmly.
“Yes. I’m certain.”
The nurse nodded and began finalizing the paperwork, but Megumi’s gaze lingered on the photo. That big smile, those bright, lively eyes—they sparked something deep within him, a flicker of hope he hadn’t felt in years.
For the first time since stepping into the clinic, the process felt tangible. This wasn’t just a series of steps or endless questions—it was his choice, his path forward. And maybe, just maybe, it would lead him to the family he’d been longing for.
But the moment was short-lived. Another stack of forms was handed to him, the papers thick and heavy in his hands. The nurse stood over him, her tone brisk and impersonal as she explained.
“This is your legal acknowledgment of the risks associated with assisted reproduction as a single omega,” she said, her words clipped. “By signing, you agree to proceed at your own discretion. And, as a participant in a clinical study, you should be aware there might be side effects.”
Megumi scanned the pages, his eyes narrowing at the phrasing. The language was cold and detached, framing everything through the lens of his status as an omega—assumptions about his capability, warnings about risks, and conditions meant to absolve the clinic of responsibility.
His jaw tightened, the familiar sting of discrimination flaring up again. It was exhausting, dehumanizing, but he wasn’t about to let it stop him.
With a steady hand, he picked up the pen and signed the final page, each stroke deliberate and unwavering. He wasn’t here to be discouraged or stopped—he was here for something far greater.
He was going to have a baby.