ʲᵘʲᵘᵗˢᵘ ᵏᵃⁱˢᵉⁿ ʰᵉᵃᵈᶜᵃⁿᵒⁿˢ

gojo satoru & fushiguro megumi.

In the winter, Megumi is stricken with a cold which stubbornly lingers, and it turns into a hacking cough that seems to rattle his bones. The pharmacist prescribes him a bottle of over-the-counter cough syrup, and although Megumi's little face scrunches up in distaste whenever you coax the medicine into him, he swallows it obediently. You think he's only doing it for your benefit. He goes through one bottle. Then another. Both bottles have little effect.

A panicked Tsumiki calls you one night, her calm composure drowned out by the tears clogging her throat. Megumi can't breathe, she says; you can see her bottom lip quivering, her breaths taking on a wet, drowning quality. And he's asking for you and Gojo. The fear in her voice jolts you awake instantly. The haze of sleep slips from your shoulders and falls to the floor like a shawl. You can hear the sound of a dog barking in the background, and you realize that Megumi's throat has swollen until he can only breathe in shallow pants.

I'm coming, you tell her. You struggle to contain the panic filling up your eyes, your lungs, your heart, your mind. You lurch to a sitting position. You pull on a jacket, shove your feet into your shoes. The breath shoots from your lungs in hard bursts.

You call Satoru with trembling fingers. Sometimes, it feels as though the two of you are children playing at parents, at being adults. The two of you are in high school, but you've as good as taken two children under your wing, yours in all but name. Questioning glances are slid your way whenever the two of you venture out with Megumi and Tsumiki in tow, assumptions and judgments made by people passing by in a blur of faces and features.

You're a coward. You don't dare to ask what this is. Why Satoru is playing family with you, and with two orphaned children. You don't dare to put a name to the emotions weighing down the air whenever you and Satoru spend time together. It's a fragile connection, and you don't dare break it.

Satoru picks up on the first ring, much to your relief. He's been known to dodge calls – but not from you, never from you. Satoru, you cry, the panic you feel seeping out into your voice. Megumi's sick, and I'm taking him to the hospital.

I'll meet you there, Satoru promises, and you take comfort from the quiet vow.

In a terror worse than anything you've ever known, you drive down to the house of your charges. Tsumiki's already bundled up in a pink princess coat, but it takes you time to change Megumi, who flutters in and out of consciousness, his skin scalding and his cheeks flushed an alarming shade of pink.

It's okay, you tell Tsumiki, sounding more confident than you feel. Everything's going to be okay. Satoru's meeting us at the hospital. It'll be okay.

You scoop up Megumi, and usher both of them into the car. You must run at least a dozen red lights on your desperate drive down. You're sitting in the driver's seat, trying not to crash the car, trying to keep up a calm composure for the sake of the children in the backseat, but your heart is pounding, your stomach is sick.

You're scared Megumi won't make it.

True to his word, Satoru is there, pacing up and down restlessly, a restless energy radiating from his lanky frame. The sight of him fills you with relief. You have to set your jaw against the flurry of sobs threatening to erupt. He scoops Tsumiki into his arms; Tsumiki musters a faint smile for him, but her wide, wet eyes are still glued to Megumi, his face buried into your neck.

Thank you, you whisper to Satoru.

You needed me, he says, and it is as simple and as complicated as that. He lowers his forehead to yours, with the children cradled in between your bodies.

You turn your face until your mouth touches the smoothness of his skin. Satoru's breath catches. He doesn't move. Emboldened, seeking comfort now, you nuzzle into the pliancy of his cheek, the hardness of his jaw, loving the texture of him. You stay like that for precious few seconds, not quite kissing, suffused with each other's nearness.

Megumi is diagnosed with croup, and the doctor brings out a plastic mask attached to a nebulizer machine that pumps out medicine in a gray-white mist. Frightened by the noise the machine makes, not to mention the mask, Megumi shrinks into your lap. No matter how you reassure him that it won't hurt, no matter how many kisses you press to the crown of his head, he refuses until his body spasms with coughing.

Satoru bends, catches Megumi's chin with the tips of his fingers, tips his face up so that he can look Megumi in the eye. Small, stubborn Megumi, shaking upon your lap, his face flushed red with a fever and his pooling eyes glazed over, eerie and distant. Megumi, Satoru says, in a soft voice you've never heard him use before. Megumi, listen to me. It's just like a game. We'll pretend you're an astronaut. We'll put the mask on you for just a minute. You're an astronaut — what planet do you want to visit?

Planet home, Megumi whimpers, a cry wrenched from his throat despite all his efforts to swallow it back.

After another few minutes of Megumi hiccupping and your gentle but firm insistence, Satoru manages to slip the mask onto Megumi's face.

One minute, Satoru promises, his hand coasting comfort down the frailness of Megumi's back. Be brave, kiddo.

Papa.

One ragged breath. An even more vulnerable admission. Grassy green irises staring at Satoru in a moment of clarity; Satoru's hand stills. Megumi squeezes his eyes shut. His eyelashes are wet and clumped together.

Mama.

Another ragged breath. An equally vulnerable admission. Megumi burrows himself tightly against your body, and you curl your arms around his body, relishing the solid, vulnerable heft of him in your arms.

You feel inadequate, anguished, filled with love and relief and worry.

You feel like a parent.