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“Should I be concerned that this is what you consider a ‘Super-Ultra-Mega Emergency’ that I ‘absolutely, immediately, must’ come attend to right away?”
“It is a Super-Ultra-Mega Emergency, Shoko. Megumi is dying.”
“He has a cold.”
“Show some compassion, Shoko, you’re a doctor for goodness sake.”
“It’s a cold, Satoru,” Shoko repeats, extra patiently, as if she’s not-so-subtly reminding Satoru that she is a doctor, in fact. “Children get colds about five to seven times a year.”
“Well,” Satoru crosses his arms over his chest, “that’s an absurd statistic. Kids really are walking bags of germs, huh?”
It was a lovely, albeit chilly, December evening—that is until Satoru enters the Fushiguro apartment to find a sickly little Megumi, all sweaty and feverish, huddled in a ball near a shabby little portable heater. Then it quickly turned into a terrible day and Satoru was furiously dialling Shoko’s number and leaving her countless messages.
It was a little annoying that, upon her arrival, Shoko did not share Satoru’s urgency for the situation.
Shoko sighs at him and grabs the mug of warm honey water from the microwave and some grape-flavoured children’s cold and sinus medicine, exiting the kitchen and heading back over to the bundle of blankets that is known to some as Fushiguro Megumi.
“Megumi-kun,” Shoko says in a sweet voice that makes Satoru want to shudder. “Make sure you get lots of rest and keep drinking water. We can get you some juice too, if you’d like?”
Megumi pokes his head out of his blanket burrito and shakes his head ‘no’. His tiny hands reach forward to clasp the mug Shoko offers and he takes a small sip.
“Well, take your medicine and get some sleep. You’ll be better in a few days,” Shoko pats his head, leaving the medicine on the table. “And you—” she swivels around to shoot Satoru a dirty look. “Be nice.”
“I’m always nice,” Satoru says automatically, standing behind the couch and poking at Megumi through his blanket armour.
“I’m going now,” Shoko grabs her coat.
“That’s it? Doesn’t he need like, a prescription? Antibiotics? A shot? Multiple shots?”
“It is a fucking cold,” Shoko smiles icily.
Satoru gasps, putting his hands over Megumi’s blanketed head. “So uncouth,” he tuts.
“Drop dead,” Shoko calls out as she slips out the door, closing it shut with a moderately loud slam.
“Well, then,” Satoru peers down at Megumi.
“You can leave, I’m fine,” Megumi mutters, sipping his honey water.
“Where’s Tsumiki?” Satoru asks.
“Sleepover or something,” Megumi shrugs.
A sleepover, huh? Tsumiki is probably eating sugary snacks and braiding her friends’ hair and telling ghost stories and cutting up dolls, or whatever it is little girls do at sleepovers, but she’d undoubtedly stop all that fun stuff to come and take care of Megumi if she knew he was sick.
Satoru vaguely wonders what’s a shittier thing to do: leave a sick six-year-old alone, or, make his eight-year-old sister come back from her sleepover to take care of him?
Satoru blows at his bangs, causing them to flutter to the side.
“Megumi, are you nauseous?” Satoru narrows his eyes at the sick boy.
Megumi tilts his head upwards to look at Satoru, “Huh?”
“Do you feel like you’re gonna throw up? Does your stomach feel all squishy and yucky?”
The runny nose and sweaty hands and all that, Satoru could deal with. But vomiting…
“Not really,” Megumi shakes his head.
“Perfect,” Satoru hops over the back of the couch to sit next to Megumi. “Then this’ll be fun!”
“What’ll be fun?” Megumi questions.
“Me taking care of you! It’ll be like playing house, or taking care of those dolls that cry if you don’t feed them,” Satoru says pinching Megumi’s flushed cheek.
Megumi stares at Satoru, full of doubt and irritation beginning to simmer in his eyes.
“But what if you get sick too?” Megumi points out, but it sounds more like he’s bargaining instead of showing actual concern for Satoru’s health and wellbeing.
“I don’t get sick,” Satoru waves a hand.
“Ever?”
“Never ever,” Satoru confirms. “My immune system is just as strong as the rest of my perfect body.”
“I’ll be fine,” Megumi reiterates.
“Of course you will, it’s just a cold.” Satoru searches the coffee table drawer for the TV remote, humming in delight when he finds it. “Meanwhile, we can watch some TV and order some pizza~!”
“You’re not supposed to eat pizza when you’re sick.”
“What do you know, huh?” Satoru clicks his tongue.
“What do you know?” Megumi shoots back, “You said you never even get sick.”
Satoru reaches out to pinch at Megumi’s cheek but stops himself, noting Megumi’s sickly pallor and glassy eyes.
“Ugh, stop looking so pitiful.” He settles for lightly poking Megumi’s forehead. “Fine, fine. What do you wanna eat then, huh? Your beloved Gojo-sensei will even cook for you, how’s that sound?”
“Are you sure you can cook?” Megumi eyes him warily, which, okay, rude.
“Oh, Megumi-kun~” Satoru bends over so they’re at eye-level, “Don’t you know there’s nothing someone as great as me can’t do?”
Megumi eyes him dubiously. Satoru just grins, poking Megumi’s forehead.
“How boring,” Satoru drums his fingers against his cheek, as he stares at Megumi. The sick boy sits across the small table, criss-cross-apple-sauce on the floor, the rattling space heater aimed towards his back. “I said you could pick anything you wanted, Megumi! Yet you chose rice porridge.”
“It’s what you eat when you're sick,” Megumi huffs. “Besides, why would I pick something fancy when I can’t even taste it properly?”
“Ooh, our Megumi is so wise and mature.”
Megumi shoots him an unimpressed look while shovelling another spoonful of porridge into his mouth.
“Finish eating,” Satoru nods towards Megumi’s bowl before standing up. “I’ll make you some ginger tea.”
Megumi swallows, setting his spoon down, “You’re really not leaving yet?”
“Wow, I made you such a delicious bowl of rice porridge and you’re kicking me out. So rude, Megumi.”
“You don’t have to stay,” Megumi says. “I’m fine,” he repeats once again.
“I don’t have to go either, y’know?”
Satoru stares at Megumi who looks down, a complicated look crossing his face. Well, as complicated as the emotional capacity of a six-year-old allows for.
“Why,” Satoru takes a step towards Megumi, bending over to look at him in that way that Shoko complains is an abuse of his ridiculous height. “You want me to leave? You’d send me out into the freezing cold so late at night, all alone?” Satoru pouts at Megumi.
“I don’t need you to take care of me,” Megumi scowls, an adorably petulant scowl.
“Alright,” Satoru concedes, “You take care of me then.”
“Eh?” Megumi blinks.
Satoru makes a big show of stretching and lays on the floor behind Megumi, one leg extended outward and the other bent at the knee. “Ah, nice and warm,” he hums, tossing his sunglasses aside and pressing his back against the floor that’s all toasty from the heater.
Megumi shuffles around, his knees nearly touching Satoru’s ribs.
There’s this almost-game they play sometimes. Satoru will be sitting there, pretending not to be paying Megumi any attention, and Megumi will guess in his head whether or not Infinity’s turned on, slowly reaching out to see if he’ll be able to touch Satoru or not.
Satoru has no clue why; he’s told Megumi before, withholding some more explicit details, that he pretty much always keeps Infinity on. But Megumi still likes to play his silent little game anyway.
And Satoru has a vague, somewhat faded memory from when he was a young child, playing hide-and-seek with his mother. He always knew where she was hiding, thanks to his technique, but for some reason, his little four-year-old brain always needed to double-check. Just to be sure. There’d always be that split second before he opened the closet door or looked under a table, where his mind would be filled with the kind of irrational uncertainty that only children who are too inexperienced with the consistency of the world have.
His mother would always be there, hugging him and praising him for finding her, and then they’d play again, and again, and again, and she’d always be exactly where his technique told him she’d be, again, and again, and again.
Until one day she wasn’t there at all anymore but, well, that’s not what Satoru wants to be thinking of right now.
Megumi’s hand is stopped by Infinity, tiny little fingers hovering next to Satoru’s shoulder.
“What are you doing?” Megumi asks, gently pushing against the invisible barrier between him and Satoru’s body, like how kids will be overcome with the instinctual need to stick their hands in mysterious liquids or play with sand or dirt.
“Resting,” Satoru says. “You should too, so your weak little immune system can fight off your cold.”
“What’s an immune system?” Megumi asks, stifling a yawn.
“It’s—” Satoru pauses, thinking of a way to explain things in a way Megumi’s first-grade knowledge can keep up with. “It’s what protects you from getting sick.”
“I am sick though.”
“It makes sure you get better,” Satoru amends, “So you aren’t sick forever. And then the next time that virus comes into your body, your immune system knows how to fight it—” Satoru glances over at Megumi. He’s curled up on the floor next to Satoru, chest rising and falling in that laborious way sick people’s lungs take in air, face lax and softened.
“Asleep,” Satoru shakes his head. He stands up, grabbing up his sunglasses, and picking up Megumi’s empty dishes, taking them into the kitchen. He returns after tidying up and Megumi is still fast asleep on the floor.
Satoru stares at the sleeping boy for a few moments before making a decision.
“As long as you don’t throw up,” Satoru tells Megumi’s sleeping body, scooping him up and taking him to his bed. He pulls the blanket over Megumi, tucking it beneath his arm.
Satoru heads back to the other room. The sun had set hours ago, thanks to the short December days, leaving the apartment in darkness when Satoru flips the lights off. He flops onto the couch, closing his eyes. Might as well get some sleep while he’s here.
It’s well into the night now, heavy rainfall and a thunderstorm accompanying the sharp drop in temperature.
Satoru sits on the floor by the window, sunglasses pushed up onto his head, the flimsy cream-coloured curtains pulled back to show the bright city lights, blurred by the rain and clouds.
There’s a flash of lightning, bright and quick, followed by a clap of thunder. Satoru wants to open the window, hear the rain better and feel the chilly night air seep into his skin. But it’s barely warm enough as it is in the Fushiguro’s small apartment and it wouldn’t do anyone any good if Megumi’s cold festering into something worse, so Satoru settles for simply watching and listening like this.
He makes a mental note to buy the kids a nice kotatsu too before winter fully settles upon them. The rickety space heater in the corner looks like its days are numbered, if the sporadic heat fluctuations and mysterious rattling noises are any sign.
Satoru leans back against his palms. His sunglasses slide down a little from their perch on top of his head, resting on top of his crown.
Another clap of thunder, this one deeper, more resounding, like Satoru can almost feel the vibrations from the shock wave in his bones.
“Megumi~ ” he calls out, still staring straight ahead out the window. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
Megumi makes no signs of being surprised or guilty about being caught. He pads up to Satoru, kneeling down next to him, a quilted blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
A flash of lightning comes, illuminating them in pale light for a second.
Megumi’s hands form a familiar shape, fingers moving in a practiced motion. The movement is still slightly clumsy, far too slow and hesitant. Satoru lets it slide this time, since six-year-olds are quite clumsy things themselves, even more so when they’re sick, he imagines. It’s forgivable, he supposes, Megumi and his sub-optimal fine motor skills. Despite the lack of elegance in Megumi’s movements, the shadows still shift and two shikigami slink out.
Megumi’s Divine Dogs circle him for a few seconds, taking in their surroundings. There’s nothing of note going on in the dead of the night, in the Fushiguro apartment, so they sit down after a minute, flocking their little master.
“What is it?” Satoru asks, leaning closer to Megumi, “Scared of the storm?” Doubtful, but you never know with kids and their irrational little brains.
Megumi shakes his head, adjusting his blanket and staring out the window. He reaches out to pat both the Divine Dogs on their heads. Even sitting they tower over Megumi, having to bend their heads down at a sharp angle so Megumi’s short arms can reach.
“So they can watch too,” Megumi explains, completely serious.
It takes a surprisingly great deal of effort to conceal his expression but Satoru manages to swallow his laughter.
“Right, of course,” Satoru agrees, solemnly nodding his head.
The Divine Dogs, however, don’t seem to care all that much about tonight’s weather forecast. The white wolf lays down on the floor to Megumi’s right, stretching its arms out and wagging its tail, while the black one sits behind Megumi, sniffing curiously at Megumi’s hair and pyjamas.
Megumi’s attention is focused outside though, expectantly waiting for another flash of lightning to come.
“Hey,” Satoru pokes at Megumi’s knee. “Shouldn’t you be in bed? Sick little kiddos are supposed to get lots of rest.”
“I feel better now,” Megumi shrugs.
“Better doesn’t mean you’re not sick still,” Satoru chides.
“Why aren’t you asleep?” Megumi questions and boy does Satoru hate how this kid always provokes his instinct to say because I’m an adult.
That’s a lame and cowardly response though—something those old stick-in-the-mud fossils would say— so Satoru makes a point to never rely on those half-baked traditionalist authoritarian responses. To avoid the risk of inciting even more of Megumi’s insubordinate attitude, at the very least.
Kid’s not even seven yet and already in his rebellious teenage phase, truly a delinquent at heart.
“M’not tired. Plus I’m watching the storm,” Satoru offers instead with a casual shrug.
Megumi is silent, big eyes staring out the window, at the rain pattering against the glass. His spiky hair looks even more chaotic than usual, his pyjamas ruffled and wrinkled. In the dim, bluish light, his green eyes look darker than usual; long lashes casting pale shadows over his cheeks, cheeks that now have a slightly healthier hue, a hint of pink finally coming back to them.
After another beat of silence, Megumi says, “Tsumiki likes watching storms too. She makes us warm milk and then always counts the seconds in between the thunder.”
Satoru blinks, his mind needing a second to comprehend that Megumi just offered some personal details— unprompted no less. This must be the power of grape-flavoured cold and sinus medicine. He thinks over Megumi’s words again, recalling the hint of sentimentality in his voice.
Of course. At the end of the day— no matter how many times Megumi insists he’s fine with that prickly little stubborn attitude of his— he’s still really just a sick kid. A sick kid who probably misses the only person who’s ever taken care of him before.
Satoru’s initial reaction is to mercilessly tease Megumi about missing his big sister but he catches the gloomy look on Megumi’s face, the doleful pout he wears as he distractedly pets his shikigami that really have no business being summoned right now and—
Be nice, echoes Shoko’s voice in his head.
Satoru sighs; being an adult is so tedious sometimes.
He eyes Megumi, drumming his fingers against his knee as he thinks for a moment. “Your stomach is still okay? No nausea still?”
Megumi tilts his head to look over at Satoru, frowning, “Yeah. Why?”
“Wait here,” Satoru says vaguely, standing up and heading to the kitchen.
Warm milk, warm milk. Pretty much impossible to screw up.
Satoru pulls out the milk carton and then heads to the cupboard. He spots a squeezable bottle of honey, locates the sugar, and some cinnamon and— he pauses.
Satoru doesn’t know how Tsumiki makes their warm milk. Does she add sugar? Brown or white? Vanilla, cinnamon? On the stove or in the microwave?
Satoru could just make it as he pleases; he’s certain there’s no way he could make a cup of warm milk worse than an eight-year-old can, but…he remembers the child-like longing in Megumi’s voice.
Satoru puts all the extra ingredients back. He grabs a mug, filling it one-third with milk before adding some water and putting it into the microwave.
Megumi is exactly where he left him— although the black wolf has stolen Satoru’s spot, laying down with his head on Megumi’s lap, how spoiled.
“Ta-da~” Satoru presents the mug of microwaved milk to Megumi.
Megumi furrows his brow, hesitantly accepting it.
“Drink up,” Satoru motions. Megumi huffs, exasperated, before taking a sip. He immediately pulls a face, nose scrunching up and mouth twisting with displeasure.
“Why’d it taste like that?” Megumi asks.
“Huh?” Satoru tilts his head, putting on an innocent face. “Oh! I added some water. Lots of dairy’s no good for sick tummies.”
“I said my stomach was fine,” Megumi pouts, staring at the mug of watery milk with distaste.
“Not gonna chance it!” Satoru sings out, “No way I’m cleaning up vomit tonight.”
“I don’t want it,” Megumi puts the mug aside.
“Hey! I worked hard to make you like that.”
“Tsumiki’s is way better,” Megumi mutters.
“Is that so?” Satoru hums, picking the mug up before a curious shikigami can get its face in it. “Ask Tsumiki to make you a cup of milk when you’re better, then. Oh,” he pauses looking out the window. The rain has lessened, slowing down to a soft drizzle now. “Looks like the storm’s over. Off to bed you go. Or does Megumi-kun need to be carried again?”
“No,” Megumi bites out. He stands up, scooping his blanket up. The Divine Dogs disappear into the shadows as Megumi stalks off back to his room. A second later he pops his head back out, eyes narrowed at Satoru.
Satoru stares back, waiting for Megumi to speak up.
“Are you leaving now?”
“Hmm? I can if you’re better—”
“I want more rice porridge for breakfast,” Megumi cuts him off, demanding and unyielding, before heading back into his room, the door sliding shut with a bang.
Satoru clicks his tongue. “Brat,” he says with an amused smile.
His phone buzzes then. A text from Shoko.
Shoko:
u better not have left the kid alone for the night
01:17
“Creepy,” Satoru mutters, “What are you, psychic?”
Satoru:
i would never how could u even suggest that
01:17
Shoko:
make sure he doesn’t get a fever during the night
you better not have mixed up the day/night medicine
check his temperature again in the morning too
01:18
“What happened to that ‘it’s just a cold, Satoru,’ attitude now?” Satoru shakes his head, an amused smile on his face.
Satoru:
yes ma’am
quit worrying tho
i’m a loving & skilled caretaker ヽ(♡• 𓎺 • ♡)ﾉ
01:19
Shoko:
now i’m really worried.
01:19
Satoru:
hey!! (๑•̀O•́๑)
i’ll have u know that megumi begged me to stay
he even requested i make him more porridge tomorrow
01:20
As Satoru waits for Shoko’s response, he distractedly takes a sip from the mug in hand. He cringes, the lukewarm temperature making the watered-down milk taste even blander.
He feels a little bad, suddenly, for making Megumi drink that. Well, he’ll have to make breakfast extra delicious tomorrow then. To make up for it.