Chapter Text
It’s only a little over an hour after Satoru has closed his eyes when Megumi starts fussing again.
Tsumiki startles awake next to him first, already reaching out to comfort her wailing baby brother while Satoru tries to register exactly what has pulled him awake. Something nags at his awareness as he sits up but “Gumi. Gumi,” Tsumiki is saying, and he blearily watches Tsumiki’s tiny hand pat the baby boy’s even tinier tummy, her sleepy little face pulling into a great big frown of concern. “S’okay, Megumi, nee-san is here. M’here, Gumi, please don’t cry..”
Satoru blinks the sleep away quickly at that, springing into action just as Megumi’s next cry goes up in pitch. He rolls upright and swiftly shuffles over to rest a gentle hand atop Tsumiki’s head for a brief moment, silently reminding her that he’s here, too. She looks up at him, worry for her brother never flagging from her features.
Ah, he could melt! Satoru smiles widely at her, warm pride taking up all the space in his chest. “Very good, Tsu-chan,” he makes sure to acknowledge her empathy and concern with as much positive encouragement as possible, even as he moves to take over by lifting Megumi from the carrier and into his hold, “you’re very kind, y’know that kiddo? A good sister. Let’s say we check on him together, alright?”
Satoru rests on his haunches as Tsumiki sidles up to him without a word, little hands grasping at his shirt for a bit of leverage so that she can peer past his bicep at Megumi, who lets off a flurry of kicks against him in his increasing upset. Satoru only coos as he checks him over, humming absently to himself when he finds a still-empty diaper. He frowns a bit, tucking the fussing infant even more snug into the crook of his arm despite his wriggling protests.
“When’s the last time you ate, huh?” He ponders, fighting a yawn. Toji hadn’t said during the surprise drop-off nor during the brief explaining of instructions preceding his hasty retreat back to his wife, so to Satoru the dry diaper seems to be speaking for itself.
He’ll easily be the first to admit that he doesn’t know an awful lot about newborns, but at the very least he’s pretty sure that a diaper change typically tends to succeed eating.
Megumi cries, little feet kicking again; fists balled up in his tiny rage against the world. Satoru turns to Tsumiki, lowering his arm a little more to let her in closer. “I think he might be hungry, Tsu-chan. We might have to make him a bottle.”
“Oh!” Tsumiki lights up and bounces suddenly to her feet, heading directly to the large bag of supplies Toji had left aside for Satoru to work from. Tsumiki pours through it without a spec of hesitation. “I know how, Go-san, I’ve seen Papa ‘hundred times!”
A can of powdered formula, the side decorated with a crumpled sticky note in Fushiguro Toji’s now familiar handwriting, emerges from the bag between Tsumiki’s hands. The toddler grins toothily in triumph and instantly takes off towards the kitchen. Satoru gets up and grabs the bag before following behind her with a quiet laugh, abandoning the duffle on the floor once more and bending down to scoop her into his hold at her excitable “up, please Go-san!”
Normally he’d take the precaution of fully strapping her into the high chair he keeps folded and stashed under the island counter for her visits, but considering he has a crying infant wriggling impatiently in his other arm this time, Satoru instead opts for carefully depositing Tsumiki directly onto the island counter.
“Don’t fall,” he tells her as sternly as he can while sounding as tired as he feels. He reaches for the bag again; sits it next to Tsumiki, who of course promises to do no such thing, and starts rocking Megumi slowly back and forth while he rummages around for a bottle. Before long there is a line of three glass bottles on the counter where the bag used to be and Satoru is warming a pot of water on the stove, as per Toji’s crumpled instructions, while Tsukimi scoops out baby formula. Her feet kick back and forth in the air as she does, her tongue sticking out in concentration as she pours two and a half scoops of formula per bottle without prompt. One quick glance over the instructions Toji left confirms that he doesn’t have to go in behind her with any corrections, and for that he is both grateful and impressed.
“You’re a rockstar, Tsu-chan, thank you for showing me what to do,” Satoru says over Megumi’s still-increasing cries. Tsumiki beams, and Satoru reaches out to briefly ruffle her hair while she dutifully replaces the scoop and starts to cap the formula container. Just one more minute, and the baby boy will finally be able to eat. “Not sure you can stay up on the counter like that much longer though,” Satoru muses out loud, thinking back to her high chair. He glances between Megumi, Tsumiki, and out towards the living room where the baby’s carrier rests on the floor in the middle of their blanket pile.
Logically, he knows he should just help Tsumiki down and go grab the carrier to free himself of holding Megumi so that he can set up Tsumiki’s chair and fix the fussing boy’s bottle without worry, but the much sleepier part of Satoru’s brain is telling him that the living room is too far that Tsumiki’s chair is right there, he should just have Tsumiki hold Megumi while he sets it up real quick…
Satoru turns, using his body as a shield for Megumi, and quickly cuts the heat off. He removes the pot on the stove from the eye onto a cool one. Can’t make the bottle too warm, Toji’s instructions said, or else Megumi will refuse to eat.
Now. Have Tsumiki hold her brother, or just get her down and fetch Megumi’s carrier? Plus, the kid might not cry as much if his sister is the one holding him…
Satoru looks down at Megumi’s upset little face. What would Kento do?
‘Frown at me for existing in my own house, for one,’ Satoru instantly thinks, already knowing the answer; a smile pulling at his mouth as he imagines the severe furrow that Kento’s brows would take—the disdain that would appear in his annoyed glare at the suggestion of having Tsumiki hold Megumi while she sits where she is.
And he would be correct about the decision, of course. As much as Satoru trusts Tsumiki it doesn’t change the fact that she’s only four, and also sitting somewhere very high up and dangerous for someone her size.
Satoru glances at the clock on the stove, wondering when Kento will be back. He boops Megumi’s nose, letting out a small sigh as the baby boy bats angrily at his finger, and then turns back around and holds out his arm to Tsumiki. “Alright, Tsu-chan, time to get down. We’ll put Megumi in his carrier,” he explains, beating back a yawn as he gently sets the toddler back on her feet, “I’ll set up your chair and get you a snack while I feed him. Sound alright, kiddo?”
Tsumiki nods through her own yawn, the excitement of being able to help him with Megumi’s meal prep clearly having faded away. Her little hand curls tightly in the fabric of his pant leg, refusing to let go even as he takes a step, and Satoru couldn’t help the burst of affection that gives him even if he wanted to.
‘Poor kid,’ he thinks, equally as sleepy, as they move back and forth about his flat. He’s watched Tsumiki a zillion times and he’s sure that she’s never been this clingy with him before. He can only wonder if her brother’s additional presence, or her mother being sick, has anything to do with it. ‘I’m sure last night and this morning have been a strange time for her, waking up here at my place unexpected like that.’
Getting the Fushiguro siblings situated in his kitchen takes no time after all, a fussing Megumi buckled into his carrier on the island counter right in front of where Tsumiki sits in her highchair, quietly munching away at one of Satoru’s expensive peaches and cream yoghurts.
It’s just as Satoru is finally getting Megumi to accept his bottle—he’s had to take him back out of his carrier and settle the boy back into his arms before he even started considering the nub of the bottle as something of interest—when his phone starts going off.
A familiar ringtone, coming from somewhere in the pile of blankets in the living room. It leaves Satoru no time to sigh in relief at the quiet that falls over his flat with Megumi accepting his bottle. He rushes over as quickly as he can without upsetting Megumi, presses the bottom of the bottle to his cheek as to maintain the bottle’s angle, and crouches down to unearth his phone from the blankets.
“Kento,” Satoru answers, hoping he doesn't sound as harried as he feels, “you good out there? Everything okay?”
Are you coming back, he manages to not ask.
Kento seems to hear it, anyway. “I’m headed over now,” he says, and ‘wow,’ Satoru blinks through the shudder that pours through him at the sound of those four simple words. Almost dazed, Satoru slowly places his hand on the bottle and trades holding it to his cheek for holding his phone against the other, instead. He must really be tired for Kento’s voice to have an effect like that.
“—does Tsumiki have any allergies?” He finds Kento asking him.
Satoru blinks, eyes sweeping over to the little girl, whose feet are back to happily kicking, as she scoops out a slice of peach from her yoghurt. “She doesn’t like chocolate or raisins.” He answers, “she’s more of a strawberry or banana girl but never strawberry-banana.”
“Not answering my question,” Kento huffs, annoyed.
Satoru rolls his eyes through a budding grin. “She can have whatever. What were you doing up this morning?”
Kento hangs up on him. Satoru snorts out a laugh before he shoves his phone into his pocket as quickly as he can without upsetting Megumi, who is almost halfway through with his meal.
Twenty minutes later and his front door opens while he sits staring blankly at one of his physics books, the TV playing yet another cartoon while both Megumi and Tsumiki nap the morning away.
Kento steps into the genkan of Satoru’s flat freshly changed into his day clothes, holding a large paper bag that smells suspiciously of breakfast pastries on his wrist and a drink carrier holding two takeout coffee cups in that same hand.
Satoru abandons his book and stands up. His mouth works over words that don’t come, the promise of coffee and pastries overriding any and everything else he might think to say as Kento slips out of his shoes. The blond looks around the living room, takes in the sleeping children, and then gestures towards the kitchen while he holds up the paper bag in simple offering.
Satoru could kiss him—would, if he knew that Kento wouldn’t pick him up and throw him off of the edge of his own balcony for it. He tries not to linger too much on the thought of Kento picking him up and instead silently follows the man towards his kitchen. They sit in the stools lining the countertop bar marking its entrance.
“You,” Satoru finally manages to say after sinking his teeth into a buttery soft chocolate croissant, “you are amazing and you’re never allowed to leave me ever again.”
Kento scoffs and rolls his eyes at him from behind a sip of his coffee. Satoru drinks him in, his perfectly pressed straight-leg jeans and his green polo that fits his chest and arms too fucking well, and his hair, which has been gelled and pushed back into the 7-3 style he’s been preferring more and more lately.
Damn. “You look good.” Satoru blurts around his bite before he can help it.
Kento flicks a crumb of croissant off of his arm and looks at him as if he’s lost his head. “I look how I always do, Gojo.”
“Yeah, except you don’t,” Satoru insists, giving him a pointed once over, to which Kento pointedly ignores him.
But ‘fuck, he even smells good as hell,’ Satoru moans inwardly at the whiff of cologne coming off of Kento. He swallows his bite of chocolate croissant and reaches for his own coffee, mouth suddenly way too dry. ‘And here I am still in my sweatpants, probably looking exactly like how many hours I haven’t slept…’
Gods, what did he do to deserve this kind of torture?
He dissolves into a real moan once he takes a sip of his coffee. It’s perfect. Kento stares at him. “Christ, you really are insufferable.”
“Yet here you are, suffering me,” Satoru grins when Kento rolls his eyes again at that. “So what were you doing up this morning,” he goes to ask for the nth time, actually expecting an answer now, since Kento is here and can’t hang up on him and definitely kind of promised that he would once he got back—but Kento beats him to it by a perfect second, asking him how he fared with Megumi and Tsumiki while he was gone.
“You sounded a little out of it when I called earlier,” the blond says, critically eying Satoru from head to toe. He tries not to squirm at the attention. “Did something happen?”
“Nah. I was just finally getting Megumi to eat is all,” Satoru shrugs, “I’ve never taken care of an infant before. There’s a bit of a learning curve, even with instructions.”
Kento bites into his own pastry, something flaky and loaded with raspberry jam. He chews thoughtfully. “You’re good at most things, Gojo,” he says eventually, simple and sure like there isn’t an alternative answer to be found, “from what little I’ve seen, taking care of children doesn’t seem to be an exception. You also called for help when you felt you needed it, which is largely unlike you in most cases, so it’s pretty obvious that you understand how serious babysitting is. Give yourself more credit.”
“Oh.” Satoru’s eyes aren't prickling. They are not, and this is most certainly not the nicest thing Nanami Kento has ever said to him, what the fuck? He blinks a few times, clearing his throat of the sudden tightness there, trying not to stare at Kento too much as he finishes off his pastry like he didn't casually just send Satoru’s emotions flying all over the damn place.
“Thanks, Kento,” he murmurs, unable to come up with anything else. “That’s..”
“Actually don’t mention it,” Kento tells him dryly, and, oh, are his cheeks pink? “Are you done eating yet? It would be best to start getting the Fushiguro’s ready now so that we can get to campus on time. You also need to get dressed.”
“Y-Yeah…” Satoru says dumbly. There’s a crumb of pastry at the corner of Kento’s mouth and he really, really wants to kiss it off. Wants to do more than kiss it off. He wants to pry his mouth open with his tongue and have a taste of that raspberry pastry for himself. He wants to drag Kento by his belt loops and press him into the nearest wall and—
Satoru forces himself to turn away. Finish his coffee.
‘The kids,’ he tries chanting to himself in a broken effort to keep focused, ‘the kids need to get ready. I also need to get ready. I have a physics exam and we need to get ready… Damn. Goddamnit. Shit. Fuck. Today is going to be forever…’