Stray Cats

Satoru Gojo had been through a lot in his teenage life.
High expectations. Competitive classmates. Adoring fans. The awkward social pressure of being rich, gorgeous, and obnoxiously gifted.

But nothing-absolutely nothing-prepared him for his mom being catfished.

By Toji fucking Fushiguro.

It all started after his parents’ quiet divorce. His dad, ever the minimalist in emotion and loyalty, moved on in record time with a woman who looked like she was a Barbie assembled in a lab: bleach blonde, eyelash extensions that could cause injuries, and an “I’m not like other girls” squeak to her voice that made Satoru want to eat drywall. She obeyed everything his dad said, smiled like a robot, and couldn’t spell "budget" if it hit her in the face.

Satoru hated her.

But he respected the game. She knew her role–arm candy. Trophy. Accessories not included.

His mom, though? She was supposed to be different. She was a queen. Powerful. Sharp. She ran her own company and was still one of the Directors of Gojo Corp. Drove a car Satoru wasn’t allowed to touch and wore heels that sounded like death approaching on marble floors. She was someone you didn’t play.

So when she said she was dating again, Satoru expected some silver fox with a yacht or a guy with a psychology degree and wine opinions.

Instead, she brought home... him.

Toji Fushiguro.

The walking, talking thirst trap. Tattoos like a character select screen. Abs, you could use to grate cheese. Smirk permanently locked on his face like he just won a bet against God.

And worst of all?

He was broke. No job Satoru could confirm. Just "investments" and "connections" that sounded more illegal than impressive.

“He’s using you,” Satoru said one night, glaring at the man who was lounging shirtless on their designer couch, scrolling through his phone like it owed him money.
“He doesn’t love you, just your money.”

His mom, sitting in the kitchen with her wine glass, only laughed.

“Doesn’t matter, Toru. He fucks me good.”

Satoru nearly choked on his soup. “ Mom?! ”

She sipped delicately. “His face, his absolutely delicious body, and that thing down there –I mean, whew.”

The trauma . If Satoru could only bash his head to forget what his mom said, and probably bleach his brain for imagining it as well.

Toji didn’t even look up. Just smirked, knowing .

And his mom? She was simping. Hard. Like, humiliating levels of simping. Cooking him breakfast. Laughing at his jokes. Bragging about his biceps . She carried his gym bag, for god’s sake while Toji carry her like a weightless sack of rice.

It was like watching a rich, elegant swan willingly crawl to a guy who probably couldn’t spell “monogamy.”

Toji was always there. Shirtless. Sprawled on furniture. Using their expensive gym like he owned it. Satoru would come home from school, open the fridge, and find protein shakes labeled “ TOJI’S. TOUCH AND DIE. ”

Satoru wanted to set them on fire.

He hated that guy. And worst of all? He couldn’t even win a fight with him. He tried once, a sparring and it ended with him having a hard time holding chopsticks for a week. Aside from looking like a sleaze with porn-star abs, Toji was built like a weaponized bench press and looked like he’d enjoy it.

So when his mom said, “We’re having a little family dinner. Toji’s bringing his son. He's younger than you, so be nice.”

Satoru’s reaction was simple.

“Maybe I’ll make the kid cry.”

Maybe he could ruin it. Maybe he’d bully the kid so badly Toji would dump his mom out of shame.

So on the day of the meet and greet dinner. Satoru walked into the restaurant that night ready for war. Hair perfect, grin razor-sharp, fake politeness oozing out of every pore.

Then he saw him .

The mini me Fushiguro.

Short. Scowling. Wearing an oversized hoodie. His black hair stuck out in stubborn angles, and his eyes were the kind of blue that looked like they were judging you from behind an ice wall.

Tiny. Pouty. Unimpressed and Adorable– No, scratch the last one.

“Satoru!” his mom greeted sweetly, kissing his cheek. Toji raised a smug hand in lazy acknowledgment. Ugh! He wished he could wipe that smug. Then his eyes landed on the little Toji mini me, who only looked at him indifferently.

What's this, a Kuudere, or is his face naturally gloomy?

“This is Megumi,” his mom introduced, beaming. “Isn’t he just precious?”

Megumi gave a short bow. Polite. Brief. Civilized.

Satoru squinted.

Is he really a kid?.

“He’s a cutie, isn’t he Toru?” his mom added, nudging him.

Satoru begrudgingly agreed. Whatever. He’s okay. Not as cute as I was at that age though.

And oh…is that a blush slowly creeping on his face? Satoru looked and almost laughed at the kid. Isn’t that adorable, blushing from a small compliment? 

“And this is Satoru, Megumi,” his mom continued. “He’s gonna be your big brother!”

Megumi looked at him as if he had just been told an unfunny joke. Straight face. No reaction.
Just deadpan judgment in 4K.

Satoru leaned down and gave his fakest grin. “Yo, kiddo, you're smaller than I thought.” Well, he was expecting a taller and bulkier kid, considering Toji's build and height. This kid is willowy and a midget.

Megumi nodded back, looking up at him. “Hello. You’re taller in person, a pain in the neck.”

Satoru blinked. The fuck!?

Toji laughed. “Why don’t you boys get to know each other by the veranda?”

Satoru rolled his eyes. “Oh sure. So you and your sugar mommy can crawl all over each other in peace–”

“Satoru,” his mom snapped.

“Satoru-san,” Megumi interrupted smoothly, standing up and rounding the table with perfect poise. “It’s nice to meet you. Shall we go?”

Gojo blinked. “What the–okay, what the hell?”

His mom beamed. “Perfect! We’ll call you boys when the food arrives!”

So now he was being dragged into a polite hostage situation by a middle schooler.

Perfect.

So they went to the veranda to “get to know” as Satoru’s mom said
“They’re gonna fuck on the table and I don’t wanna eat there anymore” Satoru muttered with disgust as he slouched dramatically into a chair while Megumi only sighed and picked a seat as far from him as possible.

Satoru sensing that, then turned to him with a smirk. So let's start with the mission at hand... “So, you're the little gremlin. The spawn of Toji.”

Megumi looked up slowly. Deadpan. “Unfortunately, And you are the son Of the lady my dad’s boning. The overgrown stick my dad says eats with his mouth open.”

Satoru blinked.

Did this actual middle schooler just roast him? Haaaaaah—-------
He was supposed to be the mean one. But this midget! This midget had no filter, no fear, and absolutely no interest in being liked.

Challenge. Accepted.

" Nice hair," Satoru said, leaning over the table with a grin. "Did your emo phase start early?"

Megumi looked him dead in the eye. "At least mine isn't white like I aged too fast from being unloved."

Satoru choked again . . Okay, now that’s just rude.

“Oh, wow,” Satoru said, grinning wickedly. “You come with batteries or are you just naturally this rude?”

Megumi didn’t blink. “You sound like someone who quotes anime in real life and expects people to think it’s deep.”

Satoru scoffs, slightly offended. Anime quotes are good...

“Oh? You sound like you file complaints about vending machines being out of Fanta.”

“You look like Blue Fanta.”

That earned a genuine laugh from him.

Megumi’s lips twitched.

Satoru squinted. Was that… almost a smile? That’s weird, now that he’s actually looking at the kid, he doesn’t look exactly like Toji, like the same but different.Sure, he had the same dark hair, the same intense eyes—but it was a different kind of intensity.

Toji’s presence was heavy. Dangerous in the way a knife under a pillow might be—calculated, talks like a mafioso, deadly. One of the reason why he hates the guy.

"-for a moody midget, you're kinda funny..."

" -and for a clown, you're not funny at all..."

Their banter ensues for awhile.

And in that short while, Satoru observes, Megumi was indeed different from Toji… sharp in a way that felt honest. Untamed. The kind of sharp you get from something still growing but refusing to bend. A kitten with claws. A storm still learning how to rage.

It was intriguing...

Satoru wanted to throw that spark straight into his own chest just to feel something explode.

Which was weird.

Because he's supposed to have this kid hate him...but now, he doesn't want to hate or be hated. It should’ve been. But it wasn’t.

Then– twenty minutes later....

“We’re ready for dinner!” Satoru’s mom called, her voice far too cheerful. Too breathy.

Satoru’s eyes narrowed immediately.

They walked in.

Satoru squinted at his mom’s dress.

The hem was crooked.

Her lipstick was half gone.

Toji looked suspiciously smug.

Satoru whispered, “They definitely banged on the table.”

Megumi just sighed and reached for the nearest bread roll.

Dinner was... chaos. Not loud chaos. Not food-flying chaos. But Satoru-brand chaos. A slow-motion psychological duel disguised as a polite family meal.

Satoru tried everything.

He nudged Megumi’s plate.

No reaction.

He stole a shrimp from his dish.

Nothing–except for the soft clink of a fork being lowered just a little too calmly .

He tapped his fork against his water glass rhythmically. Clink. Clink. Clink.

And the vein in Megumi’s forehead finally pulsed “You’re like a raccoon with ADHD,” Megumi muttered.

Satoru leaned closer. “You’re like a moody Victorian orphan.”

“Better be an orphan than be raised by a loudmouth idiot like you.”

Toji, laughing from across the table, raised his wine glass. “That’s my boy.”

Megumi didn’t even blink. “Don’t claim me when I’m winning.”

Toji choked on his drink. Satoru wheezed.

Oh, he was brutal.

And Satoru was loving it.

When dessert finally arrived–a perfect slice of strawberry shortcake for Satoru—Satoru reached over, fingers inching toward Megumi’s plate of chocolate-drizzled mochi.

Slap.

Megumi hit the back of his hand with a dessert spoon.

“Mine.”

Satoru stared at him, offended. “Excuse you? But I’m older,” he said, as if that was gospel. “I have dessert privileges.”

Megumi calmly reached for his tea. “And I have faster reflexes.”

Satoru leaned forward, arms on the table. “You’re what, eleven?”

“-Almost thirteen soon,” Megumi corrected coldly, crossing his arms. “And I already hate you.”

“I’m a delight,” Satoru said with zero humility, "-and you’ll love me.”

Megumi gave him a long, slow look that screamed in your dreams. “You’re loud. Dramatic. And you chew like a cartoon animal.”

“If I didn’t know better,” Satoru said, inching closer, his grin sharp enough to slice through tension. “You like talking to me.”

Although the midget was staring in disgust at him, Megumi’s ears turned a shade too pink to ignore.

His lips parted, probably for another perfectly cruel comeback.

Instead, he said, quieter this time: “You’re annoying.”

Satoru’s smile turned into something softer. Still smug. But softer.

Oh look, isn’t that nice?

Later that night, as they all stood outside saying goodbyes, Toji lit a cigarette and clapped Satoru on the shoulder—hard. Just enough pressure to bruise.

Satoru didn’t flinch, but his grin faltered for half a second. Yeah, okay, that’s not subtle, old man.
Then, Toji peeled away toward his mom, who immediately pulled him into some dimly lit corner like they were about to start their late-night soap opera.

Satoru grimaced. Gross, get a room.

He rubbed his shoulder and looked away, eyes scanning lazily—until he caught sight of him.

He saw Megumi lingering by the car, looking up at the stars with innocent wonder. Oh? This is another 'different'…another side . He looks like a child lost, trying to make sense of everything rather than a gremlin like he thought he was. Honestly, he’s really cute as long as that sharp mouth of his is closed.

“Hey, Gremlin,” Gojo called.

Megumi turned, raising one brow.

Satoru winked. “Don’t miss me too hard. Okay.”
“A-As if,” Megumi muttered, glancing away—though the way his lip tugged down felt more like shyness than annoyance...isn’t that adorable…how many times has he said adorable again today?

Megumi didn’t say anything after that. Just stood there, half in the moment, half somewhere else. And for once, Satoru didn’t try to fill the silence. He just looked at him. Really looked. And maybe, for the first time, saw a bit of himself in the kid—someone who didn’t ask for any of this, who was just surviving the chaos of the adults around them.

“You know, Gumi-chan—”

“Don’t call me that,” Megumi snapped, cheeks tinting pink.

“I liked dinner tonight,” Satoru said, quieter now. “With you.”

Megumi looked at him. Eyes uncertain. Maybe searching for the lie.

“…Liar,” he mumbled, then climbed into the car and shut the door.

Satoru stood there, stunned for awhile. Then an amused smile crept up his face.

Then he heard his mom and Toji coming over, probably to finally say goodbye. He made the mistake of looking–and instantly regretted it. They were kissing like they hadn’t downed an entire bottle of wine. Disgusting. Horny rabbits.

He looked away, trying not to puke.

Then the car window rolled down, and Megumi leaned out, scowling.

“Nice to meet you again, Satoru-san.”

Window up. Gone.

Satoru blinked and laughed.

Such an adorable little tsun-tsun.