Stray Cats

The morning after that chaotic dinner…well, chaotic for him and the kid, Megumi anyway- Satoru Gojo woke up too early for someone who claimed to be effortlessly unbothered by life.

Not that he cared. He totally didn’t. He just–woke up.

Maybe it was because his brain wouldn’t shut up. Maybe it was because he’d dreamed again. Gojo always dreamed, but usually they were bizarre nonsense—--flying pandas, running from cursed snowmen, accidentally marrying Geto in a mall food court.

Sometimes his dreams were straight-up pervy and naughty–and once in a while, it was that damn Toji dream. The one where Toji got him in some MMA chokehold with those ridiculously strong thighs. The shame of that loss ran deep in his bones. Someday, he vowed, he’d grow strong enough to beat that bastard’s bum ass and smug face into the floor.

But tonight’s dream? Different.

There was a black cat sitting in the rain. Not hiding from it–just sitting there, staring up at the sky like it didn’t care it was soaked. It looked kind of sad, but also kind of resigned. Gojo crouched down, tried to call it over.

“Here, kitty—--”

The cat hissed and took a swipe at him–full claws, no chill. Still, he grabbed it anyway and lifted it out in front of him like Simba in The Lion King .

That’s when the cat poofed into sulking Megumi.

A catgumi .

Before he could crack a single joke, Dream Megumi smacked him across the face.

He woke up on the floor.

Face-first.

Mouth full of carpet.

“What the hell was that,” he mumbled, rubbing his cheek.

It didn’t mean anything, obviously. Megumi was kind of a brat. Small. Always scowling. Too serious for someone so short.

But the way the kid stared at the stars last night, like they owed him something?

That stuck with him..

Adorable, his brain whispered.

Gojo glared at nothing. “Shut up,” he muttered to his own thoughts.

And then he sulked.

School was the usual blur of admiration and ego. Geto and Shoko flanked him at lunch, as usual, and noticed something was… off.

“You look weird,” Shoko said flatly, sipping her canned coffee. “Did someone finally out-pretty you?”

“Or did that lab-grown Barbie your dad married steal your silk pillowcase?” Geto added.

Satoru stared into the distance. “Have you ever met someone who insults you so perfectly you start to think it’s super adorable?”

Silence.

Then:

“No,” Shoko deadpanned.

“Wait. Someone insulted you, and you liked it?” Geto laughed. “We roast you every day, and all we get is tantrums.”

“That’s because your insults are as dumb as your bangs,” Gojo shot back.

Geto scoffed. “Says the walking white chihuahua.”

“HEY—--!”

“Okay, okay.” Shoko held up a hand. “No fighting or I’ll set you both on fire.”

They quieted down–barely.

“So,” Shoko continued, casually. “Who’s the celestial being that managed to out-snark the great Gojo Satoru?”

Geto snorted. “Probably a baby.”

“Nah,” Shoko said, sipping her drink. “Even if he’s 18, he makes toddlers cry. Remember the lollipop incident?”

“Oooh, that one,” Geto laughed.

“I hate both of you,” Gojo said, dramatically. “And it’s not a baby. It’s... my mom’s boytoy’s kid.”

Another silence.

“Wait. The guy you hate has a kid who can out-insult you?” Geto said, eyes wide. “That’s a double loss. You can’t beat the dad in a fight and now you’re losing verbal battles to the son?”

“Oh my god. Satoru Gojo, officially a loser,” Shoko declared.

“HEY! Shut it! Toji is still a bum, okay? And I let him win that sparring match. You know that.”

“Sure you did,” they both said in unison.

“So you met the kid,” Geto grinned. “What’s he like?”

“His name’s Megumi,” Gojo said, grimacing. “And he’s the spawn of Satan. That scowl? That poker face? I want to squish his face and throw him in a blanket burrito.”

“Sounds like your soulmate,” Shoko quipped.

Satoru made a face. “He’s like Mr. Dick-Darcy but... fun-sized.”

“And if he’s so demonic,” Shoko asked, “why’d you call him adorable?”

Satoru froze. He thought back to last night–Megumi, tiny and scowling, with that spiky hedgehog hair. His unimpressed stare, his surprisingly sharp comebacks, eyes like dark blue oceans that drown, unlike Toji’s sharp green ones that cut, and those stupidly expressive ears turning pink at a compliment... He looked—

Wait. Stop thinking about the cute stuff.

“He’s just... got really good comebacks, okay?” Gojo said finally.

Geto and Shoko looked at him. Then burst into laughter.

“Hey! you two are laughing at me —---”

“No, no,” Shoko said between snorts. “It’s just... this is the first time we’ve seen you actually think .”

“Yeah,” Geto added. “You didn’t even think that hard during finals–and that exam was brutal for us.”

“Harder than when you ghost a girl after sleeping with her,” Shoko muttered.

Gojo groaned into his hands. “You two are the worst friends.”

“Anyway,” Geto grinned, “I think you’re simping.”

“I am not ! I just–” Gojo shut up. Then sighed. “I hate both of you.”

“You love us.”

Unfortunately, he did.

But damn it—he also couldn’t stop thinking about that grumpy little cat with the sharp tongue and the oversized hoodie.

Satoru wasn’t sure what it was about the kid. If it was his gloominess, his guts, or his stubbornness. He’d tried to annoy him, push him, rattle him—but Megumi just wouldn’t budge. And Gojo’s never been the type to actually bully someone.

So why the hell was he so distracted?

More distracted than Geto’s annoying laughter. More off-balance than Shoko’s endless teasing.

This...

This was a puzzle.

A very confusing, stubbornly adorable puzzle.

Satoru Gojo didn’t have childhood memories that looked like other people’s.

No holidays at the beach. No clumsy family picnics or sleepy weekend mornings. No parents smiling at each other over breakfast. Just rules. Lessons. Expectations stacked higher than the walls of the estate he grew up in.

The Gojo heir had no business in parks or playgrounds. His days began with discipline and ended with pressure. His friends? Pre-screened. His outings? Supervised. And anyone who did try to get close came with a motive. Every handshake came with a parent in the wings whispering about “alliances.” Every playdate was just a miniature political summit in disguise.

He had money, talent, a bloodline so rare it came with legends–but no real memories that didn’t feel like someone else’s idea of a good time.

Maybe the only reason he wasn’t a complete emotional void was because of the divorce. That messy, chaotic, glorious divorce. It was his loophole, the crack in the system. He used it to negotiate school choice. And that’s where he met Geto. Shoko. A few others who didn’t treat him like walking royalty.

They were his . His circle. His chaos crew.

So yeah—no normal childhood. No real parental warmth.

His mom had tried, he’d give her that. But carrying an entire empire on her back because her husband—now ex-husband—couldn’t keep up had meant she was always somewhere between work calls and boardrooms instead of, well, there.

And now?

His mother—the one person he thought still had dignity, still stood above the mess—was jetting off to Spain with Toji Fushiguro like they were some twenty-somethings off on a horny honeymoon.

And the worst part?

They expected him to babysit.

"Babysit," Satoru muttered darkly, pacing the entryway like a caged lion. "She’s lost her goddamn mind."

His mom, standing by the mirror adjusting the straps of her designer heels like she wasn't committing parental treason, barely batted an eye.

“Toji and I are flying out to Spain,” she said airily, spritzing perfume into the hallway like it didn’t reek of betrayal.

Satoru folded his arms, glowering from the doorway. “A week?”

“Could be a month,” she added, sing-song sweet, checking her lipstick in the mirror. “Depends how the meetings go.” She winked.

“Yeah, you mean moanings, not meetings,” he muttered.

She sighed. “Toru...”

He flinched. He hated when she said his name like that—soft, apologetic, like it excused everything.

“And like I said,” she continued, grabbing her purse, “be good to Gumi, okay?”

Satoru blinked.
Once.
Twice.

“Wait—---you really mean I’m babysitting his kid?! I have a life. I have plans!”

“Oh, please. You’re going to watch TV and annoy Geto.”

“I might’ve had a date!”

“With your hand?” she asked sweetly, planting a kiss on his cheek.

Satoru spluttered. “Uncalled for.”

“You’ll live,” she said, ignoring him. “He’s a quiet kid. Sweet, really.”

“Quiet kids are the ones who burn down your house while looking you dead in the eye.”

“Bye, baby~!” she called, heels clicking away.

And just like that, she was gone.

He didn’t even get the satisfaction of a dramatic door slam.

Now, standing awkwardly in their modern palace of a home was Megumi Fushiguro . Backpack slung over one shoulder. Expression flat. Eyes dark and unreadable.

He looked like he wanted to disappear.

Toji – goddamn Toji —reached down and patted the kid’s head. The way Megumi stiffened made something shift in Satoru’s chest. Not pity, exactly. But something adjacent. The scowl was back. So was the pout.

But underneath it?

Satoru could’ve sworn he saw something else. A flicker of something raw. Something sad .

Nah. Must be imagining things .

Then Toji clapped the kid on the shoulder, mumbled something Satoru didn’t catch, and strutted out the door like he wasn’t leaving a child with an emotional hurricane in designer clothes.

And just like that, they were alone.

Satoru turned to face his reluctant new roommate. “Yo, midget. Come on. I’ll show you your room.”

Megumi just nodded and adjusted his backpack, silent. It was a little eerie how quiet he was since he knows how sharp that mouth is.

The walk upstairs was uneventful. Peaceful, even. Which was weird. Satoru didn’t do peaceful. It made him itchy.

So, naturally, he ruined it.

“You know, this house is way too big for a midget like you. If you get lost, just holler—-‘ Onii-chaaaan~ ’” he crooned in a high-pitched falsetto.

Megumi stopped in the hallway.

Turned.

Stared.

“…So you’re into that kind of kinky stuff?”

“ HUH?! ”

Megumi tilted his head, blank-faced. “I’ll make sure to lock the door at night so Onii-chan doesn’t crawl in.”

Before Satoru could even find the words to respond, Megumi closed the door to the guest room. Right in his face.

Satoru stood there, blinking.

Then muttered, “I’m not a perv, you little–”

But the door was already shut.

Dead silence.

He stared at the wood grain, as if the door would apologize.

It didn’t.

“…This is going to be hell.”

The first few days were… a disaster.

Not fire-and-explosions disaster. Not screaming-matches-and-broken-plates disaster.

No, it was worse.

It was silence .

Megumi avoided Satoru like he was contagious. No eye contact. No conversation. The kid slipped through the villa like a damn ghost–quiet, calculated, cold.

Which, fine. Satoru had better things to do. He could ignore the pint-sized storm cloud.

Except… he couldn’t.

Because this was his house.

And this kid? This kid was acting like he was the guest and Satoru was the intruder.

And for some reason, that pissed him off.

“Hey!” Satoru called out one morning as Megumi floated past him like an emotionally unavailable ninja. “You know it’s rude to not greet your host, right?”

Megumi didn’t even pause. “You’re not my host. I was assigned to be here.”

“Oh, so we’re being edgy today.”

Megumi shot him a look—somewhere between a glare and pure exhaustion—then turned away, walking off without a word.

“What the—HEY!”

And just like that, a new obsession was born.

Gojo didn’t know why –maybe it was the challenge, maybe it was spite, maybe it was because he was bored out of his mind–but he developed a mission: Get a reaction out of Megumi Fushiguro every day.

Every. Single. Day.

The kid made it incredibly difficult.

But Satoru Gojo was nothing if not persistent.

It started small. Little pokes.

“Yo, Darcy Jr.,” he’d chirp across the room. “You practicing your brooding again, or is this just your resting face?”

Silence.

“Do you ever blink?”

Still nothing. Then, he up his game...by intruding personal space...

“Goooooood morning, Mini Darcy~!” he sang on the fifth day, barging into the guest room uninvited.

Megumi didn’t even glance up from his homework. “Get out.”

“Such cold hospitality. You know, you’re lucky I’m not a pervert.”

“You’re not lucky I’m not violent.”

Satoru actually grinned. “Ohhh? Did you just threaten me, Gumi-chan?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Make me.”
And the kid turned to him and gave him that withering look...

Ah finally a reaction

And from there, it became a thing.

Megumi would avoid. Satoru would poke. Megumi would sass. Satoru would escalate.

By next week, it was the start of a tradition. For Satoru, maybe...

“Why are you always reading?” Satoru groaned at breakfast, plucking the book out of Megumi’s hands. “You’re like an old man trapped in a kid’s body.”

Megumi didn’t even blink and took back his book. “At least I’m feeding my brain while feeding my body. What are you feeding, your ego?”

Satoru grinned . “Mini Darcy’s got claws.”

He even bragged to Geto and Shoko about it during lunch break.

“I got three insults today,” Satoru told them, beaming like a proud parent.

“Wow. Truly romantic,” Shoko deadpanned.

“Do you count Megumi roasting you as foreplay?” Geto asked, sipping his drink.

“Shut up. I’m just saying–he’s weirdly fun to annoy. Like a cat that smacks you when you try to pet it, but secretly likes you.”

“Your bar for affection is concerning ,” Shoko muttered.

But in between the teasing, Satoru started noticing things.

Small things.

Like how Megumi would always clean up the mess Satoru left in the kitchen after late-night snacks. Or how he’d help the maid carry laundry without being asked. Or the way he arranged the cushions on the couch every morning, like he needed order to survive.

One morning, he found Megumi in the garden, carefully pouring water over his mom’s succulents, a stray calico kitten perched on the stone wall nearby.

“You live out here now?” Satoru said, watching him from the patio.

Megumi didn’t look up. “It tried to climb your window. Got caught in the rose vines.”.”

The kitten’s paw was wrapped neatly with gauze he must’ve stolen from the house's first aid kit. Didn’t even look up when he added, “You should cut those. They're dangerous. Could hurt other animals.”

Satoru scoffed. “What are you, Snow White?”

Megumi finally looked up. His face was unreadable, but his deep blue eyes–there was something tired in them. Not exhausted. Just… worn.

“The thorns could hurt you too, you know.”

That shut Satoru up. No snark. No insult. Just a flat, simple warning—as if he mattered too.

And for once, he didn’t have a comeback.

Later that day, he had cornered the maid and asked about his little guest.

“Oh, young Master Megumi?” she said brightly. When did ?the midget become a young master!? “He’s lovely. Polite. So helpful. He even helped me scrub the floors yesterday–said he didn’t like leaving footprints behind.”

Satoru nearly choked. “We talking about the same Megumi? Black hair? Pouty lips?”

She laughed. “He’s kind, young master. A bit quiet, but very sweet.”
“He even fixes your shoe rack every morning,” she added.

Satoru suddenly remembered that his shoes hadn’t been scattered in days.

Sweet?

Satoru walked away in a daze.

Was this the same gremlin who told him his face looked like a tax fraudster’s?

That night, he walked past the living room and paused when he saw it.

Megumi. Curled up on the couch. A different cat this time—a fat orange tabby asleep in his lap. Where did these cats even come from? The boy had one hand resting gently on its back, the other holding a worn paperback. And just for a second, when the kitten stirred and he scratched behind its ear—

He smiled.

Not at Satoru. Not at anyone.

But it was real.

Soft. Quiet. Unarmored.

And it hit Satoru in the chest so hard that he forgot how to breathe.

He didn’t know what to call it. But it was something sharp and sudden and lovely.

So, instead of walking away, Satoru stood there for a moment longer.

Just watching.

Trying to uncover this puzzle called Megumi.

By the second week...

It was raining again.

Hard.

The kind of rain that made the windows rattle like ghosts trying to get in. It wasn’t even supposed to rain– October was supposed to be pleasantly cool and crisp, the start of winter’s bite. But Tokyo didn’t care about the calendar tonight. The sky opened up like a wound.

Satoru Gojo lay wide awake, arm slung over his eyes, blanket kicked off somewhere near the edge of the bed. He hadn’t slept. Not since dinner.

Correction, dinner with his father.

His weekly obligation to “maintain familial bonds,” which really meant sitting through awkward silence and passive-aggressive commentary from a man who had the emotional depth of a teaspoon. And of course, Barbie was there too—his dad’s new wife—purring fake laughs, batting her fake lashes, and sipping overpriced wine like she was barely older than Satoru himself.

What made it worse? The way she kept looking at him.

Hungry. Coy.

Disgusting.

Satoru knew that look. He ignored her the way you’d ignore a disease you didn’t want to catch.

He focused on his food, minding his business.

Until his father spoke.

"I heard your mother’s flaunting that boytoy around town like she's still in her prime. Pathetic."

The words hit Satoru harder than he expected.

He froze mid-bite, fork suspended halfway to his mouth.

The hypocrisy was mind-bending. This from the man who dumped his wife for a bottle blonde who couldn’t even pronounce “Versace” right. Who traded in loyalty for someone who thought Europe was a brand.

He wanted to flip the table. Smash the wine glasses. Scream.

Instead, Satoru scoffed under his breath. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t give his father the satisfaction.

He just stood up, chair scraping back sharply against the marble floor.

His father called after him, tone sharp.

Satoru didn’t look back. Didn’t slow down. He shoved the restaurant doors open and let the night swallow him whole.

By the time he got home, his jaw was still locked tight, hands jammed deep in his pockets.

He passed by the dining room—and paused. Megumi had been sitting there alone at the table, a plate of curry rice untouched in front of him. He’d looked up–just briefly–and Satoru had avoided his eyes. Said nothing. Went straight to his room.

Now it was nearly 10 p.m. and he was starving.

So, barefoot and a little dead behind the eyes, Satoru trudged down the hallway, rubbing his stomach and feeling pathetic.

And that’s when he saw him.

Megumi. Curled up on the living room couch like a grumpy cat. Blanket pulled around his small frame, a book resting on his knees. The rain thudded steadily against the glass, thunder rumbling every so often like the world was trying to clear its throat.

“You’re up?” Satoru whispered, surprised.

Megumi glanced up from the page. “…You okay?”

Satoru blinked.

No sarcasm. No sass. Just a simple, quiet question.

“…Yeah,” he murmured, voice softer than he expected. It surprised even him.

Megumi scooted over wordlessly and patted the space beside him on the couch.

Satoru hesitated.

But something about the gesture—small, almost shy–made his feet move before he thought. He sat down. The blanket rustled as Megumi pushed a plate toward him.

Dorayaki. Still warm.

“Eat before you sleep,” Megumi mumbled, flipping his page without looking at him.

Satoru stared. “You… made this?”

Megumi didn’t respond. Just tugged the blanket higher.

Satoru didn’t say thank you. But he took a bite. It was sweet. Soft. Just right.

They sat like that for a moment, the rain doing all the talking.

“…Why aren’t you in your room?” Satoru asked between bites.

Megumi kept reading. “Thunder’s too loud. Can’t concentrate.”

Satoru smirked. “You scared?”

He expected the usual retort. The eye roll. The venom.

Instead, Megumi just pulled the blanket over his head and kept reading.

The silence that followed wasn’t just awkward–it was heavy. Like something had been exposed.

“…We should build a fort,” Satoru said suddenly, desperate to lighten the mood. “Right here. Pillows. Blankets. The whole thing.”

Megumi lowered the book slightly. “What are you, six?”

“Hey, grown men can build pillow forts too. It’s called healing your inner child, ” Satoru said dramatically, already tossing couch pillows onto the floor.

“You’re not healing. You’re regressing.”

“Semantics.” Satoru flopped down onto the rug and started stacking cushions like he was laying bricks. “Come on, Gumi-chan.”

“Don’t call me that,” Megumi groaned but reluctantly slid down to the floor beside him anyway, bringing the blanket with him like it was armor.

They sat shoulder to shoulder as Satoru tried to balance the last pillow on top of their makeshift wall.

“You know,” Satoru started, more casual than he felt, “I’m actually afraid of the dark.”

Megumi blinked. “You? Mr. Flashy? King of sunglasses?”

Satoru laughed, but it sounded more like an exhale. “Yeah. Got kidnapped once when I was five. They kept me in the dark for three days. No windows. Just silence.”

Megumi’s head tilted slightly. His expression didn’t change much, but something in his eyes shifted.

It wasn’t pity.

It was understanding.

“…Thunder makes me nervous,” Megumi said after a pause, barely —barely louder than the storm outside.

Satoru looked over at him, surprised by the honesty. Then smirked, just a little. “I knew it,” he said, gently nudging Megumi with a cushion.

“You can make fun of me. I don’t care,” Megumi muttered, burying his face behind the blanket and his book like a shield. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Nah I won’t,” Satoru said softly, “you know my weakness too.”

They didn’t talk after that. The storm kept going. Rain against glass. Thunder rolling in the distance like a warning. Lightning occasionally lit the living room in stark white, painting shadows across the walls and the two of them beneath their messy pillow fort.

For once, neither of them filled the silence.

Eventually, Megumi’s shoulders stopped tensing at every thunderclap. His breathing slowed. The book slipped from his hands and fell against his chest. His head tilted…slow, almost hesitant…and rested just barely against Satoru’s arm.

Satoru glanced down.

The sarcasm was gone. So was the armor. Just soft features in sleep. Long lashes against pale skin. He was still small for his age–too thin, really. And there was something about that, about the quiet fragility of him in this moment, that made Satoru feel like he’d accidentally stepped on sacred ground.

The kid was… beautiful.

Not in a way Satoru was used to noticing. Not like the girls who chased him, or the models his dad's new wife hung out with. Megumi wasn’t dressed up. He wasn’t trying. He just was —stubborn, closed-off, quiet. But still.

Beautiful.

And Satoru hated that he noticed. Hated it because he was supposed to hate him —the son of the man he couldn’t stand. The annoying brat who insulted him on day one. The kid he had planned to make miserable.

But now?

Now, that didn’t feel so important.

“…You’re not that bad,” Satoru whispered to no one in particular. The words fell from his mouth before he could catch them.

He let his body relax, shifting slightly, leaning into the warmth that had settled between them. His eyes drifted closed.

And for the first time since the whole mess started–the unexpected family dinner, the stupid Europe trip, the babysitting assignment–he fell asleep.

Not alone.