Chapter Text
“We’re definitely late now.”
Satoru absentmindedly flattens a crumpled piece of paper on the table surface. Next to him, Megumi squints at the crumpled papers in his own hands.
“Do we have to bring all of these?”
“Yep,” Satoru hums in affirmation, even though he doesn’t actually have any idea what it is Megumi’s holding. Better safe than sorry, right? “That needs to go in the bag, too.”
Megumi presses the papers into the file in his hand with a quiet scoff. “Taxes suck,” he mutters.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Satoru murmurs under his breath, but at the strange look Megumi sends him, he quickly waves his hands in the air. “Okay, this is probably all that’s needed.” He pauses. “Probably. Tsumiki, did you finish packing the cookies?”
“Yeah!” comes Tsumiki’s affirmation from the kitchen, her head popping out a few moments later as she triumphantly holds out a small tin box. Satoru flashes her a thumbs up.
The ride to the NTA office is an unfortunately familiar one, but it’s surprisingly quick, thanks to the family’s new designated driver for the day.
“Thanks for the ride, Yuuji-kun,” Satoru says when they finally arrive, and Yuuji flashes him a bright grin.
“Happy to help, Gojo-san!” he responds brightly, and Satoru doesn’t fight his rising smile in return for long. He’s begun to realize that Yuuji’s enthusiasm really is contagious, and the smile lingers on his face as he begins walking towards the entrance to the office, his hands in his pockets and a file tucked in his arm. Behind him, he hears Megumi murmur his own farewell to his boyfriend, and a few moments later, his steps fall in tandem to Satoru’s.
“I haven’t been here before,” Megumi muses, glancing up at the tall building as Satoru pushes the door open, “but the whole place feels oddly familiar.”
“You think?” Satoru responds dryly, but he only receives a confused look in return. He shakes his head. “You might have seen it on TV or something,” he offers as a lame excuse, and Megumi slowly nods.
“That might be it.”
“Okay,” Nanami says slowly. “Well. Yes. I do think you’ve made things better. This is… an improvement.” He gestures to the stack of vaguely uncreased papers on the desk. “I’m glad you listened,” he continues, “but we have a problem, because you listened, but you didn’t listen, and—” His hand trails to the open tin box on the side of his desk to take a crumbly cookie. “—and that has to do with Schedule C, which you didn’t…”
Nanami’s voice trails off. In its place comes a slow trickle, then a sudden rush of external noise—voices, Satoru realizes after a moment, voices from all different corners of his mind clamoring for his attention, calling his name. He hears applause, laughter, waves crashing on a beach, whistling wind, somber violins, low thrumming, high-pitched humming, and then all that remains is the shrill note ringing in his mind, and it threatens to induce a headache, but then—
—his phone buzzes.
Satoru almost throws his phone in Nanami’s face in his haste to fumble it out of his pocket. Megumi and Tsumiki watch him, the former with badly disguised amusement and the latter with mild concern, as Satoru taps frantically at his phone, but his shoulders slump when all he finds is a spam text from an unknown number.
“Gojo-san,” Nanami says slowly. A crack runs through the cookie he holds pinched in his hand. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Uh,” Satoru says eloquently. “You got it all, right, Megumi?”
Megumi stares at him blankly before shaking his head. “Sure,” he mutters, and Satoru decides that’s all the affirmation he needs. He holds up an enthusiastic thumbs-up to a not-very-enthusiastic Nanami.
“Got it, then,” he declares proudly. His eyes fall on his phone screen, still lit-up, and they widen when he notices the time flashing at the top. “Er, look, not that I so very much don’t love filing taxes, but I really am running quite late for something, so—” He quickly sweeps the papers into his bag. “—I’ll get Megumi to fix whatever’s wrong with the papers,” he finishes with a ruffle of Megumi’s hair. “There’s no better way to learn to file your taxes than filing taxes!”
Megumi scowls, even as Satoru’s hand retracts. “I’m not doing your taxes for you—”
“Gojo-san, you can’t have him—”
“What was that, couldn’t quite hear you, alright, bye,” Satoru trills, pulling both Tsumiki and Megumi by the wrists away as he walks quickly towards the exit.
“What’s got you in such a rush all of a sudden?” he hears Megumi ask, and Satoru’s lips press together.
“Nothing—” comes his immediate response, but he falters. “Well, you’ll see.”
“If you pace any more, you’re going to wear a hole in the carpet.”
“Mhm.”
“Are you even listening to what I’m saying?”
“Hmm.”
“I dumped Yuuji.”
“Yeah.”
“Tsumiki’s pregnant.”
“Mmn.”
“I crashed the car.”
“Okay—wait, you what?”
“That’s what gets you to look up?” Megumi complains from where he leans on the couch, watching Satoru pace the length of the living room. “Come on, seriously.”
“What?” Satoru asks defensively.
"I’ve never seen you look this worried before," Megumi remarks as he watches Satoru stride up and down the length of the living room with his hands behind his back.
"Worried," Satoru repeats. "Me? No." He tries to laugh, but it comes out as a strangled wheeze. "Why would I be worried?"
Megumi stares at him.
"Sure," he finally says, and at his unconvinced look, Satoru opens his mouth—
—and immediately closes it when he hears the shriek of the doorbell ring through the apartment, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste to the door which for once slips easily open in his grasp—
"Suguru." The name leaves him like an exhaled breath.
"Satoru." Suguru, his Suguru, stands in the doorway, his eyes crinkled into a smile. "Long time no see."
And everything, everywhere, feels right again.