Archive of Our Own

The hospital room was too white. Satoru always hated white walls, his eyes always made it unbearable, they had always been sensitive. To top it all off, the lights were so bright it did nothing to help the headache Satoru had been sporting for the last couple of days; One that didn’t seem to want to leave him alone.

“If I ever become a doctor, every room and hallway would get a mural.” Satoru complained at a routine checkup.

“You faint at the sight of needles, and you don’t even want to be a doctor. I thought you liked your job?”

“I do, but I’d overcome my fear and fund these boring walls.”

“You fainted when Megumi got his vaccinations, and it wasn't even you that got pricked.”

“I’m an empath Sugu, you know this.”

“You fainted,” he deadpanned, “and then hit the floor, and then I had to carry you back to the car. You embarrassed Megumi that day.”

“I just empathize deeply with others,” he muttered with pink cheeks.

Now, sitting here in a hospital room five years later, Satoru could remember that conversation as though it had happened yesterday.

The walls were still white and insufferable and he wasn't wearing his sunglasses. It felt like the lights were on the highest setting on purpose, made to irritate his eyes, making them feel dryer than ever, as if they could force him to take his eyedrops. He shot the lights an offended look. He hates taking eyedrops.

Shoko and Suguru always have to hold him down, wrenching his head back and opening his eyes with force. He hated the feeling of something being dropped into his eyes, even if it were for the greater cause and for his health. His eyes were so sensitive he couldn't think of anything other than discomfort and pain.

He sat on the examination bed in a hospital gown, swinging his long legs while waiting for the doctor to return with the results.

His glasses were perched on his head instead of over his eyes, doing a good job at pushing his bangs back from his face, though he could use anything against the harsh lightning. The fluorescent lights made him squint all the time.

“I bet they're going to tell me I’m perfectly healthy.”

Suguru looked up from where he stood by the window. Suguru immediately shot down Satoru's imagination, or denial more like, not even wanting to joke about this. “You’ve lost eight kilos.”

“That doesn't necessarily mean anything,” he defended.

Suguru shot his partner an unamused glare. “You nearly collapsed brushing your teeth.”

“I’m passionate!” he argued.

“Satoru.”

“It's okay Sugu, really.” He shot him a smile.

But it wasn’t as bright anymore, not like how he usually smiled, carefree and full of humor along with some mischief. Not because he didn’t want to or because he was bored, but because it was getting harder to hold. It was getting harder to keep up with his facade.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

It had started six months ago, after something small and insignificant, something you wouldn’t really pay attention to. Satoru had started to feel fatigued, quite easily. After doing everyday things, walking to the store, changing the bed sheets and even making food.

He was fatigued enough that when he came home from missions; he actually sat down. Instead of doing something pointless.

It was something Suguru immediately noticed, because Satoru doesn’t sit. He paces, he talks, he cooks while telling six different stories at once, he dances horribly in the kitchen and steals bites off of everyone's plates. He loved annoying Megumi until the teenager threatened legal action.

So when he started quietly falling asleep on the couch before dinner… Suguru knew that something was wrong, because Satoru is an insomniac, he can survive off of three hours of sleep, and falling asleep like he is doing now, this fast, is raising red flags in Suguru's mind.

Satoru concluded that it was the lingering effects of the cold he had caught a week ago, even though he felt better his body could still protest, so he thought nothing of it.

He would get over the cold.

“It’s just the after effects of the cold, it’ll wear off soon enough.”

But the coughs never stopped, neither did the fevers. Then came the rapid weight loss, that was unexplainable. Satoru ate all the time, there was no explanation as to why he was feeling like this.

But then something weird happened. Satoru started to bruise very easily, which was weird considering that he is Gojo Satoru, the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in the world. But now, just slightly hitting his ankle on the edge sticking out from the counter was enough to bruise his entire calf; and he was scared to admit to Suguru, and even to himself, that reversed curse energy didn't always heal the bruises.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

“Gojo-san?”

The doctor had come back, which was a good thing, right? She would tell Satoru that he was alright and healthy as ever, so he could tell Suguru that he was right, and then Suguru would fondly roll his eyes and laugh at him.

Right?

But then his eyes zeroed in on the folder she was now holding, that was never a good sign. And for the first time Satoru realized something; Would he finally be vulnerable? Was he about to experience what it feels like to be human outside of being the Six eyes user?

No, he didn't want to think like that. Because Suguru and Megumi did all of those things. Suguru never made him feel like a weapon, they were always equals. And to Megumi he was nothing more than a father.

But when he saw the doctor's face, he didn't know what to think. Suguru instinctively reached for Satoru's hand, and Satoru squeezed it in lieu of an answer. He tried to act casual, like they were about to discuss the weather and not the fact that the strongest jujutsu sorcerer was visiting a hospital, not a jujutsu healer, a normal non-sorcerer doctor.

Which was a scary fact that should not be spoken about, how even jujutsu healers cant find whats wrong with him. How even Shoko had struggled with diagnosing the lump Suguru had discovered while giving Satoru a much needed massage. He had to resort to non-sorcerer care. How ironic.

“So?”

The doctor sat down on the chair by the examination table. “We’ve received all of your biopsy results.”

Satoru straightened, sensing that this was serious and not the time to be humorous and dismiss this.

“The scans show…” she took a breath. “...an aggressive form of cancer.”

The room shrank, Satoru heard the words, but they felt distant. As if he were submerged underwater, listening to the explanations and diagnosis, refusing to let it filter through his head.

“It’s advanced,” she continued. “It has spread, and it will continue to spread rapidly.”

As she kept on talking, the knife twisted itself deeper into his chest.

Suguru.

Megumi.

His students.

What would happen to Yuji? Suguru would have to protect him. Protect them.

Shoko.

No, no, no, no—

“There are treatments we can try.” She interrupted his spiraling, making him look up. Suguru had tried but failed in hiding his expression, he looked scared, angry and sad all at the same time, and it almost looked as if he was already grieving. Satoru didn't acknowledge him, he was stuck on what she had said.

Try. Not cure. Try.

“We cannot cure it.”

There it was, the one sentence that destroyed everything he had built. The sentence that split his world apart into ’before’ and ’after.’

“...We estimate…” the doctor hesitated. “...approximately eight to twelve months.”

Complete silence. Satoru blinked, once, twice.

“What?” he whispered. Just that, ‘what.’ He scratched the back of his neck. “I always thought I’d die of something cooler. Like some badass curse or my students or something.”

Satoru missed the horrified look the doctor shot at him, not understanding anything.

Suguru made a sound, not really a sob, but he didn't speak either. It was just… a broken sound. The sound that one makes when they learn that their spouse is going to die no matter what they do; when it doesn't matter how much power or money you have, nothing will help.

It was the type of reaction that comes from loving someone so deeply you can't even think about losing them; how you could live without them; how you should grieve without them by your side to comfort you.

The doctor continued explaining treatment options, clinical trials, chemotherapy, palliative care, statistics, and side effects from medication and the cancer.

Suguru heard nothing, nothing registered.

Beside him, Satoru began rubbing circles into the back of his hand. He steadies himself, having to step up for Suguru's case. He has to be here, because Suguru has just gotten used to his new dose of anti depressants and he can't afford to lose him along the way, with the little time they have left.

So he gave himself one moment to think about his diagnosis before he began comforting his spouse. “It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

Megumi sat at the dining room table when they got home. His homework was spread out neatly around him, pencils lined up with an almost obsessive precision. A math textbook laid open, though he hadn’t flipped a page in nearly twenty minutes, having gotten stuck on an equation.

The front door opened. He didn’t look up. “You’re late,” he called absently, scribbling down the answer he had finally figured out.

He glanced toward the hallway when didn't get a response. Satoru always had some sort of excuse, ready to defend himself. “There you guys are. Where have you been?”

Satoru and Suguru remained standing in the doorway. It was only then that Megumi sensed the mood.

Something was… wrong.

He couldn't name it. It wasn't obvious, nothing visible. No blood, no injuries and no panic.

But the air felt different. Heavy. As if the whole house had stopped breathing.

Megumi frowned, trying to push down the feeling of discomfort that engulfed him. “You guys took forever," he murmured.

Still nothing. His eyes moved between them and it was only then that he noticed their faces. Suguru looked like he’d been crying and Satoru was smiling. But it was wrong.

Wrong, wrong, wrong—

It was too soft, too careful. Like he was afraid of making the wrong expression.

“Dad?” he questioned, unease starting to take over, though he was careful not to show it.

Satoru’s smile never wavered. “Come here for a second.”

Megumi didn’t move. Something old and instinctive settled deep in his stomach. Animals knew when storms were coming long before people did. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Every instinct told him— don’t.

He swallowed, then slowly pushed himself up from his chair. Each step he took toward them felt strangely difficult, as though his feet had suddenly become too heavy.

Satoru reached out and rested both hands on his shoulders, they were warm, steady, too comforting.

“I’ve got some pretty lousy news.”

For one suspended heartbeat everything in Megumi went completely blank. His mind refused to supply any possibilities. It was simply blank. “...No.”

The word escaped before Satoru even had a chance to continue. A tiny laugh followed it. Not because it was funny, because it most definitely wasn't. But, because his brain rejected the sentence about to be uttered before it could exist.

“No.”

Satoru inhaled, tightening his hold on his son. “Sweetheart—”

“No.” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “No.”

“Satoru—” Suguru whispered, tears already streaming down his face.

“No!”

The shout exploded through the house, louder than they had ever heard him, even throughout his fighting days.

“No!” He stumbled backwards. His heart was hammering so violently it hurt. His ears rang. “You guys are joking.” Silence. “No.” He laughed once more, a horrible, brittle sound. “This isn’t funny.”

Silence enveloped the space.

“Stop.” He continued, refusing to even acknowledge his parents, not giving them even a minute to explain what was going on. Satoru's eyes had begun to glisten. “Stop it.”

Still… neither of his parents laughed. Nobody told him it was a prank, nobody told him he'd fallen for the oldest joke in the book. Suguru just kept crying in silence. Megumi looked at him, then back at Satoru. His father. His impossibly strong father. The strongest sorcerer alive. The strongest man alive. The one who always came home, the one who fixed everything, the one who couldn’t lose.

“You dont…” His breathing hitched. “You don't get sick."

Even though nobody had said anything, Megumi wasn't dumb, nor was he blind. He could figure it out by himself. He had seen how his father had changed during the last couple of months. Looking more pale, tired, losing weight, and just being overall fatigued.

Satoru’s smile trembled. “I know.”

“No…”

“You remember when I caught the flu?”

Megumi answered automatically, a pathetic attempt to give Satoru an out, anything to not make this nightmare even more real. “You still made breakfast.”

“It was a terrible breakfast.”

“You burned the eggs.”

“That was on purpose.”

Normally, Megumi would have rolled his eyes, told him they were inedible. Told him he should never be allowed near a frying pan again.

But instead, his face simply folded in on itself as Satoru explained what was going on.

It was some sort of complication from using reversed curse technique too much to replenish his limitless and cursed energy. Reversed curse technique affects how the cells divide and multiply to restore damaged cells; an overuse of RCT had led to Satoru’s cells mutating and they were now dividing and multiplying at a much faster rate, faster than what was needed for simply healing the body. So much, that Satoru's body was taking strain and damage from it.

“No.” His chest hurt. His chest hurt so much. Because none of this made sense. People like Satoru weren't supposed to get cancer. Heroes didn’t get diseases. Heroes rescued people from them.

This had to be a mistake. Someone must have mixed up scans, mixed up names. Tomorrow, someone would call and apologize, and then everyone would go back to normal. It had to.

Because the alternative couldn't exist. It simply couldn’t.

Satoru slowly reached toward him, controlled and careful. As if he were approaching a frightened animal. Megumi flinched, then stepped back.

“No.” Another step, away from the two people that had always been by his side.” “No!” His voice turned into something desperate. “No!”

Don’t touch me. If you touch me it becomes more real. If I let you hug me, then I might be accepting it. If I accept it— Then you’re dying.

His eyes burned and his throat closed up. He couldn’t breathe or think. Couldn't hear anything past the pounding in his ears.

“You said…” His words broke. “You said you’d always come home.”

Satoru looked shattered. “I will.”

“Liar.” The word slipped out before Megumi could stop it, and he immediately regretted it. But he couldn't take them back, because in the heat of the moment, it was true. “You promised.” His breathing came in sharp, uneven gasps. “You promised me back when you adopted me. That– That you’d always stay with me no matter what. And I believed you!” He let out a humourless laugh.

“I confided in you about how I felt! How everyone always leaves me. First Toji, then Tsumiki, and now you! You fucking said that you would stay by my side.” At this stage, he was screaming through his tears, not really knowing how to deal with the situation.

Satoru opened his mouth but nothing came out. There wasn't anything he could say to reassure him. Promises couldn't beat cancer.

Megum looked at them one last time. At Suguru crying openly, at Satoru trying so hard not to. At the terrible understanding written across both their faces.

This wasn’t a joke, this wasn’t temporary, this wasn't going away.

“You’re a fucking liar,” was the last thing he said before he turned around and ran. His footsteps thundered up the stairs. The bedroom door slammed hard enough to shake the picture frames hanging on the walls.

A heavy silence settled over the house. The kind that lingers after something breaks, and cannot be undone.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

The day after they broke the news, Megumi didn't come down for dinner. He said he wasn't hungry and insisted that he had homework. He kept his bedroom door locked.

The second day he went to school as if nothing had happened, spent some time with Itadori and Kugisaki, completed a mission and then turned in some assignments.

He didn’t tell anyone.

He refused to cry, and he didn’t let himself break down. He simply acted as though nothing had happened. As though. If he followed the routine perfectly enough, life would simply correct itself.

If he cleaned his room, finished his missions, he trained and he folded his clothes. Surely tomorrow the doctors would call?

By the third day, Megumi still hadn't said more than a handful of words to either of his parents. He knew it wasn’t fair, especially after his outburst. But he can’t help but feel this way, the father figure he’d had since he was six years old, the one that had trained him despite what Megumi could do to him with his inherited technique.

Every conversation ended the same.

“I’m fine.”

“I’m tired.”

“I have homework.”

His anger settled into something quieter. He stopped looking at Satoru for long periods of time. Because every time he did, he caught himself searching. Was he paler today? Did he look more tired? Was he pretending to smile?

Megumi hated himself for noticing, so he stopped looking altogether. If he didn’t see any changes… then maybe there weren't any.

Suguru tried knocking on his door but he received no answer. Satoru tried to joke through the door but only got silence. Sometimes Megumi thought about answering, his hand would even reach for the doorknob. But then he’d remember; Cancer. Sickness. Terminal. Death—

And the anger would rush back in. Not because he blamed Satoru, he didn't, but because this was entirely out of Satoru’s control. The anger was easier to carry than terror, he was good at responding with fury, that was all people ever saw with him. An angry troubled child.

If he was angry, he didn't have to admit that he was scared. If he refused to talk, maybe no one would say the words again. Maybe they could all just… stop pretending this was happening?

It was childish. He knew that, but he didn't care. Because denial was the only thing keeping his world from collapsing completely.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

Every night, around two in the morning, Suguru would wake to the faint creak of floorboards. A bedroom door would open and then he would hear small, careful steps approaching.

He never said anything, he would simply watch from the bed. Megumi would quietly pad into their room, clad in pajamas, believing everyone was asleep. He never climbed into their bed and he never woke them up. He would just lower himself onto the floor beside Satoru’s side of the mattress, drawing his knees to his chest.

He would sit there in the darkness, listening, waiting. Sometimes he stayed awake for hours. Sometimes exhaustion won, and he would drift off curled against the bed frame, head tilted against the mattress and back against the nightstand. One hand would rest lightly on the edge of the mattress, as though he needed to feel that Satoru was still there. Still alive. Still breathing.

Every shift in the blankets startled him awake. Every rattling inhale made him alert. Every cough made his heart leap into his throat. Only when he heard some steady consecutive breaths, would his shoulders loosen again.

By morning, he would slip back upstairs before anyone woke up. And when they would ask over breakfast why he looked so tired. Megumi would shrug.

“I’m fine.”

Because admitting the truth, that he was terrified to sleep in case his father stopped breathing, would make it worse for Megumi. It would make everything real and he still wasn’t ready for that.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

Satoru started chemotherapy the following week. The first session lasted for hours. Long enough for the hospital to become its own strange thing. Minutes stretched, conversations drifted. Machines hummed softly in the background while clear liquid medicine disappeared drop, by careful drop, into Satoru’s veins.

The nurses smiled kindly and calmly explained side effects. Nausea, fatigue, hair loss, changes in appetite. Satoru nodded through all of it with the same easy smile he'd always worn.

“Sounds annoying.”

The nurse laughed. “Most people think so.”

“Am I allowed to dramatically complain?”

“That’s actually encouraged.”

He saluted and winked. “I was born for this.”

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

At first, nothing really changed. Satoru still cracked jokes, still insisted on making breakfast, and still walked Megumi to school whenever he had enough energy.

It almost felt… normal.

Enough that everyone began wondering if maybe this wouldn't be so bad. But then Satoru's appetite disappeared, which happened gradually. One morning, he simply pushed half his toast around the plate while quietly setting it down.

“I’m full.”

Suguru blinked at Satoru’s breakfast. “You’ve only had two bites.”

“Two very…” he tried to come up with a retort. “...very enthusiastic bites!”

The joke landed flat.

The next day it was yogurt, and the day after that it was soup. Food lost its flavor and even his favorite sweets started tasting like cardboard. Suguru started trying anything out of pure desperation.

He experimented with different recipes and spices, cold foods and warm foods. Food from restaurants Satoru loved. Desserts or smoothies that were easy to swallow.

But nothing lasted.

Sometimes Satoru forced himself to eat simply because Suguru looked relieved every time he finished half a meal, and because he needed to be strong for both him and Megumi.

Other times he couldn’t, and apologizing for it somehow hurt even more.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don't apologize for this Satoru. It’s not your fault”

“I know.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

Megumi left the table before they had even finished talking.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

Exhaustion quickly followed. It wasn't regular tiredness that came after a long day at work, or having slept too little. Not the kind that sleep fixes. This exhaustion settled into Satoru’s bones. Fatigue. He’d fold laundry and then have to sit down halfway through. He’d walk up the stairs and pause at the landing to catch his breath. Sometimes he'd fall asleep on the couch in the middle of a conversation.

The first time it happened, Megumi had been so surprised that he just stopped talking. He just stared at his father. Satoru’s head had tilted back, Megumi looked at his father. Memorizing his features, though he already looked different. His cheeks were more hollow and his eyebags were more pronounced because he had gotten paler. He once had confidence in his stride, now he shook after standing up.

When Satoru woke twenty minutes later, he smiled sheepishly. “...I was thinking really hard.”

Megumi didn't answer, he simply picked up the blanket from the armchair and wordlessly draped it over him. Pretending he hadn't noticed, pretending that it hadn't scared him.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

Satoru’s hair started falling out three weeks later. At first, it was just a few strands on his pillow. Then a little more than usual when he showered. Then handfuls. White strands clung to towels, collected in the sink, caught between his fingers every time he ran a hand through it.

One morning, he stood in front of the bathroom mirror. The sunlight through the window made the loose strands glow like a halo around his head. He reached up and ran his fingers through the strands. When he pulled his hand away, several long white strands rested in his palm.

He stared at them. “...Hm.”

That was all he had said. As though he had simply misplaced his keys, as if he wasn’t actively losing a part of himself. Suguru had been observing quietly from the doorway. He’d noticed the thinning some days ago. Noticed Satoru avoiding mirrors. Noticed how he’d take slightly longer to fix his hair every morning, something he never bothered doing, trying to arrange it so the thinner patches wouldn't show.

Neither of them spoke about it. Until now at least.

“I could shave it.” Suguru suggested.

“No.”

“It’s just hair.”

“No.”

Suguru stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Satoru. “It won’t change anything.”

Satoru smiled faintly at their reflection. “It will though.” He brushed another loose strand away. “I’ve had this hair my whole life. People recognize me because of it.” He laughed quietly “It feels…” he searched for the word, “...it’s just one more thing for cancer to take from me.”

The silence that followed was heavier than either of them wanted to admit. Suguru rested his chin on Satoru’s shoulder. “Do you know what I see?”

“What?”

“My husband.”

Satoru looked down, a questionable frown was thrown his way.

“I don't see white hair, or your blue eyes, I don't see the strongest sorcerer. I don't even see the idiot who keeps stealing fries off my plate.” A tiny laugh escaped Satoru. Suguru squeezed tighter. “I see you. I see the father of our son, one who would do anything for his family. I see the man who gives his love to others so deeply it makes me question how you could.”

Satoru closed his eyes. His composure cracked just enough for his voice to shake. “I know.” A pregnant pause. “I know.” He kisses and rests his head on the crown of Suguru’s head, silently crying alongside his husband.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

He waited another week before cutting his hair. Mostly because Megumi kept acting as though he wasn’t noticing clumps of hair lying on the floor around the house. So long as no one mentioned it, maybe it wasn’t happening. They had learnt what to say and when to say things around Megumi. But right now, they let him be, allowing him to deal with the situation as he pleases.

But every morning, there was more hair on the pillow, in the sink, on his clothes, and eventually Satoru sighed and gave in.

“I think it’s time.”

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

Megumi sat on the closed toilet lid in silence. His legs pulled towards his chest and his arms were clasped tightly around his legs. His chin was propped on his knees, watching.

Suguru plugged in the clippers and soon the buzzing filled the bathroom. Nobody spoke. Satoru caught his own reflection one last time. His white hair framed his face, messy as always. He smiled at himself. “You’ve had a good run.” Then he nodded to himself. “Do it.”

The first pass of the clippers was strangely quiet. A strip of white hair fell onto the floor. Then another, and then more. Hair drifted to the floor in soft, white clumps.

Megumi couldn’t look away. Every lock that fell, felt strangely permanent. Even when his eyes became suspiciously wet. Even when Suguru's hand trembled so badly he had to stop twice.

“I’m okay,” Satoru whispered.

Suguru swallowed hard before answering. “I know.”

“I promise,” he insisted.

“I know.”

The clipper buzzed to life again, he kept going until nothing remained. Suguru brushed away the last loose hairs. The bathroom became impossibly still. Satoru looked up at the mirror. A stranger looked back. Paler, thinner, and now bald. Undeniably sick.

For just one second his smile disappeared, he simply stared at himself. Taking in the reality of it. There was no pretending, cancer had left a visible mark.

He slowly inhaled. Then, with obvious effort, squared his shoulders and turned toward Megumi, spreading his arms wide. “Well?” He posed as if he were about to use hollow purple. “What do we think?”

Megumi stared at him for several seconds, his expression remaining completely unreadable.

Satoru raised an eyebrow. “...It’s bad isn’t it?”

Another pause. Then Megumi finally spoke. “...You look like an egg.”

Silence, Suguru blinked looking offended for his husbands sake but Satoru just looked taken aback. Then, Satoru burst into laughter. Real laughter, one that felt like they hadn't heard in ages, the one that had him bent over and made tears stream down his face. It was loud and bright, uncontrolled.

“You little brat!”

Megumi tried to keep a straight face but he only lasted for three seconds before he snorted. For the first time in weeks, he laughed. It sounded unfamiliar. The sound filled the bathroom, chasing away weeks of fear, hospital visits, whispered conversations, and sleepless nights.

For a few precious minutes, they weren't a family dealing with cancer. It was just the three of them, making fun of dad’s shiny bald head.

Outside the bathroom, unnoticed by either of them, Suguru quietly stepped into the hallway. He covered his mouth with one hand as tears finally spilled over. Not because Satoru had lost his hair or because cancer had changed him. But because for the first time since the diagnosis, he felt relief. Hearing his family sound like itself again. Laughter echoed through the house. Fragile, brief but just for a little while it was enough.

Suguru took a deep breath before walking back inside, the laughter had quieted down but Satoru was still giggling. He walked up to his husband. “Should I cut my hair?” He asked, twirling a strand of hair.

“No.” A stern reply. “None of you will cut your hair to match me. I’m the only one that could pull it off with my beautiful egg shaped head. Now, now Megumi don’t look so unhappy, your hair is beautiful as it is.”

“Maybe I can’t cut my hair…” Satoru watched as an idea seemed to form in his son’s head. “...but what about the demon dogs?”

Satoru immediately felt giddy, Megumi usually never lets someone touch them. He’s always super adamant about keeping them disciplined and not treating them as pets, but Satoru has seen how Megumi acts with them in secret, and how Yuji seems to be an exception.

“Okay, this could be fun!” Satoru exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. “Oh, oh! We could make some fun designs! Do you think their hair will grow back? Well, I guess we’ll see!”

Satoru fished out the hairdresser scissors they usually used to trim Suguru's hair with and started to trim some designs onto the white demon dog, the more calm of the two. The black one sat by his side offering comfort.

Satoru started with cutting in everyone's initials and then added some hearts. He made some emoticons and then he shaved everything except for the tail, the paws and the head. By the end of it all Satoru was lying on the floor in tears with how much fun he was having.

Megumi looked like he regretted offering his dog up for this, seeing how this all turned out. When they were all done, Satoru made Megumi release his technique to see if the hair would grow back. He did as was asked of him, but the dog remained bald and shaved.

Megumi looked ready to attack Satoru, even though he only had himself to blame.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

The treatments didn’t work at all. The scans kept on getting worse as the cancer continued to spread. Every appointment ended with another apology from the doctors. More adjustments, another attempt at treatments, another loss.

Satoru stopped pretending that the stairs weren't a difficult task. Then he stopped using them altogether unless absolutely necessary. Soon after, a cane appeared. Satoru called it Gregory.

“I refuse to use medical equipment that doesn't have a name.”

“Satoru.”

“Gregory and I are inseparable Sugu. Now, stop judging.”

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

For a while, the cane was enough. But as chemotherapy kept taking its toll on Satoru, the more exhausted he became. There quickly came another aid, the wheelchair. This one was Satoru’s Ferrari, this one named Hamilton.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

Some days, he was still himself. Loud, ridiculous, teasing Megumi, shamelessly flirting with Suguru. Insisting on arguments on how hospital gowns were ‘anti-fashion propaganda.’

On other days, he barely spoke. Not because he didn't want to, Satoru loves to talk. It was because talking exhausted him more than anything some days. Those were the hardest days, where he couldn't even engage with his family because talking for a minute left him exhausted. The pain was bearable, but the quiet, the silence where laughter once used to live was horrible. And Satoru couldn't help but think that it was his fault, considering that he's the one that got sick, even though he is the strongest. Reduced to something so small and humane.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

Suguru started waking up before dawn, not because it was something he enjoyed. It was the opposite actually, he enjoyed sleeping in until noon if the possibility arose. But he did it out of worry and desperation, to check that his husband was still breathing.

Every single day without fail and he hated himself for it. He hated feeling relief, that he even had to, hated being scared and he hated wondering if ‘today’ might be the day where the inevitable would happen.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

One night, Suguru broke down when he thought Satoru was asleep. “I’m sorry,” his voice was barely audible. “I’m sorry I can't fix this, we're the strongest. I'm sorry I'm angry at you, and I'm sorry that sometimes when I look at you all I can see is that you are disappearing, and all of what you'll be missing out on.”

A hand found his, warm. Satoru hadn't been asleep. “I know.”

"I'm angry," Suguru confessed.

“I know.”

“I hate this.”

“I know.”

“I don't know how to watch you disappear like this, and not disappear myself.”

There was a long silence and Satour didn't know either. But he smiled instead. A small and fragile smile. “Then don’t,” Suguru looked up. “Watch me live. And be strong for Megumi. He’ll need you.”

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

Megumi dealt with grief differently. Suguru spent more time with his spouse while Megumi did the opposite, he spent his time being angry. Angry at doctors, at Nobara complaining at everything, at Yuji for being so happy all the time. At other healthy families, at strangers laughing, at the universe. Especially, at the universe.

He punched a wall at school and broke two fingers. When Suguru picked him up at Shoko’s, he didn’t even have a chance to speak before Megumi did.

“I hate everyone.”

Suguru sighed, having to think quickly about how he should navigate this conversation. “I know.”

“I hate that everyone else is fine.”

“I know.”

“I hate him." Suguru froze and Megumi immediately burst into tears. “I don’t—I didn’t mean—”

Suguru walks up to his son and hugs him, whispering into his hair. “I know.”

“I fucking hate that he keeps pretending that eveythings okay!”

“Thats how he copes, he's always been that way.”

“He keeps on joking! As if he's not fucking dying!” Megumi was full on sobbing by now.

“I know,” Suguru reassures into the crown of Megumi's head, “I know baby.” Suguru couldn't hide his own tears now.

“I just want him to admit that he's scared. He's allowed to be scared too.” Megumi confided, utterly drained.

Suguru closed his eyes, empathising with his son. “So do I.”

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

Later that evening, Megumi sat beside Satoru on the couch. Neither of them spoke, deciding to stew in the tense silence that had arisen ever since Megumi returned home with his fingers bruised from the lingering healing Shoko had done.

“When were you ever going to tell me?”

Satoru looked over, lifting his head from the back of the couch where he had been resting it. “Tell you what?”

“That you're scared.”

Silence.

"I'm terrified." Megumi blinked, not thinking that Satoru would confess it that easily. “I don't want to leave you.” His voice cracked. “I don't want your dad to sleep alone and deal with his depression by himself, I don't want to miss your graduation, and I don't want anyone else teaching you stuff that I should be teaching you.”

He smiled weakly. “I don't even want someone else embarrassing you. I joke because… if i stop laughing…” He stared out the window and swallowed thickly, not having the willpower to look at his son while confessing. “...Then I have to admit I'm dying.”

The sentence hung in the room. A raw admission that was so honest that Megumi couldn't help but wrap his arms around his father. And for a long ime, neither of them let go.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

Spring became summer.

Summer became autumn.

The leaves changed. The trees lost their covers, looking more and more glum as the days passed; similar to Satoru. He was thinner now, paler and he was a lot slower than he had ever been. His hands trembled all the time now and his voice had weakened tremendously.

Some mornings he couldn't even get out of bed. On those particularly difficult days, Suguru would read aloud to him while Megumi would sit beside him doing his homework.

No one talked much except for Suguru's quiet, steady narrating, sometimes Satoru would add some comments. But mostly. they just sat there together, basking in the comfortable silence that only comes when you're entirely comfortable with someone.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

One evening, Satoru watched them from bed. Megumi sat by the desk in their room and Suguru sat next to him on the bed, Satoru leaned against him.

He smiled, this was his home. “I’m so lucky.”

Suguru shot him a warning look. “Don’t.”

“What?”

“Dont say things that make it sound like your saying goodbye.”

Satoru looked guilty, realizing what he had just said and how it looked. “I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“I just…” he said after a moment. “...I’ve had a pretty good life, and I'm super grateful for you.”

Suguru reached for him. “It isn't over.” He protested.

“No,” Satoru squeezed back. “Not yet.”

But all three of them knew. The word yet had become a curse, a heartbreak that all of them were just waiting for to come and jump at them. To finally take Satoru from them. Because every goodbye, even one as simple as “See you after work,” carried a question no one dared ask.

Will there be another one?

So they learned, painfully, that grief does not begin with death. It begins the moment the future changes. Acceptance was not a single revelation but hundreds of tiny choices; to laugh when possible, to cry without shame, to say “I love you” every time someone left the room, even if they would be gone for only a minute.

Suguru slowly let go of the guilt that love could not save someone. Megumi learned that anger was only grief wearing an armor. And Satoru, who had spent months trying to carry everyone else's fear with jokes and bright smiles, finally allowed himself to be held when he was too tired to pretend.

In the quiet moments, when the house settled and the evening light stretched across the bedroom floor, they stopped trying to outrun the inevitable. Instead, they gathered close around it and fought together.

Not because they accepted losing him. But because they refused to let the certainty of the ending steal the love that still remained in the pages before it.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

Nobody said anything the first time Satoru forgot something important. It happened on a Tuesday when Megumi came from a mission. He dropped his backpack by the door and automatically called out, “I’m home.”

Usually, Satory answered him before he had even closed the door.

“Welcome back menace!”

“Did you get beaten up?”

“Please tell me you got me some snacks.”

But instead of something along the lines, Megumi only got silence in response.

Megumi frowned. “...Dad?”

He finds him in the living room with a blanket keeping him warm, an open book laid in his lap. Staring unseeing out the window.

“Dad?”

Satoru blinked and looked over, as if he had just realized that he wasn't alone anymore, he smiled upon seeing one of his favorite people. “There you are.”

“I literally just got home.”

“Did you?”

“Didn’t you hear me?”

His smile faltered. “I guess I didn't."

Megumi didn't think much of it, until dinner happened. They were eating. Satoru was eating some puree that was easy to swallow and full of nutritional stuff. It looked super unappetizing, but Megumi didn’t because it was the only way for Satoru to get the nutrition he needs.

“So, did your mission with the first-grade curse go well?”

Megumi looked up from where he was slurping his noodles. “...That was two days ago.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “Right. Did you already tell me?”

“...Yeah dad, I did.”

Another smile, smaller and more uncertain. “My bad.”

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

The oncologist had warned them that the cancer was progressing and spreading faster and more aggressively than ever. It started affecting his brain and his ability to remember things.

There would be fatigue, confusion, memory loss, mood changes, possible seizures and possibly… personality changes.

Suguru listened to it all without moving, having frozen in flight or fight mode, not knowing what to do. He hated doctors because they always sounded so calm, as though they were talking about what they ate for lunch, as if every sentence wasn't dismantling someone's entire life.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

After that, Satoru began writing everything down using sticky notes, notebooks, on the notes app on his phone, anything he could get his hands on. Suguru had even noticed unintelligible scribbles on the bathroom mirror and on the wall by the outside door.

Take medicine.

Megumi likes ginger tea. Buy more.

Remind Suguru to take antidepressants.

Suguru birthday: February 3 1990
Megumi birthday: December 22 2002

Suguru likes braids before bed, protects hair.

Hug Megumi.

Suguru forgets to sleep.

Megumi burns easy.

One afternoon, Suguru found another note tucked into Satoru’s wallet, written in a shaky handwriting, the handwriting that was once neat.

If I forget. I love Suguru and Megumi. Husband and Son. Love of my life and my blessing.

Suguru sat on the bathroom floor for nearly two hours, holding that tiny piece of paper close to his chest, crying so quietly that nobody could hear him.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

The nausea became relentless. Food completely lost its taste, and his taste disappeared soon after. Eventually, the mere sight of meals made Satoru pale. He still sat at the table, just to be there and provide company.

Megumi pushed his own plate away one evening. “I’m not hungry.”

“No.” Satoru's voice was weak, but firm. The way that only arent were able to achieve. “You eat.”

“I’m fine,” he gritted out.

“You will eat Megumi.”

“I just said—”

“You don't get to stop living just because I’m sick.” Megumi was silent, jaw shut tight and eyes brewing with tears that were yet to fall. “You hear me?”

Megumi stares down at the table. “It feels… wrong."

“Yeah…”

“It feels like… I'm leaving you behind.”

Satoru reached across the table, his fingers barely had strength to squeeze anything anymore, Megumi took hold of him. “You’ll carry me by living.”

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

By November, walking from the bedroom to the kitchen required several breaks. Suguru quietly rearranged the house to adapt to his spouse; he moved their bedroom downstairs and installed handrails. He bought Satoru a shower chair, made adaptations required for an oxygen tank, and bought supplies he never imagined buying for someone who was only twenty-nine.

Satoru watched Suguru assemble all the new equipment.

“You know…”

“Hm?” Suguru looked up from where he was putting together the shower chair.

“You would've made a hot nurse.” He wiggled his eyebrows to emphasize.

Suguru snorted despite himself. “I’d probably be fired.”

"For what?”

“Arguing with patients.”

“You already argue with this patient.”

“Yeah, because you never listen."

“I do! Especially when you talk dirty to me…” He winked and shot Suguru a kiss, feeling mischievous.

“You selectively listen.”

“That I totally do, Suguru. It’s my favorite hobby”

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

Sometimes, for some reason, they forgot. Just for a few minutes.

It was a snowy evening and they were watching terrible movies together.

Megumi complained the entire time.

“This plot makes no sense.”

“It doesn't have to.

“It does. Because the shark literally flew. In space.” He deadpanned.

Satoru burst into laughter. The loud kind, that bent him over, clutching his stomach. The kind that made you cough because you lost your breath. The one that turns into violent coughing, that turns painful and makes blood appear.

The room froze. The tissue Satoru had held in front of his mouth bloomed red. Too much red, far too much. Megumi stopped breathing as fear clawed its way up his throat. Suguru took action and was instantly by Satoru’s side.

They had to go to the hospital.

Now.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

The emergency room had become a familiar place to Satoru. The nurses had started greeting them by their names.

Satoru hated it. It just proved how much worse he had gotten and how it felt like he was spending more time there rather than at his own home.

Later that night, after Megumi had fallen asleep in the chair beside the bed– his torso draped over the bed, holding his fathers hand –Suguru asked the question he’d been avoiding.

“...Are you in pain?”

Satoru looked toward Megumi, avoiding eye contact, scratching the scalp of his head like he used to do when he was smaller. “...Yeah.”

“How much?”

A pregnant pause.

“I don't know what not hurting feels like anymore.”

Suguru closed his eyes. “You never say anything.”

“What would that change?”

"That I'd know about it."

“You already know,” he scoffs.

“I need you to tell me Satoru.”

Satoru looked at him, actually looked. Suguru looked tired, not sleepy, but a bone-deep exhaustion that he only sees during his depressive episodes.

“I know baby, I know.”

“No,” his voice cracked, “I don't think you do. I'm tired of pretending that this isn't happening Satoru.”

“Yeah, I'm with you on that. I'm sick of all these medications and I'm tired of everyone looking at me like...”

He couldn't finish, Suguru could. “..Like you're disappearing."

A tiny nod that made a tear fall down his cheek. “I hate it.”

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

December quickly arrived. Christmas lights covered all of Shibuya. Megumi had insisted on decorating their house, while Satoru was supervising from his spot on the couch.

“That ornament is crooked,” Satoru complains for the third time, hiding a smile when he sees Megumi's eyebrow twitch.

“It’s not.”

“I think it is, I might be losing my hair and memory, but my sight is still very much intact."

“Dad!”

“I have excellent decorative opinions, you know this Megs,” he tutted disappointed. “We always used to decorate together and then I could save whatever tragic decorations you deemed alright.”

Megumi gasped, offended. “You were the one that put the star upside down last year!”

“Well, yeah? It was supposed to be like that.”

Megumi shot him an unamused look and ignored him, going back to his task of decorating the living room.

“Want me to decorate Gregory?”

“Yes!”

The following fifteen minutes were spent taping fairy lights onto Satoru’s cane. They operate on batteries so he could move around with a sparkling accessory.

“Suguru! Look at Gregory!” he exclaimed before heaving himself up and finding his way to his husband.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

On Christmas morning, Satoru couldn't get out of bed. He had gotten a fever that had only gotten hotter as the days passed. Megumi carried the gifts to their bedroom where Satoru was resting instead.

The tree in the living room remained lit, but Christmas wasn't in the living room anymore, it was wherever Satoru was. They opened presents sitting on their bed.

Papers were scattered everywhere. Megumi received some new noise cancelling headphones and Suguru got some new books. Satoru received the present he'd bought and wrapped for himself.

“Socks!” He looked delighted. “I’ve always wanted these.”

Megumi laughed. “You bought them!”

“Oh, well I have excellent taste then.” He stuck his nose up in the air, as if to say that he knows himself better than anyone else. (Suguru knows Satoru better than himself.)

Later that night, after Megumi went to sleep, Suguru found Satoru awake, watching the lights outside.

“You okay?”

“...I think…” He hesitated, side-eyeing Suguru. “...That this is my last Christmas.”

Suguru’s heart beat miles per hour. “No.”

“But… I think it is Suguru…”

“No.”

“Suguru…”

“No.” His voice broke completely. “I said no.”

Satoru reached for him, bringing his head down to rest on his chest, just like they’d done since they were shy, awkward teenagers, just getting used to each other's bodies.

“I'm not giving up Suguru. I’m just…” He looked up at their ceiling, at the stars plastered there for when Megumi used to sleep with them when he was scared, or when Suguru had insomnia during episodes and he couldn't trust the dark. “It's just that— I can feel my body.” He whispered.

Suguru looked up. “What?”

Satoru’s voice was almost inaudible. “My legs don't feel like mine anymore. My hand shake. I sleep more than I'm awake.” He smiled softly, knowingly. “I think my body knows.”

Suguru buried his face in Satoru’s chest. “I don’t. I don’t know how.”

“You don't have to if I do.”

“I can't lose you…

“You won't, I'll always be here baby.”

“I’ll forge your voice—”

“You won't."

“I will.”

“You’ll remember.”

“I’ll forget how warm your hands are but how cold your feet are.”

Satoru gently intertwined their fingers. “Then remember now.”

Suguru started sobbing, full-on ugly sobs that shook the both of them. Satoru absent mindedly combed his fingers through Suguru's hair as Suguru started memorizing everything. The bones that jut out from pale skin. The wedding ring that had to be worn on a necklace because it had become too loose from weight loss. The pulse beneath his wrist.

Steady, still there, till his.

He held Satoru's hand until dawn painted the room in gentle orange hues, silently counting each breath, not because he believed he could keep death away by watching. But because every single inhale was another moment together, another memory he could carry long after his hands would be empty.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

January arrived quietly, it snuck upon them when nobody paid attention, arriving at such speed that they hadn’t even realized how much time had really passed. They didn’t celebrate the New Year, not really.

The television counted down in the background. Megumi was at a festival with Yuji and Nobara, watching the fireworks together.

The fireworks bloomed outside, Satoru could faintly hear the cheers of their neighbors. Inside the Gojo-Geto house, Suguru sat on the edge of the bed while Satoru slept through midnight for the first time in his life.

At 12:03, Satoru stirred.

“...Did I miss it?”

Suguru smiled at him through tired eyes. “Yeah, you did.”

“Damn…” Satoru muttered, disappointed.

“You’ve never gone to bed before midnight,” Suguru observed.

“I guess my rebellious streak is over.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Suguru leaned in and kissed his forehead, damp with water from a wet towel he’d had only a moment before. “Happy New Year baby.

Satoru smiled faintly, a blush rising on his cheeks, feeling oddly shy. “...Happy New Year Suguru.”

He didn't say, ‘I wonder if I'll be able to do this next year’, like he usually does. Neither of them did, because they knew the truth, even though it hurts. And some thoughts just didn't need to be said.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

The second week of January, the hospice nurse came and visited. She was kind, gentle, and too experienced in this horrible field.

She spoke softly, explained medications, adjusted pillows, taught Suguru how to lift Satoru without hurting him. She talked lots about comfort, pain management, rest, but never once did she utter the word dying. She didn't have to.

Hospice only came for one reason.

After she left a couple of hours later, Megumi disappeared into the backyard. He had stayed in the background during the whole visit, not wanting to miss out but not really wanting to know either, just being something in between. Suguru found him sitting in the snow without a jacket.

“You’ll get frostbite.”

“I don't care.”

“You will.”

“No.”

Suguru sat down beside him, the cold seeped through his sweatpants immediately. For a long time, neither of them spoke.

“I hate that woman.”

“The nurse?”

Megumi nodded, his mind faraway. “I know she's nice, but… she talks like…” Megumi swallowed hard. He couldn't finish, Suguru did it for him.

“Like it's almost time.”

Megumi jerked his head.

“I just don't want people to act like he's already gone.”

Neither did Suguru.

He leaned his head against Megumi’s, silently asking Megumi to let Suguru comfort him, and Megumi did. Crying until his face was streaked red, crying until he couldn't breathe and was hyperventilating, crying until he fell asleep on Suguru, just like he usually did on Satoru when he was younger.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

Satoru hated needing help. He hated it with every stubborn bone in his body.

“I can do it myself,” he protested, after having gathered all the little energy he had these days.

“Satoru,” Suguru sighed, rubbing his forehead, trying to keep his voice calm and pedagogical. “You almost fell yesterday.”

“Well, I didn't, I caught myself in time.” It wasn't a strong argument.

“I caught you.”

Satoru waved his hand and rolled his eyes. “Details.”

Yesterday, Suguru had walked into the bathroom just in time to catch satoru before he hit the floor, he was just brushing his teeth. His knees had simply… given out.

One second he was standing, the next— he was in Suguru's hold. Suguru had wrapped both arms around him, carefully lowering him down onto the cold tiles. Neither of them moved, confused and angry at the situation.

Satoru stared at his legs. “...I can't stand.”

His voice sounded so… small. Not frightened, not angry, just… small and defeated.

Suguru knelt beside him. “Well try again later, you just need to rest a bit.”

“I can't."

“You will.”

“No I fucking can’t Suguru!” A tear slid down Satoru's face before he could stop it. Satoru reeled back, not expecting to shout at his spouse, he was supposed to be the collected one. “I can't feel my legs properly anymore.”

Silence.

“I… I cant even go to the bathroom by myself, like a fucking child,” he grit out. “I cant…” his shoulders shook. “I’m becoming work.”

Suguru's heart shattered. “No. You're allowed to be angry, sad and disappointed but you do not get to talk about yourself like that.”

“I can’t do anything Suguru.”

“You’re not a burden.”

“You only say that because you love me.”

“I say it because it's true.”

“You have to feed me, like a baby.”

“That’s because I want to, Satoru.”

“You have to wash my hair.” He clenched his fists in his lap, shivering slightly from the cold tiles.

“Because I want to, Satoru, why can't you just accept that?”

“You're barely getting any sleep, Suguru.”

“I sleep later.” He counters.

“Suguru.”

“No,” his voice became fierce in a way it rarely did with Satoru. “In sickness and in health, remember? You took care of me when I couldn't afford my medication, you stayed awake with me through all my episodes, you held me after nightmares when I couldn't even trust myself.” His hands trembled as he cupped Satoru's cheeks. “You have spent years loving me,” his own tears finally fell. “Let me love you louder, allow me to give you what you deserve, ‘Toru.”

Satoru broke. It wasn't loud, nor was it dramatic, he simply leaned forward until his forehead rested against Suguru's shoulder, and cried. Like a child.

For everything he had lost. For everything he was still losing. For the body that betrayed him. For the future he wouldn't see. For the things he would leave behind, and for him being left behind.

Suguru held him until the bathroom floor became unbearably cold.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

Megumi stopped going out with his friends, he always had excuses to shut them down. Homework, exhaustion, another time. But the truth was simpler, something he kept hidden deep behind his walls; he was absolutely terrified. Terrified that if he left the house, something would happen.

One afternoon, Satoru noticed. Megumi wasn't a social child, but he did hang out with Yuji and Nobara. They always managed to drag him out with them, but lately Megumi had barely left home at all except for school and missions.

“You should go out.”

"I'm fine."

“I’ve heard you canceling plans six times.”

“I don't care.”

“You should.”

“I don't."

“You do. I know you do,” he rolled his eyes. “Stop lying megs.”

Megumi scoffs, not believing what he's hearing. “You want to talk about lying?” He asked harshly. He took a breath before continuing. “I’m fine right here. I don't want to leave.”

Satoru was quiet, thinking for a moment.

“What if I die while you're gone?”

Megumi's head snapped up, eyes wide and full of disbelief.

“Fucking don’t.”

“What if I do?” Satoru shrugged, undeterred.

“Stop saying that.”

“Yeah? But what if I do?”

“I said stop!”

Satoru didn't listen.

“I don't want your last memory of me to be sitting in this room withering away Megs.”

Megumi stood up so fast his knees bumped against the kotatsu table, hard. “I don't care!”

“I do Megumi!”

“I don't want some fucking memories!” His voice cracked. “I only want you! To stay there, with us! Like you promised.” The words echoed through the house. “I don't want stories or pictures! I don't want your stupid sweaters or your books or your jokes!" His breathing hitched, making it hard for his words to be understandable. “I just…” He looked so impossibly small, he was just fifteen. “I just want my dad.”

Silence settled over the room, heavy and merciless.

Satoru reached out, a trembling hand in the air. Megumi crossed the room in two steps and fell into his fathers arms, mindful of how fragile the once strong and muscular man had become.

“I know sweetheart, I know.” Satoru brushed back his hair, kissed his forehead several times like he did after Megumi had nightmares. “I know.”

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

The days blurred together. Medicine, sleep, short and dull conversations, long naps, pain. Some mornings Satoru woke and was lucid and talkative, other days he woke up confused.

One morning, after eating breakfast in bed, he looked at Suguru and asked softly, “...What day is it?”

“Thursday,” Suguru looked pained.

Why does Suguru look so sad?

“Oh.”

"It's February sweetie.” Suguru said, putting on a warm homemade cap Suguru had crochet. Satoru’s head and ears tended to become cold without the hair there to protect it.

“...Really,” he sounded disappointed, but couldn't quite name why.

Suguru smiled gently. “Yeah.”

“I missed January? What date is it?” He knows there is something he's forgetting, something important.

“It's the seventh,” Suguru said, looking at Satoru in a way, almost hopeful as if there was something he was missing.

Satoru looked away, going through his brain, trying so hard to figure out what he was missing. He stood up, wobbling as he wandered toward their closet, a room he hadn't entered in almost four months after having gotten bedridden and walking less and less.

He started rooting, opening drawers and filtering through hanging clothes. Suguru followed nearby, letting Satoru do his thing, being there in case he falls but knowing from experience that it's best to leave him be. That he's probably delirious and thinking of something that doesn't make sense to anyone else but him.

Satoru seemed to find what he was looking for. It was a small package, wrapped in a way that told Suguru that Satoru had wrapped this after he had gotten sick. The folds Satoru once used to fold neatly, were cut jaggedly and uneven, tape covered almost everything and the string on top was short and it wasn't curled. On top of it sat a small sticky note and another handwritten note.

He handed everything to Suguru after a moment's thought, after everything had registered in his brain. He looked proud of himself.

The sticky note read:
For Suguru birthday, February 3. Donot forgett! Impopant.

On the other card, Satoru had written:
For my Suguboo <3

I love you Suguru, forever. You always made me feel…

And underneath Suguru's heart broke after he saw that he couldn't read everything else satoru had written. It wasn't a long note, it was maybe half a page, shorter than Satoru had ever written, but all the more special.

Satoru's hands had started shaking so much lately that he almost couldn't do anything himself anymore. The text he had written was almost impossible to read, Suguru caught some sentences here and there, but it was hard to piece together, but he got the overall message. He looked up at Satoru through teary eyes, not wanting to break his heart when he looked so satisfied with what he had given him.

Suguru mustered up a smile, he walked over to Satoru and gave him a teary kiss. “Thank you Satoru, I love it.”

"That's great Suguru. I just know you'll like what I got you.”

“I will, you know me so well. You know me better than anyone.”

“Thats right,” Satoru puffed out his chest.

Suguru cleared his throat, willing himself to keep it together for a little while longer. “Let's get you back to bed baby, you need to rest.”

“Okay, but open the gift later okay?”

“Okay baby. I will.”

Suguru did not have the heart to say that his birthday had already passed. Four days ago.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

That night, after Megumi had finally fallen asleep on a futon they had pulled out on the bedroom floor, because Megumi refused to sleep anywhere else, Satoru laid awake, listening to the house breathe.

The heater clicked softly while the wind rattled the windows. Suguru's hand rested over his, even in sleep, as though afraid that if he'd let go, Satoru might disappear before morning.

Satoru turned his head slowly and looked at his husband, then towards the floor where his son was lying. Memorizing everything he could. Two people who had become experts at pretending they weren't afraid and that everything was alright.

He wished, with an ache deeper than the illness itself, that he could promise them everything would be alright. That spring would come and he would sit in the garden again while Suguru planted flowers along with Megumi practicing controlling his shikigami’s.

Instead, all he could promise was this moment. So he tightened his fingers, just enough for Suguru to feel it even in sleep. Suguru's eyes fluttered open.

“You okay?” he whispered, mindful of their sleeping son.

Satoru nodded. “I just…” his voice was rough with fatigue. “I wanted to make sure I wasn't dreaming.”

Suguru leaned closer and rested his forehead against Satoru’s. “No,” he whispered back, tears already gathering. It felt as though that was all Suguru had been doing lately. “You're here, with us.”

“For now.”

Suguru closed his eyes.

He fucking hated those words. But he didn't argue anymore, it wasn't worth it. Instead, he answered with the only truth he had left.

“For now,” he echoed softly, “and I'll love you through every second of it.”

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

By the middle of February, the house had changed even more. Not all at once, but slowly, quietly. The kettle whistled less often because Satoru couldn't stomach tea anymore. The television stayed off because the artificial sound gave him migraines. The upstairs collected dust because no one had any reason to go there.

Life contracted until it fit almost entirely inside of one bedroom. The master bedroom, which everyone seemed to have moved into. The curtains stayed half open, Satoru liked the morning light.

“It’s proof,” he’d whispered once. “That the world keeps spinning.”

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

He slept more than he was awake, sometimes for eighteen hours, sometimes for twenty. The nurses said it was normal. Suguru had begun to hate the phrase ‘It’s normal.’

Normal wasn't supposed to look like this.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

The doctor visited the house at the end of the month. There wasn't much examination left to do anymore. Just listening and observing. Adjusting medications after Satoru's comfort so he wasn't in pain.

When Suguru walked her to the front door, the doctor hesitated. “...You should start calling family.” Suguru stared at her. “...Soon.”

There was no exact number, no certainty, because doctors are taught not to promise.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

That evening, as Megumi was showering, Suguru returned to the bedroom. Satoru was awake, he sat against a mountain of soft pillows. He looked at Suguru's face for only a second.

“...He told you.”

“He did.”

“Yeah… I figured.”

Neither cried, not immediately. They just stared at each other, two people who had loved each other for over twenty years, existing in a world that suddenly felt far too small.

Eventually, Satoru sighed. “I wanted more time.”

“I know, me too.”

“I thought,” he laughed weekly. “...I really thought that I'd beat the odds.”

“Me too. I kept praying for you.”

“I was already planning what I'd do after chemo.”

Suguru bit his lip in an attempt to not cry. Suguru took his hand. “I know.”

“I was going to grow old with you.”

Those words broke something inside them both.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

The last week arrived without announcing itself. There wasn't a date circled on the calendar or anything. There was no visible clock. Just small inevitable changes.

Satoru stopped asking simple questions, what the time was or what day it was. He rarely opened his eyes for long, they were too sensitive now. When he did, they wandered slowly around the room, as if memorizing it.

The bookshelf filled with old Digimon limited edition figurines, the curtains Megumi had once spilled ginger tea on, the ugly duvet Suguru insisted was nice and all the family portraits that lined the wall.

The hospice nurse spoke gently. “He may be hearing you even when he doesn't respond.”

So they talked, Suguru read aloud from books Satoru loved. Megumi complained about a movie night he had with his friends. They told old stories and repeated old jokes. They filled the room with familiar voices so that Satoru knew he wasn't alone, because silence felt too much like surrender.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

Late one evening, Satoru stirred awake from a nap. His eyes opened. They were clear. Clearer than they had been in days. The nurse had warned them that this happens sometimes.

“A brief rally, a little more strength.”

It wasn't recovery, not even close. It was more likely… a last gift.

“Megumi?”

"I'm here."

“Suguru?”

“Here.”

Satoru smiled and looked over at his husband. “There you are.”

As though he'd been looking for them, as if they hadn't been sitting by his side, talking to him for the past four hours.

Megumi moved closer until his knees touched the bed. “You scared us.”

“Sorry.” He almost sounded self-conscious. "I'm sorry."

“You don't have to apologize.”

Satoru grew quiet, his gaze settled on the ceiling. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Maybe,” a soft smile. “I keep feeling guilty.”

Megumi frowned, “For what?”

“For leaving.”

Suguru answered so quickly Satoru had a hard time keeping up. “I’ve said this before Satoru, you don't get to apologize for this.”

“But I—” He looked toward Megumi. Even though he's been hazy lately and losing his memories, he remembers the night they told Megumi, his outburst.

“You promised me forever, Satoru.” Megumi muttered, looking angry at himself for even saying it, but not being able to hold himself back.

“Yeah, and I'm breaking it now.”

Suguru scooted closer until he scooped Satoru up in his arms, he was lighter than Megumi now, maybe even lighter than Nobara. “You didn't break your promise.” His voice shook, “The cancer did.”

Satoru closed his eyes and snuggled up closer, a tear escaped. “I love you.”

“I know. I love you too”

Megumi reached for Satoru's hand. “...Me too.”

Satoru turned his head with visible effort and threw Megumi the most genuine and happy smile he had ever seen.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

The next morning, it rained. Soft and quiet, a nice smooth rhythm that was great background noise for Satoru. The kind that covered the world without anyone noticing until they looked outside.

The bedroom was still. Only the oxygen machine hummed. Megumi had fallen asleep curled in the chair, his head resting against the mattress, one hand still holding onto Satoru.

Suguru was awake, he was always awake late, so he was the first to notice. The breathing had changed. There were longer pauses in between, then another breath, then another pause. He called the nurse and held the phone to Satorus moth. She listened for only a moment, until she said, “It's time.”

The words struck Suguru. He sat beside where Satoru was lying, he gently brushed a hand over Satoru's cheek, memorizing everything he could. "I'm here."

No response.

“I’m still here Toru, I'll always be here.”

Megumi woke up and looked around. “Dad?”

The nurse that had arrived quietly stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her, leaving them alone.

The next breath came, slowly, then another, farther apart. Megumi stood so quickly his chair tipped over.

“No.” He took Satoru's hand, shook it a little. “Dad?” His voice climbed higher. “Dad?”

Suguru reached over and wrapped an arm around their son, as if love could anchor him. Sartorius eyelids fluttered, just barely. They were clouded, but they still located and found them. Suguru, megumi, home.

A tiny smile appeared, almost too small to see. His lips moved, they leaned a bit closer. “...Love…” Barely a breath, “...You.” It took such an effort to utter those words that he exhaled so loudly one would have thought he had just ran a marathon.

“We love you too,” Suguru whispered immediately, while he still could. “So much.”

Megumi was crying now too. “I love you, Dad.”

Another pause, longer this time. Just enough that Suguru found himself silently begging. Just one second, please. Satoru reached forward, lifting his hand as much as he could, inhaled once, very softly and then exhaled, and then… nothing.

His hand never found its way to Megumi, a last attempt to comfort and reassure.

There was no dramatic movement, no music, no final speech or anything, just silence and a stillness that changed the shape of one's world.

Suguru waited. Surely another breath would come. It always did, another second, another. One more please.

But nothing came, the room remained quiet except for their crying. The oxygen machine continued to hum and outside the rain continued to fall. Inside, the man who had once filled every room with laughter for decades was suddenly impossibly silent.

The nurse returned after several minutes, she checked and followed protocol quietly. Then she looked at them with eyes that had seen this heartbreak several times before she said, "I'm so sorry for your loss.”

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

The funeral happened beneath a cloudy sky. People spoke about Satoru's kindness and impossible optimism. His ridiculous jokes and his brilliance, his strength and his generosity.

Everyone seemed to know a different version of him. Suguru realized, listening to them, that somehow Satoru had managed to make every person he met feel uniquely important and loved.

Megumi didn't cry during the service.

He stood perfectly straight beside Suguru in his custom-made funeral kimono accepting condolences, not even nodding or thanking them. He seemed stuck in his own mind, mind far away, not looking at but looking through the smiling picture on the pew of Satoru.

Only when they returned home did he finally break. He walked into their bedroom. The bed was neatly made and the medicine bottles were gone. The oxygen machine had been collected. Everything medical related had disappeared. Everything was gone except for the absence.

He sat on the edge of the mattress and called out, hoping just for a second that this might be some sick cruel joke. Satoru always competed with who had the worst pranks. “Dad?”

The words slipped out before he could stop it. The silence that answered was unbearable. Suguru found him there an hour later, face red and eyes swollen.

“It doesn't feel real.”

“I know.”

“I keep thinking he's going to come and complain that someone moved his Digimon stuffy.”

Suguru laughed wetly despite himself. “He would do that.”

“I keep listening for him.”

“Me too…”

Megumi leaned against his father, neither pretending to be strong anymore. They simply sat together in the quiet.

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

Grief did not leave after the funeral. It settled into the house and appeared in ordinary moments. When Suguru instinctively reached across the bed each morning. When he found one of Satoru's sticky notes tucked inside a cookbook:

Don't forget dessert. Life's too short to forget to eat all the sweets possible.

When Megumi texted Satoru's number after completing a difficult mission after he realized there would be no reply.

Acceptance did not mean that they stopped missing him. It meant learning that love could continue even when conversations could not.

Months later, on the first warm day of spring, Suguru and Megumi sat together in the garden. The flowers Satoru had planted the previous year were beginning to bloom.

Megumi smiled faintly. “He would've said that he was a professional gardener if he saw this.”

Suguru looked at the blossoms, then up at the clear blue sky. “Yeah,” he said softly. “He would've."

The grief remained because the love they had for Satoru still remained. And as long as they kept on loving Satoru, the grief would still be there. It would become easier to manage, one simply had to learn to live without the other.