missing atf..... what r they up to 🥹🥹😭
it’s just getting dark outside when the front door opens.
the shades are still up, the sky turning a soft purple blue as the sun sets, everything dimming while you and satoru sit on the couch, your feet in his lap as he chips away at a fighting game you still don’t understand (after ten years now).
when tsumiki walks into the living room, her hair messy from the wind outside, cheeks slightly flushed, smiling like she hasn’t seen either of you in weeks, you look up from the book in your lap.
she’s been gone a couple of hours, at some restaurant a district away that satoru says isn’t fancy enough.
“hey, sweetie,” she comes over to kiss the top of your head, and you smooth out her hair, careful not to pull through any of the tangles. you can see a tint of pretty pink lipstick on her lips. “how was it?”
she sits patiently through your preening, poised as ever, though her face shifts rapidly, like she has to really think about it. tsumiki hums, “it was good. kinda busy.”
“why?” satoru asks, tapping away on his controller like he’s so close to achieving world piece. “they don’t even give you the usual complimentary mochi with the bill. so stingy.”
“that’s not complimentary, satoru,” you nudge his thigh, “the waiters are just flirting with you.”
he grins maliciously, tapping your foot with his ring finger. “sorry i’m married.”
tsumiki sets her bag down, taking the little spot of couch left next to you as elegantly as she can, nuzzling into the cushions. “we got mochi anyway,” she tells satoru, like it’s going to appease him, “they had mango this time.”
“did you bring leftovers?”
you ignore him. “but how’d it go?” you ask her, again, lip quirking just slightly. she doesn’t look at you, brown eyes finding the ceiling instead.
satoru huffs a sharp breath, and honestly, it’s his fault for sitting there in the first place. he’s too impatient.
okay, so tsumiki had her first date.
(or second, or third. she’s an outgoing, wonderful girl. but this is completely unfamiliar territory for the two of you, potential minefields aplenty.
the only dating experience you and satoru got as teenagers were nights spent sparring down the steps of jujutsu high, sweaty and flushed because there were twenty kilometers of them—and for absolutely no other reason).
you don’t want to push, really, but it’s possible that you want to gently nudge her—something light, no marks left behind.
you’re not typically nosy, not a hovering mom who wants to know every detail, who needs her whereabouts every millisecond of every day. never a mom wonders why she cut an extra three centimeters off of her hair or didn’t finish her extra ginger at the end of dinner.
but if, maybe, just this once, you had the ability to use cursed energy to turn into tsumiki’s journal and get a full recount of every step and every word that was spoken on her date, well… perhaps sorcery is useful for some things.
“it was…” tsumiki, open, brilliant girl, only hums. and maybe that’s enough said.
“it was what?” satoru asks, finally looking over. he’s trying to avoid this too, you know. satoru is uneducated and ignorant to all matters of the heart. it took him nine years to ask you on a date, and just barely at that.
intelligent, strongest, chosen one he may be. but his wisdom is less than fruitful.
tsumiki shrugs. it says everything and nothing all at once.
“you were gone a while,” is all you respond, still light, still unintentionally leering, purposefully looking down at your book. you will not push.
in a moment like this, you can see the reflection of tsumiki and megumi even more clearly. raised together, related by harsh means and fond gestures, they’ve always been wildly different people. one open and light, the other guarded and dark.
but both of them have their secrets, their hidden words behind every small muscle movement on their face, the glances up and down. things you only get to learn because of time.
tiny pieces of them you gather up, hoarding like a crow with shiny coins. minuscule and meticulous things you still search for, even now.
satoru is like that too, but his eyes don’t waiver the way tsumiki’s do, he doesn’t hesitate and think the way megumi does.
“they were really busy,” she says, once again, playing with a multicolored bracelet satoru got her the other week. “did you guys already eat?”
“yes, but i still haven’t gotten my dessert.”
“your high cholesterol is already grateful for
“that doctor was so dramatic,” he complains, “borderline is not high—“
“i know you’ve been going to the bakery in kyosa every day after work—“
“we had curry,” megumi murmurs, walking through the minefield without a care in the world. he’s already in his pajamas, hair dripping and face worn.
“hi, megumi,” tsumiki grins at him, canines flashing in the hint of sunlight. he continues to the kitchen, barely grunting at her.
satoru leans towards tsumiki, finally setting his controller down. “where are your flowers?”
“that’s rule number one. no flowers?”
“it would’ve been hard to carry flowers all through dinner,” she tells him, laughing when he grips her shoulder firmly.
“you didn’t pay for dinner, did you? did they tell you how pretty you look? compliment your outfit? ask you about learning russian? laugh at all of your jokes?” he should be breathless, but he’s not. satoru’s is looking a little pale anyway, though. “did they open the car door for you?”
“um, well, we just walked so there wasn’t really a—“
“who would make my daughter walk?”
“a normal, pleasant highschool kid. we don’t want her getting in the car with people we haven’t met.”
megumi walks back through the living room, sipping on his water. though the quiet ‘goodnight’ he mumbles can’t be heard over the racing hearts of two anxious, very terrible parents.
“red flag,” satoru says, scowling. “big red flag. block their number, miki. better yet, let’s move. you shouldn’t get involved. i’ll call.”
“do you want her to settle?”
you laugh, kicking him in the thigh again. “it was just a first date—“
“it was really nice, actually,” tsumiki murmurs, smiling at satoru even through his ‘i’m-the-best-sorcerer-of-the-modern-age’ glare. she shrugs again.
“don’t worry, some people are just…” you tilt your head, bumping her with your shoulder. “one time i was on a date with this guy, and after we ordered dessert i went to the bathroom. when i got back i discovered that all of my dessert had already been eaten. by him. now that was a red flag.”
tsumiki blinks at you. “what?”
you sigh, mournfully. “i couldn’t have been gone longer than three minutes—“
“i ordered you more,” satoru complains, rolling his eyes. “and you weren’t paying.”
“you ordered more which you also ate half of.”
“i obviously wouldn’t agree to share with you, satoru, every time we ‘share’ you eat everything and then complain that you didn’t get enough.”
“but i always get you flowers.”
tsumiki is grinning, and she hums at you. “what was your first date like?”
you look over to satoru, blinking. there’s a pause where the two of you lock eyes, and you try to remember the months without him, being asked to dinner or bought a drink at a bar after work.
“i can’t really remember—“
“we watched the sword of doom,” satoru says, squeezing your foot.
he ignores you, turning to tsumiki. “i went to her dorm and she had already opened the door when i got there. and then we made cheap ramen and sat in there watching movies until the sun came up.”
tsumiki blinks, eyes a bit mesmerized by this. “really? all night?”
“yup. everyone else was visiting family or something, so it was just me and her. she kept getting lost in my eyes.”
“it’s okay,” satoru pats your leg. “i thought it was cute.”
“that wasn’t a date, and no i didn’t.”
“it was a date,” he argues. “our first one. it set a good precedent. look at us now.”
“we didn’t go on a date for another six years.”
“not true, we had a date at least once a week after that—“
“you have to ask someone out for it to be a date. hanging out isn’t dating—“
“if it’s love, it’s dating. we’ve been together basically six hundred years.”
“that would imply that every person in an unrequited relationship is actually dating the person they—“
“should i text them now?” tsumiki asks suddenly, looking at you. “is it too soon?”
you pause. maybe it is pushing, but sometimes the push gets you closer to the finish line.
“to say goodnight?” you tilt your head at her, finding a new type of solace in the hesitant, almost shy look on her face.
you used to see this version of her more when she was a kid, still nervous about being close to you, depending on you in a way that a child can’t reconcile.
it’s an old opening, and still a new beginning. you want to look over at satoru and share one of those glances—the knowing parent looks you’ve gotten so good at—but you refrain.
tsumiki scrunches her nose. “yeah. and thank you. is that… silly?”
you grin. “you wanna tell us some more about dinner?”
tsumiki, half falling off of the couch, tucked into you like she’s a little girl again, gives you the tiniest of nods, sunshine wrinkles by the corner of her eyes as she smiles.
“satoru, go make us some tea.”
he sighs, giving your foot one last squeeze, then standing up using tsumiki’s head. “fine,” he murmurs, and leans down to kiss your cheek, “but it was a date, just so you know.”
