happy birthday, blessing.
megumi stands frozen, the words hanging in the air like smoke he can’t escape from. blessing. it’s his name, the one his father gave him—a name he never asked for. never wanted. it’s like a mark, something he can’t wash off, something that follows him like a shadow he can’t outrun. he feels something twist in his chest—an ache, a flicker of warmth, and a distant yearning that he’s never let himself acknowledge. blessing. he doesn’t know if it’s a cruel joke or a genuine sentiment. the truth of it is somewhere in between, and megumi doesn’t know if he’s ready to face it.
he doesn’t want to feel it. doesn't want to feel anything in response to toji. after all, what’s there to feel? his father was never there, never stayed long enough to teach him what it meant to be loved, what it meant to be his son. megumi can still hear the silence after toji’s footsteps, still remember the way he left, disappearing into the world like it didn’t matter that he’d torn a hole in megumi’s chest when he did. blessing... it’s a cruel thing, isn’t it? to say something that sounds like it should mean something good, something whole, but really, it’s just a reminder of everything megumi’s father didn’t do, everything he couldn’t be. it’s a hollow thing that doesn’t belong to him, not really.
but there’s something else too. something fragile, buried deep, like a sliver of hope trying to press through the cracks. megumi hates it. hates the way his chest aches with it. a part of him—just a small part, a part he doesn’t even want to acknowledge—wants to be seen by toji. wants to be loved, wants to believe that maybe, just maybe, there’s something there beneath all the years of abandonment and distance. but he can’t admit it, not even to himself. the words happy birthday, blessing linger, and megumi swallows hard. they make him want to run, to bury himself in the silence of his thoughts. his hands are shaking, his fists clenched so tight he feels his nails digging into his palms. the feeling swells inside him, a storm of confusion and bitterness and something too soft—something too painful to let himself feel.
toji stands before him, a figure from his past who’s never quite been father, never quite been anything. the years between them are filled with ghosts—memories too painful to examine, too raw to touch. megumi has spent his life hiding behind walls, behind armor, convinced that distance was the answer. but now, here, in the quiet weight of this moment, he feels exposed. the silence stretches, thick and suffocating. megumi's fingers curl into his palms, and he’s suddenly aware of the beating of his heart, rapid and chaotic, in a way he’s never felt before. there’s something inside him that screams to say more, to demand an answer, to ask why, why he’s here now, offering something as fragile as a birthday wish.
but he doesn’t ask. he can’t. his words are stuck, caught in his throat, tangled in the mess of his feelings. he wants to reach for something, some thread of connection, but it’s too elusive. his chest feels tight, like he can’t breathe properly, like the weight of his father’s presence is too much for him to bear.
blessing. he’s never been able to decide if he feels cursed by his father or if it’s something he’s always secretly craved—this small, fleeting acknowledgment.
“thanks,” when he speaks, it's soft and hollow, barely a whisper between them. it feels almost like a lie, like a thin veneer to cover the trembling of his heart. his voice cracks slightly, and he hates it. hates the vulnerability that spills out, the way his emotions betray him. the sting of it. the longing. he doesn’t know what to do with it. doesn’t know what to do with blessing. it’s there, hanging between them like a thread, fragile and delicate, and megumi can’t look away. his body betrays him before his mind can catch up. before he can stop it, his feet move, the distance between him and toji shrinking in a way that feels almost impossible. it’s instinct, a brief, rare moment of allowing himself this. this thing he’s never let himself want.
without thinking, he leans in—just slightly, his forehead pressing gently against toji’s chest. it’s not a hug. it’s not anything grand. but it’s enough. enough to feel the steady rhythm of his father’s heartbeat, enough to feel the warmth of him, even if it doesn’t last long. the sound of it, the solidness of his presence, fills the space between them. he allows himself this one thing, this moment. it’s a quiet surrender, a moment of tenderness he’s never known how to ask for. he doesn’t look up, doesn’t meet toji’s gaze. he doesn’t need to. he’s not asking for anything more than this. just the weight of his father’s chest, the small brush of affection that he’s never been able to give, never been able to receive.
it’s brief, fleeting. a touch that feels like it could vanish just as quickly as it came. but for the first time in a long time, megumi allows himself to feel it. just this once. then, as quickly as it came, he pulls away. the moment breaks, and the walls go back up, locking away everything he doesn’t know how to hold. his hand brushes the back of his neck, and he steps back, swallowing the strange lump in his throat.
“gojo is going to be bringing cake by.” a pause. “…you're welcome to have some, if you stay.”
