now playing ♪ i want you by mitski
"you're coming back, and it's the end of the world,
we're starting over and i love you darling"
cw: the usual, bad writing
Her proposal shocked him. Blue Salt was a pretentious restaurant for equally pretentious people. A place where everything was plated like art and the waiters judged you with their eyes alone.
And that’s what Yn wasn’t. Pretentious.
She never liked places like this. Thought they were a waste of money and time, said she didn’t trust food that came in “drizzles” instead of servings.
But there she was.
Sitting alone at a window table in her pale blue nurses scrubs, her badge flipped backwards, her hair in that style that pushed it out of her face that she often wore to clinicals. A cup of tea sat in front of her, untouched. She looked exhausted. Not fragile, but stretched thin. The kind of tired that lives in the bones, not the skin.
She didn’t look up when he approached. Just stared out the window like she hadn’t changed locations in the past ten minutes. Like maybe if she kept still enough, he wouldn’t come at all.
Megumi hesitated. Then pulled the chair out across from her.
“You look good,” he said carefully.
She didn’t flinch. Just blinked, slowly. “I don’t.”
“No, you do. You look, grown.”
That earned him a scoff. “Right. Like a real adult. A functioning member of society.”
He swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
She finally met his eyes. And god, that was worse.
Because they were the same eyes that used to look at him like he hung the moon, only now they looked through him. Like he was a passing thought she wasn’t sure deserved remembering.
“I figured you’d ghost the whole thing,” she said, voice flat. “Didn’t seem like your style to show up for hard conversations.”
“Yn.” His voice was quiet. “You could’ve told me.”
“And you could’ve come back when you said you would.”
The waiter came over, annoyingly chipper, like he hadn’t walked into the middle of a potential emotional crime scene.
“Are we ready to order?”
Megumi didn’t look up. “Just a coffee. Black.” He needed the waiter gone more than he needed caffeine.
Yn, however, leaned back in her chair with the faintest flicker of a smile. Not a happy one, no, it was something far more dangerous.
“I’ll have the saffron scallops with the truffle foam,” she said sweetly, handing the menu back. “And the house rosé. The one that’s imported.”
The waiter beamed. “Excellent choice."
As he walked away, Megumi turned to her slowly, eyebrows raised. “You hate scallops."
“I hate a lot of things,” she replied, still looking out the window. “But I love a free meal.”
Megumi gave a dry laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That why you picked Blue Salt?”
“I picked Blue Salt,” she said, finally meeting his gaze, “because I wanted to feel expensive. Because I knew you’d pay. And because this was never going to be a comfortable conversation, so I figured I might as well be uncomfortable with high thread count napkins.”
He looked at her like she was a stranger. And maybe she was. Five years was enough time for a person to become unrecognizable.
“Do you really hate me that much?” he asked quietly.
“No,” she said, just as quiet. “I don’t hate you. I just don’t know what version of you I’m talking to.”
He opened his mouth, but she held up a hand.
“You want answers? Fine. But don’t expect me to make this easy. You left me with nothing. I gave birth to a person. I had to hold her and name her and raise her, and you—” she laughed, but it was sharp, tired, nothing like humor “you were busy posting Spotify links on your story.”
Megumi’s jaw clenched. “That’s not fair.”
“No. It’s not. But neither was any of it.”
She picked up her water, taking a slow sip, letting the weight of her words settle. Letting him sit in the silence.
“You know I was embarrassed at one point?” she said, almost idly.
Megumi’s head snapped up. “Embarrassed?”
“You hadn’t blown up yet. You weren’t even buzzing.” Her tone was calm, but each word landed like a slap. “What were you averaging back then? 1,000 streams per song? Maybe less? And it didn't seem like you were getting anymore popular. I sat in that apartment with a newborn on my chest, thinking, Damn. I got left for a career at that could have easily been left on SoundCloud .”
She laughed then, low and bitter. “I was the girl who got abandoned for a dream that couldn’t even buy studio time.”
Megumi swallowed hard. He didn’t try to interrupt.
She tilted her head. “And then 2023 rolled around and you had your good year. Unfortunately. So the shame didn’t get to last long.”
There was no venom in her voice, just exhaustion. Like she’d already lived this moment a thousand times in her head and now that it was here, it felt smaller than it should.
He didn’t know what to say. But it didn’t matter. She wasn’t done.
“I struggled, you know?” Her voice was steadier than she expected it to be. “If anyone shouldn’t have been a mother, it was me. The teenage addict whose mom died choking on her own bitterness, and whose dad—” her voice faltered.
She let the silence carry that weight for a beat before continuing, softer now.
“How was that girl ever going to raise a kid? By herself no less. Was she even stable enough to take care of herself? Everyone thought I’d fall apart. Hell, I thought I would too. But then I looked at her, and I figured… if I could get sober, I could do anything. If I could claw my way out of that spiral, I could prove everyone wrong.”
Megumi stared at her, guilt blooming in his chest like something rotting.
“I’m not asking for a medal,” Yn said, her eyes fixed on the condensation sliding down her glass. “I’m not telling you this so you’ll cry into your coffee and call yourself the villain. I’m just saying, I built something from the mess you left behind. And it wasn’t easy.”
She finally looked at him.
“I didn’t need you then. And I sure as hell don’t need you now.”
Megumi swallowed hard. Her words hit with the weight of truth, not laced with venom, not performed for pity. Just honest. Just her.
But he wasn’t ready to let it end like that.
“I know you didn’t need me,” he said, his voice low. “You were always stronger than you gave yourself credit for. I just wish I hadn’t realized that so late.”
Yn gave a dry smile. “Yeah. You and everybody else.”
“I never stopped thinking about you,” he added, almost to himself. “Even when things got good. Especially then.”
She scoffed, pushing her plate slightly away. “You know what’s funny? There was a time I needed to hear that. I would’ve given anything for you to say that to me. I would’ve collapsed into you.” She looked up again, and this time her eyes were clear. Detached. “But that version of me doesn’t exist anymore.”
Megumi gulped. “Does she— what does she think about her fath— about me?”
Yn shrugged, lifting her glass. “She thinks fathers are a false societal construct designed to keep women from filing taxes as single heads of household.”
Megumi’s eyes widened. “Why would she think that?”
“Because that’s what I told her.” Yn quirked an eyebrow, tone dry.
His jaw dropped slightly, and she could almost see him trying to process whether she was joking.
“She’s four, Fushiguro,” Yn added. “She also thinks her penguin plush has a credit score and that Maki invented pop tarts. Love her but she's gullible as hell."
He let out a disbelieving huff. “So she doesn’t… ask about me?”
“Not really,” Yn said, voice cooler now. “Kids don’t miss what they’ve never been given. I never sat her down and said, ‘Here’s what’s missing from your life.’ Why would I? She’s surrounded by people who love her. That’s enough.”
Yn traced the rim of her glass slowly, eyes fixed on the condensation sliding down its side. “Sometimes she comes back from nursery school and asks why her friends have dads and she doesn’t,” she said calmly. “But it’s not grief. It’s just curiosity.”
She looked up, voice steady. “She’s never felt the absence. Just noticed the difference.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “So you just told her I wasn't even real? That’s the story you told her?”
“What would you have preferred?” she snapped. “That I tell a four-year-old that her father left and never came back? That he made promises he didn’t keep? That he gave me a specific date and let it pass like it meant nothing? That he blocked me for no reason after promising he'd love me for as long as he lived?"
He dropped his eyes. She continued.
“You told me you’d come back. You said May 23rd like it was a vow. And I waited, Megumi. For weeks. Months. Even after you blocked me, convinced you would come back. I was eighteen and pregnant, going to classes and living off cup noodles and pity, and I still waited.” Her voice cracked, and she hated herself for letting it.
He looked up then, and there was something awful in his face. Remorse. Grief. Shame. The whole cocktail.
“I wanted to,” he said. “You don’t know how badly I wanted to. Gojo—”
“Gojo didn’t carry your child,” she cut in. “Gojo didn’t bleed for three days straight on the floor of a one-bedroom apartment. Gojo didn’t wake up at 3 a.m. because the baby wouldn’t stop screaming.”
Megumi said nothing.
She leaned back, folding her arms. “You got your big break. You got your fame. That’s great. I hope you think about me every time you win an award.”
“I do,” he said, and there was no bravado in it. Just quiet devastation. “I thought about you when I wrote every song. Especially the ones I didn’t let anyone hear.”
Yn blinked, not expecting that. Not knowing what to do with it.
She didn’t answer right away.
Just looked at him. Really looked at him.
There were flecks of the boy she once loved still there, hidden beneath sharper cheekbones, under the exhaustion pooling beneath his eyes. He looked weathered. The type of tired that went beyond missed sleep. And in some twisted way, that made her angrier. Because he had no right to look like he’d suffered.
“You thought about me?” she repeated, her voice quiet. “What do you want, Megumi? Redemption? Closure?”
“No,” he said quickly. “I just wanted you to know that I didn’t forget you.”
“You did.” She tilted her head, expression unreadable. “You just remembered too late.”
Silence bloomed between them, heavier than anything they’d said.
“Yn,” he started again, voice rough, “I don’t want to rewrite the past. I know I can’t. But I’m here now. And if you’d let me, if there’s even the smallest chance, I want to be a part of her life. Of yours.”
He paused, something cracking in his tone. “I’m her father. I’ve already missed four years, I can’t miss another one.”
Yn’s face didn’t soften. If anything, it hardened.
“You’re about to go on tour,” she said flatly. “You say you want to be a present father, and maybe you even mean it, but let’s be honest. That’ll last what? Two weeks? Then you’re gone for months. Then you come back. Long enough to smile for a few photos, maybe learn her new favorite color, until it’s time to disappear again and start another album.”
"You can't be present like you want to Fushiguro because being present means giving up everything you worked on which means all those years? Were for nothing."
“You want to be her father?” she said, eyes sharp. “That’s noble. But being her father isn’t a title, Megumi. It’s consistency. It’s being there when she throws up at 2 a.m., when she can’t find her favorite socks, when she’s scared of the dark for no reason and only wants me. That’s what it means.”
“I can try,” he said, almost breathless. “Even if I’m not perfect—”
“You’ll fail,” she interrupted flatly. “You’ll miss a birthday or a ballet recital or she’ll have a nightmare and cry because you haven’t called in two weeks. And you’ll feel bad, and say sorry, and you’ll write a song about it. And I’ll be the one sitting on the floor with her, picking up the pieces.”
Her voice didn’t waver. It was too tired to.
“Because that’s what I’ve always done.”
He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to find something to say that wouldn’t sound like another promise he couldn’t keep.
“I don’t want to make it worse.” His voice was low. “I just… I want to try. Even if it’s messy. Even if I’m late. I want her to know I’m not a ghost.”
“You were,” Yn whispered. “For four years, you were nothing but a ghost.”
Megumi opened his mouth, but she raised a hand to stop him.
“You can’t be what you’re asking to be, Megumi. Not unless you give up everything you worked for. And if you do that, then what were the last four years for?” She leaned forward slightly. “All that sacrifice. All that distance. All that silence. For what? To become a mediocre dad with a Spotify plaque and a suitcase?”
Her words weren’t cruel. They were clinical. Precise. Like she’d rehearsed them in her head a thousand times.
“You can’t be two things at once. You can’t belong to the world and to her. So figure out who you’re showing up for.”
She stood from the table, readying herself to leave. "And if you chose it's her? She gets home from daycare at 6pm."
He showed up at 5:50.
Overeager? Possibly. But in his defense, he was given nothing to work with. He knew she was a four-year-old girl named Yume. That was about the extent of it.
What did four-year-olds even like nowadays? He had no clue. He’d dragged Nobara out of bed and into a toy store at 8 a.m. like his life depended on it.
Now he stood in front of the apartment door with a pale pink gift bag dangling from his wrist, stuffed with a glittery sticker book, a bunny-themed coloring set, a fuzzy blanket shaped like a cat, and, Nobara’s idea, a tiara that lit up and played a horrible tinkly version of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star when you tapped the heart in the center.
In his other hand was a plastic tub the size of his ego, filled with pastel-colored candy floss that screamed cavities. He was almost certain Yn was going to banish it on sight.
He shifted his weight from foot to foot. Re-checked the time.
5:52 p.m.
He debated knocking. Debated waiting in the hallway like a weirdo until the clock hit six exactly. But before he could make a decision, the door creaked open on its own. Not wide, just a crack, like it had been left slightly ajar.
He took it as a sign.
Tentative, he stepped forward, knocking gently on the open wood. “Uh… hello?”
The smell of food hit him first, ginger, garlic, maybe salmon, and then the sound of soft humming. A familiar voice, not directed at him. A child’s laugh followed it.
“Mamaaa, I can’t find Tax Fraud’s crown!”
“You took it off her head, baby, now retrace your steps.”
He didn’t even realize he was smiling.
The laughter faded as Yn appeared from around the corner, still in her pale blue scrubs, hair pushed back the same way it had been at lunch. She blinked when she saw him, less surprised, more resigned.
“You’re early,” she said, tone flat.
“You said six.”
“And it’s not six.”
He held up the gift bag helplessly. “I brought offerings.”
Her eyes flicked to the bag. Then to the tub of candy floss.
She sighed. “You’re insane if you think I’m letting her eat that.”
“Knew it,” he muttered under his breath.
She stepped aside. “Shoes off."
He obeyed without question, slipping out of his sneakers.
The sound of a cartoon show flooded his ears and he followed it.
The living room was warm and dimly lit, with the soft glow of late afternoon sun pushing through the curtains. The cartoon played on low volume, a pink, sparkly mess of dancing cats, or maybe singing puppies, he couldn’t really tell.
Yume was on the floor, perched on a throw pillow like it was a throne, legs criss-crossed and socks mismatched. Her penguin plush, Tax Fraud, wore a beaded necklace and a bandage sticker on its head. A glittery crown lay abandoned next to a coloring book that had clearly already been half-filled in.
She didn’t notice him at first.
He hovered awkwardly by the entrance to the room, unsure if he should speak or wait to be invited. He was already intruding. He didn’t want to spook her.
“Yume,” Yn called calmly from behind him, “we have company.”
The little girl looked up then.
Her big eyes blinked at him, curious but unafraid. The TV blared some indecipherable high-pitched jingle in the background, but she muted it with a click of the remote, already displaying better manners than he had at her age.
“You’re the singer,” she said, standing up slowly, her grip on Tax Fraud unwavering.
He nodded. “I am.”
She tilted her head. “You came to our house.”
“I did.”
Her gaze drifted to the gift bag in his hand, then the candy floss. But she didn’t grab for it. Didn’t even step closer. Instead, she looked over her shoulder at Yn.
“What's he holding?”
“Ask him,” Yn said, from the kitchen. “It’s his gift.”
Megumi crouched down, holding the bag out carefully. “It’s for you. Thought maybe you and your penguin could use some new supplies.”
She took the bag gently, almost reverently, peeking inside. Her lips parted in a small gasp.
“I love cats,” she whispered, pulling out the blanket. “And sparkles. And pink.”
“I guessed,” he said.
She looked up at him again. “Thank you, Mister Megumi.”
He smiled, the tension in his chest easing just slightly. “You’re welcome.”
She turned and trotted off toward the couch, already pulling the sticker book from the bag with practiced glee. Tax Fraud was tucked carefully beside her, his crown now replaced on his head.
Megumi stood slowly, watching her settle in.
“Hey,” Yn said quietly beside him. He turned.
She nodded at the candy floss. “Kitchen counter. If I see it near her toothbrush, I'll rip out your vocal cords. Let's see you try to go on tour then.”
He raised his hands in mock surrender and moved to drop it off. As he set it down, Yuuta emerged from the hallway, giving him a mock salute.
“You survived,” he said under his breath.
“Barely.”
From the couch, Yume called, “You can sit here, Mister Megumi! Tax Fraud says you can share his throw pillow!”
Megumi looked at Yn, who shrugged. “She named it, not me.”
He walked over and lowered himself onto the pillow beside her.
He had no idea what he was doing.
But she leaned against his side like it was nothing, like it was normal, and Tax Fraud gave him a very solemn nod of approval.
Yume had already spread the blanket over her lap, carefully flattening the corners like it was something precious. She peeled a glittery sticker from the new book and stuck it, without hesitation, right on Tax Fraud’s belly.
“Mister Megumi,” she said, peeking up at him with a grin. “Did you know penguins don’t have knees?”
He blinked. “I… didn’t, actually.”
She nodded solemnly. “That’s why he walks funny.”
Megumi bit back a laugh, but the smile came anyway, real this time. “Makes sense.”
From the kitchen, Yn called, “Yume, dinner in ten. You want to go wash up?”
“Okay!” Yume leapt up, the tiara lighting up obnoxiously with every bounce as she scampered toward the bathroom, her penguin tucked under one arm.
Megumi followed her with his eyes. Then, almost to himself, he whispered,
“She’s perfect.”
From across the room, Yn didn’t look back.
“I know.”
extra! extra! read all about it! (no seriously read it)
yume named her penguin tax fraud after maki almost got arrested for it
yn is hating every second of this
maki hid in her room because she really doesn't want to give that $855 back
not proofread and i actually really hate this chapter
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