The wind swept through the quiet field like a long exhale.

You stood beside Megumi, just far enough for the fabric of your sleeve to brush his. The cemetery wasn’t marked by grandeur—no lavish statues or ancient gates—just rows of stones and the silence that wrapped around them like reverence.

Megumi’s eyes didn’t stray as he led you, slow and sure, down a narrow path between markers. When he stopped, it wasn’t because the gravestone was particularly grand—it wasn’t. But it was clean, polished, flowers set neatly at the base.

Sunlight broke through the overcast sky and landed squarely on the inscription: Satoru Gojo.

Megumi stared at the stone, his hands buried deep in his pockets, jaw locked tight. For a while, he didn’t speak.

Then, almost reluctantly, his voice emerged. “…This is the first time I’ve brought anyone here.”

His fingers flexed. The wind tousled his dark hair, lifting strands that fell stubbornly back in place. His face was composed, but something in his shoulders betrayed him—lowered, uncertain.

“He wasn’t a good man. Not always,” he said quietly, gaze still fixed on the grave. “He was arrogant, impossible. He always thought he was the smartest one in the room. And…he probably was.”

A faint breath escaped him. Not quite a laugh.

“But he was also the only one who stayed. After everything, he still took us in. Me and Tsumiki.” He paused. His expression didn’t change much, but his voice dipped, took on something quieter—raw, a little broken at the edges.

“I don’t think he wanted to raise kids. I don’t think he ever planned on it. But he did it anyway. Not like a father. More like…” He shook his head. “A storm. Loud, obnoxious. Always around. Always showing up when you least expected. Always...watching.”

His breath caught, and for a moment, the wind filled the silence for him.

“I didn’t get it back then. I didn’t understand how much he did for us. I didn’t...I didn't even get to say thank you. Not once.”

He blinked rapidly, tilting his head back slightly. The sky was soft blue now, clouds parting. “I hated him sometimes,” Megumi admitted. “But I think I also wanted to be like him. Just…quieter.”

He let out a slow breath, steadying himself.

“I’ve been meaning to come here for a while. But I kept putting it off.” He turned to you then, finally. “It felt…too heavy.” There was no more to say. Not really.

He returned his gaze to the stone, then knelt and brushed off a stray leaf that had blown across the base. His fingers lingered on the marble. Then he stood again, straightened, and took one final breath.

“Thanks for coming with me,” he murmured. The words hung between you, soft but sincere.

And then, without asking, without needing to, his hand found yours. The pressure was light. Hesitant. But it was his first time reaching out this way—like this.

There was no need to speak.

The sun glinted off Gojo’s name as if even now, he was watching. Smiling. Teasing.

But for once, Megumi didn’t look away.