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That day was a bit special.
It had been three weeks since he had met Megumi Fushiguro and his half sister, Tsumiki Fushiguro. And a week later, he had filed the paperwork and made the arrangements. Two weeks already since they had made a place for themselves in Gojo's home and his life.
They were all sitting at the kotatsu for dinner. The low humming of the heater faded into the sound of falling rain in the background. Gojo had made dinner himself. Katsudon served with steamed dumplings and salmon onigiri.
Outside, a storm raged on. The sky was bruised purple, the air inside, warm and damp. Raindrops splattered from the open windows into the flat, bringing in a trace of coolness. A thunder rumbled from the deep, thick clouds, shaking the whole city in its wake.
"... I don't like bell peppers."
It was the first time Megumi had complained about the food.
"Megumi!" Tsumiki hissed. The boy refused to look up. He stared at his plate, his chopsticks playing with his bowl of katsudon. A small pile of green peppers pushed in the corner.
"You don't like bell peppers?" asked Gojo.
The tips of Megumi's ears were reddened. He shook his head. In a small voice, he mumbled. "I don't like them."
Gojo was honestly a bit surprised. Megumi had never said anything about his likes or dislikes before. He figured the kid wasn't much of a talker and liked keeping to himself so Gojo never pushed him either.
"You don't have to eat it if you don't want to." Gojo shrugged, an easy smile on his lips.
He wanted to ask why Megumi didn't tell him until then. He wondered what to do now? There was a simple solution. He liked bell peppers so he could eat them instead.
"It's okay not to force yourself to eat." he said, as he reached over and picked off all the capsicums from Megumi's plate, dropping them in his own.
"Gojo-san! I'll eat them you don't have to—" Tsumiki offered, anxiously. She glared at Megumi.
Gojo waved her off, amused. He mixed the green peppers with his rice and took a big bite and chewed loudly, making yummy noises. When Megumi caught his eye, he winked.
"If there's anything you don't like, Tsumiki, you can give it to me." Gojo smirked, clacking his chopsticks, he leaned over to Tsumiki's bowl.
"No!" she shrieked, pulling it away. "I won't give it to you even if I do." Gojo laughed as he teased her.
"Idiot, Megumi." Tsumiki huffed, shaking her head.
Gojo eyed Megumi's empty plate of dumplings and sneakily passed one of his to him when the other wasn't looking. Maybe it was the warm lighting in the room but Gojo could have sworn he saw the boy smile.
As they were almost done with dinner, Tsumiki picked up her bowl over to the kitchen sink and Gojo stacked all the dirty dishes and pots, clearing the table.
"... Thanks," whispered Megumi, when they were alone. He was pointedly avoiding his gaze. The apples of cheeks were dusted pink.
"Tell me what you like next time." Gojo replied. Lips curving upward in a sincere smile. It was nice that you complained, Gojo thought as he reached down to ruffle the boy's hair. Megumi allowed it for a second before deciding it was enough and he wandered about.
The rain only seemed to intensify outside, the curtains fluttered in the stormy winds. Gojo walked over to the windows but before he pulled them shut, he tilted his head out. Cool salty air embraced him, wet droplets fell onto his face. He closed his eyes. He could hear Megumi and Tsumiki in the kitchen, plates and bowls clinking as they carefully put them in the dishwasher.
He watched as he turned around, the tiny plants and photographs that lined the wall; a casually folded pokémon blanket sat at the end of the couch. Books and crayons pushed to the corner. Three pairs of shoes lay by the door. Black formal leather boots, a pair of pink sandals and small brown trainers.
It was funny, Gojo thought, how humans always tried to fit themselves into each other's edges and crooks. Softening at their borders to let another person's puzzle fit alongside them. It was so beautiful and warming, how two people built a bridge between themselves just to get to the other person, just to understand them.
He was not one to believe in God. He never had any. He hadn't believed in fate, or destiny or 'meant-to-be's either. But Gojo was convinced that those who ate parts of the food that you don't like and you do the same for them, they have probably lived a hundred lifetimes together.
Gojo could still taste the bell peppers in his mouth. They were sweeter than anything he remembered.
The End