Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It's a cold, wet day in August when the air starts tasting different, salt heavy on Nanami's tongue in a way that shouldn't be possible. A sense of foreboding prods at him. It follows him the entire morning and climbs onto his back late into the afternoon. He can't shake off the claustrophobic skin of negativity that's encased him, and chooses to blame it on the weather.

It must be more than that, he knows.

The rumours are back. This time they're vague, differing from person to person and nobody can settle on any one truth. The common denominator is, once again, Geto Suguru.

There's a long list of rumours circulating about the fallen agent. It's been months and yet his ghost has been hoisted up to have its memory freshly re-dissected.

They say that Geto was a prolific drug user who sold information to Hanami for more supply. Others claim that Geto was one half of a pair of twins, with the other half being a mysterious man nicknamed the Cursed Womb. In giddy whispers, some say that Geto had fallen madly in love with some mafioso's daughter and that is what led to his brutal murder.

People say a lot of things and Nanami grits his teeth through it all.

On this cold, wet day, Nanami discovers a partial truth on the balcony to his apartment. It's already dark by the time he gets home, and he notices something is out of place the moment he enters his living room. There's the silhouette of a body darkening the window pane. Nanami is light on his feet, dancing across the wooden floor in his fuzzy socks, and he presses himself flat against the adjoining wall, close as he can be without being up against the glass itself. The silhouette doesn't move, dark and hulking and on the wrong side of the lamp light so Nanami can't even discern which potential foe has invaded his home.

Fuck it.

Nanami swings open the door and leaps across in one bound, pulling back his left shoulder as he does to deliver a right cross to the back of the stranger's head.

It's only upon impact that he notices how familar that head of hair looks.

Gojo drops like a ton of bricks, yelping as he goes, and Nanami immediately retracts his fist, only to stare down at his superior who's definitely overreacting in a crumpled heap on the floor. The other man's whines are grating to the ear and Nanami nudges at his prone form with a reluctant foot.

"Get up before I toss you into the street."

It must not sound like an empty threat because Gojo shoots up, standing so rigidly it's as if the past few seconds never happened.

"Is this how you treat all your guests?" Gojo questions, still with that persistent whine in his voice.

Nanami resists the urge to hit him again. "Just the unwelcome ones," he says, droll and matter-of-fact. The humour evaporates when he registers Gojo's face, red-rimmed eyes looking sore.

"I didn't hurt you that bad, did I?" He asks, nose scrunching up at the thought.

"No." Gojo's gaze flits back and forth, before he rubs at his tired visage with the cuff of his sleeve and turns to look again at the view.

"Care to explain why you're here then?"

Gojo's adopted that sugary sweet tone of voice again, the one that's too off putting to be real. "I noticed you had a balcony last time I was here and I just had a sudden urge to check it out."

"You broke into my apartment to stand on my balcony? It's an insult to my intelligence if you actually expect me to believe that."

Nanami is surprised by Gojo's chortle, coming out fast and hard like it's the funniest thing he's heard in a while. It's a few seconds before the laugh dies out, fading into the night. Gojo's still turned away, hands shoved deep into his pockets, and Nanami sees that he's shaking. It's subtle, just barely visible under the cover of the night. Gojo's broad, unyielding back looks - for the first time - to be vulnerable.

"Would it sound too farfetched if I said I feel comfortable here?" Gojo asks,

Oddly enough, it doesn't. But Nanami stays silent.

"I'm sorry," Gojo says next and that's enough to jolt Nanami from surprise, "I shouldn't impose like this." There's resignation in those words, like Gojo has accepted an outcome that has yet to come.

It's infuriating.

"There's no need to apologise when I have yet to even complain."

The clouds are spilt grains of sugar and Nanami feels like his feet aren't firmly planted on the ground. It's hard to admit but it must be because of Gojo, a force of nature that insists on charging into his home, into his life and Nanami can't find it in himself to turn him away.

"You don't mind if I stay then?" Gojo asks, turning to look back at him for the first time. Nanami nods, just on the edge of imperceptible and Gojo stops that barely-there shaking, hunching over like it takes effort to do so.

"Are you enjoying the view then?" Nanami asks, walking forward to lean against the railing. It's a stupid question, Nanami is sure. The only 'view' to speak of is the one overlooking the resident carpark. Gojo takes his time to answer, anyway.

"It's peaceful. There's no chance of interruption."

"Unless, of course"—Nanami quirks a brow—"someone breaks in to stand on your balcony." He smiles, cheeks full despite his attempt to be wry and Gojo has the decency to look embarrassed.

"Yeah, other than that."

"Shall I get you a drink?" Nanami asks, remembering his manners though he doesn't know if they're required in such an unusual situation.

"Didn't you once try to poison Mei Mei?" Gojo questions instead of answering, like it's something that he's been pondering for a while.

The question drops between them, dead weight that Nanami fails to seize. "I didn't know she was allergic to guava."

"Will you try to poison me too?" There's a different nuance to Gojo's voice, the way it morphs into something rich and solid, that makes Nanami wonder if it's a challenge. It would take more than simple poison to fell Gojo.

What would it take, then? Nanami finds himself wondering the impossible for the first time tonight.

"If you continue to be this insufferable then I might consider it."

Amongst the call of the cicadas, Gojo lets out a single long-suffering sigh, as if Nanami's antics are too childish to bear. He's tempted to make that poisoned tea, if only in protest, but Gojo raises a single hand in anticipation.

"Just stay here. Please."

Nanami stays. Not that he thinks he could move, body stiff from confusion. A part of him is certain that he's on the path to something indescribable.

"Do you remember when we were teenagers? The store from across the academy had us banned for an entire semester," Gojo sounds far away, wistful and reminiscent over a scene that seems to be playing out in front of him. Of course, Nanami remembers. The decade since then has been both short and long, things changing and things staying the same. He wonders which category he falls into.

"I remember you getting us banned, yes."

"You don't need to give me all the credit. It was a team effort, really." Gojo is insufferable even at the best of times and Nanami can't punch a superior two times. He does elbow him though, and Gojo hisses in mock pain before trailing into a laugh.

"I knew it back then too," Gojo continues. Nanami can't see his face, but his head is tilted up and away, drinking in the sheath of night like it's the first and last time. "That you would be a good spy, I mean."

It sounds like a lie. Their academy days were a rush of new experiences and Nanami has never fooled himself to think that he was a standout individual. Least of all when it comes to this. "When did you ever even pay attention to me?" He doesn't mean for it to sound accusatory, wincing at the pitiful emotion that edges in without his consent.

"I want to say it's when SUNLAB recruited you. It was the buzz among the teachers for a while. You should have heard the the praise in the staff room." Nanami doesn't bother wondering why Gojo would have known what was being said in private staff quarters. Of course, he would. "I missed hanging out that summer by the way. Even if you would probably refer to it as harassment rather than hanging out."

"You know me so well." Nanami receives his own jab to the ribs in return for that remark. There is no sting of pain. He finds instead, an unbearable spread of warmth dappling his cheeks and reaching up to his ears. It's fondness.

He's always been so resistant to the idea of letting Gojo close. Nanami has kept him at arm's length with each and every interaction. To what end? Gojo is still here, a decade in.

He had asked if they were only coworkers and Nanami hadn't answered. Was he running from the truth even then?

This line of thought doesn't stop him reddening at the memory, one with an altered ending, where he doesn't push Gojo away. Nanami's cheeks have heated up to the point where he's probably lit up like a fire hydrant. It's a small mercy that they're guarded by the low light.

"-really, it was from the day we met." Nanami is pulled out of his musings by the confession and he flounders, mouth ajar in what's most likely an undignified manner. "You were bursting with potential, even with your dorky hairstyle." Nanami's mouth snaps close, lip curling in a frown as he pats at his head in reassurance.

"You're one to speak. Your head was like a bird's nest the entire time you were at school." The memory of it is sudden and forthcoming. Nanami wonders how he could have forgotten until now. It's like a dam has been demolished and events from the past have flooded his brain, all with Gojo as an unlikely epicentre.

It's tacky, like treacle being poured down the back of your shirt. Nanami shifts, this way and that way, adjusting to the lacquer that Gojo Satoru spills everywhere he goes.

Is it on purpose? Follow the path of sweetness and sooner or later, you'll find someone at the end. Does Gojo Satoru want to be found?

Illogical questions. There is no rhyme nor reason to these romanticised hypotheticals. Yet, as of late, Nanami is finding himself to be more and more acquainted with the illogical, like making a new friend in school that everyone around you avoids.

"You're a vacuum for grace," Nanami says, even and glib, "like you were raised in a barn."

This is as far from the truth as one can be. They both realise it and Gojo breathes out a laugh, half a stanza of amusement that sounds like the relief of rainfall. It's hard to hear and Nanami doesn't miss the glimmer that is promptly smothered by severity.

It's a dance, this thing they're doing right now. Of course, every human interaction is a dance, actions set against a backdrop of social convention. Nanami has his lines written out for him, steps memorised long ago, the task is simple: to not step on any toes. He has his script and Gojo just needs to say the next line, the one that would give them a gentle escape, onwards with the waltz.

"The Gojo family are anything but graceless," he says, those light, light words that follow the script but his face is pinched, and Nanami fights the urge to swallow his own tongue.

There's something to be said about nepotism in such a shrouded world, one where the slightest mistake could lead to panic buttons across the world being pushed in unison. Every Gojo is a giant, leaving behind immense footprints in their wake. Gojo Satoru is no different. In fact, he pushes the lines of what it means to be human. So, yes. Gojo would have made it to the top with no talent. But he did not choose that path. He is a veritable whirlwind.

There are a hundred pearls draped across a blue velvet canvas, glimmering like headlights and the unsaid is fraught with subtext that Nanami will never get a grasp on understanding. It's scary, a terribly violent fear that has only just been born. Gojo could retreat back into himself right now. They could both go back to only orbiting around the same sun, and never speak of this fragile broaching again.

"I don't understand what the point of being the strongest is if you can't protect who matters."

Nanami has never been good with words. He doesn't know what to say to people when they're hurting and Gojo isn't just in pain. He's festering, walking around with a limp and a long-broken heart and now, he's looking at Nanami like he'll have an answer.

The silence must go on for a stretch too long because Gojo laughs, something small and strained. "I don't know what I'm saying, forgive me. Must be the delightful view getting to me."

Nanami squeezes his eyes shut tight, so much so that streaks of colour appear in his darkened vision.

"Strength doesn't translate into invincibility. No one man can perform acts of God." Nanami meets Gojo's gaze head-on. He looks like he would beg to differ.

It feels like something unspeakable. The way Gojo sways in the breeze, fingers flexing and he won't look away, holding Nanami's gaze. "Isn't every Gojo Godly? Artificial Gods, yes, but Gods nonetheless." There is no arrogance in the statement. It's presented as a matter-of-fact but there's bitterness there too, words being chewed out like something that can't be swallowed.

Nanami supposes he's right. There's a Gojo in every position of power across the country. The Tokyo Metropolitan Assembly, the Cabin Secretariat, the Defense Intelligence Headquarters. The Gojo family is small and contained, but they're scattered for a reason. The only reason that ever matters.

Power.

Gojo Satoru is the greatest of them all.

"You are more than just your family name," Nanami says.

"I was born to do my family's bidding," Gojo replies, finally breaking eye-contact with a smile. He's hiding something. Nanami can tell it's not something good.

You really are reckless, Gojo had said. Nanami is just now wondering if he was right. But he doesn't do what a sane person would do. Instead, he lays a tentative palm against Gojo's shoulder and squeezes once.

"No, Satoru. You were born to live as you wish."

Gojo freezes under his touch, unmoving and Nanami falters, hand slipping off to rejoin his side but Gojo catches it in his grip and pivots so that Nanami is hidden in the shade. Gojo doesn't let go of his hand, clutching it to his chest with fervour.

"I'm afraid that one day I won't be able to do what's needed. To do what's expected."

Nanami thinks, privately, that Gojo puts too much pressure on himself. To the point where it's tearing him in two.

"You don't always have to put duty above desire."

"Don't I?" Gojo looks at Nanami like he holds all the answers, like this is something important.

"Promise me Satoru. That you'll live for yourself. At some point, you'll have to make the choice. Make the right one." The words come from a place that Nanami didn't know existed, but as he says them, he knows they're the right ones.

"You know, I'm really liking this whole 'Satoru' thing," Gojo says, raising his brows and jostling their entwined hands at once.

Nanami sighs, threatening the other with a tug to loosen his clutch. Gojo frowns, pulling their hands back with considerable force and dragging Nanami closer in the process.

"Just promise me," Nanami huffs, trying not to look affected by their sudden closeness.

Gojo laughs, a full-bodied action that indicates Nanami might be losing his mind. "I promise," he agrees finally.

"Also, you should stop mentioning SUNLAB to people," Nanami says with an exasperated eyeroll. It's a poor way to divert the conversation, certainly not the way a seasoned intelligence agent should, but he hopes the taller man would humour him.

The moonlight is gleaming as Gojo turns to face him directly, slight pinch between his brows as he reappraises Nanami. "Why? I'm proud of your achievements," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world and Nanami finds himself holding his breath, because for one shining moment, Gojo's hair is a moon spun halo, two glowing stars for eyes. Here he is, cradled in the shadows of the half-light, looking less than corporeal and Nanami falters. All these years, and this is when he falters.

It's obnoxious that Gojo is perfect in everything he does, even when he isn't trying.

"...Nanami?" Gojo questions in a hushed whisper, all breath and no force because Nanami is tipping his head up, leaning in to slot himself against the plains of Gojo's torso. It's a fraught few seconds, the moment when their lips touch, just a brush wherein everything is Gojo, his lips tasting like bubblegum chapstick, skin a smooth perfumed porcelain before Nanami pulls away slightly, and touches his forehead to Gojo's.

This close, Nanami can see himself reflected in those eyes, painted a pale blue.

"What was that for?" Gojo asks, still in that same quiet whisper, like they're sharing the most important of secrets, except this time it's tinged with a giddiness that Gojo typically reserves for when he's buying a new dessert. His breath is warm. Nanami thinks he could stay here forever. He could drown in it. At sea, without an anchor, and be thankful for it.

Gojo reaches out to trace the curve of Nanami's jaw, his hand like the holy grail.

"Do you really need to ask me that?" Nanami says, parroting back the same words he had heard a few weeks ago.

Gojo titters, jostling Nanami as he does, before drawing back to flick at him. "You always remember what I say to a tee."

"Of course," Nanami agrees easily. "It makes it easier to keep track of your foolishness."

"That's so sweet," Gojo deadpans, faux frown twitching into something joyful as he finally loosens Nanami from his vice grip.

It isn't farfetched to say that people tend to exist in relation to Gojo. Even Nanami, who's forged his own destiny at a distance, can admit as much. Gojo is a reference point, the equinox and the equator. A plane on which to base all other things. Nanami isn't so dull witted as to take this entire interaction to mean something more than what it is. But it's hard to know what the man could possibly mean when he always wraps all meaning behind a bandage, self-imposed enigma that flickers further away with every blink.

Gojo slicks back his hair with both hands, leaning back and stretching as he does so. "I think I'll head off now."

Nanami shakes his heads slightly at the bizarre turn of events. "You're leaving now?" He reiterates, just in case his ears have stopped working.

"Yes. I think I'd like to preserve my virtue. I'm a dinner and a movie kinda guy, Kento. You dirty dog, you." Gojo's pearl-clutching is accompanied by waggling an indignant finger at a tired Nanami.

It seems kissing does not keep Gojo from his antics. What a shame.

"If you need to talk," Nanami says, adept at ignoring the aforementioned antics, "then you can come to me." He hesitates, contemplating his next words, "I know that the rumours around the company must be unpleasant to hear. You're welcome to discuss anything."

He knows that it's perhaps lacking tact, and the reaction may not end up ideal, but Nanami figures he should give it a shot. He doesn't expect what Gojo says next, not at all.

"Ah. So, you've heard it too. Rest assured Nanami. I'm completely fine. After all, Suguru isn't dead."

Gojo drops off the balcony.

He's always had a flair for the dramatic.

***

A killer is a killer regardless of who he may love. Nanami is under no illusion that he's a changed man over one kiss. A man does not change until death, slipping over to the other side to face the unknown. He had known long before their lips ever met that Gojo Satoru could not be pinned down.

So, Nanami does what he does best. He goes on missions, and every time he comes home, he does so to a blank answering machine.

"What is wrong with you?" Ijichi asks one day, when Nanami is sipping on a coffee at their favourite cafe. He pauses mid-sip and looks around surreptitiously, checking that Ijichi is talking to him.

He earns a swift punch to the shoulder for the performance and can't help the glare that he shoots. "I really don't know what you mean by that but I would prefer no new bruises." The sun distracts him from his ire, spilling in through the large storefront window and marking the world out in orange fractals. Nanami smiles, basking in the warmth before attempting another sip.

Keyword: attempt.

Ijichi punches at his other shoulder. Nanami hisses, irritation cropping up and he whacks his friend away with an open palm. The noise draws an embarrassment amount of attention from the nearest patrons and Nanami shrinks. He swears he sees Ijichi's glasses glint maliciously but one blink and the illusion disappears.

"You've been empty headed for days," Ijichi says, by way of explanation while Nanami is busy trying to wave away the cashier's concern.

"I'm just a bit under the weather."

It's true. If 'under the weather' were to mean wondering where the hell Gojo is. A good agent – and Gojo is more than just good – would have no trouble keeping under the radar if they wanted to. But who drops off the face of the earth immediately after getting kissed by their coworker?

Gojo Satoru. That's who.

I could never get rid of him before, he considers ruefully.

Nanami is falling victim to something that he knows must be out his control. A life cannot be lived perched on the sidelines and a kiss is only a kiss, not a flare in the dark. And yet, is it a crime to desire more? Gojo has left him wanting but what is it that Nanami wants?

Everyone wants something. Nanami suspects that Gojo wants something more than what can be given to him. And isn't that just amazing? Because what on earth can Gojo Satoru, god amongst men, not have?

Love, some infernal part of Nanami whispers, he wants love.

If a man does not wish to be known then he simply won't be. It is unclear here, if Nanami is talking about Gojo or himself. Things have been swinging like a pendulum, switching from out of focus and unclear to crisp and in high definition. As he looks at his oldest friend, Nanami is relieved to note that Ijichi is as clear as he's always been.

"I'll snap out of it soon enough," he says, a reassurance bordering on a promise and Ijichi nods, eyes flicking back down to his drink.

"I think you're going to be sent on a mission soon," he confesses, dark hair tumbling down above his eyes, obscuring the lenses of his glasses and Nanami squints, trying to determine what that expression could possibly mean. Trepidation? Nanami isn't green enough behind the ears for Ijichi to still doubt his abilities.

"What mission?"

Ijichi smiles now. It's a ghost of what it should be, lips twisting in mimicry that falls short of the real action. "I can't say. But I do know that you'll be called into the office soon enough." And that is cause for alarm because few people are personally given assignments by Masamichi. The most one might get is a phone call from a messenger, but if Masamichi is requesting a meeting then this must be important.

Across the table, Ijichi is carefully monitoring and he must see understanding dawn because he says, "yeah. Good luck," and tips his coffee cup up in a mock celebratory motion. Nanami mirrors the action and gulps down the remainder of his coffee with a grimace.

Time will make fools of us all.

***

It's strange, the lengths people go to when they're afraid and biding time. For Nanami it means not looking at his phone, in the hopes that he won't get the call through sheer willpower alone. It doesn't work - has never worked before, so why would it start now? Nanami gets the call a few days after his conversation with Ijichi. A summons to Masamichi's office, just as predicted. So, he crosses through the threshold into the gaping maw of HQ and it's all autopilot from this point forward. Nanami says the rights things, nods at the right people, the perfect picture of geniality even as his mind remains a perfect storm, calculating how likely it is that he'll be bumped up a paygrade after this mission.

About time, Ijichi had said and Nanami agreed. About time, he bites into the hope and relishes the spearmint tang. He's been eyeing a motorbike, but ever-cautious, could not justify the purchase until now. He shivers by himself in the lift, the city hit by a sudden cold snap and he's foolishly dressed light. Even inside, the cold has left its mark, icy grip against Nanami's ribcage. He's thankfully already thawing by the time the lift dings, opening up to the top floor.

It's as he's walking to his destination that he finds his mind drifting back to that day, the day Gojo had fallen off the balcony. It didn't concern Nanami, seeing as how Gojo has done more dangerous stunts plenty of times before. It was the words before the fall that stuck out. Geto Suguru is alive. That much Nanami is certain of because Gojo wouldn't joke about such a thing. How? That's the real question. And why would Gojo reveal such information? Nanami sighs, well aware that he's going around in the same circles and has been for weeks. He comes to a stop before Masamichi's office and counts the seconds as he pats down his suit before knocking.

A beat before a gruff voice gives permission to enter. Masamaichi's office is an extravagent place. well befitting of someone of his station and Nanami has found himself struck by new trinkets the few times he has visited in the past. Now, though, he does not look at the newly installed sputnik chandelier, nor the bakhitiari rug. He looks straight through the visual noise to Gojo, standing as stiff as a centerpiece before Masamichi who's seated at his desk.

How odd, Nanami considers, that I am not angry at his sudden reappearance.

When light spills through a prism it splits in every which way, colours blooming like a forest fire. Nanami supposes that he is a prism that is waiting for his moment in the light. Light is so sparse in their world. This is a dead end. Whatever he is looking for in Gojo will always lead to a dead end. But hope, however small, is a long enduring remnant of the heart. It will take more than absence and probability to dull Nanami.

He bows at them and takes his place. He waits, unwilling to be the one who speaks first.

"I'm sure you both have an inkling as to why you're here. I won't bother mincing my words. I have a mission that I believe will be difficult. You are the only ones up to the job." Masamichi is looking up at both of them, but something is amiss. He's not meeting their eyes. Nanami chances a glance at Gojo and is surprised at the open hostility marring his face, an anger so insidious it can only be venom. He averts his gaze back to Masamichi who seems to have been expecting this reaction. "It will be mostly standard reconnaisance work, scouting out and information gathering in regard to the Spirits, the new mafia division which has sprung up." Masamachi pauses, and he finally looks at them straight on. "The difficult part of this assignment is finding and bringing back Geto Suguru."

The temperature in the room drops and it all clicks into place.

Gojo draws up into his full height and walks forward, each step measured with deliberation. He scoffs, and it's only a small sound, but Nanami winces all the same. "I was wondering how you'd make the demand. For someone in your role, you really do lack even the most basic tact." Gojo may mean to be sharp, but for a moment Nanami sees the mask slip, and behind it is pure, unbridled disappointment.

Our teacher demands one of our heads on a pike, Nanami realises in dumbstruck bewilderment. He is seventeen again, watching Masamichi speak at Haibara's funeral and now he is twenty-seven with bile rising in his throat.

Gojo leaves before Nanami can open his mouth, every footfall a violent thud that sounds like the hammering of hail stones across a car roof, and Gojo never rushes, every movement deliberately casual. This alone is a signal of how wrong things are.

Masamichi clears his throat, drawing Nanami's attention back toward the desk. "This isn't going to be easy, Nanami."

"You should never have assigned him to this job," Nanami says, before he can register what he's saying, surprising himself in the process. All his years of being an agent, he's never spoken out of turn unless he's really, truly meant it.

The surprise is mirrored on Masamichi's face, eyes just a tad bit wider than usual, but it quickly softens into something more like resignation. No, Nanami notes with dull conviction, it's guilt

"I don't want him on this mission but Nanami, you have to understand that he's the strongest we have. And Geto..." Masamichi's voice grows vague when he speaks Geto's name, like he's unused to the shape of it. "He used to be one of our strongest too. We can't take any chances. Not when he knows exactly how to take us down."

"I still don't think it's a good idea. He's not stable right now-"

"That's why I assigned you alongside him," Masamichi cuts through the lecture Nanami was about to deliver. He looks down at his superior, confusion marring his features. "He listens to you."

Does he? Nanami recalls memories from over the years, where Gojo, stubborn Gojo, has admittedly relented and taken on his advice. There are more memories than he had realised. One that rises to the forefront is when Gojo had pestered him into choosing glasses together, and had dropped everything in his hands to buy a pair that Nanami had offhandedly mentioned would suit him.

Nanami flounders.

He wants to say the truth. That Gojo belongs solely to himself. That he will not answer to anyone but his own whims. But the truth isn't static. It is an ever-changing being and Nanami cannot say any of this because it all leads back to a stolen kiss, or even further back, to years of splitting paths that still ended up converging.

Masamachi must take the silence as an answer. He sighs and waves a hand. "Seeing as how one half of the team has stormed off, I guess you're dismissed. All the relevant files will be sent to the team lead. I expect results, Nanami."

Results. It's such a vague distillation of the violence of their work. So sanitary and unfeeling. Nanami does not bow again, heart in his mouth as he backs away, staring at the man who brought him into this world. The man who could just as easily take him out, if he felt Nanami was enough of a threat. He turns and walks out, bumping straight into Megumi.

The collision is slight but Nanami's wits aren't about him so while he stumbles, Megumi stands as steady as a wall, one hand out in case Nanami needs it. When he's ascertained that no help is needed, the hand drops and Nanami hates that look on his face. The one that's full of knowing. So close to the expression that Gojo carries with him.

It makes sense that Megumi has perfected the look too, after Gojo has tended to him all these years.

"You should be careful," Megumi says, and like so much of their lives, it's veiled in secondary meaning. Nanami is suffering from perpetual double vision, echoes upon echoes until it's hard to determine what the source of anything is. Megumi says be careful and Nanami hears run

He's never been the fastest.

"What brings you here?"

"I was running an errand." Megumi holds up a beige folder, and scrawled across a post-it note is Masamichi's name in lazy script. Nanami nods and sidesteps to let the younger spy through. However, Megumi shadows him, the same sidestep in tandem and he looks almost like a child again, the way he's looking at Nanami with those big, sad eyes.

"Someone should check on Gojo-sensei."

The hallway stretches onwards and Nanami wonders how much Megumi already knows. He doesn't bother trying to find out. "I'll catch up with him." He smiles, just for the sake of doing something.

"Take care of him, Nanami sensei." He looks serious, beseeching tone of voice piercing like a needle and it hurts because it's not a pledge that Nanami can make - to keep Gojo whole when the odds are seemingly against them.

"I'll try." It's a terrible job of comfort but Megumi doesn't point out Nanami's failings. He looks less knowing now, but perhaps, it's more of a comfort than Nanami thinks because Megumi smiles back for the first time, eyes lightening up.

Then Nanami is off, walking back towards the lift until he remembers that he has no clue where Gojo has gone. There's a cough from behind him and Megumi points to their right, where the emergency exit to the stairs are. Then he points upwards, and Nanami escapes into the stairwell, leaving the student behind.

When Nanami pushes on the metal door that leads to the rooftop, he isn't sure what to expect on the other side. Gojo sitting by himself cross-legged on the concrete wasn't one of his guesses, but somehow it seems right. Once again, the taller man is turned away, and he doesn't move even as the door falls shut, suctioning closed. The only indication that he's not a statue is the frigid breeze running its tendrils through his hair, ruffling it out of place.

"Are you not cold?" Nanami asks, for lack of any other words coming to mind.

The only answer is this god forsaken wind, ripping through Nanami's confidence and he bunches up his hands into fists but forces them to relax. He crosses the distance to reach Gojo, an expanse that is longer that it should be and Nanami looks out at the world beneath them. Everything is so still from up here. The world is a corpse when looked at from the right angle. Does that make Nanami a mortician? Always peeling away at things that are dead or dying. Now, reborn can be added to the list.

The rooftop garden is a rather small plot but Gojo has chosen to sit right on its precipice. Nanami drops down beside him, watchful so they don't touch as he settles. He shifts to say something but his voice catches in his throat when he sees Gojo's face.

It's like seeing a ghost that is only half-dead, pale and trembling at every edge, but when Nanami reaches out, his hands meet smooth skin that's warm to the touch. Gojo doesn't move, doesn't even seem to breathe, but there's a glossy look to his eyes, one blink away from letting the dam break free. Nanami spares his dignity by glancing somewhere above them, trying to marvel at the patchwork of stars above them, as if he can't hear Nanami wiping roughly at his eyes, the rustle of the greying oak leaves a welcome distraction.

"You should have stayed away."

Nanami should have done a lot of things – a laundry list of things that he should have left alone. This isn't one of those things. Gojo is like the shadowy figment of a limb lost at war. No matter the distance, no matter the time or the twist of the globe, Nanami will feel his absence and presence all at once.

"If you keep speaking nonsense I'll leave right now." He lets the threat settle in the air before hugging his friend, tight and secure. Right now they are two anchors tangled. Today, no ships will be leaving in the night.

"You told me to put desire above duty," Gojo says, the words muffled into the collar of Nanami's shirt so he lets the other loose, pulling back to let him speak. Gojo speaks, cloud of mist puffing into the air between them, and every speck of grey in his eyes seem to be coalescing, creating a small hurricane. "Do you still believe I should do that?"

Nanami hesitates. It is only for a second. But Nanami hesitates. Gojo – oh-so talented Gojo – will not have missed that. Later, Nanami will wonder if this is the instance that sets everything in motion but for now he only says, "that is not for me to say."

It's a shitty answer. They both know it. Gojo grants him a small mercy in the form of a smile, teasing in the way he bares his teeth, and then he rests his head on Nanami's shoulder.

This should be enough. They're dangling their legs over the edge of the world and staring at an endless fog over Tokyo. It should be enough.

And yet, it will never will be.

***

Nanami doesn't see Gojo for over a month after that day. He doesn't call either. All mission related information is relayed to him personally by Masamichi. It's like a void has inhabited his life, walking in step with him everywhere he goes. It's an absence. It's betrayal.

Usually, Gojo is the one chattering away in his ear, demanding interaction and acknowledgment. Nanami doesn't know how to admit that he craves it, misses it.

It's unorthodox for a team to communicate in such a way but nothing about them has ever been orthodox and he isn't sure he's up to facing his superior. They had parted amicably enough, but Nanami isn't one for ambiguity and whatever this is between them is so undefined, it may as well not exist in reality.

Nanami throws himself into his work. He does it with an intensity that he doesn't usually apply to any of his jobs. This has go well, he says to himself at odd times of the day, when he finds himself slipping with exhaustion. It just has to.

He finds out a lot about the Spirits. They're a group that want to revolutionise the system of organised crime, overhauling the ways of old and making way for new, fresh faces. Hanami is a member, along with Mahito. These two members are formidable enough to make Nanami cautious. The idea that Geto is working alongside them – it's not something that he wants to dwell on.

Geto had been good at getting the truth out of people. Be it through psychological warfare, or outright torture, he was the best of the best. Ironic, then, that he was the most proficient liar of them all.

To be both dead and undead. Geto is Schrodinger's corpse.

Nanami can't decide on what tense to refer to him in. He switches between past and present depending on his mood. Geto is a man not beholden to time. Not anymore.

So, he tries his hardest to figure out the whys and the hows and he complies it all into a dossier that's regularly sent to both Masamichi and Gojo.

There is only so much you can find out before you have to make a move.

Preparation reaches an end and winter comes early, ravaging the earth in its midst. The day is crisp when Gojo appears at his home for a third time, and Nanami's heartbeat picks up but it's not in surprise. They don't bother with pleasantries. Nanami doesn't even invite him in.

"Are you ready?"

There's that feeling of double vision again. Two Gojos where there should only be one. "Yes. I'm ready," Nanami says, because there isn't anything else to be said.

He's staring at the fine lines of the Tokyo skyline from beside the car and Gojo is standing too close for comfort, heat free-bleeding between them. It feels like the first time that proximity is a pathway rather than a border. The seconds spill like sand and Nanami allows himself to give in, to lean toward Gojo. This is a moment of purposeful surrender. Nanami tears himself away and clears his throat.

"Let's go."

The journey is quiet. It should be spent going over the mission but lead clogs Nanami's airways while Gojo looks to be preoccupied with something that Nanami can't see. It's only when they're on the last leg of their journey that Gojo speaks.

"I never thanked you." His gaze is directed at the road as he drives the car with precision, but it doesn't matter anyways because he's wearing a pair of sunglasses that block his eyes from the world. Nanami feels remorseful though he doesn't know what he's grieving.

"Thanked me?" He asks, curious as to what he's done to be thanked for.

"You didn't rat me out to the store owner when we were kids."

The confession takes a few seconds to register and when it does, Nanami snorts, face contorting in an uncouth way. It helps to disperse some of the heaviness from his limbs. He can pretend, for a moment that they're still in the summer of their youth and not heading into the edges of Kabukichō.

He had an ideal self once. When he was young, Nanami had wanted to be good. Then suddenly many years had passed and he was still standing in the same place, holding onto ideals that slip through his fingers like water. Boyhood was a holstered knife blunted by the passage of time.

Nanami has been living in vignettes.

This knowledge is what has him reaching out and resting his hand on top of Gojo's, which happens to be holding the gear stick. It's awkward and perhaps, not the right call, but Nanami doesn't care.

"I've waited a very long time for you to stop fighting me. What's changed, Kento?" There is no symphony, no conductor to allay the brash cymbals, to steer the strings in the right direction. Nanami is no longer aware of what the right direction could possibly be. He's in that dungeon, choked by grey fog, and Gojo's voice is cutting through like a lighthouse, a voice like an anchor or a compass or a stream of light that passes through Nanami and-

He's a prism, light spilling over like water.

"I will always be fighting you," Nanami says, turning to stare out the passenger-side window. Neither of them mention how his hand doesn't move. The landscape moves passed and all that can be seen is a flurry of things on the verge of dying. Dying leaves, trees and flowers.

"If we see him then leave the talking to me," Gojo says as the first snowflake falls. It doesn't take long before a storm has set in and Nanami wonders if laughing would be appropriate.

"Are you being serious?" Nanami's voice is full of incredulity. He's a seasoned agent being asked to refrain from doing part of his job. It's more than just insulting and Gojo has to know that.

"He gets into peoples' heads. You know this, Kento. I don't think you're well equipped to deal with that."

The world outside has already been shrouded in white and Nanami groans, exasperation escaping through the sound. "I think we both attended the same academy classes and have almost the same amount of time on the field. I am just as equipped as you."

Gojo falls silent, tapping against his wheel with an incessant verve. The scenery outside the car changes, from grassy knolls to high rises. LED signs flash by in streaks of colour obscured by the heavy snowfall. Nanami knows they're getting close when Gojo's tapping stops, both hands now on the steering wheel, gripping tight enough to see every groove of his knuckles.

They come to a reluctant stop in the darkest part of Shinjuku, far from the busy streets of the red light district but still close enough for there to be no mistake where they are. This area is the heart of the mafia's playground.

It's quiet. The snow has made a graveyard out of their surroundings, muffling all sounds of life. There are no stars overhead. Nothing to show them the way. It's still easy enough to see the obvious. The great, hulking warehouse in front of them looks to be dilapidated and abandoned, but careful observance has proven that this is a drop off point for members of the Spirits.

One such member happens to be Geto Suguru.

He imagines that Geto had died in a warehouse just like this. The version of Geto which they had known, at least.

The eaves are piled high with snow, one wrong turn of the wind and they might be buried under. Movement at Nanami's side signals that Gojo has joined him in looking at the warehouse that supposedly houses their former comrade. Nanami sneaks a look at his teammate and can't quite decipher what he's feeling. All he sees is a blank face and that's worse than anything else.

"I'll go from the back," Gojo says and Nanami hums out an acknowledgement – every nerve is on fire, hypervigilant to the highest degree. They part here, and he watches his teammate go, treading so carefully that the only sign he was there are the frosted footprints left behind. It's only when Gojo is completely out of sight that Nanami begins his descent.

There's very little resistance when he tries a side door that opens up into a short hallway. His first view of hell is that it's sterile.The lights are all off but the day is still just barely snow-bright enough to see that the space looks virtually untouched. For a location which has enjoyed the company of several Spirits members, it sure doesn't look the part. Nanami does his best at shaking off the discomfort that's arisen in the short time it's taken for him to note all the little quirks of the entrance, like the hand gel and needles hidden in a neat little alcove.

The biggest issue, he realises when he creeps further into the building, is that it's been retrofitted so much that it now resembles a maze with how many different paths can be taken. There are three doors in front of him, all the same shade of cracked black paint, and none of them inspire any sense of confidence. Nanami hesitates, before going straight for the one in the middle. There's a muted click as the door opens, and he wonders how Gojo is faring.

He'll be fine.

The door opens into darkness and Nanami feels blindly for a light switch. When light floods the room, his anticipation dissipates, and disappointment takes over the anxiety. Like much of the building before, the room is unfurnished and untouched. The only difference is that there's a carpet in place of concrete floors.

He begins to wonder if this mission is a dead end.

Nanami shuffles around the room, inspecting every corner for any sign of life while ignoring the only other door in the process. He finds nothing, but the air seems to be getting heavier, an oppressive and almost physical thing. He's beginning to be lulled into the idea that their meticulous work of collecting intel is now somehow either outdated or plain wrong. He's mulling this over, sending a message to Gojo with his current findings, as he walks through that other door, into that room.

There are three things which stand out. Nanami sees them in this order: the lights are already on. There are four doors in total, one for each wall. There's a sofa at the far side, old and worn and Geto is lounging in it with the lazy look of ownership, like a king beholden to his throne. And Geto is looking right at him, amusement spinning in his eyes.

"I was wondering when you would show up," Geto says, and the words feel like plasticine. They have a degree of practice to them that makes him wonder just how long Geto must have been waiting.

Oh. It's a trap.

For the first time, in a very long time, Nanami feels fear rattle his bones like an old friend.

Ghostly Geto, and his throne of needles, appearing so much like he had during their academy days, so sure of himself, before time wore away at his ego. He's dressed in all black, expensive even at a glance.

"Who are you mourning?" Nanami asks, gesturing at the other as he walks further into the room while still keeping his distance, having taken stock of the gun in his grip.

Geto grins, all his teeth on show, sweeping gaze turned down, before looking again at Nanami. "Someone who isn't dead yet."

"Why are you here?" Nanami glosses over that ominous response, and works on biding his time. "Why did you leave?"

They're basic questions, something anyone would want to know, but Geto's face flashes with surprise, before every feature tightens into cool anger.

"You must be upset that I didn't stay dead for long. You and the rest of those hypocrites, on your almighty pedestal looking down on me. Tell me Kento, are they all speaking about me?"

Nanami flinches, both at the accuracy and the use of his given name. Masamichi was right. Geto knows too much.

Once, many years ago, when Ijichi and Haibara had yet to arrive at the dorms, Nanami was alone with just his thoughts before freshman year began. Geto had been the one to find him sitting in the courtyard. He had dragged Nanami into the weapons room and taught him how to use a gun. They did this every day for the best part of a month before Haibara and then Ijichi arrived. Nanami remembers how Geto had said he didn't need his help anymore. That he was capable enough to do everything. That a lonely body is a useless body, but Nanami isn't alone anymore.

There is no telling how that child morphed into the person on that couch. How does a heart change this much?

Geto is now more shark than human. That much is obvious. Nanami refuses to be prey. "You're not as relevant as you believe yourself to be."

"Really? You're here for me, though, aren't you?" Geto stands in one fluid motion, and Nanami steels himself but the traitor doesn't do anything else. "Tell me, how is Satoru? Has he been grieving me as he should?"

Nanami sees through the ploy for what it is. A bid to instigate so Geto can gain the upperhand. This knowledge doesn't stop Nanami's hackles from rising at the mockery.

"I'm guessing he never told you what happened that day? That he left me for dead all because I wanted him to join me in revolution. Masamichi and his cronies are shadows of the past, Kento. We work for a country that doesn't care for us. We die for a government that doesn't acknowledge our strength. Just like your Haibara did. You stood by and watched back then but I'm going to make a change." Geto is pacing, words unravelling and the onslaught is too much to take in. The mention of Haibara trips him up.

"I did everything right. Haibara dying couldn't be stopped."

Geto stops pacing and stares right at Nanami with abject pity. "Is that the story that you tell yourself to sleep at night? We all make our choices. The day Haibara entered the academy, his death sentence was stamped and sealed." The man smirks, shirt billowing when he marches up to Nanami with impressive speed. "Do you want to know what that makes you? An accomplice."

He's about to say something to refute this but up close, he notices that something is very off. Geto is deathly pale and tinged with a yellow sheen. Nanami wonders if there was credence to the rumours.

'They say that Geto was a prolific drug user who sold information to Hanami for more supply.'

"Are you on something?"

Geto startles, reeling back as if sucker-punched and shakes his head slightly, long hair following the movement. "You've always been too curious for your own good, Nanami." The words are an echo of a different time, a different voice.

The third door to their right opens. Gojo emerges, an oasis in this desert.

He's always had the worst timing. There have been years and years of missing each other by just seconds, slipping by mere inches.

Gojo is looking through him, bandage not able to hide how he's looking at Geto. Geto's paused in his taunts, and for all his bravado, he looks at Gojo with such gentle appraisal that it aches.

The hum of trepidation is seeping between Nanami's shoulder blades, growing as sure as moss in the dark.

Nanami has been a coward – afraid of making anything more of himself, always teetering right on the edge between goodness and greatness. It's getting tiring pretending that he's okay with mediocrity, that he doesn't crave more. He's carved out like a fruit with not enough flesh. There's a pit right where his brain should be. Yet, there have been sparks of light. Nanami thinks of Gojo – lonely, dysfunctional Gojo – standing in the doorway, body like a smoking gun. Acrid and warm to the touch. The sparks are brightest when he's near.

I could love him, Nanami thinks. Or give him something close enough to love for there to be no difference.

The distinction between inaction and action is a split-second decision. The distinction between a coward and a hero is who tells the story.

Nanami wants to be able to tell this story.

He takes the opportunity to bound forward, knocking the gun out of Geto's grasp and sending it back toward the sofa. Combat has never been enjoyable for him. However, he can't deny that there's a thrill in the shot of adrenaline that sends his system into overdrive. Geto has been taken off guard but that isn't going to last. He's three paces away, hair coming completely undone and it's not enough to hide the scowl on his face.

Geto falls back from the momentum and as he does so, he grabs onto the tail-end of Nanami's tie, pulling him down with him. They're sent with a crash into the small coffee table and Geto wraps his legs around the other's midriff, tightening the hold to bring him closer. In any other situation, this may look a shade too intimate for battle, but Geto's goal is to break a rib and Nanami is beginning to feel suffocated. Thinking quick, panic rising, he puts all his power into his arm and drives an elbow into Geto's gut.

He gasps, air punched out of him, and his grip loosens. It's only momentary but Nanami is scrambling up and away on his haunches, seeing Gojo in his periphery while heading for the gun that's peeking out from under the edge of a rug. But what Nanami sees, so does Geto and so, deploys a swift kick to the throat. Nanami is down again, choking for air with his hands splayed out ahead of him. It's a sick scene of genuflection.

It's a nightmare in slow motion. Geto's grabbing the gun and firing a warning shot to the ceiling as he backs up against a wall, right next to the fourth door. The red door. All noise from the scuffle ceases, Gojo and Nanami both eyeing the gun.

"You understand now, right? The one with nothing to lose is the one who will always win." Geto is breathless, voice breaking as he speaks, but he looks so content, eyes gleaming in wonder when he turns to look at Gojo. "Remember Satoru. You're the one who told me that."

Nanami sees Gojo crumple then, a vision of beauty on the verge of ruination and he knows, there's no way they're getting out of this.

Geto shoots his second bullet.

He barely sees it coming, just registers silver in the air through his periphery before his head jolts up and his mouth opens soundlessly.

Gods-

Nanami never stood a chance.

It makes a sound like thunder as it passes through his sternum. They all watch it go, and Nanami doesn't feel like it's happening. It can't be his body with a bullet in it. It can't be him shuddering to lay on the ground.

This is one variable that he had never accounted for, no contingency in place for dying at the arms of a former comrade. Through the blood he sees Gojo floundering, both hands reaching in opposite directions, one toward Geto who has one hand reaching for the door and one toward him. Nanami has never seen him make a face quite like this before, like someone has doused him in petrol and set him alight, pulled him out of the perfect mould he's kept steady his entire life — and isn't it crazy that Nanami is dying, blood spilling in silk over silk, and all he can think about is Gojo's face, aching and pained and – guilty. The guilt is what sticks out the most. It's a dagger through his dwindling lucidity. Because geto is retreating and Gojo's hands can only stretch so far, so he has to make a choice.

Make the choice, Nanami tries to say this, can't say it, too much liquid bubbling up the wrong way.

Gojo makes his choice, a hand dropping as he gives one final look at Nanami, eyes more steel grey than blue now, obscured by tears that Nanami will never have the chance to see fall because Gojo has set out into a run, racing out the door that Geto had left through a few moments prior.

Then, silence. Then, only silence.

Nanami doesn't die here. No. Death is so long and his life has been so short. It's only adrenaline keeping him conscious. Nanami is a body without a mind. A body without even a thought. He forces himself to crawl and time slows as he fumbles through the maze, stomach dragging against the ground because he doesn't have the energy to raise his body up, leaving a trail of blood behind as he does.

He manages to get out of that building – that building like a carcass. This isn't life. Life exists elsewhere and Nanami is not living, only staring at the pool of blood that is quickly pooling around him, filling in the grooves in the ground like a puzzle that was never meant to be solved.
I'm going to die today, he feels cotton fill his head as he accepts his fate, destined to end before it could even begin. There are no tears, his face as blank as a canvas, but there is a flood that begins in his ribcage when he begins to think of all the things he'll never get to do.

Nanami promptly loses consciousness on the dirt and gravel path, finally losing in this battle of wills.

He's found a few hours later, moonlight dappling his sallow skin. Megumi and Ijichi had been sent by Masamichi, after neither Gojo nor Nanami showed up to file their mission report.

Megumi, trembling and hollow, carries Nanami into Ijichi's car and takes him straight to Shoko.

It's not enough, of course.

Fourteen hours after receiving a bullet to the abdomen, Nanami dies in his bed from a festering infection in his gut.

Gojo does not return.