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As summer approached and each morning came faster and brighter it becomes harder to peel oneself out of bed. The sheets stuck to the skin and the air was so thick with salt and the peculiar scent of warm sand that it almost begged for the day to be wasted away in bed. Night would likely be more hospitable, with the starlight still more than enough to see with and the ocean still warm enough to swim in. The black velvet skies of night would be infinitely kinder on the eyes than the washed out blue it takes on when the sun is at its apex, and their sunscreen costs would go down significantly.
Unfortunately, years of sticking to a regimented schedule had made it so Nanami found himself incapable of sleeping past 7AM or staying up much beyond midnight. He woke to thin shafts of light filtering through the gauze like curtains that cover the windows and the feeling that he was being preserved in a salt bath. The clock on his bedside table read 6:58PM, though the sun looked so bright it might as well be midday. He turned from the sun and the mocking clock and towards the best part of his mornings.
On a day when they had nothing planned Haibara might sleep until 10AM before he lurches into the kitchen with an apologetic smile and his hair in a static halo, but they had plans for the day, so he’d undoubtedly wake at 8AM and not a moment before, except then he’ll be practically dragging himself into the kitchen. It didn't take him long to get into the swing of the day, but when he first woke up Haibara was often closer to zombie than man.
For the next hour, however, Haibara would continue to get himself further and further tangled in the mess of sheets, his face slack with the kind of sleep that’s only born of warm nights and domesticity. It might very well be the last quiet, calm night of sleep the two of them get for the rest of the week, so Nanami doesn’t rush to get up. He shut off his alarm before it can go off and turned back to run his hands over the swaths of exposed skin he can see through the folds of the sheets. It’s become a habit over the years for him to touch the delicate webs of scars that run across Haibara’s body, paying homage to the memory of intense, overwhelming fear that they represent. Of course that fear is long gone, and he no longer has to concern himself with memories of large teeth and larger claws, of iron and the smell of Haibara’s conditioner as he had dragged him out of the building, terrified that he wouldn’t be fast enough. The only remnants of that day that remain are the scars and the smell of conditioner, unchanged even after ten years.
There’s the obvious: the scar that hugs the curve of his jaw, that came far too close to his eye, the one across his shoulder, far too close to the arteries in his neck. There is the not as obvious: the circular divots in his legs, pockmarks of teeth, the horrible wreath that bisected his middle and had nearly spilled his guts, severed his spine. There had been a couple months after the mission, after Haibara had woken from his coma, that they had been terrified he might never walk again. When Gojo had come to visit and gotten kicked in the face after trying to tickle the bottom of one of his feet Nanami had cried as Haibara alternated between apologizing for the reflex and groaning at how the motion had pulled at his healing wounds. Now even that scar is white and silken, softer than the surrounding flesh, a ghost of the worst months of both of their lives. Before he rolled out of the bed he leaned across the bed and pressed a kiss to the scar that cuts across Haibara’s face, careful not to wake him even though he’s probably the deepest sleeper he’s ever met.
Summer break began for schools in Japan a week prior, which meant that they could expect a veritable regiment of overeager children to touch down at the Kuala Lumpur airport in the next six hours, which meant that they would be momentarily abandoning their quiet, peaceful existence in favor of what these holiday visits always entailed: late nights, stories by the hundred, more junk food than he or Haibara ate the entire rest of the year, and the promise of not regretting having those obnoxious visitors for a single moment. Still, he could certainly regret for the upcoming hours, when he became distinctly aware of the fact that those children’s guardians would also be in their home. Geto he could deal with; they were similar in many ways and complimentary in the ways they were not similar. Gojo, on the other hand… he alone accounted for 95% of the problems they would encounter during the visit. He still had vivid nightmares about getting a phone call from a harassed sounding Malaysian police officer who had taken Gojo into custody. Was it possible for a non-sorcerer to restrain Gojo against his will? Absolutely not, nor was it possible for a sorcerer to restrain Gojo against his will. He had let himself be arrested to “see what it was like.” He groaned at the memory and began to portion out enough coffee beans so that there would still be enough for Haibara when he woke.
As Nanami’s watch ticked to 8:05AM and he flipped the omelette in his skillet he heard the expected padding of bare feet against wood floors before arms looped around his waist and he felt the press of a nose against his shoulder. Sure enough a head of black hair had appeared in his periphery, sticking out in all directions.
“Good morning. What would you like for breakfast?”
The head on his shoulder readjusted, Haibara moving so that he could look down at the carefully rolled omelette Nanami poked at with a chopstick. Faint lines from the folds in his pillow ran down his cheek and his eyes were still bleary. Nanami would bet a not insignificant amount of money that he had simply rolled out of bed and walked to the kitchen with his eyes closed. He had done that once, had not accounted for the box Nanami had set on the floor near the counter until he could get to it, and had found himself on the ground before he knew what had hit him -- it had been the refrigerator door, and he had sported a pair of black eyes for a week after.
“Omelette sounds good to me.” His voice was still raspy with disuse, but Nanami could smell the mint of toothpaste and the citrus scent of his aftershave. He knew very few people who could do a full morning’s self care routine without actually waking up hardly at all. Ha had cautioned the man against shaving with his eyes closed a million times, but so far Haibara had demonstrated a strange aptitude for not hurting himself -- fridge incident and occasional sunburns notwithstanding.
“Perfect. The coffee’s still fresh.”
“Thank you.” Haibara kissed his cheek once before going about preparing his coffee. It’d only take him another five or so minutes to get back to his usual bright, excitable self. Just in time for them to start preparing the house for company.
Luckily, the kids never seemed to mind sleeping on futons in the living room -- or even on the deck, as long as it wasn’t supposed to rain that night. This necessitated an entire closet of futons, but it was better than having Megumi and Nanako complain about the cricks in their necks for an entire week. The singular guestroom -- situated at the opposite end of the house and noise proofed circa 2017 -- would house the more worrisome guests. Every year Nanami would suggest installing locks on the outside of that door and every year Haibara would patiently remind him that Geto had a tendency to release special grade curses when confined with Gojo for too long, regardless of how long they had been married. “I think it’s equivalent to me giving you a shoulder rub for them. It’s flirting,” Haibara had attempted to explain the behavior, even though both of them knew that if it was any other situation Geto would have been labeled a curse user a long time ago.
At 11:36AM Nanami received a text: a single blurry selfie of Gojo and seven amorphous blobs in what might have been an airport terminal, along with a menacing message of ‘GET READY’ with far too many exclamation marks.
“We could run away. Move to a different country with a nicer beach. Change our names.” He stared into the rafters, clutching the duster in his hand like a weapon. It would be just as effective as his cleaver if worse came to worse and Gojo or Geto tried to pull anything.
“Aw, I’m happy they touched down safely! Let’s finish up before they get here!” Haibara bumped his feet with the vacuum before continuing on his warpath against the grains of sand they could never quite manage to get out of the wood grain.
At 12:22PM, the doorbell rang, and Nanami briefly considered if he would be able to swim across the Malacca Strait. His calf muscles said no, but his anticipatory stress said yes. Before he had the chance to find his swim shorts or see if Haibara’s diving flippers fit him, he found himself opening the door, Haibara at his side, making up for his lack of smile with a smile that looked like it might split his face.
Nanami had come to expect the need to brace himself the last few years, not just for the sheer number of people who would come spilling through the door, chatting and throwing around greetings, but for the youngest of the kids to launch at him the moment he had an opportunity. No amount of bracing seemed to be enough to prepare him for eighty kilograms of excited teenager barreling at him though, and he stumbled back as Haibara rushed forward to dispense enthusiastic hugs. They saw each other every couple months, during any school holiday longer than three days, but each visit they acted as if they hadn’t seen each other in years and this was their only opportunity to heap love onto their friends.
Due to years of practice Nanami was able to catch himself and Yuuji, placing steadying hands on his shoulders as the boy looked up at him, smiling in the way Nanami had come to classify as endearing rather than unnerving.
“Hi, Nanamin! I thought we were going to burn to death crammed in the airport shuttle! We missed you!” Itadori was by far the most affectionate and emotive of the kids, though Kugisaki was a close second. Neither of them actually had Gojo and Geto as guardians, but ever since they had met Fushiguro Megumi they had become as much a part of the strange little family as anyone else. It was cavity inducing, how sweet they sometimes were with each other.
“It’s that hot and the first thing you think to do is hug me?” He looked down his nose imperiously, raising an eyebrow. Itadori wasn’t even remotely dissuaded.
“Yeah, obviously. I haven’t seen you in three months,” he continued his smiling vigil, obviously waiting for Nanami to relent, as he knew very well he would. Over the pink tips of his hair Nanami could see the threatening smile Gojo had aimed at him, his eyebrows jumping up and down randomly. Nanami briefly wondered if Geto had let him do cocaine for some reason.
If only because he had a soft spot for Itadori -- and it would give him a precious few more seconds to avoid the “adults” of the group, Nanami wrapped his arms around the boy’s shoulders, squeezing him briefly and enjoying the way he did seem to relax at the contact. As sociable and energetic as Itadori was, Nanami knew him to be a sensitive, sometimes deeply introverted boy. To be stuck first in a plane, then in a small van with seven people would obviously be exhausting. Thankfully, Itadori also had the best recovery time out of all of them, and it might only take him a few seconds of freedom and a hug to have him back to normal; Megumi, on the other hand, might not be sociable again until dinner, whereas Geto might spend the first day glaring at Gojo and only speaking to him through one of the girls, acting as if that were not the most childish solution to any tension that might have developed on the trip over.
Megumi and Kugisaki had appeared at Itadori’s back by the time he thought he could release him without receiving what Haibara had dubbed “the puppy dog eyes.” They both greeted him, though Nanami could tell by the dark circles under their eyes that they were close to keeling over. It’d be a red eye flight, if Nanami remembered correctly, and they were still at the age that being kept up by excitement or anticipation was the norm rather than the exception. He had taken two melatonin capsules the previous night and been asleep by 11PM, unwilling as he was to face the first day of his (mostly enjoyable) forced cohabitation without enough sleep. He waved them off as they dragged themselves, Itadori in tow, to the deck, where he guessed that at least Kugisaki and Megumi would be falling asleep in the shade.
Buffer gone, Nanami turned to the group loitering in the entryway. Haibara had been backed into a corner by Tsumiki and Nanako, each of whom had brought out their phones and were excitedly showing him photos from their other adventures. Mimiko was, as per usual, slotted between Geto and Gojo, looking around the house apprehensively, as if she hadn’t visited at least three times a year for the past five years. Nanami admired her that scrupulous attitude, though he knew Geto was trying to break her out of her carefully constructed shell. It was hard work, especially considering the girls’ backgrounds.
Before he could get out a greeting of his own Gojo was bearing down on him, a wide smile pinning his face in a Gojo-typical mania. “Na. Na. Min!!” He slung a freakishly long arm over Nanami’s shoulders, infinity dropping away so that Nanami had to suppress a shiver at the strange electro-static quality that Gojo’s skin always seemed to possess. “How’re you doing? Still enjoying the retiree life?”
He didn’t suppress the slight twitch in his eye as he looked at Gojo. “We aren’t retired. Both of us still work. I remind you of this every year.”
“A stock broker and an arborist, Satoru. He really does remind you every year.” Geto rolled his eyes at Gojo and met Nanami’s, a small smile pulling at his lips. He looked exhausted, but definitely in better humor than he had been the previous few visits. “It’s good to see you both. You look well.”
“So do you. You’ve put on weight.” It wasn’t an insult, and both of them knew it. Geto often struggled with eating enough past the nausea that was symptomatic of his technique. There had been months where he had had to receive direct feedings from Shoko because he had gone from merely underweight to malnourished. Their last few visits his cheeks had begun to fill out more, and his wrists were no longer swallowed by the sleeves of his shirts.
Geto smiled at the observation, seeming proud despite himself. “Mimiko has been displaying an aptitude for medicine in addition to her technique, and she and Shoko were able to develop an especially effective anti-nausea medicine. It doesn’t cut through the taste but it makes it so that the taste is where it ends. We’ve learned that I’m even fond of some sweets.” He had settled a broad hand atop Mimiko’s head, careful not to muss her fine hair.
“Personally, I don’t count cream bread as sweets, but as long as I don’t have to hold his hair after every meal he can eat whatever he wants.” Though Gojo’s tone was light and joking, Nanami could see his sincerity in the gentle affection in his eyes and how his smile had gone from near mania to something he had only seen directed at Geto and his students. A genuine affection unbecoming of an earth-bound deity. He knew it had broken his heart to see the person he loved suffering in that way -- he’d felt the same way for the years it had taken Haibara to fully heal, when Shoko was still honing her technique and his wounds were as close to lethal as they could be. Gojo turned bright eyes on him, his smile crawling back to unsettling. “So, a NASDAQ nerd and a tree doctor, huh?”
“Do you actually know what the NASDAQ is?” Nanami shrugged Gojo’s arm from his shoulders, ignoring the pout he aimed at him in favor of leaning against the back of the sofa so he could see everyone better. Though he did genuinely enjoy being visited by two of his dearest friends -- though he’d never admit that to either of them -- he could admit to himself that the best parts of these visits was the joy Haibara got from listening to the kids. Teaching at the college wasn’t particularly attainable for either of them -- Nanami had long since been burnt out on jujutsu and Haibara’s injuries limited his mobility by a good margin -- they still loved seeing the kids that could've been their students.
“It’s that --”
“Don’t say a single thing about NASCAR, dumbass.” Geto grimaced at the confidence in Gojo’s voice. Gojo knew very well what the NASDAQ was but there was no way in hell he would be giving a fiscally literate or otherwise correct answer.
Gojo feigned a gasp, portraying offense like it was his job. “Suguru, think of the children.” He clapped his hands over his own ears, leaving Mimiko to hide her laughter in Geto’s arm. She had started laughing at Geto calling Gojo a dumbass, though Gojo grinned as if it was his joke that had gotten her to laugh. Though these days he was more genuine, less ostentatious and grating, at his core he was still very much the boy he had been when they were younger (ergo, tremendously irritating and strangely endearing in turns).
Every day since they had moved to their home on the beach had felt strangely dreamlike to Nanami, something he very much attributed to the gauzy light that drifted through their curtains and the constancy of the waves. Whenever the house was as full as it became during these visits it felt even more like a dream -- one that could have been taken from them a million times over. If help had not been close at hand when Haibara was wounded. If Gojo hadn’t had the good sense to chase after Geto when he began to pull away. If Megumi hadn’t petitioned for a stay of execution for Itadori. If Itadori had not returned from the dead. Because of all these ifs Nanami’s dreams were much crueler than his reality. His reality, more often than not, was almost distressingly good. The ring on his finger, the laughter that filled his home… it was more than he could’ve ever imagined for himself, and he was unsure what he had done to deserve it. It must have been something tremendous.