Work Text:
It doesn’t take long for Nanami to figure out what Geto wants.
“What do you expect from me? ” Nanami asked him once, machete in hand, shirt and slacks splashed with monkey blood.
He finds his answer in how Geto dotes on his children; the fervor in his voice and his eyes when he sermonizes; his hands when he wipes the blood from Nanami’s face.
“You’re usually not so messy with the monkeys, Kento,” Geto says cheerfully. His words are muffled around the joint dangling out of the corner of his mouth, his eyes narrowed as he completes another row of stitches. This one is near Nanami’s collarbone. His delicate hand, honed through years in an extremely high-risk profession with no reverse cursed technique user to fall back on, is betrayed by the starkness of the black thread criss-crossing across Nanami’s skin.
It's nice of Geto to say but Nanako and Mimiko would beg to differ. They often snicker about Kong-san’s ill-natured nickname for Geto’s right hand man—"the butcher." Geto either doesn’t know about it or likes messing with Nanami. More than likely, it’s the latter.
Either way, Nanami doesn’t have the energy to banter with him so he lets Geto have the last word as he dotes on Nanami. In the background, a mellow blues record spins on the player Geto got for Nanami’s birthday two years ago.
Geto is looking uncharacteristically soft with his hair in a lazy bun at the nape of his neck and a worn green yukata with koi embroidered on it. Lazily belted low on his waist, the fabric sits loose enough that it falls open around his chest when he shifts just so, giving Nanami indulgent flashes of sparse dark hair and neat scars running across his chest, healed so well he only sees them because he's mapped them out so many times before. The yukata was a gift from the twins, handpicked by them with love and purchased by Nanami, also with love.
Geto doesn’t usually dress like this away from the organization but Nanami finds he doesn’t mind this look. It’s been five years since Geto took off on his own path and three since Nanami followed and Nanami still finds himself being thrown off by this version of the serious, sly boy he only knew from a distance in high school. He always seemed so poised and untouchable. Seeing him with greasy hair, a zit on his chin, and a sloppily belted sleep yukata still gives him whiplash sometimes. Like he’s living someone else’s life.
“I know how it is,” Geto says seemingly to himself, ash flicking off the end of his joint. “It’s different when kids are involved.”
Nanami closes his eyes and pretends the hitch in his breath is from discomfort as Geto ties off the final stitch.
He never would have left his job or turned his back on the jujutsu world to join Geto’s cause if he didn’t believe in it. No one makes him do anything he doesn’t want to do anymore, else he wouldn’t be Geto’s right hand man, always just a step behind him. And he certainly wouldn’t spend his evenings wrangling little girls for bath time. He’s exactly where he wants to be, even if he meant to be a follower and not a partner.
But then he thinks about pink hair and a little tear-stained face and he has to shut his eyes to block out all the red.
The roll of medical tape screeches as Geto liberates a piece, ripping it free between his teeth before securing a neat square of gauze over the stitches. His bangs fall over his eyes as he leans back to observe his handiwork, a fist on his waist and the other going to the stub of his blunt. “I had to convince Yuuji that you were taking a nap so you would wake up all better or he’d be in here right now.”
A shiver runs down Nanami’s back as Geto drags a thumb over the thin skin of his closed eye, scraping the edge of the bandages wound around his head. The sound of his yukata swishing as he moves about is soothing enough that if he doesn’t open his eyes, he may very well fall asleep.
“He shouldn’t see me like this.”
The boy has already been through enough. Anytime Nanami questions his place and his ideals, all he has to do is remember how cruel the monkeys can be.
Plastic crinkles as Geto drops wads of bloodied cotton balls and bandages in the small trash can by their bed. “Lucky for you, you’re now fit for company. Look at me?”
Nanami obeys, heavy eyes dragging open. He has to tip his head back to meet Geto’s dark gaze from how close they are, the other man perched comfortably between Nanami’s spread legs. Without the luxury of a reverse curse technique user, first aid in the quiet comfort of their bedroom has become a ritual of sorts. He has a few more unsightly scars than he used to including one cutting across his cheek but he wouldn’t give them or the warm comfort of their apartment filled with plants and children and soft music up even for Ieiri-san’s cool, perfect competence.
At least he leaves this room feeling more alive than when he came in.
Nanami lets his hands slide up Geto’s waist, calloused palms gliding over the cottony softness of his yukata. They feel natural there as Geto moves between his knees, passing an assessing gaze over his wounds. He’d be a liar if he said it didn’t feel warm. Dizzying, even. “What about you? Any other injuries that need patching up?”
Geto laughs. “Other than the bite mark Sukuna left me with when I tried to get Yuuji to take a bath? No.” He grins good-naturedly, waving the arm in question. A purple and red bruise stains his skin like a wine spill on a tablecloth, a circle of puncture marks in the shape of a 10-year-old's mouth branding the center.
“At least put a bandaid over it.”
But Geto just waves him off. “It’s fine. You’re the one everyone’s worried about. I don’t remember you causing this much mayhem in high school, Close Combat-san.”
Nanami raises a prim eyebrow. “I could say the same about you.” Though Nanami does seem to remember Geto having a penchant for dealing with childish behavior.
Geto’s narrow, fox-like eyes dance with mirth. “You have to be more careful. At least until you up your life insurance policy.”
Nanami rolls his eyes.
“Alright, you’re done,” Geto declares, letting the medical scissors clatter back into the first aid kit. He stretches his arms above his head and Nanami shameless lets himself enjoy the display of muscle beneath the silky thin yukata. “I miss having Shoko around. One day, we need to figure out reverse cursed technique.”
“Do you miss anyone else from the school?”
For a long time, the only sound in the room is the scratch of the record spinning over the low, dulcet music still crooning in the background.
Geto levels him with a suspicious look, shifting between Nanami’s legs. “What answer are you looking for?”
His thumb brushes over Nanami’s left eye, the one reddened horribly by blood that dribbled from his head wound. “An honest one.”
Geto has no problems being honest or forward these days. Everything comes more easily to him than when they were teenagers so it’s with ease that Geto settles himself across Nanami’s lap, a smile on his face. “I think about them everyday.”
It’s no surprise. Nanami still appreciates the honesty even though he’s not sure how he feels about the answer.
“Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Do you ever think about the school?”
“Not anymore.”
Geto clearly thinks Nanami is full of shit but he doesn’t call him out. “I still think about them. And I wish things could have been different.” Pausing thoughtfully, Geto runs his thumb over Nanami’s eye again, shuttering his dark blue gaze. “But I’m exactly where I want to be. Is that alright with you?”
If Nanami was younger or more insecure, he might be bothered that he and Geto don’t have the type of relationship where they can understand one another with just a glance. A long time ago, Geto and Gojo Satoru had that kind of closeness; he and Yu had it too, an even longer time ago.
This relationship was cultivated through countless conversations, through arguments and compromise and while Nanami considers that the mark of a mature, adult relationship, he knows Geto, a closet romantic, sees it as a weakness to have to spell out his needs. As it is, Nanami is not a mind reader and Geto is no longer the boy that would sooner kill himself than bleed on someone else.
So, Nanami takes him at his word.
“That’s all I need.”