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The run-down, old warehouse sat so close to the water that it seemed like it should fall in, and the square windows stacked on top of each other to form a giant square of multipaneled glass were streaked with grease and dirt, blending in with the faded, dusty red brick walls. Many of them were broken, and piles of glass littered the ground around the building. Water lapped against the small dock next to the building, and the night air was cool and dry. It was quiet now, the thunder of domain expansion and the horrid soundtrack of maniacal laughter gone, leaving a dull silence behind. It was too quiet.
“Nanami!” Gojo yelled, shoving the shattered warehouse door aside and pushing his way inside. Glass crackled under his feet. The curse was gone. That much was clear, because if it weren’t, this silence wouldn’t be pressing against him, wrapping him in a blanket of worry. “Nanami!” he called again. The silence sent a chill down his back. Nanami was good. He was one of the best sorcerers and a man Gojo trusted to do a job. He was also something else to Gojo, and that something else was what was making him look harder, pick up his pace, find out what the hell happened here and where Nanami was now.
-
“I’m leaving in an hour,” Nanami had said, earlier that day as he straightened his tie and pulled his suit jacket back on.
“Ah,” Gojo said, his head propped on one hand and the pale, yellow blankets pooling around his waist. “That’s why you stopped by. Needed a quickie before a fight. I get it. I like to distract myself a bit before a mission, too.”
Nanami rolled his eyes. “I didn’t need a quickie. I didn’t need anything. I wanted to say goodbye and you jumped me. I didn’t intend for this.”
Gojo closed his eyes. Nanami was absolutely incapable of putting anything resembling a label on what they did a few times a month. Even ‘quickie’ was too much. That was fine. Neither of them were looking for a relationship. Sometimes, though, a niggling disappointment settled in Gojo’s chest at this denial. “You liked it, though,” he said with a grin.
Nanami slid his wallet into his back pocket and headed for the door. “Don’t fish for compliments. I’ll see you later.” He closed the door behind him gently, offering a small smile as he left.
Gojo laid back and stared at the ceiling until the image of Nanami smiling faded a bit and the clock told him he’d better move if he was going to get to class on time.
-
The warehouse smelled of smoke and sweat, and dust filled the air with each step he took. It had been a shipping company until a fire destroyed the place and no one took it over to rebuild. There had been drug busts and a few murder cases solved here over the years, and the curse Nanami had been sent to dispose of had eluded them several times and had been here a long time. Nanami should have been able to handle it, though.
“Nanami!” he called again. He saw an old, crumbling office door in the back and headed that way.
-
“What the hell are you doing?” Nanami asked as Gojo burst into his apartment without even knocking one day. He set down his coffee and stood, glaring.
“I’m bored, Nanami,” Gojo replied, throwing himself down on the soft, grey plush sofa. “The students are good, and I ran out of things to do with them today, so I sent them shopping.”
“You love shopping. Why didn’t you go with them?”
Gojo sighed dramatically. “They need some time to themselves. Can’t have their teacher looking over their shoulder for everything.”
“And you can’t stand a minute alone, so you came to bother me. Fantastic.”
Gojo ignored the sarcasm and pulled a soft, grey cashmere blanket off the back of the couch. “I thought I’d nap. I got in late last night from a mission.” He pulled the blanket close and ignored Nanami’s huff. He closed his eyes and was asleep in under a minute. He really was exhausted.
When he woke, the light in the apartment had dimmed, and there was a steaming mug of tea sitting on the coffee table next to the couch. He rolled over and sat up, pulling the blanket around his shoulders. There was a note under the mug. He pulled it out and read,
“I had to go. Meeting a private client about taxes. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Also, knock next time, you jerk.”
Gojo smiled, sipped his tea, and ended up making himself some eggs and rice before he cleaned up and let himself out of the apartment.
-
The office door had cracked glass and splintered wood and was half open. When he stepped through, he stopped. The ceiling and side of the warehouse had caved into the office. There was cement, glass, and wood piled in what used to be a room, and dust was swirling. This had just happened. His blood ran cold. A noise in the rubble drew his sharp gaze, and he blinked.
“Nanami,” he breathed, and shoved some of the debris aside like it was paper. He saw Nanami’s legs first, then his arm that had been holding his cleaver, now laying askew nearby, and he had to shove aside some wood to get to the rest of him. His own body went numb as he carefully pulled wood away to expose Nanami’s pale, lax face with blood running down the side of his cheek from a gash on his forehead. He bent over to check for a pulse and had to swallow hard when he felt it, strong. He pressed his hand to Nanami’s cheek. “Hey, Nanami-san. Wake up. Come on. Wake up.”
Nanami struggled for a moment, but his eyes opened and Gojo grinned down at him.
“There you are. Sleeping on the job again.”
Nanami swallowed thickly. “You came.” The gratitude in his voice was palpable, like he was surprised that Gojo was here.
That wasn’t right, and it made Gojo’s stomach twist. “Of course, I did. I’ll get you out.”
“Wait,” Nanami replied, his voice rough less sturdy than usual, and his eyes fluttered closed again for a moment before he dragged them open. “My arm, I think it’s slashed pretty bad. Didn’t want to move the rubble.”
Gojo took a deep breath and turned his eyes to the rubble covering Nanami. He shifted to use Six Eyes and did not like what he saw. Shit. Nanami’s right arm was pinned under a sharp slab of plaster, and blood pooled on the floor around it. It was seeping sluggishly and if it did that much longer, Nanami would be in real trouble. He was worried about moving that plaster, though, and causing more blood loss. He wasn’t an expert, though. It was always better to get the patient back to Ieiri, but sometimes she came to them. He pulled out his phone and stood up.
“Wait – Gojo,” Nanami gasped as he tried to reach for him.
“Not going anywhere, you idiot. Stay still, I’m calling – hey. Ieiri, we’ve got a situation. Yeah. It’s Nanami. He’s gotten himself buried in some building rubble, and his arm is cut bad enough that moving him might be difficult. Ambulance, or can you come?” he listened carefully to her response and took a deep breath. “Okay. Got it.” He hung up and knelt next to Nanami again, who had gone a shade paler and was gritting his teeth in pain.
-
“You should have told me you were sick,” Gojo said as he helped Nanami to a bench in the park where they’d just wrapped up defeating an annoyingly persistent curse. Nanami was sweating and pale and had stumbled to his knees once the curse died.
“Why? Work had to be done. This was a difficult one,” Nanami said, and promptly coughed hard and long and ended up curled against his knees breathing heavily. “I didn’t let it affect my fight.”
Gojo had to admit that he didn’t suspect Nanami was ill until after the fight, which was definitely better than during the fight. Still. “You could have messed up, and besides,” he said, rubbing his friend’s shoulders as Nanami leaned back and closed his eyes, “You could have asked someone else to come. As much as I love fighting beside you, we do have other team members.”
Nanami didn’t answer. He sat until another coughing fit overtook him, and after it passed, Gojo pulled him to his feet and practically carried him back to where the car was waiting. He poured him into the passenger seat and pressed his wrist to his forehead. “You’re feverish. You idiot.”
“Wasn’t earlier,” is all that Nanami said. “Also, please don’t drive like you usually do. I don’t want to die in a wreck while you’re trying to help me.” He closed his eyes and was asleep before Gojo could reply.
Since Nanami was sleeping, Gojo went through a drive through and stopped at the drugstore before heading back to Nanami’s apartment. Miso soup and some crackers and a dose of cold medicine later, and Gojo laid next to Nanami in his bed and stroked his hair as he fell into a restless sleep. When it was clear his fever broke before dawn, Gojo washed his own face in Nanami’s fancy bathroom and made sure to clean up the soup and other few things in the kitchen before he left.
-
“Hey,” Gojo said as he pressed his hand to Nanami’s cheek. He wanted to touch him, to feel the life under his skin, to make sure he was still here. “Shoko is coming to us.” He peeled off his jacket and wrapped it over Nanami like a blanket. “She said that there are too many variables for us to move you, and she doesn’t trust calling an ambulance. So we’re gonna sit tight until she comes. Okay?”
Nanami nodded tightly.
“I know your arm is messed up, but what else? You’re under a lot of garbage here, Nanami-kun.”
“Ribs, I think,” he whispered in reply. “Hurts like hell to breathe.” His eyes fluttered, but he kept them open. “I’m cold.”
“Did you defeat it? I assume you defeated it,” Gojo said, looking around for something else to warm Nanami. There was nothing but dust and plaster and concrete.
“Obviously,” Nanami replied. After a shaky breath, he added, “It was an asshole,” he said. “Like you.” His mouth turned up a little at the edges, though, and Gojo grinned back.
“Good thing you got it then, huh?”
There was a crash behind them, and Gojo threw his arms open and leaned over Nanami. He activated Limitless and gritted his teeth as a huge chunk of the ceiling fell and then stopped as Limitless set in. Shit. He took a deep breath and shoved the chunk away and it crashed off to the side, spraying dust everywhere.
“Gojo,” Nanami said, and he swallowed. His eyelids fluttered.
Gojo didn’t like the pallor of his skin, the way it was clammy and the way his gorgeous hair was limp and damp with sweat. “Hey,” he said, and slowly brushed his thumb over Nanami’s eyebrow. “I’m right here. It won’t be long. Shoko will make you good as new.”
“I think,” Nanami said, “Gojo, I think I lost a lot of blood.”
“Eh,” Gojo answered gently. “It’s overrated. You’ll be all right.” He took another opportunity to look, and what he saw made him close his eyes under his blindfold. Shoko wasn’t here yet and that? That was too much blood. He had to do something. If he could control it, he could help. He was strong enough.
-
There was too much to do. Too many curses to kill and not enough sorcerers to do it. So he pushed. Fight, reverse cursed energy, fight, eat, reverse curse energy, fight, travel, fight, reverse cursed energy, fight, reverse cursed energy until the cycle meant nothing, and his already flimsy grasp of when days passed and when he last ate or slept got lost. No one ever noticed, especially Gojo himself.
Well, almost no one.
He heard raised voices as he approached the principal’s office, ready to collect another mission.
“It’s been six days!”
“He says he’s fine.”
“Of course, he does, you idiot. His misplaced sense of duty and love of the fight push common sense out the goddamned window. If you were any kind of leader, though, you would make him stop. Take a break. Rest.”
It was Nanami. Nanami who complained of Gojo’s ego and horrible sense of humor in public, who complained of Gojo’s lack of personal space or decorum in private, who fixed him tea on one day and stopped by for quick sex the next day.
“You’re telling me what to do, Nanami? You?”
“I’m telling you that you’re going to kill him. Or let him kill himself by pushing too hard and too long until one day his invincibility in a fight is going to run out because he’s exhausted. And I’m not going to let you.”
Nanami’s voice was low and strong and full of conviction and stopped Gojo’s hand as he went to push open the office door. Nanami wouldn’t let them? Wouldn’t let them? Who was he to Nanami that he’d defend him like this? As he pushed the door open, his strength wavered. He sucked in a sharp breath and let himself feel the exhaustion that had been building in his bones. His grip on the door wavered and his legs went a little jellied.
“Gojo?” Nanami said, and his long legs took him across the room in three quick strides. As Gojo felt his knees buckle, Nanami caught him and lowered him gently to the floor.
“I came for my next mission,” Gojo said, and his voice wavered a little, betraying the overwhelming wave of emotion that Nanami standing up for him produced.
“There is no ‘next mission,’” Nanami growled, glancing back at the principal, who watched them carefully for a moment and then nodded. “I’m taking you home.” Nanami pulled Gojo to his feet and threw his arm over his shoulder, dragging him a bit. “Come on.”
“Call me when he’s ready again,” the principal called, and Gojo would’ve laughed if he had any energy as Nanami flipped the president off.
“What are we doing?” is all he could manage as Nanami half-carried Gojo out the doors of the building and across the campus to Gojo’s small house on the grounds. Nanami didn’t answer.
Gojo’s house was warm and very dimly lit, with soft lamps and dark curtains over the windows. Nanami closed the door behind them, folded his own glasses into his shirt pocket, and helped Gojo to his bedroom. He pushed him gently to sit on the bed, and he knelt down and pulled Gojo’s shoes off for him. He paused to rub his feet with a hard massage that Gojo felt all the way up his legs. After a moment, he stopped, and sat up to help undo the buttons on his jacket. He slipped it off of Gojo’s shoulders and folded it neatly over the nearby chair. “Wait for a moment,” he said, and he disappeared into Gojo’s bathroom.
A few moments later, he reappeared with a steaming hot, damp cloth and a small bowl of hot water that smelled faintly of lavender. He had a small, blue towel draped over his shoulder. He sat next to Gojo and began to gently wipe Gojo’s face with the cloth, periodically dipping it in the water to keep it warm. He stopped, set everything aside for a moment, and peeled the undershirt from Gojo’s skin. Gojo had a momentary thought of surprise that it hadn’t permanently melded to his body. Nanami took the wet cloth and cleaned Gojo’s torso, slow and deliberate. When he was finished, he used the towel with a gentle touch and then asked softly, “New shirt or no shirt?”
It took Gojo a moment to blink and then answer, “No shirt.”
Nanami nodded and handed him a pair of soft, flannel pajama pants. “Put these on and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Gojo’s brain was not working at full speed, so he sat there, dumbly, as Nanami stood and left. He wanted to follow Nanami’s command, but he was so tired. He just sat, staring at the wall as his body slowly stopped thrumming with the need to move again.
Nanami returned with two steaming mugs and a frown. He set the mugs on the nightstand and turned back to Gojo. “Pants, Gojo. Come on.” He pulled him to his feet and knelt down so he could maneuver the uniform pants off and the pajama pants on.
It finally occurred to Gojo to ask, “What are you doing here?” because this was a Nanami he hadn’t seen before, so gentle. Nanami was strength and kindness, yes, but gentle? This was new, and Gojo liked it. A lot.
“You won’t take care of yourself,” Nanami accused, “And those assholes will let you get away with that. I won’t. I’m helping you, you idiot. You over-loyal, incredibly strong, idiot.” He gave Gojo a small smile and reached for one of the mugs. “Now drink some of this broth and then have some tea, and then you can sleep. I’m staying here for a couple of days, so don’t be startled when you wake.”
Gojo followed Nanami’s orders because he was too tired to do anything else and counted the next two days as two of the best in his life. When Nanami finally declared him well-fed and rested enough to go back to work, it was like a bubble burst around them as they left the house together.
-
“I’m going to move us, Nanami,” Gojo said as he wiped more blood from Nanami’s sweaty face. “This may hurt, but you’re tough enough.”
Nanami’s eyes were glassy with pain as he nodded and swallowed hard. “I trust you,” he whispered through gritted teeth.
Those words sunk through Gojo’s chest and into his heart and it was all he needed. It was all he needed forever, really, for Nanami to trust him. In that moment, all he could see was every time he and Nanami had fallen together, with sex, with fighting, with care. He blinked and the world seemed to shift like the debris under his knees. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll keep you safe. I’ll always keep you safe.” In this moment, it may have been the truest thing he’d ever said.
He took a deep breath and shifted his weight and in one count he yanked the fallen debris from Nanami’s broken body and threw it to the side. Nanami yelled in pain and the arm they were so worried about seeped blood in a steady flow. Gojo gathered Nanami in his arms and concentrated on one thing only: getting them out of there. In one breath, he teleported them to the dirty concrete parking lot in front of the warehouse and yanked his blindfold off as soon as he set Nanami on the ground. He wrapped it around the arm, above the gash, and tightened it. He had to hold back so that he didn’t just cut the arm off, but he was careful.
Nanami had passed out. Gojo pulled him close to let his body heat warm him, and he frantically searched the night for a sign of Shoko. One minute later and she was there, climbing out of a car in a flash, and pulling Nanami from Gojo’s arms. Toge was there, too, had clearly done the driving, and he pulled Gojo back with a sharp, “Salmon.”
Gojo nodded and stumbled backwards as Shoko worked over Nanami. Minutes ticked by before she finally sat still and turned to him. “Let’s get him back to the infirmary. I’ve stabilized him, but that’s it.” Gojo and Toge laid Nanami carefully in the back of the car, and Gojo climbed in after him, pulling his head into his lap and stroking his hair as they drove back.
Nanami’s eyes fluttered open. “What are we doing?” He asked. He held Gojo’s gaze, and without the blindfold it was as if Nanami’s body was on fire under him, his own eyes bright and his skin multicolored in the wavelengths and glistening with the color of sweat.
Gojo stroked Nanami’s cheek. “We’re taking you back to the infirmary, ok? You’re going to be all right.”
Nanami nodded weakly and closed his eyes. The car pulled to a slow stop in front of the school. When the engine shut off, Nanami’s eyes flew open again. He gripped Gojo’s shirt tightly. “Gojo,” he ground out, clearly still in pain, “Stay with me.”
Gojo peeled Nanami’s hand from his shirt and held it tight. “I will. I think you’re stuck with me now, whether you want to admit it or not.”
And he was. Once Ieiri deemed Nanami well enough to recover at home, Gojo took him back to his own place and hovered for three days straight. When Nanami was finally out of bed long enough to help himself and go home, well, he just didn’t. His belongings slowly migrated over to Gojo’s house, and they never even talked about it. One night, months later, as Nanami sat down heavily on the couch after a long day and leaned into Gojo’s shoulder, he sighed, “What are we doing?”
Gojo leaned over, pressed a kiss to his neck, and said, “I don’t know, Kento, but I’m in if you are.”
After a long pause, Nanami answered, “All right, Satoru, I’m in, too.”