Chapter Text
A car is flipping through the air, against the backdrop of a plain blue sky. It arcs, once, twice, and a final third time, looking more like a comet crashing to earth if you squint just right, Saturday afternoon sun glinting off the burnished red paint. Nanami doesn't have the luxury of such romantacised observations. He's currently inside the goddamn car, world turning itself over and ending as nausea in his throat.
For a moment, stillness. For a moment, only stillness. A passerby would fear the worst. They would see that there's a wreckage, and burn marks against tarmac and a body in the driver's seat that will never step outside again.
Inside though, Nanami is breathing, head a maelstrom of pain and muted confusion that's probably the result of both whiplash and a concussion. He isn't incapacitated yet, simply figuring out what the next best course of action is. It's while he's formulating a plan that he hears that tell-tale drip that should be the stuff of nightmares, but is a mere inconvenience for him in this moment.
A leak.
He groans, thumping a hand down which only serves to force a lame honking sound from the - now out of commission - vehicle.
He crawls out of the car through the windshield, kicking away the remainder of the glass before shuffling on his hands and knees out of the gaping jaw of collapsed metal, shards pressed into his skin like accessories and he clenches his jaw at the thought of another ruined suit.
In the distance, he can see a similar scene, almost a mirror image of his own. A car, a crash and a person trying desperately to get on his feet.
Nanami steps down from where he's standing and observes this, hand already reaching for the heckler that he always carries, yellow polka dotted barrel stained with blood. He creeps closer to the target, eyes constantly scanning their surroundings, country roads seeming clear but Nanami knows that you can never be certain. A loud thump sounds out as the target buckles to the ground, no longer able to stay conscious, body hanging half-in his crushed vehicle.
Nanami breathes out in relief. He won't have to be working overtime today.
A spark turns into a flame behind him, leak doing its job well and engulfing the hunk of metal in flames.
HQ are going to have an absolute blast when he files this report.
***
"I heard you wrecked a car." Ijichi is one of their most stealthy members, taking advantage of his plain appearance to get around unseen. Nanami hates when he uses it in the office, popping up behind furniture to interrupt people for his own amusement. This time, he hasn't made much of an effort to sneak about, striding through the door with the intent to declare his presence.
"It was an old model," Nanami says, knowing that doesn't make his mistake any better. "I still apprehended the whistleblower as per the mission brief." It was messier than usual, almost to the point of frustration. A high-ranking government employee leaking details about national security to sketchy sources, all out of a resentment for their current leader. Nanami isn't one to take sides, he just does the job and pockets the paycheck. He knows what people say. That he lacks principle. It doesn't bother him. Getting overly invested in this field of work will only ever get you killed quicker.
"You should be more careful at least. There is no legacy to dying in a car accident." Ijichi is always there to be the responsible one, by the books and shepherding Nanami to make better decisions. It makes him smile, looking at the concern that Ijichi can't hide behind a deep frown. It's hard to make friends when you're a trained liar. He is one of few exceptions.
Nanami gets up from behind his desk, and strolls over to Ijichi, who's hovering next to the door as he always does, on the brink of leaving for whatever he needs to do next. A race hound in all but form. "I would never die like that. It would have to be something grander so you can at least mourn without shame." It's meant to be funny, but the look that Ijichi shoots him is one of blatant disapproval.
"You're going to jinx things and then I"ll be the one dying at your feet," he says, tone light instead of the admonishment that Nanami had been expecting.
"You would have to be caught first." Nanami scoffs and then raises and eyebrow, sensing that there's more to this visit than just a chance to mock him.
"Is there something else?"
Ijichi smiles, bright and just a stretch too wide. "Masamichi has extended a courteous invitation that you are expected to receive gratefully."
The oddness of the phrasing isn't lost on Nanami. He tilts his head, looking down at his friend - and once teammate - trying and failing to remember if there was a party that Masamichi was hosting. He's not exactly a party animal.
"The newbies are being initiated today," Ijichi says, by way of explanation and then the penny finally drops. It's February. A new cohort of recruits will be welcomed in as they are every year.
"And Masamichi asked for me to be there?" Nanami asks, wanting to confirm that he doesn't have sudden-onset hearing issues. When Ijichi nods, he closes his eyes, disappointment at the thought of spending his free time with his boss and a bunch of kids.
"Cheer up Kento, you know only a select few agents are invited. You must be doing something right to impress the higher ups," Nanami interjects with a grunt, but it goes ignored, "especially to be grouped with the likes of Gojo Satoru."
At that, Nanami's eyes open, slow and deliberate, to see Ijichi turning and heading for the couch. Of course, Gojo would be there. It makes perfect sense, but Nanami grimaces at the confirmation.
"You say that like Gojo is someone we should aspire to be more like."
"Kento," Ijichi says, in that long-suffering tone of voice he always uses when he thinks Nanami is being difficult, "you know that's not what I mean." Nanami knows, sure. But he doesn't want to acknowledge the facts. It's an open secret that the higher ups keep Gojo close for a reason. He's skilled. Almost impossibly so. If both Gojo and Nanami have been invited, then it speaks volumes about how the upper echelon view Nanami's recent usefulness, for him to be next to their golden boy. Perhaps, a promotion is on the agenda.
"Who else is attending?" He asks, curious about the criteria which Masamichi may have employed.
Across from him, Ijichi only shrugs from where he's sat, picking at the leather arm with disinterest now that Nanami knows the news. "I have no clue."
The day has just begun, and it's not even hit noon yet. Nanami still looks at the clock on the wall, dutifully marking down the hours until he's obligated to go make small talk. He sighs, and returns to his desk, to continue reading through a information packet in preparation for his next job.
***
Work is never ending. That much Nanami is sure of, standing in the doorway to the room that Masamichi has reserved. It's currently 7PM and the other agents have yet to arrive. Would it kill them to be on time, Nanami questions, vitriolic even as he sits down and scans the menu.
It doesn't take longer for someone else to join him.
"Nanami," Gojo exclaims, when his eyes land on the other agent, "I wasn't aware you would be here." He chooses the seat opposite Nanami, long table taking up most of the space inside the traditionally decorated room.
Gojo Satoru stands out like a sore thumb even at the best of times. It's a testament to his talent that his 6 foot 3 frame and messy white hair don't prevent him from getting missions done. He's holding up the drinks menu, skipping over the food, but his eyes are firmly on Nanami who pretends not to notice.
"Late invite." He explains shortly.
"Ah. Masamichi has been a bit all over the place as of late." Gojo nods, hair falling into his eyes with the movement. Nanami doesn't bother questioning Gojo's intimacy with their boss's general state of mind. That's the difference between them. Nanami is good, but he doesn't have that privilege. He's not a Gojo. It's with relief that he savours this, not disappointment. Not jealousy, never jealousy. "You're not one to bother with networking, though. What makes this time different?" Gojo continues, brow raising in curiosity.
What makes this time different? Good question.
"A personal invite is different than the usual team building drunken escapades that you probably frequent," Nanami is curt, finally meeting Gojo's gaze.
Probably isn't the right word. Definitely is more like it.
"Do I sense judgement in your tone there Agent Nanami?" Gojo's voice is low, burdened with more levity than usual, but he's suppressing a clear smile and it only vexes Nanami, hating the idea of pulling rank even if only in jest.
He's saved from having to answer by a group filtering through the door, two individuals bickering as they try to squeeze through at the same time, followed by a familiar face and topped off by their colleagues.
Nanami focuses on the two leading the way, a girl scolding a boy whose hair is an unfortunate shade of pink. They both seem to notice that there are already people sitting, and the girl elbows the other before they bow in sync. Fushiguro only tips his head slightly in respect, eyes passing over Gojo and him for a second before he sits down.
"You're both early," Shoko says, taking the seat next to Nanami, and while she's addressing the both of them, it's clear who she's really talking to. Gojo has never been a stickler for punctuality, even on missions. Nanami presses his lips together to stop a smile from becoming evident.
"I was hungry." Gojo flicks his menu away, slapdash though it lands right in front of Shoko who only rolls her eyes, worn-out affection emanating from the gesture. It's warm.
"Nice to see you here Nanami." Shoko moves on from Gojo to greet him, twisting to look at him head-on. It's no surprise that she's here. She is an indispensable resource, able to keep agents from dying even in the most dire of situations. He has to admit that there's an intimidating quality to her too, a sharp edge that is practically screaming your life rests in the palm of my hand.
He shakes himself loose of the thought and bows, well as much as he can considering they're seated, and she grins, raking back her short hair with the tips of her fingers.
Masamichi finally sits at the head of the table and coughs, a loud enough indicator for them all to settle down. Nanami doesn't miss the seats that remain empty, and neither, it seems, does Gojo.
"Who are we missing?" He jabs a thumb at one of the 3 seats, and Masamichi sighs, clearly wanting to start with the food already.
"It seems your former charges are running behind because of a surprise mission, which I'm surprised to hear you don't already know." Masamichi's voice is testy, each syllable slow and deliberate as he pins Gojo with a thin-veiled glare. Gojo reacts by redirecting his attention to a speck on the tablecloth. "They should be here any moment now."
"While we wait, why don't we get to know our new recruits a bit?" Shoko suggests, trying to shift the conversation to something more productive. The pink haired boy lights up. It's obvious to everyone that he's eager to introduce himself and Shoko waves at him in permission.
"Hello," he bows again, looking at each agent in turn, "I'm Itadori Yuji." For all his enthusiasm, the introduction is short and lacklustre, but Nanami figures that nerves are a fickle thing. Perhaps, he blanked out on what to say. The girl that had walked in with him does a poor job at suppressing a snicker, fiery and reminding him of a younger Utahime, before she had mellowed out from the strain of missions.
"My name is Kugisaki Nobara," she says, loud and self-assured, though Nanami notices the way her eyes flicker toward her two companions, a blink-and-you-miss-it movement, "I look forward to learning from you all."
Fushiguro is last to speak up, eyes slanted and directed toward nobody in particular. "I'm Fushiguro Megumi." He looks like he's deliberating on whether to dilvulge more but is interrupted by Gojo who looks gleeful, cheeks already flush from alcohol.
"No need for the formalities, Fushiguro. We're already familar with you after all."
To his credit, Fushiguro does well to contain his irritation, only letting out a solitary tut to signify his displeasure before looking away. If any other subordinate had dared to show such insolence, they would be reprimanded, but Gojo is right. Fushiguro isn't a new face, by any means. The academy has changed since Nanami was a student. Where once students could only take field missions after graduation, now recruits begin shadowing full-fledged agents from their very first year. Fushiguro is unique in that he's been a resident of the academy since he was a small child, though he attended regular schools up until now. Nanami has never bothered digging into why. He's a good kid and that was enough.
The sliding doors slam open and in the space between is Inumaki, wide-eyed and apologetic. At least that's what Nanami assumes he's trying to convey. It's hard to tell with that ever-present mask that he usually keeps donned. Maki steps by him, hair swinging with the force of her strides and she smiles. It's almost enough to distract Nanami from the splodge of purple on her forehead, but the bruise is gone a moment later, one hand straightening her bangs back into place as she apologises along with Inumaki.
They're both ushered in by Masamichi and take their seats. The last seat remains empty, and nobody comments on it.
Now that everyone has arrived, the so-called festivities can begin.
The food takes longer to arrive than the drinks and Nanami is already suffering from hunger pangs by the time his plate is placed in front of him. It's when he takes the first precious bite that his ears perk up, having heard his name being uttered by Masamichi. He debates whether he should care to visibly react and give up on the food. He lays down his fork with a sigh, and lands his gaze at the head of the table where Masamichi is in the middle of recounting something to the 2nd year recruits.
"-stuck with paperwork that's up to my knees." Masamichi notices that he's captured the attention of the rest of the table and smiles, a farce of benevolence, and Nanami sips at his water to hide his downturned lips.
"What did Nanami do to lumber you with that much paperwork?" Shoko asks, curiosity evident in the lilt of her voice and Nanami remains expressionless even as embarrassment threatens to swallow him up.
Right in front of the new recruits. Great.
"I couldn't possibly divulge the details of a mission," Masamichi says, firm as he reminds them all of protocol and Nanami feels cool relief flood his veins, accompanied by guilt at doubting his superior. "I can, however, tell you that it led to a company-issued BMW bursting into flames."
"Is that so?" Gojo cuts in, penchant for interrupting as present as ever. Amusement is laced into the question and Nanami doesn't need to glance at him to confirm that.
The guilt quickly recedes. He vows to one day knock Masamichi's glasses into the Sumida river.
For now though, he can only shrug, faux-nonchalance over his foolish mistake. "I did everything asked of me. I would appreciate that no one misinterprets this information and assume that I failed my mission. I did not."
Masamichi continues on and congratulates Nanami on his successful work recently, loud enough for everyone to hear with ease, probably a way to compensate for misspeaking. Nanami goes back to his food, not missing the new way that Gojo is looking at him, uncomfortable in the way it lingers.
The evening grows to be an acceptable affair, even Nanami can admit that it's enjoyable to see the recruits try their best at karaoke. This admission doesn't negate his more pressing desire to be at home though. It's getting more rowdy than he had prepared for and Shoko is being drafted into the mix by Gojo, who's struggling to string words together without slurring. Nanami senses impending doom when he spots Masamichi walking over with a microphone, so he excuses himself from the oppressive heat that's accumulated in the room, though only Fushiguro seems to notice his departure, nodding once in acknowledgment. Outside in the hallway, the air is a blessing and Nanami allows himself the luxury of inhaling deeply before heading toward the restrooms.
Once he's done with his business, Nanami stalls at the sinks, catching sight of pale skin, thrown into fresh perspective by the intrusive overhead lighting. He looks tired. Forcing the image out of mind, he splashes some water on his cheeks to wake himself up.
He intends on returning to the gathering but finds himself being led outside by his feet. It's a crisp night, sky a swollen blue. He shivers the moment he dares to relax, leaning his back against the wall. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a light, the aberration standing out against the overwhelming darkness of the alleyway from which it came, and Nanami's instincts are switched on. A person who can evade him is a threat. He stalks, silent and shuffling with his back still against the wall.
This is when he comes face-to-face with Gojo, who's stepped out of the alleyway with an arched brow. Nanami knows what he's asking. He's asking what are you doing? Nanami deflates and notes that Gojo is smoking, cigarette held loose between slender fingers.
To save face, he says the first thing that comes to mind. "Do you mind?" He asks, pointing at the cigarette with one hand and miming the universal motion for smoking. It's a clear enough message. Gojo quirks up a corner of his lips in a small smile, pulling out a pack which Nanami accepts.
As Nanami is lighting the cigarette, he realises that the heavy blush Gojo had been sporting for the last hour is gone. In fact, he looks completely lucid, a reversal of his behaviour from just before Nanami excused himself.
A trick of the light?
He sneaks another glance at the man and affirms that he really does seem sober.
Nanami pauses, not yet having taken a single drag, hand dropping to his side to scatter ashes. He doesn't know why but he asks, "what happened to your inebriation?"
Gojo doesn't move, staring at the ground, expression strained with an indiscernable emotion that's shrouded further by the limited lighting. "What?"
"You were stumbling around not even 15 minutes ago. Yet, you're perfectly sober now."
A laugh bubbles from deep in Gojo's throat, dark and nuanced with additional meaning, something that needles at Nanami's patience. Gojo drags his gaze upwards, taking his time to pause at intervals of Nanami's body, before meeting his eyes. "I don't drink," he says, lips stretching in a sly grin, canines sharp enough to bite straight through.
Nanami blinks. "I saw you drinking."
"Plenty of non-alcoholic options these days-" Gojo jerks one shoulder, blue eyes looking more metallic with every word, "-I don't drink." He repeats, and it rings with finality, punctured only by that grin again.
He faked it.
"Enough about me, though," Gojo says, "you should worry more about yourself if you're wrecking vehicles every mission."
Every mission. Nanami regrets speaking. More than that, he regrets coming here in the first place.
"What gave you the impression that I'm worried for you?" It's hard to stay cool when Gojo Satoru is insistent on throwing obnoxious jabs, but Nanami is nothing if not a mature adult who won't stoop so low as to get on his level.
Gojo straightens to his full height, taller by Nanami by exactly 3 inches, and he drops the cigarette, grinding it into the ground with the toe of his shoe. He stares at Nanami through all of it, deliberate, a challenge simmering under every action.
"It's not good to lie Nanami," Gojo snorts, trembling from either the movement or the cold, Nanami can't ascertain which, "though, I suppose that's to be expected in our line of work."
It's odd. A buzz is building, like the moment before lightening strikes. Nanami wants to shed his skin, feeling static everywhere his clothes make contact.
"You should be more careful." Gojo's lost the smile, and the air stills once more, electricity no longer thrumming and Nanami doesn't say anything, not even when Gojo moves closer. "An injured agent is more useless than a dead one," Gojo breathes out, words like a wildfire. He's two steps away but his hand reaches out to brush against Nanami's arm, right where the largest of gashes from the accident is. Except Nanami's wearing a long-sleeved jacket, injuries hidden from the world, and he's too used to the pain to let it show.
A mere coincidence?
"What are you doing?" He jolts further away, but Gojo only follows, mirroring each step. This isn't a situation that Nanami can't get himself out of, brain already whirring with every possible exit plan, but he stays, curiosity a more potent drug than most would ever admit. When his back hits the wall, Gojo frowns, disappointment dragging at his eyes, but it lasts only a second before he's caging Nanami in. "Are you sure you're not drunk?" He asks again, knowing that he isn't.
"I'm just warning you. I can do that much as your senior. Can't I?" Gojo's hand, the one that pinpointed his injury, reaches up, slow and sure, to graze the side of his throat, where the tenderness of whiplash set in furthest. It barely makes contact before Nanami is set into action, body stiffening up. Yet, Gojo retracts prior to the situation escalating into an actual fight, quick to evade Nanami's grip that is left holding nothing.
It wouldn't be good for this – whatever this is – to devolve into combat. Least of all when they're meant to be setting a good example for their juniors. Masamichi is inside for fucks sake. Nanami steadies his breathing, repetition soothing him just barely.
"Do you warn everyone by touching them without consent?" He grits out, voice like gravel even without having smoked.
"Nope. Just you." A group of people pass by the entrance to the alleyway but none of them look inwards to see the two men cradled by shadow. "You know, you're more uptight than you look. And you look pretty uptight." If this is meant to be funny, then it does a weak job, Nanami's expression stony and unyielding. Gojo shrugs, "a neck only has to snap once for every nerve to sever. You would do well to remember that."
As if that's a sufficient explanation, Gojo slinks out into the light, presumably back to the party. Nanami doesn't know, jaw set in a way that would have his dentist yelling. He lets go of the cigarette from where it's crushed in his palm, burn mark a broken circle at the centre of the stomata.
It falls to the ground, unused, and Nanami rubs away the remnants of tobacco. This has convinced him of what he already suspected. Gojo Satoru is nothing but trouble.