Archive of Our Own ^beta

Nanami has been to Gojo’s apartment at least a hundred times now, dropping Megumi off or falling for yet another “help I’ve fallen into the toilet” prank, but this is the first time he’s stood outside the door, too afraid to knock. It’s not like he can pinpoint the exact thing stopping him-- he’s here, he’s dressed appropriately at the appropriate time, and besides, this is Gojo , he’s not one to care about those things-- but his fist feels heavy as he lifts it to the wood, and he’s shaking just a touch.

Maybe it’s because he’s never showed up with flowers before, or because he’s never been outright invited . Although, thinking back on it, Nanami had asked, not Gojo. Fuck, did Satoru even want him here?

No, that was a stupid way of thinking. He’d asked if Gojo wanted to see him, and Gojo had said yes eagerly. There was no use getting all up in his head about it if he looked at it rationally, and that was his specialty. So why were his hands shaking? 

There’s some shouting coming from inside, but that’s not unusual in the Gojo-Fushiguro household. What is unusual is the smell wafting up from beneath the door… Is something burning ?

As if on cue, a rhythmic screech starts up inside, the smoke alarm catching wind of the disaster surely brewing. He’ll have to set this strange nervousness aside-- sighing, Nanami decides to forgo knocking altogether, digging out the spare key Satoru’d given him a couple months back, for “emergencies, or booty calls, or emergency booty calls,” eyebrows waggling. Nanami had said nothing, clenching his fist silently around the key. 

He’s almost regretful he bothered coming-- Megumi’s sitting on the floor by the entrance, a tub of ice cream in his lap, spooning it into his mouth as he watches Gojo fanning unfruitfully at a flaming pot of… something on the stove. Tsumiki is shouting unhelpfully, yelling out advice like “blow on it” and “put more oil”, and Gojo’s grumbling back, sweating buckets.

Nanami sighs, looking down at Megumi. “Hey, kid.” 

“Hey,” Megumi says, looking bored. 

“Do I want to know?” 

The kid shakes his head wisely, shoveling another bite of vanilla into his mouth. 

“Alright then. I’m guessing you didn’t eat dinner yet?” 

The kid shakes his head again, fingers curling possessively around the ice cream. 

“Put that up.” 

Megumi stares sullenly. In the kitchen, Gojo lets loose a girlish squeal. 

“Kid,” Nanami sighs again, “You can have ice cream after dinner. Give me that.” 

Grumbling, Megumi relents, sacrificing his dessert to Nanami’s waiting hand before scrambling off the floor and scurrying towards the kitchen table. Hesitantly, Nanami trails after him, setting the tub, followed by the bouquet of roses, down on the table and picking up a paperback he finds there, wincing at the title. Taking up residence beneath the screaming smoke detector, he begins to fan Training Pets to Kill- A Beginner’s Ultimate Guide: Tips, Tricks, Legalities and more! above his head like an offering. 

“Hello,” Tsumiki says, having abandoned her guardian and taken up post at Nanami’s side, “I’m Tsumiki.”

“I figured as much,” Nanami tells her politely. “I’m Nanami Kento. Please do not call me Nanamin.” 

“Why are you doing that, Nanamin?” 

“To get the smoke away from the detector. It will stop going off that way.” 

“Oh.” Tsumiki looks around, then snatches another book-- Deadliest Pets: Really Legal Loopholes -- right out of her brother’s hands, ignoring his protests. Dutifully, she begins to wave it around over her head. “Like this?”

“Yes,” Nanami tells her, “That’s very helpful.” Nevermind the fact that it really isn’t . “What did Gojo do?” 

The girl shrugs. “I think he lit something on fire in the oven, and then something else on fire on the stove.” 

Nanami can’t help the way both his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “He lit two things on fire? I thought he said he was an okay cook?”

“He lied to you,” Megumi pipes up from his seat at the table, “‘Miki give me my book back.” 

“Do you have any magazines?” Nanami asks, “Those work best.” 

“Gojo has some in his closet,” Megumi says, sliding out from the table to get them. 

Nanami watches him disappear into Satoru’s bedroom. “In his… closet?”

A moment later, Megumi returns with a handful or magazines pressed to his chest, which he presents to Nanami solemnly before snatching his book back from Tsumiki’s hands. 

Nanami blinks at the magazine in his hand. He blinks at Megumi, now settled back into his chair with his book. Tuning his head, he blinks at where Gojo is finally getting the smoke to die down in the kitchen. Then back at the magazine.

Tsumiki scrunches her nose. “Why are those men naked?” 

“Megumi,” Nanami says through clenched teeth, “Please go put these back, and promise me you’ll never look at them again.” 

Megumi lets out an all-suffering sigh, slipping from his chair yet again and grabbing the magazines before trotting off towards Satoru’s bedroom once again. 

“Your face is all red,” Tsumiki points out helpfully. The smoke detector continues to scream as if in agreement. 

Nanami coughs. “You too, Tsumiki. Promise me you won’t go digging around in Gojo’s closet.” 

The girl shrugs. “I guess.” 

Megumi returns, still grumbling to himself. “You asked me for magazines,” He complains.

Nanami sighs, giving up on fanning the smoke alarm. He grabs a chair from the table, pulling it over and clamoring on before popping the device open and removing the batteries. 

“Whoo,” Tsumiki says.

“Thank god ,” Gojo says breathlessly from the kitchen. He pops his head out a second later, pushing his hair out of his face. He’s wearing a pale pink apron with the words “kiss the cook…’s ass” printed on it in flowery letters, and there’s the peeling remains of a long-forgotten face mask on his sweaty face. He looks, admittedly, kind of cute-- in a sad, pathetic way, Nanami tells himself. 

“You got a little something,” He tells the other man, gesturing to his own face. 

Gojo’s hands fly up to his face, dropping the spatula he was holding in the process. “I forgot. Fuck. Stay there.” 

“I was not intending on leaving.” 

Gojo slips into the bathroom, the sound of the sink running drowning out his mumbled curses. 

Tsumiki turns to Nanami. “Can I have your phone?” 

“Why.” 

“To order takeout.” 

Nanami smiles. “I can take care of that. What do you two want to eat?” 

“ Ice cream ,” Megumi says pointedly. 

“Aside from ice cream.” 

Tsumiki taps her chin. “I want curry.” 

Nanami nods, pulling out his phone. “Is that okay with you, Megumi?” 

The boy grunts. There’s a thud on the other side of the bathroom door, followed by muffled cursing. Nanami sets to work on ordering the food, taking a stab at what Gojo might prefer and ending up ordering him the same as the kids, following the vein that he is more or less a child in a man’s body. 

“Gojo says that he’s going to get better at cooking,” Tsumiki says conversationally. She’s made her way into the kitchen and is poking at the damage on the stove. Somehow, by some blessing of Satan himself, Satoru had managed to burn angry marks into two pots, and the oven is emitting a smell so foul Nanami reaches over to cover Tsumiki’s nose. 

“That’s nice,” He says, peering into the sink. It looks like something’s…. moving in there.

“So he can be a good housewife,” She continues, unperturbed by Nanami’s hand guiding her away from whatever’s just been awakened in the sink. Dutifully, she takes a seat beside her brother, leaning over to see what he’s reading. 

Nanami coughs. “A good housewife?” 

“For you,” Tsumiki says, like it’s obvious.

“For-” The bathroom door opens, and Gojo tumbles out, looking up at Nanami sheepishly, cheeks tinged pink. His apron’s gone askew, rucked up on one side, and Nanami can see he’s wearing a fitted button-down, the sleeves rolled up. It also looks like he’s brushed his hair for once. “...me.”

“Don’t look in the kitchen,” Gojo tells him, tugging the hem of his apron down. There’s a greenish stain on it, surrounded by a wet spot, clearly the aftermath of a failed attempt at cleanup. 

“I won’t,” Nanami says. 

Tsumiki grins. “Nanamin ordered us takeout.” 

Gojo visibly deflates, sticking his lower lip out in a pout that is most certainly childish and obnoxious, not cute or endearing at all. “But I wanted to make dinner.” 

Nanami blinks at that shiny lower lip. Then he turns his head and gazes into the kitchen. A pot shifts in the sink with a resounding, final hurrah of a clang . 

“I said don’t look ,” Gojo whines. Nanami snaps his head back.

“It didn’t seem like that was getting us anywhere, so I took matters into my own hands. Apologies if it ruins your plans.” 

“Ooh,” Gojo purrs, “I love a man who takes charge.” 

Nanami says nothing. There’s a fluttering in the silence as Megumi flips a page in his book. 

“Er…” Gojo flushes, looking almost embarrassed at the other man’s lack of reaction, bringing a hand up to the back of his apron to untie the strings there. “Guess I won’t be needing this anymore.” Sighing, he tugs petulantly at one string, ending up tightening the whole thing around his waist, the sides of the garment coming in tight to hug the soft curve of his waist, gracing the swell of his hips and accentuating the lines of his torso, toned form jujutsu work…

“Let me help you with that,” Nanami stumbles towards Gojo, quick to make his way to the others back to hide whatever expression he fears he’s making. 

“Oh- Okay- Nanamin don’t pull so hard.” 

“Sorry.” 

By the time they’ve untangled Gojo from the contraption and convinced (read: bribed) Megumi into setting the table, the food’s arrived. Sitting at the Gojo-Fushiguro’s stained kitchen table, Nanami’s suddenly starkly aware of just how out of his depth he is as he watches Megumi mash his curry with a spoon. Gojo’s seated across from him, poking experimentally at his own food and watching Nanami not-so-sneakily through his lashes. 

Overall, the air is one of extreme awkwardness, the silence sticky and overwhelming. 

Nanami clears his throat. “Tsumiki, I know your brother likes Mindcraft, animals, and books about animals, but what do you like?” 

“ Mine craft,” Megumi corrects through a mouthful of curry. 

“Megumi, don’t talk with your mouth full,” Gojo says with his own mouth full, “Especially when we have guests.”

The kid shrugs. “‘S just Nanamin.” 

“I like Littlest Pet Shop, and horror movies, and Zhu Zhu Pets, and my favorite books are A Series of Unfortunate Events. And my favorite Barbie movie is the Mermaidia one,” Tsumiki says in a rush, breathless, like the words are tumbling out of her, like she’ll die if she doesn’t get them all out as quick as she can. Nanami is familiar with the way children speak; that’s not what fazes him.

“Horror movies?” 

“Gojo lets us watch them.” 

Nanami levels Gojo with a disapproving look. The man has the decency to look ashamed, clearing his throat and focusing on his curry. 

“And I like my Polly Pockets,” Tsumiki goes on, “But Megumi keeps letting his dogs eat them and then I don’t have any matching shoes to put on them.” 

Being a twenty year old man who works a 9-5 in a financial office, Nanami finds himself at a loss as to what in the nine circles a Polly Pocket is, but the morose air surrounding the girl tells him this is a serious offense on Megumi’s part. Nanami nods solemnly, feigning understanding. “That must be very hard.” 

“It is .” 

“Then don’t leave them on the ground,” Megumi suggests unapologetically. 

The two dissolve into bickering, Megumi insisting that it’s not his fault if the dogs eat her toys. Nanami tunes them out, making eye contact with Gojo across the table. He’s been silent, content with watching Nanami interact with the kids, but now he makes sheepish eye contact with the blonde, grinning quietly. Somehow, there’s a grain of rice stuck to the tip of his nose.

“You’ve got…” Nanami says, pointing to his own face. 

Distraught, Gojo swipes at his face with his napkin, face heating. Nanami watches him miss entirely a few times before chuckling and reaching across the small table with his own napkin. 

Gojo freezes, letting out a squeak as Nanami dabs at his nose. His blush has reached his ears now, and he sits completely still as Nanami pulls away, settling back into his seat. Picking his spoon back up, Nanami meets his eyes, smiling slightly. 

Tsumiki clears her throat. “Nanamin.” 

Blinking, Nanami turns towards her. He hadn’t noticed the siblings had stopped bickering. “Yes?” 

“What is your type?” The girl says seriously. 

Gojo chokes on the bite of curry in his mouth, leveling the girl with a look that somehow manages the intersection of frantic embarrassment and absolute loathing. 

“...Excuse me?” Nanami asks curiously. 

“Your type. Like…” She glances furtively at her guardian, who’s going a tad blue in the face, then lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “ Boys. ”

“Er.”

“Tsumiki, that’s not appropriate dinner-table talk,” Gojo scolds, still coughing. 

The girl blinks at him, then shoves her chair back from the table defiantly. Megumi, watching his sister with bewilderment but willing to follow her into battle nonetheless, follows suit, standing opposite her as she pushes her plate further down the table. “Then I’m done eating. And now I’m not sitting at the dinner table. Nanamin, what’s your type?” 

Gojo huffs. “You’re still standing at the dinner table,” He protests childishly. 

Deeming this a valid argument, Tsumiki sidesteps, pacing a bit away from the table. “Okay, now I’m not. Nanami, answer.” 

“ Don’t .” Gojo warns. 

“Tell me,” Tsumiki says, “You can even whisper it if you don’t want him to hear.” 

“But I wanna hear,” Megumi pouts, flopping back down into his chair, having decided that he wasn’t going to follow his sister after all. Curry tastes better than defeat. 

Nanami raises his eyebrows at the girl. “What is this sudden interest about?” 

“I just want to know. Y’know, just because. No reason. At all. It doesn’t have anything to do with Gojo,” She says incriminatingly. 

Satoru facepalms. 

Nanami chuckles, smiling at the girl. “Alright then. Why don’t you come back and finish your dinner, and I promise I will tell you after dinner.” 

“ After ?” She says incredulously, making no move to resume her seat. 

“Satoru’s right; it’s not proper to talk about that over dinner. However, I can see it being a very suitable dessert subject, and I remember telling your brother that he could have ice cream.” 

Gojo sputters. “Since when do you go around promising my kids ice cream?” 

There’s something about the convicted way Gojo says ‘ my kids ’ that has Nanami smiling wider. “I am being the fun parent tonight, since you almost set the apartment on fire.” 

“Fire is fun ,” Gojo argues, face flushing at the implication of co-parenting. Realistically, Nanami’s become more and more of a force in Megumi’s life, so the concept isn’t foreign, isn’t shy from the truth, but hearing Nanami say it so plainly, unabashed, almost indifferent to the romance of it, makes Gojo’s heart skip. “And I’m clearly the fun parent.” 

Megumi makes a sound of disagreement. 

Gojo scoffs, affronted. “Wh- Megumi. ”

“You’re the annoying parent.” 

“I-” 

Tsumiki giggles, finally settling back into her chair. “You’re the goofy parent.” 

“I’m not goofy, I’m fun .”

“Funny- looking ,” Megumi says, mashing at his curry again. “Can I have ice cream now?” 

“No,” Nanami says, “Eat more of the meat.” 

“Don’t wanna.” 

“If you eat more, you can have extra ice cream.” 

“Nanamin!” Gojo scolds, “Why are you the one being irresponsible tonight? What happened to my dependable, responsible Nanamin?” 

Nanami shrugs, glancing up at Gojo across the table. “I like to do both.” 

Gojo pauses, taking in the way Nanami’s looking at him suddenly. He flushes, catching the implication. 

“Can I put sprinkles on my curry?” Megumi asks, oblivious.

“Ew,” Tsumiki says, flinging a grain of rice at her brother. “Ew,” She says again, flinging rice at her mentor next. 

“You’re making a creepy face again,” Megumi says to his guardian, following his sister’s example. 

Swatting at the grains of rice catapulting towards him, Gojo huffs. “I am not. I only have beautiful, compelling faces.” 

“Ugly faces.” 

Gojo whines. 

“Megumi,” Nanami sighs, “That’s no way to talk to your father.” 

The boy glares at him. “I’m right though. He’s making ugly faces. He makes constipated faces whenever he talks about you, and then when I tell him, he gets mad.” 

“That may be true, but it’s not something we say out loud. It’s considered rude.” 

Gojo watches as Megumi doubles down, rebuffed by Nanami once again. The words filter slowly; he pays them no mind, caught up in the lack of petulant reminders of “you’re not my dad.” No such thing this time around. Not a peep of disagreement with Nanami’s statement-- well on that front. There remains the issue of whether or not Gojo’s faces are creepy, and whether or not Megumi should say so. 

“See? He’s making a creepy face now.” 

Nanami doesn’t look impressed. “He’s smiling. ”

“Creepy. Scary. Terrifying.” 

Nanami sighs again, but it comes out more like a chuckle, muffled into his napkin. “I give up. Just finish your curry.” 

Spooning a mound of curry into his mouth defiantly, Megumi glares at the man. Tsumiki leans into Nanami’s space, asking him if he wants to see her Polly Pockets; earnestly, Nanamin tells her he’d love nothing more. Gojo’s never seen him smile this much, never been filled with so much love for the man across from him and the two gremlins flanking him on either side.

“I’m finished,” Tsumiki declares, “Let’s hurry up and eat ice cream so we can talk about that thing ,” She sends Nanami a pointed look, “That thing you promised to tell me?” 

Nanami blinks. He’s unsure why the girl feels the need to speak in code, seeing as she’d declared her intentions without room for doubt just a short while prior, but he nods curtly nonetheless. “Certainly.” Dutifully, he stands, gathering their dishes. 

“Na-” Gojo clears his throat, “Nanami, you don’t need to-”

“Nonsense,” Nanami waves a hand before picking up Megumi’s plate, “You cooked-- attempted to, that is.”

Gojo crosses his arms sullenly, leaning back in his seat. “It’s not my fault things got out of hand. Megumi was whining for ice cream, and Tsumiki decided to ‘speed things up’ by turning the heat up as soon as I looked away.”

Nanami raises an eyebrow at the girl. “That true?” 

She shrugs. 

“I turned my back for two seconds to tell Megumi to zip it about the ice cream,” Gojo whines, “And next thing I knew, the pot was boiling over. And then, of course, as soon as I look away from Megumi, he’s rooting around in the freezer for ice cream, and- and it was just a disaster, Nanami.” He sighs. “You can’t blame me.” 

“You’re being very brave about it,” Nanami says, only half-patronizing.

“Thank you.” 

“Megumi, you should apologize to Satoru. You too, Tsumiki.” 

The boy groans. “Why.” 

“You caused him distress.” 

Megumi gives him a toothy grin.

“Apologize.” 

“I. Would. Rather. Die.” 

“I’m sorry, Gojo,” Tsumiki says, “And Megumi’s sorry too.” 

“Am not!”

“Shh, or Nanamin won’t tell us about,” She glances at Gojo, sitting beside her with a dramatic, put-upon expression, then lowers her voice infinitesimally, “ his type .”

Megumi doesn’t look convinced, so she tacks on, “And he won’t let you have ice cream.”

That seems to get the boy’s attention, and he looks begrudgingly towards his guardian, “I’m sorry .” 

“For what?” Gojo asks, unimpressed. 

“For…” He pauses, calculating. “For bothering you while you were cooking.” 

That seems to satisfy Gojo, and he smiles. “While I don’t believe you even a little bit, I appreciate you going through the motions.” He turns to Nanami, whistling. “I’m impressed that you were able to wheedle an apology out of him; he almost never says sorry. And so politely , too. He didn’t even tell me to go to hell.” 

Tsumiki clears her throat pointedly. 

Nanami smiles, turning to head into the kitchen with the dishes. “It was all Tsumiki’s doing. What a wonderful older sister she is.” 

Tsumiki cheers. With his back turned, tucked into the sink and calling for the kids to come help him, Nanami can’t see the way Gojo’s smile softens as he watches them. 

-----------

“Okay, tell me now,” Tsumiki says, peering out the crack in the bedroom door one last time before slamming it shut hurriedly, “Gojo is in the shower now so he won’t hear.” 

Nanami smiles at her from his seat on the edge of the bottom bunk, where Megumi’s methodically adjusting his pillows and stuffed dogs. “It’s not a secret, Tsumiki.” 

“Yes it is , Nanamin. Gojo said me and Gumi were gonna be his wingmen, so we have to do it in secret.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works, honey,” Nanami tells her. 

“No, it is,” She says matter-of-factly. 

Nanami debates explaining that if Gojo put her up to this, it couldn’t possibly be a real secret from the man, but is saved the decision by Megumi, who, having decided things were arranged to his liking, wriggles under the covers with a grunt. “This is boring; tell us a story instead.” 

“ No, Megumi,” Tsumiki says emphatically, “This is important to Gojo.” 

The boy wrinkles his nose, watching her climb the ladder to the top bunk. “But it’s no fun.” 

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” She says wisely.

Nanami stands from his perch to help Tsumiki with her blankets. “Tell you what: I’ll tell you about my type, and then I’ll tell you a story.” 

Tsumiki grins at him, letting him pull the blankets up around her. “Okay. You’re very smart, Nanamin.” 

“Thank you, Tsumiki.” 

“My teacher says that’s called being a problem-solver. I want to be like you when I’m older.”

“Thank you, Tsumiki,” Nanami repeats, feeling at a loss. What is one supposed to do in these situations-- the situation being the adopted children of the man he- he, er, is interested in , against his better judgment, wanting to know what type of man he likes. The situation being ridiculous, really. 

“Story first,” Megumi insists. 

“ No , Megumi,” Tsumiki says again, expression souring, even though her brother can’t see it. 

There’s a grumble from the bottom bunk, but no further complaint. Nanami resigns himself to spilling the promised tea. He takes a seat at one of the two tiny desks against the opposite wall. The chair creaks as he settles into it, but holds. Megumi turns on his side to watch the man warily; Tsumiki props herself up on one elbow expectantly. 

“Er,” Nanami says eloquently. 

“In the romance books I read, the men are usually described as handsome,” Tsumiki supplies helpfully. Absently, Nanami worries after these children’s library history. “But then the descriptions are all over the place.”

“What someone likes in a person varies from individual to individual,” Nanami tells her. 

Megumi hums. “I am never going to like anyone.” 

Nanami nods. “Wise choice.” 

“Girls are icky,” The boy goes on.

“That’s not true, ” Tsumiki says, “Boys are gross. Girls are better.” 

“Nu-uh.” 

Sensing an argument-- perhaps of catastrophic proportion-- Nanami is quick to jump in. “It’s all about preference,” He says placatingly, “No matter who you like though, that’s alright.” 

“And you like Gojo, right?” Tsumiki prods.

“What leads you to that conclusion?” Nanami asks warily. It’s become quite clear that’s been her ulterior motive all along; Gojo’s deviousness must be rubbing off on these poor, innocent children. He wonders if the stunt at dinner was a ruse, wonders if it was all part of Gojo’s weird, convoluted plans all along. Then he remembers that Gojo’s dumber than a sack of rocks and chalks it up to the strange machinations of a child’s brain. He does have to wonder about the books though, over who’s letting the girl’s idea of romance get so inflated. 

Tsumiki shrugs, or attempts some semblance of a shrug while propped on one arm. 

“Megumi said he thinks so.”

“That so.” 

She nods eagerly. “So? Tell me, tell me. I promise I won’t tell Gojo.” 

“Are you lying?” 

She nods eagerly again. 

Nanami sighs. “Alright, you got me,” He admits, not entirely certain what he’s admitting to , but it seems to do the trick. The girl squeals, falling back on her pillow. 

“I knew it. Megumi was right. And I can see it, like a romance movie in real life!”

Unsure what it is she’s seeing but unwilling to burst her bubble, the man says nothing. 

Tsumiki peeks over the edge of the bunk wall. “Are you going to marry him?” 

Nanami coughs. “I don’t think that-” 

“Boo.” 

“I don’t th-”

“ Booooooo, ” Tsumiki interrupts again, louder, with feeling. 

“I-”

“ Booooooo! ” 

Nanami levels the girl with an unimpressed look. She grins toothily at him.

“You don’t have to marry everyone that you…” He coughs, “Take a liking to.” 

“Ew, you like him?!” Megumi sputters, face scrunching in disgust, “That’s gross !”

“You will understand more and more as you grow up that having those sorts of feelings for someone is actually a beautiful thing-” 

“It’s Gojo !”

Valiantly, Tsumiki rushes to their guardian’s defense. “He’s not that bad, Gumi.”

“He’s the worst .” 

“He has worked very hard to provide for you and make sure you are happy,” Nanami reminds the boy, “And even if you don’t appreciate it now, one day you will.” 

“I would appreciate it if he were less embarrassing.” 

Nanami raises an eyebrow. “It can’t possibly be that bad.” 

Megumi huffs. “Last week, when he came to get me from school, one of the office ladies catcalled him .” 

“That’s hardly his fault.” 

“He winked at her.” 

Something sours in Nanami’s gut; he rolls his eyes. “Of course he did.” 

“One time, when he came to get me, Ms.-” He grumbles over the anime incoherently, “-asked him if he would be coming to the next PTA meeting and he said he ‘couldn’t wait.’”

“That’s… not embarrassing at all.” 

“It is, ” Megumi corrects, glaring his hardest, “And then he said he’d bring brownies, and Ms.-” He mutters, “said she was looking forward to it. Can you believe that, Nanamin?!” 

“It sounds to me like he’s just trying to keep up to date on your schooling.” 

“Yeah, and it’s embarrassing .” 

Tsumiki giggles from the top bunk. “You’re just being a baby.”

“Am not ,” Megumi whines. “My life is so hard.” 

“I know,” Nanami acknowledges, nodding. “It sounds very tough to have a parent who cares about you.”

“It is ,” The boy agrees emphatically, the sarcasm lost on him.

Having had enough, Tsumiki leans her head over the wall of the bunk and declares, “You’re avoiding the subject.”

“Ah, and what subject is that? I seem to have forgotten…” 

“Don’t play dumb, Nanamin! Tell me why you’re in love with Gojo!”

“Who said anything about love?” 

“I did. And Gojo did.” 

Nanami looks at her seriously. “Did he?”

Collapsing back into her pillows, Tsumiki groans. “Just tell me what you want with my dad.” 

Nanami chuckles, and she pokes her head back up to send him a downright terrifying glare. “I’m serious. In all the romance books, the guy has to get approval before he asks for the love interest’s hand in marriage, and the parents are always super scary about it.”

“Is that so? Do I need to get your approval?” 

“Yes,” She says decisively, “And Meg’s.” 

“No way.” 

“Oh, c’monnnn, Gumi.” 

“No. He’s going to be annoying.” 

Tsumiki tosses a pillow into the bunk below her, getting Megumi right in the face. “But we talked about this. In the car, remember?” 

Megumi grumbles something unintelligible.
“We decided it’s fine, right ?” 

More grumbling. Megumi turns onto his other side, facing the wall petulantly and pulling the covers up over his head.

“Whatever, you suck, Megumi.” 

The boy says nothing, the silence saying everything for itself. 

“Okay, then you have to beg for my approval,” Tsumiki amends, grinning at Nanami. “I wear the pants in this household anyway.” 

Nanami stifles a laugh at her serious expression, schooling his own into something appropriately serious. “Alright. Please give me your approval to court your father, Tsumiki- sama .” 

The girl looks unimpressed, pretending to inspect her nails. 

“Your Highness,” Nanami tries again, “I would be so honored, so eternally grateful,” He bows his head for effect, “If you would be so kind as to allow me, a poor humble office worker, to court your father, Satoru Gojo.” 

Tsumiki remains impassive, though one side of her mouth twitches up slightly. 

There’s some shuffling from the bottom bunk and then emerges from the pile of blankets and plushies a soft, “Polly Pockets.” 

“What?” 

Megumi doesn’t offer any more information, burrowing his face back into the pillow nest from whence it came. 

“Er… I offer a dowry of one new Polly Pockets set for her Royal Highness Tsumiki Fushiguro- sama in exchange for her approval.” 

Eyes lighting up, Tsumiki bounces forward in her bunk, leaning her arms on the wall to get up in Nanamin’s face. “Really?” 

“Why, of course. Anything for her Highness.” 

“And new books for Megumi?” 

“But of course,” He repeats. There’s a bit of happy wiggling from the pillow nest. 

“So you’ll marry Gojo,” Tsumiki says thoughtfully, “And that means now we have two dads.”

“I didn’t say I’d-” 

Tsumiki makes a loud hmm sound over him, then continues as if he’d never spoken, “You’ll marry Gojo, and then we’ll have two dads, and I can brag about it to all my friends. One of the girls in my class said she has two dads, and everyone thought it was so cool, and now I’m going to be the cool one.” 

“I don’t have to marry Gojo to be your other dad, Tsumiki.” 

She shrugs. “But you’re going to… right? ” She asks, taking a downright frightening tone.

“These things are complicated,” Nanami says testily. 

“Boo,” Tsumiki rolls her eyes, “Be a man.” 

“Yeah,” Megumi rallies sleepily, hugging his dog plushie tighter, “Be a man, Nanamin.” 

“Go for it, Nanamin!” Tsumiki cheers. 

“Whoo,” Comes the half-hearted echo from the bottom bunk.

Nanami sighs. There’s no doubt about it: these are Gojo’s children.

“I want to be the flower girl,” Tsumiki informs him, laying back down in her bed finally, clearly having decided things were sorted, whether Nanami liked it or not.  “And I want a pretty dress. A blue one.” 

“Noted,” Nanami tells her, resigned.He supposes a wedding wouldn’t be too bad, really. Maybe something small, just him and Gojo and the kids. And Shoko, of course-- she’d be a fantastic best man, and Nanami could probably persuade Ijichi to officiate. 

Gojo would probably look good in a suit, Nanami muses as he stands to tuck Tsumiki in one last time. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen the man in one, and the image it conjures up makes his stomach clench. There’d be flowers, abundant hydrangeas the same pale blue as Gojo’s eyes, and it’d have to be outside, of course. A beach might be nice; Gojo always looked beautiful set against the sea. But the kids might get too rowdy there, might get their nice clothes all sandy and wet. Theoretically, they could have a wedding without the kids there, but it just wouldn't feel right. 

“Megumi can be the ring bear,” Tsumiki says sleepily, as if reading his thoughts. 

“Ring bearer,” He corrects the girl gently, tucking the ends of her blanket up snugly. “Good?” 

“Tighter,” She says unabashedly, demonstrating how inadequate the job is by wiggling around. 

Nanami acquiesces easily, smiling. “Better?” 

“Better,” She echoes. 

Pushing her bangs up off her face with one hand, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “Goodnight, Tsumiki.” 

“G’night, Nanamin.”

Carefully, he swoops towards the lower bunk to check on the other child, now fast asleep. Megumi’s got an army of plushies watching over him, dogs and frogs and rabbits glaring at Nanami like sentries. A silly part of Nanami feels the need to salute them. 

“Goodnight, Megumi,” He says, knowing the boy won’t hear him. As an afterthought, he realizes it might have been strange of him to tuck Tsumiki in; he’s only just met her a few hours ago. 

He switches the lights off, the room peaceful. 

…And turns around to Gojo’s face inches from his own, peeking through the cracked door. 

“I didn’t see anything,” Gojo says incriminatingly. “Didn’t hear a word.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

He throws his hands up in faux-innocence. “Swear! On my honor.” 

“You don’t have any honor, Satoru,” Nanami informs him, closing the door to the kids’ room behind him. 

“That’s just rude, Nanamin.” 

“Damn,” Nanami says, entirely unapologetically. 

Gojo grins at him. “Have somewhere to be tonight? Or can you stick around a while?” 

Taking in the messy, still shower-wet hair and wide blue eyes, matted eyelashes and ruddy cheeks, Nanami smiles. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

-----------

“So,” Gojo starts, curling up on one end of the couch facing Nanami, “What did they say to you?” 

“The kids?” Nanami asks, at the other end of the couch. It’s a small thing, more of a loveseat really, and Gojo’s bent, boney knees stick out towards the side of Nanami’s thigh, just shy of touching. 

Satoru nods.

“Nothing much.” 

That earns him a disbelieving look. “I know they have a habit of not understanding the repercussions of their words and the havoc they wreak.” 

“Wonder where they get it from.”  

Gojo’s expression sours. “Not me .” 

“Sure, sure. My mistake.”

“Seriously, what did they say to you?” 

Careful to keep his expression flat, Nanami tells him, “That they’d been hired as your wingmen for the night, and that they think I should marry you.” 

Gojo nods again, thoughtfully this time. “That all?” 

“More or less. I may have promised Tsumiki more Polly Pockets, though.” 

“Ah, you fell into her trap,” Gojo crows proudly. 

“It looks like it.” 

They fall silent. For the first time since leaving Jujutsu Tech, ditching curses and his awful haircut, Nananmi feels the clammy grip of awkwardness stirring his stomach. Satoru stares at him silently, twitching every few seconds or so like he wants to say something, fingers picking absently at the fabric of the couch. 

“Something happened today?” Nanami asks at last, recalling the frantic phone call he’d received, and the worn-out tone of the other’s voice across the line. He wasn’t willing to admit that Gojo was the only contact that he allowed to come through while he was at work, with all his other notifications silenced. His coworkers had teased him for the rest of the day after hearing him agree to come by that evening, asking if he had a secret girlfriend he’d been keeping from them. 

He hadn’t bothered correcting them besides a half-hearted, “He, not she,” which they had responded to predictably, doubling down on the teasing with renewed fervor and revised pronouns. The man who sat in the cubicle beside Nanami’s, despite never speaking to him once before, had said passionately that he thought Nanami would make a great father. Depending on who you asked, he already was one, but he hadn’t bothered with correcting that bit, lest he give the fellas more ammo. 

“Tsumiki got her period in a McDonald’s and Megumi had an existential crisis over it.”

Nanami nods sympathetically. Figures it was something like that. Despite being so new to this, Gojo was generally unshakable, dealing with throw-ups and tantrums like a pro, only breaking down in private. Nanami had once come to pick up Megumi only to hear the most gut-wrenching scream as soon as the door had slammed shut behind him, leaving him and Megumi to exchange wary glances.

When Nanami had to come back an hour later because Megumi had forgotten his damn Creeping slippers, Gojo had appeared entirely normal-- as normal as the man could get-- aside from the red eyes. 

“I had to run across the street and buy her stuff ,” He looks at Nanami pointedly, as if he needed the extra hint, “and I don’t think we’re ever allowed to set foot in that McDonalds ever again.” 

“It couldn’t have been that bad.” 

“You weren’t there,” Gojo whines petulantly.

“Thank god for that.”

Kicking one leg out childishly to hit Nanami in the stomach, Gojo tosses his head back against the armrest of the couch. “ Nanamiiiii .” 

“You survived it, though,” Nanami tells him earnestly, catching his foot and settlin it in his lap.

“Barely.” 

Absently, Nanami begins rubbing at Gojo’s sole, making him hum. “You’re doing your best.”

Gojo hums again, dropping his other foot into Nanami’s lap beside the first. “You’re a big help.” 

Nanami smiles, saying nothing. After a beat, Satoru adds, almost as an afterthought-- “Shoko, too.” Lifting his head from the armrest, he gives Nanami a sheepish smile.
“Tsumiki said she wants me to marry you so that I can be her dad,” Nanami tells him conversationally, still smiling gently. Dutifully, he shifts his attention to the other foot, working his hands diligently. 

Gojo looks at him carefully, tilting his head. “And what did you say?” 

“I said I didn’t have to marry you to be her dad.” 

A smile breaks across Satoru’s face. “Damn. And here I was, gearing up for a proposal.”

“Maybe wait a few years for that one.” 

“Wahh,” Gojo whines.

A comfortable silence falls over the living room. Quietly, Nanami continues his massage, thinking hard. It wasn’t like he was nervous to talk to Gojo about his… feelings. It wasn’t even like he was nervous the other man wouldn’t reciprocate. If he’d had any doubts before, and he hadn’t, the kids’ behaviour had cleared them entirely. It wasn’t like he was blind to the way Gojo acted around him, or even averse to it-- it was just that putting it into words felt like it would crush him, would upset some delicate balance. He supposed it was too late to avoid emotional investment, between his history with the other man and now his devotion to the kids, and it was with a touch of bitter resentment that he realized he’d never stood a chance, after watching the way a family had softened Satoru right before his eyes.

So he says nothing, and Gojo hums every once in a while, until: “When we get married,” Gojo starts thoughtfully, voice quivering slightly, “I want to wear a dress. And a veil.” 

Nanami clears his throat, pulse skyrocketing. “Then you wouldn’t need a blindfold or sunglasses.” 

“Exactly,” Gojo agrees easily, “It’s like you read my mind, ‘amin.” 

Leave it to Gojo to find a way to shorten what was already a silly nickname, Nanami thinks fondly. Leave it to Gojo, he thinks, watching the other man dig his nails into the couch cushions at his hip, to forgo the serious conversation entirely and skip to the good bit. “If I could read your mind, things would be so much neater.” 

“How so? I thought we were on the same page,” Gojo says, glancing at his face anxiously. 

“Well,” Nanami tells him, leaning towards him a little, tone teasing, conspiring, “Then I could stop your stupid ideas in their tracks. And know when you were feeling overwhelmed, so I could help you.” 

“Oh.” 

“You’re just trouble,” Says Nanami softly.

Gojo looks at him sheepishly. “Sorry.” 

“It’s alright. I know you try your best.” 

There’s a lull, Gojo squirming in place and kicking his feet around on Nanami’s lap to get him to laugh. And then, when he succeeds, he wriggles around so he’s sitting beside Nanami, feet flat on the ground now, and leans his head on his shoulder. 

Sucking in a breath, Nanami snakes his arm around Gojo. “You’re a menace,” He reminds him.

“I can live with that.” 

“A detriment to society.” 

“That’s fine.” 

“And a danger to others.” 

Gojo scrunches his nose. “Okay, that one’s not true.” 

Nanami laughs, tucking his chin atop pale hair. “Oh, that’s where you draw the line?” 

“Yes-- I am actually a gift to everyone around me.” 

“If you say so,” Nanami says dismissively, even if he silently agrees.

There’s a sound somewhere to his left, but when he turns his head, there’s nothing there. The apartment is silent and still.

“Outside,” Gojo tells him. “I left the window open. Must be a neighbor.” 

“Ah.” 

Pushing his head back painfully into Nanami’s shoulder and eliciting a grunt, Gojo glances up at the other through his lashes as best as he can. “More importantly, are you going to wear a dress too?” 

“What?” 

“When we get married,” Gojo tells him, like it’s obvious.

Nanami chuckles. “No, I don’t think so.” 

“Boo,” Gojo says. 

“Boo,” says the crack in the kid’s bedroom door. 

Scrambling up from his comfortable spot on Nanami’s shoulder, Gojo whips towards the door. “Goddamnit, Tsumiki.” 

There’s giggling from behind the door, before it opens and two gremlins tumble out, one significantly more sleepy and less interested than its sister. Ah, Nanami thinks, these must be the noisy neighbors . 

“I thought you were asleep,” He says.

Megumi grumbles, taking a seat on the floor tiredly. “I was. She woke me up for this.” 

“Tsumiki.” Gojo admonishes, disapproving. 

Looking entirely unapologetic, the girl grins toothily and shrugs. “It’s like a romance movie in real life! I wasn’t going to miss it.” 

“1/10 ending,” Megumi grunts. 

“What?” Gojo asks, offended, “That was a 10/10 ending. I’d definitely watch that movie again.” 

Tsumiki wrinkles her nose. “More like 7/10. It was sappy, but Nanami didn’t even kiss you.” 

Gojo raises his eyebrows, opening his mouth and closing it again before turning to Nanami. “She has a point.” 

That draws a chuckle out of the blond man. “Nice try. Not in front of the kids.” 

Gojo deflates. 

“Boo,” Tsumiki says again. 

“Boo,” Megumi echoes sleepily.

“Tomatoes tomatoes, tomatoes.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I’m throwing tomatoes at you.” 

“I thought this was a movie, not a play?” Nanami asks. 

“Encore, encore!” Gojo crows. 

Nanami sighs, rolling his eyes fondly before dropping into a bow. “I’d like to thank the academy.” 

Tsumiki squeals in delight, making Megumi wince beside her. 

“Okay, ‘Miki, let’s not burst your brother’s eardrums,” Gojo scolds, laughing. “It’s way past your bedtime, missy.” 

“Ugh,” The girl says, but makes her way back into the bedroom anyway. “Nanamin, come tuck me in again.” 

Nanami glances at Gojo. “It seems my services are needed elsewhere.” 

The man grins at him, flopping back onto the couch once again and getting cozy. “I understand. Go on, then. I’ll be right where you left me.”