Chapter Text
There were only very particular circumstances in which Nanami liked to be tied up, and this – restrained by wet, greasy tentacles and slammed against a gray cement wall hard enough to make the back of his head explode in pain and his stomach swirl and the world tilt – was not one of them. He swallowed thickly and blinked hard, willing the room to tip back to normal so that he could handle the curse that did this.
He had lost his cleaver in the chaos of getting overtaken, but he took a shaky breath and managed to slip his hand in his pocket and find the pearl-handled switchblade that he always carried as a backup. Nausea crested in the back of his throat as the creature gave another squeeze and a shake, and his vision blurred at the edges. Pain bloomed in his arms, and he couldn’t help the grunt that seemed to be pressed out of him.
His control over the situation wavered.
He gripped the knife harder and closed his eyes to try and channel his cursed energy. The creature squeezed again, and Nanami’s ribs threatened to crack under the pressure. He couldn’t breathe, and the knife slipped from his fingers. The clatter on the floor somehow seemed louder than the low-pitched growl from the curse that gripped him. He breathed as deeply as he could and pushed his cursed energy along his arms, trying to use his own body as a weapon. His arms burned as he grit his teeth and pushed against the tentacles. They began to smoke and loosened enough for him to pull in a ragged breath.
“Nanami!” Itadori shouted, skidding into the room, and barreled toward the curse that had him in its grip just as Nanami pushed again with his curse energy and his vision tunneled. He heard the creature scream, though he wasn’t sure if it was his own doing or if Itadori had gotten to it, when suddenly he was dropped and fell to the ground, hard. The floor was cold, and the room faded out as he heard Itadori pleading with him to stay awake and yelling for Gojo. He clenched his eyes shut for a moment and breathed heavily through his mouth and things finally stopped spinning.
When he opened his eyes, Gojo was there, kneeling over him and pressing his hand to his cheek. “Nanami, stay with me. Come on, you dummy. Wake up.”
“’m awake. I am. It had tentacles.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Gojo said, his voice dripping with relief, “I admit I wouldn’t have minded seeing you tied up, but I would’ve preferred it if I was doing the tying.”
Itadori blushed behind him, and Nanami groaned. “I’m already feeling sick. Don’t add to it, please.” He was lying, of course, as Gojo was the exact one person he’d let do any tying, but he was tired and allowed to lie in this case.
“Wait, you’re feeling sick?” Itadori asked, kneeling down next to Gojo. His face was doing that little frown that happened when he was worried about his friends. Nanami had never had it turned on him and was surprised at the warmth it came with.
He seesawed his hand but kept his mouth shut. Opening it seemed like a bad idea at the moment.
“Right,” Gojo said softly. “Come on. Can you move?” he asked, holding both hands out for Nanami to grab for help up.
Nanami gripped him tightly and let himself get pulled to standing, but he had to close his eyes and breathe deeply for a moment and let Gojo keep a hold on his elbow.
“Easy,” Gojo muttered. “We can go slow.”
“Nanamin, your suit is toast!” Itadori exclaimed.
“What did you do?” Gojo asked.
Nanami opened his eyes and glanced down at the tattered fabric of his sleeves. “I lost my cleaver and knife,” he said as they started shuffling out of the building and out to the car. “Had to use my arms.”
Gojo and Itadori shared an incredulous look. “Damn,” Gojo finally said as he helped Nanami into the car. “You’re a badass, Nanami.”
“Tell that to my tailor,” Nanami mumbled in reply, and he leaned his head back on the seat. He spent the ride back to the school trying not to throw up, staggered to the infirmary with Gojo at his elbow again, and Shoko scowled at him as she put antiseptic and a few stitches on the nasty cut on the back of his head and gave him something for the nausea. She pressed his ribs but agreed with him that they bruised, not broken, and she made him take off his suit coat and shirt, which were destroyed anyway, and cleaned his arms and put antiseptic salve on them before bandaging them carefully. There was a reason he usually wrapped his hand before hitting someone.
“I’d like you to stay here tonight, Nanami,” she said as she stitched up his head.
“I’m fine,” he grumbled.
Gojo, leaning against a nearby wall, snorted. “You haven’t looked in a mirror in the last hour.”
Shoko shot a glare at Gojo and shook her head. “This concussion is no joke, you basically gave yourself second-degree burns on your arms from your own curse energy, and you can’t even sit up on your own. You’re not going home.”
He had to go home. He couldn’t stand the infirmary, had never been able to stand being there since that fateful night years ago when he stood shaking in the doorway watching Yu lie way too still on that same table. Now Nanami sat up, a grown man who could make his own decisions. He swung his feet over the side of the bed and hauled himself to his feet, ignored the bile creeping up the back of his throat and stared Shoko down. “I’m going home.”
“So stubborn,” Gojo muttered. He also sighed dramatically. “I’ll take him to my place. It’s closer and I can keep my eyes on him.”
Nanami wanted to protest, to say that he would go back to his apartment, thank you, and that would be that. The words died in his throat, though, when he wavered on his feet and Gojo was by his side in a heartbeat, his warm hand curled around Nanami’s elbow and worry etched across his face. His own selfish desire took over and he nodded. “Fine,” he said, and let himself be guided out of the infirmary and across the lawn to the warm bungalow where Gojo lived.