Chapter Text
Mirai was sprawled out on the hardwood floor when Nanami entered the living room. Kneeling next to her, he laid his hand against her neck. Her pulse beat against his skin. He breathed a sigh of relief.
“Everything is uncomfortable,” Mirai mumbled. Her eyes remained closed as her lips pulled down in a frown. “It’s hot.”
Nanami sat next to her and pulled her head into his lap. “I’ll open the store today,” he said. “The body pillow should be here by noon.”
“Thank you.”
He bent over his wife’s body to press a kiss on her stretched stomach. “Thank you.” He rested his head there and stared at her.
Mirai’s phone buzzed with a notification; she grabbed it from the floor. Nanami watched her all the while.
“Shoko says Gojo-san has filled their care package with sweets. Also, he had onesies custom-made that say ‘Gojo’s Goddaughter.’ There’s one in every size up to 4T.” Mirai turned her screen to Nanami.
A picture of the baby garment in various sizes greeted him. They were light purple with white cursive font and a different pastry decorated each size. (The smallest size was adorned with three unicorn cake pops, while the largest had a blue, tiered cake.) Nanami expected nothing less from the Six Eyes sorcerer.
Mirai laughed. “Leave it to Gojo-san to proclaim himself the godfather of our daughter.”
Momo made her appearance then. She strutted up next to Mirai and pressed her paw against her bare belly.
Miaow! Where’s my baby?
“The baby isn’t here yet, Momo,” Mirai said. “We’ve got a few more weeks.” She held her phone in hand while the other stroked the feline’s back. “Shoko also says that she fought valiantly for the title of godmother, but Gojo-san was too formidable a foe. ‘You and Nanami will have to have another so that I can claim my stake,’ are her exact words.”
Nanami snickered. “Eager, isn’t she?”
“She’s not the one with perpetual pain.”
Sitting straight, the blonde rubbed his hand over Mirai’s rounded belly. A strong kick greeted him.
“Oh,” Mirai grimaced, “and I’m a walking punching bag.”
“That kick had a lot of force behind it,” he commented.
“And her punch was aimed at my bladder-- I have to pee. Help me up.”
Nanami was quick to get up and pull Mirai from the floor. She waddled to the bedroom. Momo stayed behind, rubbing her body against Nanami’s legs. He bent down to pet her head.
Recently, Nanami had been thinking of their future child; more importantly, the implications of said child being a sorcerer. He hoped that his abilities were a one-off thing. It seemed probable considering he was the lone sorcerer in his family. If Mirai and his child (children, he wanted a big family) were to possess the ability to see curses, he would have to explain everything to her. He was certain she would believe him-- it would bring clarity to her attack at the temple all that time ago-- but it would effectively go against everything he fought so hard to protect her from. It would dispel the final mystery that damned their marriage, but it would bring with it all the falsehoods he had spewed over the years. The many, many lies he told Mirai to appease her curiosity. The many lies he told Shoko to tell Mirai to guard her from the truth. The web of untruths he had carefully spun would disintegrate the moment their child spotted a curse. Nanami hoped their daughter never saw the sight.
Momo meowed at Mirai’s re-entrance into the room. She had swapped her night shirt (which was one of Nanami’s old, blue button-ups) for a cropped white tank and olive harem pants. Her bump was on full display; Nanami adored the view.
“Nanami, do you know if we still have ginger tea left?” Mirai asked as she walked past him.
Nanami was left in a daze. ‘My child- my daughter is in there,’ he thought. ‘Soon, we’ll be a family. Shoko has already insisted we have another.’
“Nanami?” Mirai tried again. She turned around to find her husband standing in the middle of the room. He was looking at her, but not looking at her. His eye was trained on her stomach-- clearly in thought. “ Kento-kun ~” she chorused. Still, he didn’t acknowledge her. She was ticked off now.
Staring up at the ginger tea on the top shelf, Mirai was helpless. She used to climb onto the counter to reach it but her pregnancy had reduced her to the step stool. The stool was in the other room, her back ached, it was hot, and she had to pee again . At 35 weeks pregnant, she felt she had every right to be irritable. (Nanami was irritable often without excuse.) Mirai gathered what little energy she had and shouted across the room.
“Kento!”
Nanami’s eye finally flicked up to meet hers. “I want another baby,” he stated.
“Ask me again when I’m not about to burst with the first,” Mirai said. She pointed to the top shelf. “If you get that ginger tea for me, I might entertain the idea.”
He did as his wife asked, going as far as to steep the tea for her. Mirai once again chose the floor as she cradled the cup in her hands. She took up her usual spot in front of the oceanview window. Nanami watched in admiration from the dining table.
Mirai’s sips seemed in time with the waves hitting the shore. The rhythm was enthralling. Mirai, now more than ever, had that effect on Nanami. He often found himself getting distracted by just gazing at her. Sure, he had seen some miraculous things-- he was a sorcerer-- but pregnancy amazed him. The female body was something exceptional. He had recently come to terms with the fact that he couldn’t take his wife’s aches away; he would never be able to feel a percentage of pregnancy’s pains. Nanami always sought to fix things. This was something he had to accept could not be remedied.
All Nanami really could do was be an attentive partner. He had spent half a year living in Meguro under the pretense of death; he felt certain that he would always be making up for that lost time. No matter what he did, it never seemed like enough. He was always taking. Would he ever be able to give back? He was doubtful, yet he tried harder and harder with each passing day.
There was a small market next to the post office run by a kindly old woman. She was at the counter when Nanami walked through the door. She glanced up from her paper and smiled. “Good evening, Nanami-san.”
“Good evening.”
“Where is your wife?”
Nanami grinned (ever so slightly) at the thought of his wife. He had been thinking of her all day. “She is at home.”
“The baby is due soon, no?”
“The doctor says in a few weeks.” Nanami picked up a clove of garlic and pressed it between his fingers. It was firm. “Ebina-san, do you have any fresh shrimp?”
Ebina set down her paper. “Of course I do! It’s in the name after all.” She disappeared into the storage room behind the counter.
Nanami busied himself with procuring the other items on his grocery list. Mirai was prone to pickle cravings, despite the fact that she hated them, so he grabbed two jars. Ebina appeared again and beckoned him over.
“Now, listen closely, Nanami-san. You must cook this shrimp well. Your wife cannot have it raw. It will be bad for her and the baby.” She placed the bag of shrimp on a bed of ice and sealed it tight. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, Ebina-san. Thank you.”
She nodded. “Very good.” Using her pointer finger only, Ebina slowly keyed Nanami’s items into the cash register. “You tell her to rest too. The young women these days– always so busy!”
Nanami handed her the money. “Yes, Ebina-san.”
“Very good.” The elder packed his groceries in a brown bag and stuffed the receipt at the bottom. “Take care of her, Nanami-san. Make a nice meal.”
“Yes, Ebina-san.”
“Very good.” She grinned and picked up her paper. “Good evening, Nanami-san.”
“Good evening.”
When he arrived home, Nanami once again found his wife laid out on the living room floor; this time, she had the body pillow pressed against her. Mirai glanced up.
“Oh, great, you stopped by the store. Did you get pickles?” She sat up slowly and waited with eager eyes.
Nanami placed the jar in her hands and a kiss on her forehead. A loud pop resonated through the otherwise quiet room. He moved to the kitchen with the sound of Mirai munching in the background.
Gambas al Ajillo had been Nanami’s favorite dish when he traveled abroad in Spain. It was one of the first that he had mastered. He was peeling the shrimp when Mirai entered the kitchen with her lips wrapped around the brined cucumber; the jar was half empty.
Crunch . “Do you need help?” she asked.
“No.”
“At least let me chop the garlic.” Crunch.
“Ebina-san said you should rest.” Nanami rinsed the shellfish once more before deveining it. His knife ran along the backs with ease.
“Ebina-san worries too much,” Mirai replied. Crunch. “I’ve done nothing all day– that’s my resting!”
The blonde laughed to himself and looked over at his wife. She had finished her pickle, reaching over him to rinse her hands in the sink. Nanami kissed the top of her head.
“I’ve been instructed to ‘make a nice meal’ for you, and I have every intention of doing so.”
Mirai huffed but said nothing more on the matter. She sat quietly at the island while Nanami prepped. It was only when he began laying out the ingredients did she pipe up.
“What’s this called?”
“What’s what?”
“This ,” she gestured to the counter, “where you lay everything out before you cook.”
“Mise en place .”
Mirai hummed. “It’s very you .”
“Thank you?”
“It was a compliment- be sure to leave some shrimp out for Momo.”
Nanami picked up a small bowl and slid it across the counter to Mirai. “Already done.”
She turned the dish in her hands to inspect it; she nodded in approval. “Good.”
Momo sprinted into the kitchen, skidded along the tile, and knocked into the counter. The ragdoll was quick to recover from the blunder and sat at her owner’s feet, meowing up at Mirai from the floor.
“No, Momo,” she tsked. “This is for later.”
Miaow! I want it now!
“Later, Momo!”
The feline showcased her displeasure by scratching the stool. When that failed to garner the attention she wanted, Momo hissed and walked away. This time, Nanami hummed.
“I’ll make the Madam’s shrimp first.”
“You’re a sappy cat dad, Nanamin!” Mirai giggled.
“I know that she’ll seek revenge for this dire transgression.”
“You learn fast.”
They ate dinner on the balcony, overlooking the dense forest below; Mirai had insisted they had dinner with a view. She wanted to enjoy the summer weather while they still had it.
“Was it warm in Spain- when you visited?” she asked.
“It was, yes, though it was much drier. We get more rain here in Japan.”
Mirai stabbed a particularly slippery shrimp with her chopstick and pointed at Nanami across the table with it in hand. “Don’t ever take me to Spain in the summer.”
Leaning over, he took the shellfish in his mouth. Mirai playfully tapped his nose with the utensil. He asked, “How come?”
“I’d much rather a wet heat,” she declared. “Plus, all the tourists travel in the summer.”
Nanami closed his eye in thought. “I suppose that’s true. Alright then, we’ll go in the winter-”
“But not too close to February! That’s Momo’s birthday,” she interrupted.
“We’ll go to Spain in the winter and not too close to February. Perhaps in January.”
“Yes, that sounds nice.”
Nanami grinned before he continued to eat. Mirai did the same. At the end of their meal, she reached over the table to grab her husband’s hand. “Thank you,” she cooed.
He picked up hers to kiss the back. “It’s the least I could do.”
“We should eat out here more often,” Mirai remarked.
“You always complain of the humidity.”
She huffed. “It was never this humid in Tokyo.”
“We live by the sea.”
Mirai pulled her hand away with a glare. “Don’t get smart with me, Nanamin.”
The blonde stood up and patted her head. “It was only a mere observation, hanii .”
He gathered their dishes and walked into the house, leaving Mirai alone at the table. She set her hands over her rounded stomach. The baby inside didn’t move. She sighed. ‘It will be another sleepless night for me,’ she contemplated. ‘You sleep now and wreak havoc when I want to.’ Mirai rubbed her bump once more but halted when a strange popping sensation flooded her lower half. There was an unmistakable wetness in her joggers.
Gripping onto the chair, she called out, “Nanami!”
Her husband came onto the balcony with soapy hands and a small frown. “What’s wrong?”
“Come- come here.” Mirai waved him over and grabbed onto his arm when he reached her. “I’m going to lift up my leg and I need you to tell me what color this liquid is.”
“What liq-”
“Just do it!”
It finally dawned on Nanami and his face screwed up in anticipation. He aided his wife in raising her leg. “It’s- it’s clear.”
She groaned.
“Mirai, what’s happening?”
“It seems our daughter has decided to make her grand entrance early .”
Never had Mirai seen her husband’s face pale so quickly; it wasn’t often that Nanami Kento was at a loss for words. He sputtered for a moment, took three deep breaths, and rested his hands on his wife’s shoulders.
“I’m freaking out, Mirai,” he muttered. “It’s too soon.”
“I know, Ken, I know. Just- just call the clinic. I’ll pack a bag while we wait for the contractions.”
Nanami nodded slowly. “I can- I can do that.”
Mirai grabbed his face and pulled him down to her level. She peppered kisses across his scarred face. “We got this.”
“Yeah, we do.”