Chapter Text
Gojo has been trying to get Nanami’s attention all day. It started as soon as he arrived at Jujutsu Tech. Nanami’s mood was already soured by his lengthy commute. The trains, though always punctual, were unbearably full. The only thing he hated more than standing in close quarters with strangers was being late, so something had to give. Not that Nanami had to be happy about it. When he entered the teachers’ lounge to dig into some paperwork, Gojo was there, sitting on top of Nanami’s desk. He did not return any of the elder sorcerer’s enthusiastic waves, just turned around and found somewhere else to fill out his reports. It was too damn early to deal with him.
After dodging him a few more times at lunch, then again right before a class with the second-years, Gojo finally corners him at Nanami’s favorite time of the day: right after clocking out. Nanami had only been delaying the inevitable. Afterall, who can escape the strongest sorcerer in the world—especially when he’s as stubborn as a toddler? Nanami’s making his way down the long, tree-lined passage from the Jujutsu Tech campus, enjoying the early summer breeze after a long day filing reports for the previous week’s missions. Then, Gojo quite literally appears from thin air, a phenomenon that never fails to bewilder the living shit out of him.
“You know, Nanami, you’ve been avoiding me all day ,” he says by way of a greeting. “Don’t think I can’t tell! It hurts me a lot, you know? That my favorite kouhai would treat me this way.” Favorite kouhai , despite Nanami’s best efforts, sticks in his mind for a moment too long.
“It’s thirteen minutes till five, Gojo-san.”
“Then just let me talk!”
“You have twelve minutes now.”
“Okay—Okay, how do I explain this…” he drums his fingers against his chin. “You see, I got back home really, really late last night and I live by myself so—” Gojo’s never been good at telling stories. He gets caught up in too many details from there, mentioning something about the floors in his apartment being too cold (“What’s even worse is that I always misplace my slippers!”) and how his elderly neighbors keep trying to introduce him to their grandchildren (“You’d think they’d find the blindfold weird—I guess I’m just too handsome!”) and sometimes his fridge makes weird noises (“I’m too lazy to contact management so I kick it a couple times until it stops, but it can’t go on like this forever!”).
To his credit, Nanami tries to keep up. He fails—the long commute back home weighing heavily on his mind. Nanami hasn’t moved since he left his salaryman job a few years ago. He’s tried searching for another place closer to Jujutsu Tech, but he’s never been able to find anything to his liking and most importantly, within his budget range. Rent prices in Tokyo just keep climbing, and sorcerers’ salaries are unsurprisingly stagnant. And he doesn’t get enough precious PTO to waste it on moving.
“...So what do you say, Nanami?” Hearing his name reels his attention back in. Gojo is looking at Nanami expectantly from behind his blindfold, lips pulled into a sweet smile that spells out trouble. “Let’s move in together! It’d be so fun!”
What.
Nanami remember when they were still in high school, when Gojo’s teasing and pranks had a sharper edge to them—like his Six Eyes could read the pace of Nanami’s heartbeat whenever Gojo’s attention was turned on him, no matter how well-trained his scowl was, and that’s what made all of it so much fun. For Gojo at least. That’s what this feels like.
When Nanami doesn’t answer right away, Gojo opens his mouth again to speak.
“I mean, I don’t know anyone else to ask. I’ve always wanted to rent a two-story house like, on a street next to other two-story houses. Silly, right?” The register of his voice lowers and Gojo rubs the back of his neck like there’s something to be embarrassed about. Nanami realizes that Satoru Gojo is, for once, being somewhat sincere.
“I thought about it when Megumi and Tsumiki were still like, in middle school and stuff. But, time got away from me. I’m out pretty often on missions. And so getting a roommate sounded like it’d make sense so the place doesn’t completely collect dust, but my options are limited—”
“I’ll do it,” he says quickly, the words tumbling out of his mouth. Nanami’s usually not one to make decisions like this without at least 24 hours to deliberate. He blames his quick thinking on shitty rent prices, his shitty commute, his shitty salary, and perhaps, one more thing.
(The hollow feeling that accompanies turning on the lights in a too-quiet apartment. No one there to greet him. No one there for him to greet back. Too many leftovers, rotting in the fridge. The bleak realization that it may always be like this, and it’s better this way—because when you’ve got the precarious life of a sorcery, you probably shouldn't have someone you’ll leave behind.)
“I understand, it’s okay—Wait,” Gojo pauses, hooks a thumb underneath his blindfold to fix one, all-seeing eye on him. “You’re serious?”
Nanami looks down at his watch. 5:02pm.
“Yes, let’s be…” Nanami braces for the next word, “Roommates.”
“I’ve made a mistake, haven’t I?” It’s the next day, after work. Nanami is staring down a tall mug of beer, eyebrows furrowed.
Shoko shrugs. They’re sitting in their usual booth. The bar isn’t too far from Jujutsu Tech. The beer is cold and the small plates are delicious. More importantly, the happy hour deal can’t be beat. Nanami and Shoko meet every Thursday evening without telling anyone (Gojo, they literally only mean Gojo). They knock back a few beers, snack on yakitori, and complain. It’s a delight.
“How come he never asked you?”
“He knows I’d make his furniture reek like smoke,” replies Shoko lightly. Her brown hair is thrown behind her shoulder. She has her glass of beer in one hand, and a cigarette weeping smoke in the other. Nanami watches her take a drag, then tap the ashes into the tray with practiced ease.
“But, you two are close.”
“Yeah,” she takes a gulp of her beer and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “I think that’s why he probably didn’t ask me in the first place. When it’s just the two of us, we like to reminisce. It’s kinda sad.”
“I was there too,” the words fall out of Nanami’s own mouth with more acid than he had expected. I lost someone too is what he really means, but there’s not much use in comparing old scars. Besides, Shoko’s too kind to deserve that.
“Yes, true. But you’re,” Shoko mulls it over for a second, searching for the right word. “Different.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Different,” she repeats like it’s a matter of fact; a fact Nanami doesn’t quite follow. “And no, it’s not a mistake—to answer your question. Isn’t your commute awful? It’d be nice to hear you bitch about something different, like Satoru’s bad house manners.”
Now that’s something Nanami hadn’t considered. He thinks of Gojo’s upbringing in his family estate, and how, from a very young age, he was a person with an exceptional gift. He probably never lifted a finger around the house. The thought makes Nanami’s nose wrinkle. Gojo was definitely a huge brat. Still is.
“Is it too late to reconsider?” Nanami ponders out loud.
“You’d never hear the end of it.” Why did Shoko have to be right all the time? “Besides, aren’t you a man of your word, Nanami-kun?” She teases, smiling around the lip of her beer glass.
“Don’t remind me,” he responds flatly, and with that, downs the rest of his drink.
They have only two more rounds after that. When they leave the bar, Nanami asks Shoko for a cigarette and they smoke on the street as the sun bleeds into the horizon. Smoking is a nasty habit. But, Shoko is good company.
Early and organized are not words that Nanami associates with Gojo, but the following morning he gets an email with a subject line reading, “Prospective 2-Story Home.” The inside of the email, of course, is a different story—written in lime green text at a 14 point-sized font. Still, aside from the total eye strain, there are the details of a rental home within walking distance of the school. Two bedrooms. One large bathroom. Updated appliances. Generous common area on the first floor. A small, fenced-in patio.
This is suitable , writes Nanami back. He signs the email like a professional.
5 minutes later comes Gojo’s response: Yay!!!! Really glad that works out since I already negotiated the lease :3!!! Move-in date is the end of the month okay??? Don’t miss it!!!
In lieu of a signature is sent from iPhone.
Later that afternoon, Nanami asks a former colleague to take over his current lease. They say yes. Not much time to turn back now, he thinks.