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It took three days for Gojo to show up.
Nanami had expected him on Christmas day. Word traveled quickly in their line of work, and when the details about the conclusion of the incident reached his ears, he knew that he should anticipate company. As the dust settled and the world let out a gasp of relief, he returned home to check the expiration date on his condoms, ensure that he had a sufficient amount of lubricant left, and stock his fridge with sugary soft drinks that he would otherwise never touch.
The death sentence that had been hanging over Geto Suguru’s head for the past decade had finally been fulfilled, his fate sealed the moment he had tried to bite off more than he was capable of swallowing. It had been a long time coming, and as his life came to an almost poetic end, the future shone a little brighter…
…At the expense of his executioner’s heart, that was, which was where his own role began.
When Gojo Satoru was broken, it was Nanami’s job to put him back together again; vice versa, the statement rang just as true. The arrangement was over a decade old, born from a mutual, overlapping need for comfort in a time where there was little available. Their first kiss had been shared under the poison of pain, the gutting agony of loss forcing them together like pieces from two puzzles never designed to merge. It was the desperate need to feel something that had them coming together time and time again, each resigned to play the role the other needed more than anything.
He didn’t mind it when Gojo called out for Suguru , for the name Satoru had never passed his lips in their most passionate moments, either.
They used each other like this, falling into bed together when the weight of the world became too much to bear. It was how they could let their hearts bleed openly; how they could pretend that reality was better than it was; how they kept one another from falling apart in the absence of the pillars they had naively come to rely upon in their youth.
There were never any hard feelings. They both knew who the other was searching for behind their eyes in the heat of the moment; who they truly sought outside of stolen kisses and the exploration of hot bodies. Whatever crumbs they found always had them crawling back for more.
So, when he returned home that evening to find Gojo Satoru lounging on his couch like he owned the damn place, he didn’t have the audacity to be surprised.
Toeing off his shoes and leaving them by the door, Nanami ventured into his home. “You’re later than I expected,” he commented, taking a seat in the chair adjacent to where his colleague rested. “By two days. I thought that you would be joining me for Christmas.”
In retrospect, it was for the best that he hadn’t. To go from witnessing his One and Only ’s last breaths on Christmas Eve of all days just to wind up in bed with someone who barely counted as a phantom the very next was too much.
“Nah.” Gojo stretched out his long limbs, his foot nearly colliding with the lamp stationed at the end of the couch. The carelessness made Nanami’s purse his lips in disapproval. “I had… stuff to take care of.”
He pushed himself up into a sitting position, swaying slightly before he balanced himself, and it was then that Nanami noticed that there was something… off. There was a flush sported high on his cheeks, his words toed the line of running together, and he braced himself against the couch in order to remain upright. When he looked in his direction, he didn’t hold his head quite right, and he couldn’t seem to hold firmly still.
Nanami’s brow furrowed. “You’re drunk.” Though he’d intended for it to come out as a question, the statement was irrefutable.
With a quiet laugh, Gojo held up his hand with his fingers mere millimeters apart. “Just thiiiis much.”
Internally, Nanami groaned. Of course this idiot would show up intoxicated. Of course. One fact had concern rearing its head under the guise of irritation, however, prompting him to follow up with “I was under the impression that you don’t like drinking.”
“I usually don’t,” he confirmed, his lips curving into a lopsided grin. “But did you know that if you mix whipped cream vodka and chocolate liqueur with vanilla cream, you get something that tastes vaguely like a chocolate sundae?”
A drink that tasted more like a dessert than a cocktail; now that was dangerous, especially for someone with as notorious a sweet tooth as Gojo. Once he discovered a concoction that pleased his palate, there was very little to hold him back. Nanami could only guess how many he’d downed before crashing on the couch and, frankly, he wasn’t especially keen on learning the answer.
Gojo’s condition provided a unique problem, however; one that Nanami hadn’t encountered before and hadn’t considered previously. He knew what the other man wanted and had gone out of his way to anticipate his needs only to be met with a curveball. Despite knowing very well what his intentions had been even prior to his arrival, this inebriated state had hesitation prickling under his skin.
“This should go without saying, but I’m not going to be sleeping with you while you’re like this,” Nanami stated, voice stern and leaving no room for argument. No matter their arrangement, it felt far too much like taking advantage of him for it to settle comfortably in his gut. If the potency of this grief had driven Gojo to drink, then what he needed was security, not sex.
Hopefully, Nanami would still be able to provide.
Upon hearing that declaration, Gojo’s expression crumbled. The dopey smile fell, replaced by a purse of his lips that could only be described as a pout. How childish…
“Aw, come on Nanami,” he protested, leaning forward on the couch. “Don’t be such a prude. I didn’t even drink that much. It was only, like… three of those things.”
“For you, that’s more than enough,” Nanami deadpanned in response. There were a handful of certainties in life; things that were irrefutable and couldn’t be debated. The sun would always rise and set, people would always live and die, and Gojo Satoru would always be an insufferable lightweight. The fact that it only took three drinks to get him to this state of inebriation would have been comical if it didn’t also throw a wrench in both of their evening plans.
It should have annoyed him, and annoyance was all that he would allow to shine through, but the truth of the matter was more complicated. For Gojo, the notorious lightweight who tended to avoid alcohol at all gatherings, to willingly drop his guard and turn to a drink in his moment of grief was worrisome. This wound cut deeper than any other; even the injuries he’d sustained during his fateful mission that left him deeply scarred hadn’t been so devastating. Hell, even the pain that Nanami had suffered years ago could hardly compare.
To be forced to kill the love of your life-- to watch the light fade from his eyes at your own hand while the rest of the world celebrated-- was bound to drive even the Strongest into a corner and make him succumb to dangerous vices.
Said Strongest only pouted further. “I’m fine . Seriously. If we’re not gonna fuck, then why am I even here?”
Tension flared in Nanami’s shoulders and his jaw clenched at that, but his resolve didn’t falter. It didn’t sting. It didn’t . He knew damn well that this was Gojo’s attempt at getting under his skin and provoking him into giving him what he wanted. He probably hoped that if he could get him to break, he’d get it harder; that there would be brutality behind every thrust that would overpower the hollow ache swelling in his chest before it suffocated him.
Nanami knew that tactic; he’d tried it out, himself, a decade ago.
It was for that very reason that he knew it didn’t work.
“I’ll keep you company as you rest, but we won’t be doing anything,” he insisted, any indication that the rude comment had rattled him locked behind a wall of stoicism. “If you still want to once you’ve sobered up, we’ll revisit it.”
“ Revisit.” Gojo groaned, dropping his head into his hands, cheeks squishing up in his palms. “You’re making it sound like a business transaction.”
“Is that not what it is?” he deadpanned. Imagining it as anything other than a mutual convenience-- a selfishly selfless give-and-take -- was grounds to get them both hurt.
Deciding to seemingly ignore the quip, Gojo sat up fully again, some liveliness returning to his expression as his lips pursed into a smirk. “What about a kiss? Just one?”
Nanami narrowed his eyes. This was yet another tactic, born from the mutual knowledge that Gojo was an unfortunately good kisser. If he could get Nanami to cave and press their lips together, even in the sloppy stupor of intoxication, he would get an unaffordable advantage.
Unimpressed, Nanami shook his head. “No.”
“Just a little kiss?” Gojo pushed.
“No.”
“A teeny-tiny little smooch?”
“ No.”
“ Please? I’ll go to sleep right after, I promise!” Gojo pouted his lower lip and, if his eyes had been visible, they surely would have been wide and shiny enough to strike envy into the hearts of begging puppies everywhere.
Embarrassingly, Nanami felt his resolve beginning to bend as nagging voices in the back of his head coaxed a bad decision out of the woodwork. What harm would one kiss be if it got him to shut up and stop pouting? His resolve was strong enough; he could put his foot down after a single kiss and bring this game to a close.
He could give Gojo what he wanted and what he needed with an innocuous compromise.
Drawing in a deep breath, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “...Fine. One. ”
Immediately, Gojo perked up. He moved to rise too quickly, too eager, with stall and sway in his movements that had Nanami shooting to his feet instead.
“Stay down,” he instructed, staring his colleague down until he settled back onto the couch. “I'll come to you. I don't need you cracking your head on my floor.”
Gojo snorted in amusement. “Like that would ever happen.” Nonetheless, he complied. Even though his eyes were covered, Nanami could feel that he was being watched with intent, like he expected him to try and back out. Fortunately for them both (or unfortunately , depending on the perspective), Nanami was nowhere near that underhanded.
He crossed the distance between them easily, stopping when he was close enough that Gojo had to tip his head back to look up at him. One hand reached out to brush against his cheek, testing to see that the barriers of Infinity had been dropped for him. Pleased to meet soft, warm skin, Nanami cupped his companion’s cheek and traced his lower lip with his thumb, making it pout invitingly. A teasing tongue darted out to catch the tip of his thumb, enticing him along, and it made Nanami’s breath catch silently.
Smug bastard…
Kissing Gojo was familiar. He’d done it more times than he could count over the years and he was well aware of how good it could be. It was truly unfortunate that Gojo, himself, knew so, as well, and lacked the humility not to take advantage of it.
Deciding not to waste any more time (or invite more opportunities for his guest to tease him), Nanami used the hand on his face to keep Gojo in place as he leaned in to press their lips together.
The first thing that registered was how soft his lips were, always so plush and pliant that it was sinful. Though neither man had dabbled in chastity when it came to the other, those lips alone would have made the endeavor impossible. It was easy to sink into them-- to close his eyes and lose himself to the feeling of an unfairly flawless kiss-- and, if he were to lose his bearings, that would be exactly what he’d do. It was exactly what he had done time and time again as the years ticked on, helpless to succumb to a physical relief from burdensome emotions.
After a moment, Gojo’s impatience manifested in the form of a tongue swiping at his lips, trying to coax them apart and indulge in a deeper, hotter kiss; the kind that would make Nanami’s knees go weak and crumble his resolve so effortlessly. It was dangerous and not something he should entertain if he wanted to uphold the agreement of one kiss…
Against his better judgment, Nanami parted his lips, allowing Gojo to deepen the kiss as he pleased. As their tongues tangled together in what was now a familiar dance (dampened only somewhat by inebriation), an almost sardonic thought crossed his mind.
He does taste vaguely like a chocolate sundae…
While Gojo always tasted sweet (thanks to his notorious sweet tooth, no doubt), the lingering sting of alcohol on his tongue was enough to bring Nanami wholly back to his senses. He dropped his hand from Gojo’s face and moved to pull away, bringing their singular kiss to an end.
Before he could put more than a breath’s distance between them, however, insistent fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt and yanked him closer, crashing their lips together again in a graceless, painful fashion. Nanami grunted from the force, clashing teeth slicing open his lip and adding a metallic tang to the kiss. His eyes shot open in surprise. While he had anticipated Gojo trying to get more than they’d agreed to, he hadn’t expected it to be so violent.
So borderline desperate that he would rather bleed than put distance between them.
Nanami planted a hand firmly on Gojo’s shoulder and pushed him away, running his tongue over his lip to soothe the small hurt. “Gojo, what-”
He barely had time to gasp before Gojo was pulling him in again, eager for another kiss. His initial response was to shove him away again-- harder, more insistently, scolding the audacity -- but a telltale hitch in Gojo’s breath made him pause, allowing the bruising kiss to linger.
Oh.
Oh, no.
Nanami’s stomach flipped, dawning realization making it twist up into knots that were a far cry from heated arousal. He should have noticed earlier, or at least suspected it, but he had been too blinded by his guest’s unexpected intoxication to realize it. Now that they were in this position, with Gojo clutching his shirt like a lifeline as he tried to disguise his choking emotions with a brutal kiss, the reality of their situation finally made itself clear.
Gojo Satoru had beautiful eyes; anyone with functioning ones of their own would agree. They were dangerous weapons, both on the battlefield and in the bedroom. With a well-placed bat of those long white lashes, those glittering baby blues could get him nearly anything he wanted and they both knew it.
So, why were they still covered up, hiding behind layered white fabric?
The answer was glaringly obvious, and Nanami kicked himself internally for not putting the pieces together sooner.
Placing a hand on either side of Gojo’s head to hold him still, he pulled away, putting enough distance between them that Gojo couldn’t immediately overpower him and surge back in. There was a small amount of blood smeared on his lip from the wound he’d given Nanami, and his tongue darted out to clean it up. Tension crackled between them as Nanami stared right where he knew those stunning blue eyes were looking right back at him, as if silently challenging him to continue.
Carefully, Nanami hooked his fingers under the fabric of the blindfold and pulled it up and off of Gojo’s head entirely. Snow white hair fell from its hold, bangs perfectly framing his face, but Nanami found himself captivated by something beyond the objective beauty of the man.
Just as he had suspected, those blue eyes stared unflinchingly back at him, unwavering even as they were exposed, their shame put on full display. They were rimmed red, swollen and puffy, with the sticky shine of dried tears smeared underneath. Days’ worth of despair had left him rubbed raw, the whites tinged pink with telltale lines scratching across them. If Nanami looked closely, he could see where they harbored a fresh wave, barely held back by the sheer will not to break down.
For the Strongest , tears were a much more vicious vice than alcohol could ever hope to be.
“Shit…” Nanami cursed under his breath. This was worse than he had anticipated. He should have seen it coming, given everything that Gojo had gone through over the past few days, but…
He was ashamed to admit that he, too, was sometimes blinded by the facade of the Strongest ; that he sometimes forgot that the infamous Gojo Satoru was just as human as the rest of them. It was easy to be blinded by the infallible persona he wore-- the persona of a man who was untouchable, the pinnacle of strength, simultaneously a martyr and messiah by birth, a godsend with an unshakeable, playful ego to match-- especially as he shoved it down everyone’s throat. But what was that persona other than a guard; a way to grant security to the masses, to exercise control over those who feared him, and to keep the brittle nature of a human heart hidden behind a cocky smile?
Nanami knew better. He should have known better.
Gojo huffed out a laugh, breaking through Nanami’s thoughts. “I didn’t know you liked my eyes so much, Nanami,” he teased, purposefully glossing over the state they both knew he was in. “If you wanted to see them that badly, all you had to do was ask.”
And there he went, attempting to fortify that persona yet again, as if Nanami couldn’t see right through him. In some respects, it was an insult to his intelligence, but taking offense would do nothing to help the situation at hand. This wasn’t a personal slight so much as it was a desperate attempt to maintain some semblance of control after it had been stripped from him.
Nanami pursed his lips. “Gojo-”
“How about one more?” Gojo interrupted, cutting him off before he could give a voice to the truth he’d bared. He leaned forward, meeting the gentle resistance of Nanami’s hands on his face with an insistent pressure. “I know it was just supposed to be one, but I know you want it, too. So come on…”
“You already took more than you were welcome to,” Nanami countered, keeping his grip on Gojo’s face firm. If he truly wanted to, he knew that Gojo could easily overpower him, but he didn’t fear retaliation in the slightest. Not while he was like this, scrambling to keep up an image that had already been lost. It would have been pathetic if it hadn’t been so heart-wrenching.
“But, Nanami-”
“That's enough , Satoru.” This time, it was Nanami’s turn to interrupt, the firm tone combined with the usage of Gojo’s given name enough to make him pause. Though he had snapped with the intention of cutting off Gojo’s rambling, the longer he looked into his eyes, the more he realized just how fragile the situation truly was. Behind the desperate attempt to save face was someone barely holding himself together.
He knew that man, though it had been over a decade since he’d seen him so prominently.
Nanami’s gaze softened as he continued. “You've done enough.”
What had been meant as a gentle reassurance nearly shattered his companion’s resolve; he all but watched him crack and strain to hold himself back. Underneath the kindness was an unspoken acknowledgement of everything that was wrong -- everything that Gojo preferred to pretend wasn’t plaguing him, every burden he silently shouldered-- and that was too much for him to bear.
“...Please, don’t…” Gojo’s voice was raw, much smaller than Nanami had ever heard it before, as if a word too harsh might choke it off entirely.
There were a handful of ways that Nanami could address this plea. The first and most obvious one would be to double down; to push until the dam broke and the true extent of his pain came pouring out in a rush of merciless catharsis. That may be the only opportunity anyone would have to get to the core of Gojo’s true grief before he locked it up, only to be suffered silently beyond the scope of judgmental eyes. This was a rare chance to crack open the Strongest and see his heart for what it was.
A second, far less cruel option, was to coax it out of him; to offer comfort as he broke down his own walls and inhibitions. The alcohol had already done most of the work; all Nanami would have to do is echo his assertion, reassure him that he was enough, what he had done was enough, and that his pain wasn’t suffered in vain, and watch the pieces fall apart. It was almost merciful to do it that way, but such a tactic was reserved for those who believed in the healing of souls so aggressively that it became unintentionally violent.
Having been on the receiving end of such warmth, Nanami knew that it was the last thing Gojo needed in that moment. Seeing yet another departed loved one reflected in his words would be far too much to bear, no matter how long ago they had said their goodbyes.
In the end, no option sounded better than not addressing it at all.
“...Let’s go to bed.” Nanami dropped his hands from Gojo’s face and took a step back, just enough to put more than a breath’s distance between them. He offered his hand, half expecting his companion to stubbornly stand by his pride and refuse to take it. When he felt a soft, warm palm press against his own and long, thin fingers lace with his own, however, he took it as a sign to guide him to where they would both pass the night away.
If anyone ever asked, he would claim to have never noticed how the Strongest’s hand seemed to tremble in his own; if they ever had done such a thing, it was a side effect of intoxication and nothing more.
Come morning, Gojo will have sobered up, any cracks in his armor expertly patched up overnight to make him just as untouchable as he had previously been. Any attempt Nanami may make to probe that broken heart-- those desperate, sticky tears and intoxicated kisses-- would be met with a dismissive wave as Gojo helped himself to whatever sugary drinks waited for him in the fridge. Any trace of the night’s vulnerabilities had been washed away by whipped cream vodka and chocolate liqueur-- a sugary cocktail that drowned inhibitions, carried painful emotions through his blood, and disappeared hand in hand-- and was never to be addressed by either party again.
Despite the nagging feeling insisting otherwise, Nanami had no choice but to convince himself that it would be better this way.