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“Nanami-san, Megumi took my Polly Pockets again!”
“No I didn’t!”
“Yes—you— did!”
“Megumi-kun, Tsumiki-chan.” The tussle on the living room floor rolled to a halt. In just a matter of seconds, Tsumiki had seized a fistful of Megumi’s hair and the young Ten Shadows user had summoned both his Divine Dogs—one of which, unhelpfully, proceeded to spit out a small severed hand covered in drool. Teeth marks marred the end of the plastic limb. Tsumiki shrieked and jabbed a finger at the proof of her brother’s crimes.
“See! See!” She turned on Megumi again, the vengeance of a thousand fiery suns blazing righteously in her young eyes. “You did take them! And you fed them to your stupid dogs!”
“DON’T CALL THEM STUPID!”
“Megumi!” Nanami said sharply. “Do not hit your sister, or I will tell your guardian.” Megumi’s raised hand fell back to his side, and he turned his vicious glower on Nanami.
“Gojo can’t tell me what to do,” the boy said petulantly, and Nanami’s eye twitched.
“Maybe not, but that’s what he left me in charge for.” He stepped across the living room threshold and carefully pinched the chewed up remains of Tsumiki’s fallen Polly Pocket between thumb and forefinger. “Megumi-kun, apologize to your sister for letting your Divine Dogs break her toys.” Indignation lit up Megumi’s little face. Tsumiki made a smug hmph with her chin raised, but Nanami wasn’t done. “And Tsumiki-chan, apologize to your brother for pulling on his hair.”
Her smile evaporated into a pout. Nanami watched wearily as the Fushiguro siblings reluctantly apologized to each other, knowing full well they would be at it again in the next half hour. This had been the fifth such argument that day.
Herding his ex-classmate’s adopted children wasn’t how Nanami had planned on spending his Saturday, but when Gojo called Friday evening in a panic he had hardly been able to say no. It was so rare that he heard the man genuinely frazzled, and this was one of those few times.
“I’ll never ask you for anything ever again, Nanami, I swear!” he’d all but begged over the phone. “I’ll even stop sending you drawings of my di—”
“Just tell me what you need,” he’d snapped, face burning.
Apparently, the Higher-Ups had dropped yet another mission on Gojo on dreadfully short notice. This wasn’t uncommon; the world’s Strongest sorcerer was in high demand, after all. But this time coincided with Ieiri’s final examination of med school, and with his oldest friend unavailable to babysit and Yaga busy with a rapidly growing Panda who had apparently entered his moody preteen years, Gojo was left out of options. Except for Nanami.
It wasn’t as if Nanami hadn’t met Megumi and Tsumiki before this. If he hadn’t, he probably wouldn’t have agreed as quickly as he had. But every occasion spent with the Fushiguro siblings thus far had been alongside Gojo. This was his first time spending a day alone with them, and while he’d hoped it would be an easy task considering how self-sufficient the children had been for so long before Gojo came into the picture, he was turning out to be sorely mistaken. Megumi, for all his insistence that he didn’t need or want Gojo in his life, had been surly ever since Gojo left, grumbling and laying face-down on the floor and generally being a menace. And, apparently, feeding Tsumiki’s dolls to the incredibly powerful ancient beings he had at his beck and call. Tsumiki was more reasonable, but she was still a child, and no child would allow their sibling to get away with mangling their toys without a thump on the head. Nanami has been spending the vast majority of the day attempting to mediate, all while wondering to himself how the hell Gojo had been managing this for the past three years.
The world really did work in mysterious ways, he mused to himself as he watched Tsumiki turn a full hundred eighty degrees away from her brother to busy herself with her surviving Polly Pockets and shoot snobbish looks at him over her shoulder.
“Lunch,” Nanami muttered to himself, eyeing the Divine Dogs dubiously. Megumi still hadn’t put them away. Were they allowed to be out? What if they shed on the carpet? He didn’t want to clean that up. Did they even shed? He silently cursed Gojo for his vague instructions. “It’s time for lunch. What would you two like?”
“Curry,” Megumi said at the same time as Tsumiki said “hamburg steak!” Dread filled Nanami’s bones as both siblings’ heads whipped around sharply to stare daggers at each other.
“I’m making fried rice,” he decided aloud, and made a swift exit to the kitchen as Megumi and Tsumiki, a united front once again, protested behind him.
As he washed his hands and started prepping the ingredients, Nanami wondered to himself how Gojo did it. The man was everywhere at once most of the time, teleporting from missions to the classroom to the Fushiguro’s apartment and onto the next mission again. For a brief moment, he could actually understand the unhealthy amount of takeout dinners and frozen meals Gojo fed the Fushiguros. It was far from ideal, but how was one person supposed to make three meals a day when they weren’t even home most of the time?
Nanami unwound a little as the satisfying sizzle of rice started to crackle from the pan. He tossed the combination of rice and vegetables gently a few times before cracking some eggs into an adjacent pan and beginning to scramble them.
“Nanami-san?”
Nanami looked up. A small head was poking over the kitchen island, hair swinging loose from its high bun. He leaned a little further forward and spied a mass of spiky bangs next to Tsumiki under which Megumi’s bored face peered up at him.
“Yes, Tsumiki-chan?” Nanami said, praying to God that things hadn’t devolved into chaos in the last fifteen minutes since he’d left the children to their devices.
“Do you like Satoru-nii?”
Nanami returned his gaze to the eggs, stirring them a bit so they would fluff up more.
“He is a friend. I trust and have faith in him.”
“No, do you, like…” Tsumiki looked around furtively, going so far as to cup her hands around her mouth even though there was no one else in the kitchen except Nanami and her brother. “Like- like him?”
Nanami’s grip tightened so fast that the wooden spoon creaked in protest.
“...What?” he croaked, mouth dry. Oh, God, no. He could not be having this discussion with an eleven year old girl.
Gojo Satoru had, for the most part, remained nothing more than an irritating fixture in his life for the past five years. Unwanted, unasked for, but a fixture nonetheless. They had a routine in high school: Gojo would come by to irritate and poke at Nanami, Nanami would shut him down or simply leave depending on how thin his temper was that day, and that would be that. Then Yu died, Geto defected, Nanami left Jujutsu High, and everything changed.
Distance supposedly made the heart grow fonder. What Nanami suspected was actually the cause of his slow-growing friendship with Gojo was a combination of nostalgia for his school years and a newfound appreciation for the older boy after seeing him with his wards. The first time Nanami had seen Gojo since leaving the school had been on a trip to the grocery store. He’d turned down the dairy aisle to see two small, unfamiliar children—actual children , barely coming up to his hip if that in Megumi’s case—tagging along behind his former classmate, fingers bundled in his pant legs.
Nanami didn’t remember much of what he or Gojo had said to each other that day. It had been unbearably awkward, so his brain had probably blocked it out in favor of self-preservation. What he did remember was how the Fushiguros had acted around Gojo. The two children, despite being landed with probably the world’s most irritating guardian, were very obviously attached to him. They were healthy and safe, cheeks rounded with youth (and, in Tsumiki’s case, colorful konpeitō that she kept fishing from a seemingly unaware Gojo’s pocket) and clothes well-fitting and clean. Even Megumi, of even fewer words then than now, stood pressed against Gojo’s leg the entirety of Nanami and Gojo’s stilted interaction.
Gojo, unfortunately for Nanami’s sanity, had been shockingly good with the children in turn. He’d leaned down and cupped his hand to his ear whenever Megumi had something to tell him and cheerfully swiped whatever item he noticed Tsumiki eyeing even though the girl seemed too nervous to ask. When Nanami tried to lose him at checkout, he’d popped back up carrying Megumi, who apparently had decided Nanami wasn’t interesting enough to stay awake for and fell asleep right in the grocery store against Gojo’s chest. In an utterly bewildering display, he’d even frantically shushed Nanami when he swore in front of them.
“All the parenting books talked about swear jars,” Gojo had said proudly, clearly expecting praise for bothering to read any parenting books in the first place. “So now whenever I say ‘fuck’ or ‘shit’ or ‘ass’ I put money in the swear jar.”
Granted, that last example had brought Nanami back to Earth a bit. It had somehow gone over Gojo’s head that the swear jar was supposed to be for the children, not for him, and his method did absolutely nothing to stop Megumi from saying “fuck” often enough that his second-grade teacher had scheduled half a dozen parent-teacher meetings with Gojo over the issue. But the point was, Gojo was trying in a way Nanami had never seen from him in high school, and the fact that his efforts were going towards such a wholesome endeavor was… endearing. Definitely admirable. And they’d gotten Nanami to start noticing other things about Gojo, too, like how he threw his head back when he laughed like he just couldn’t contain himself, or he still remembered Nanami’s favorites from the konbini from school, or how it wasn’t just Nanami who had grown broader in recent years, but Gojo too, and that new undercut actually suited him very, very well…
Well, it was fair to say that Nanami had some ulterior motives for agreeing to watch Gojo’s wards. What he hadn’t been expecting, nor been prepared for, was for Tsumiki to sniff them out.
“Answer the question.” Megumi’s groan snapped Nanami back into the present. “She won’t stop talking about it.”
“Megumi wants to know too,” Tsumiki said loudly, willfully ignorant to her younger brother’s disinterest. She propped her elbows up on the countertop to lean over it, socked feet dangling off the floor as she fixed Nanami with a frighteningly intense stare. “Well? Do you?”
The eggs bubbled and snapped, left alone for too long and beginning to brown. Nanami pushed her back down and away from the splashing oil with a gentle hand on the top of her head.
“That’s neither here nor there,” he said, affecting a tone much calmer than he actually felt. He knew full well that such a vague answer wouldn’t satisfy Tsumiki on account that she was, one, a preteen girl, and two, Gojo’s daughter. Gojo had rewarded her penchant for nosiness all too often over the years. He was simply too much of a gossip himself to set a good example. Nanami slid the slightly over-scrambled eggs into the larger pan and began tossing it with the fried rice. Just a few more minutes, and then the Fushiguros would be occupied by food. He just had to last a few minutes.
“Booooo!” Tsumiki stuck out her tongue—another bad habit picked up from her guardian, no doubt—and clambered onto one of the stools. There was no escaping her sight now, but Nanami tried anyway, keeping his gaze fixed rigidly on the stovetop. “If you do, you have to tell us.”
“And why is that?” he asked, despite his better judgment.
“He’s our dad,” Tsumiki said. “We have to give him away.”
Nanami blinked. “I believe it’s the other way around, Tsumiki-chan.”
“So you do?” Tsumiki completely ignored his contradiction in favor of further hounding him. Her big brown eyes got even bigger and rounder. Usually Nanami would be glad to see the Fushiguro children so happy, but not when it was at the cost of his sanity.
Nanami busied himself with turning off the stove and collecting some plates. If he caved to Tsumiki now, Tsumiki would tell Gojo. And if Gojo knew, he would never hear the end of it. He would probably have to quit his job and move to Malaysia just to escape the shame.
“Tsumiki-chan, elbows off the counter,” he said as he plated the fried rice. The eggs were overdone and there were a few stray pieces of burned rice, but he couldn’t bring himself to care at this point. He just needed an escape route… “Megumi-kun, please eat at the island with your sister. Gojo-san told me you’ve been feeding your vegetables to your Divine Dogs under the table.”
Megumi’s sour little face puckered even further. He squirmed up onto a stool and crossed his arms, glaring at his plate as Nanami slid it in front of him. “He does it too,” he said darkly.
“See?” Tsumiki slammed her hands onto the counter, a renewed glint to her eyes. “They hang out all the time, I told you Megumi! I told you!”
“They always hang out all the time,” Megumi muttered. Nanami was unnerved. Was he really this transparent to two grade-school children? “This is stupid.” Yes. “Obviously they like-like each other.” Wait. Nanami balked.
“It is not obvious,” he snapped. Tsumiki perked up— “Do not read anything into that.”
“Why?” she asked, the picture of innocence. That wide-eyed stare, that poorly hidden smile behind twitching lips… she even had her hands in her lap. Once again, Nanami mourned how much Tsumiki had taken after her guardian. “I’m good at keeping secrets!”
“No you’re not,” Megumi complained. “I’m better at it.” He looked at Nanami with far too much judgment for a nine year old. “But it’s not a secret, so I don’t have to keep it.”
“Fine.” Nanami crossed his arms. He was too far past the point of no return to consider the efficacy of arguing with two children. He just needed an explanation. “What makes you think I have… feelings for Gojo-san?” It was the first time he’d said it aloud. His heart thumped with the declaration.
Tsumiki launched herself forward with great enthusiasm, sending a few peas tumbling off her plate and to the floor. Nanami silently mourned the abuse of the lunch he’d attempted to make as she listed off her evidence. “You and Satoru-nii always hang out!”
“As I said earlier, we are friends,” Nanami countered.
“His only friend,” Megumi muttered, and Nanami frowned.
“Megumi-kun, that’s rude. Gojo-san has other friends.” Megumi looked up at him, bored, chopsticks poking idly at his rice.
“Like who?”
“Ieiri-san,” Nanami said. “And…” Then he trailed off. Winced internally. He couldn’t exactly list Gojo’s students or past teacher, could he? Oh, God, what did that say about Nanami’s social circle? The only person he’d bothered keeping in touch with at all after leaving was Gojo, and he sure as hell didn’t talk to his coworkers…
The look Megumi gave him was far too condescending for any child under ten. “Told you so.”
“Whatever the case, we can spend time with each other as friends.” Nanami steered the conversation back on topic, stern.
“But you talk about him all the time!” Tsumiki threw her hands up wide as a visual aid of how much Nanami, apparently, talked about Gojo. He could feel heat creeping up the back of his neck, and he clamped his palm to his nape with a grimace.
“I don’t believe that’s true.” Was it?
“It so is,” Tsumiki insisted, just as Megumi said up, “you complain about him a lot.” Nanami raised an eyebrow.
“Wouldn’t that mean I don’t like him?”
“No!” Tsumiki rebuked instantly. “Satoru-nii told us, it’s called being hard to get.”
“He told y—?” Bewildered, Nanami shook his head. He didn’t think he wanted to know why Gojo was teaching his nine and eleven year old children about negging. “I can assure you, that’s not what I’m trying to do.”
“Satoru said it is,” said Megumi. Nanami choked on his own spit. Both of the Fushiguros watched him curiously as he hastily forced it into a cough, one hand white-knuckling the underside of the counter to recover.
“Excuse me?”
“You look at each other a lot too,” Tsumiki added, but Nanami was still stuck on what her brother said. Gojo had probably been joking, and it just went over the Fushiguros’ heads. Probably. But… He knows, a dreadful voice in the back of his head pressed. He knows and he’s been telling everyone.
Well, everyone being children, at the very least. But Tsumiki had loose lips and Megumi’s loyalty to Gojo was zero, so who knew who they would tell in turn. Ieiri? Yaga? Ijichi, if the man came to pick them up from school? Nanami really shouldn’t care what these people thought of him—it wasn’t as if he had to interact with them anymore—but the idea that Gojo was spreading these sorts of things around just didn’t sit well with him.
“Megumi-kun,” Nanami said, in too deep to feel shame any longer for indulging children’s gossip, “when did Gojo-san tell you that?” And why?
Megumi groaned. “I don’t know, he talks about you a lot. Can I go play with my dogs now?” He showed his empty dish and began to slide off the stool.
“No. You’re still young, and that technique uses up too much energy.” Megumi groaned again, louder.
“Then can we go to the library?”
“No!” Tsumiki cried, the strands of hair framing her face whipping into her cheeks as she swung her head around. “Nanami-san still hasn’t answered my question!”
God, his head hurt. Was this his penance for leaving Jujutsu sorcery?
“Megumi-kun, what—” Nanami rubbed his temples. He felt utterly pathetic. He was a grown man with a well-paying job and an apartment and stock investments and he was chasing a nine-year-old for assistance in his love life. “What exactly did Gojo-san say when he told you that?”
“I. Don’t. Remember.” Megumi kicked the island. Nanami didn’t even have the mind to rebuke him. “He’s always saying stupid things.”
“Like what?” He needed to know. Because if there was the slightest chance that Gojo was saying that not as a joke, but because he was interested—
Nanami was losing his mind.
Megumi tilted his head back, pondering. “Like the time he said mochi grows on trees, so it’s good for you. Or when he flirted with my teacher to get me out of detention.”
Nanami deflated. He resisted the urge to sigh.
“Or when he thought you had a crush on Ieiri-san. That was stupid, too.”
“Yeah, cause he has a crush on Satoru!” Tsumiki said proudly. And, in a fit of cosmic cruelty, that was the moment a familiar, overpowering cursed energy signature filled the home and a voice said from behind Nanami:
“Who has a crush on me?”
Nanami jerked. Gojo had just teleported into the kitchen and was now standing directly behind him, blindfold spattered with a suspicious purple fluid and a blithe grin on his face. He must have finished the mission early, and Nanami would be irritated about being called out for nothing if not for the imminent danger looming behind him in the form of two loose-lipped children.
“Gojo-san,” he managed, but anything else died in his throat as Tsumiki—sweet, generous, polite, utterly oblivious Tsumiki, chirped, “Nanami-san!”
Nanami’s ears rang in the ensuing silence. He felt all the blood drain from his face as he froze in place. Gojo’s expression was completely unreadable as usual, his grin wiped from his face like it had never been there. His lips were parted in a slight O, and Nanami was fairly certain he wanted to melt into the floorboards.
The seconds ticked by excruciatingly slowly. Tsumiki’s smile began to fall off her face as, previously beaming with delight at sharing her exciting new discovery, she came to the realization that neither Nanami nor Gojo were reacting how she’d hoped. She looked between the both of them, visibly confused. Megumi was pretending not to pay attention, but Nanami could see him eyeing the tense standoff from where he’d nestled his chin atop his forearms.
Gojo still hadn’t said anything. Nanami cleared his throat. Should he lie? Say Tsumiki was wrong, that he did not and had never felt that way towards Gojo? He hated lying, but he dreaded the alternative conversation more. He opened his mouth, only for Gojo to fill the kitchen with words before he could get his own out.
“Really now?” The grin was back. It rounded Gojo’s cheeks and made him look younger. He slipped a finger behind the fabric of his blindfold, threatening to tug it down. “I don’t blame you, Nanamin. I am very pretty.”
Nanami’s jaw clenched. Of all the times to tease him… “Gojo—”
Gojo leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.
Nanami stiffened. He stared at the older man as he drew back, blindfold fluttering to hang between his fingertips and a self-satisfied smile on his ineffable face. His cheek burned like it had been razed by living flame.
“‘Miks, you better not have been lying to me,” Gojo said to his daughter over Nanami’s head. Nanami watched the playful curve of his lips, the white of his teeth, and felt as if he was in a dream. “Otherwise you’ll be to blame for my poor, delicate heart being rejected right now.”
“Ew,” Megumi said. Nanami’s attention lingered on Gojo’s eyes. They were smooth at the corners, unaffected by the crinkle of his smile. It wasn’t meeting his eyes. For all his bravado, Gojo was nervous. It was that sight that strengthened his resolve.
“She wasn’t lying,” Nanami admitted, his voice coming out slightly rougher than intended. Gojo’s eyes flicked back to him. They were even more intense than usual, piercing blue prying his ribcage open and peering all the way down to his beating heart, but Nanami did not flinch. He knew those eyes, and they knew him, and he liked it that way quite a lot. “So don’t worry, your poor maiden heart will be safe,” he finished sarcastically. Gojo’s false smile bloomed into a real one, turning his eyes into happy half-moons.
“Ah,” Gojo said. “Good. I was worried there for a second.” This time they kissed properly—until, at least, a chorus of cheers interrupted them from Tsumiki’s spot, along with a pillow thrown at their heads from Megumi’s. It didn’t actually hit either of them thanks to Gojo’s Infinity, but it was the principle of it, really. That and the Divine Dog puppies that came bowling through them a few seconds later and nearly sent the leftover fried rice tumbling to the ground, forgotten.
After that, Nanami only babysat for the Fushiguros a handful of times. After he returned to Jujutsu society, it was only a matter of time that he’d move into the Gojo-Fushiguro home himself. And, well—it wasn’t babysitting when a man spent time with his family, was it?