Chapter Text
All told, Nanami thinks that ten minutes of relatively painless conversation for Gojo might be some kind of record, and is in fact a sign that he's at least made some sort of effort to be on his best behavior, as promised. That hadn't been enough to get Nanami to agree, but it was, when paired with the realization that Gojo would, one way or another, engineer a meeting of his own and it was far better to have one Nanami would be present for and could therefore control to an extent.
Nanami tries to keep that in mind as his stomach sinks – Higuruma, prospective roommate, one of the more interesting people Nanami has met, is offering a polite tidbit about his hobbies, bluntly saying it's to reassure Gojo that he's a reasonable person to live with and is not a deranged murderer.
The last has the air of a joke.
In their line of business, it's more a necessity.
Gojo, naturally, takes it as a gauntlet thrown.
“Oh, don’t bother with all that,” Gojo says with a dangerously winning smile. “I know everything I need to know about you already! It’s way more convenient like this, don’t you think? You don’t get to lie or anything, and then there’s no awkwardness.”
Nanami attempts to communicate to Higuruma, through his eyes, expression, or maybe even just sheer telepathy at this point, that whenever Gojo says there won’t be any awkwardness, what it actually means is that things are about to become almost unbearably awkward.
It fails, despite Higuruma being significantly more observant than the average person.
“Your art of deduction,” Higuruma answers. “Nanami has mentioned it before, all the things you’ve taught him. It sounds impressive.”
Pointedly, Higuruma doesn’t sound impressed. Nanami has to brace himself for what is sure to come – Higuruma rarely sounds bothered, hadn’t so much as flinched during their first meeting, when Nanami had interviewed him about one of his clients and a gruesome murder, and this is nothing short of a challenge for Gojo. It's admittedly part of what Nanami likes about him; he won't ask questions, but he's matter-of-fact, straightforward. Nanami will always know where he stands with Higuruma, and right now that feels like the desperate relief of solid ground under his feet.
Unfortunately, Higuruma may as well be waving a sign that says ‘You are nothing but a common idiot’, and Gojo’s pathological desire to remind everyone that he is always the smartest person in the room will do the rest.
“It is!” Gojo agrees easily. “Now, I’m better by far – no offense, Nanami, but you’re only a couple years in and I’ll admit I was really working out some kinks in the teaching technique at first, so the first three months shouldn’t count –,”
“That’s one way to put it,” Nanami agrees despite himself, unable to resist the urge to needle Gojo. If he's lucky, it'll be distracting enough to defuse whatever Gojo has planned, promises to behave aside.
Predictably, he pouts, the acidity leeched from his expression.
“This cheek! And after I taught you everything I know? Gave you the shirt off my back –,”
“Now I know you're making things up, it's the other way around more often than not –,”
“If you'd just stop being so stingy, Nanamin, it wouldn't be a problem! No more complaints. See?”
“Or, if you'd stop destroying your clothing, I also would have nothing to complain about.”
Equally predictably, Gojo ignores this.
Nanami sighs, glancing at Higuruma with a mild tinge of do you see what I have to put up with in his expression. But Higuruma is regarding them with a furrow to his brow, inscrutable features gone even more so. Once more, Nanami is reminded that he's observant too; he can't help but wonder what it is Higuruma sees between them.
If he's that obvious to everyone.
But Higuruma says none of that when he finally speaks, keeps his tone even.
“I will admit to being curious,” Higuruma says. “It's a remarkable skill.”
“Skill? I could be born with it, you know. Like a superpower. I'm a Gojo, the talent is a healthy bonus to the package,” Gojo drawls out in flagrant disregard for his own belief that his methods can be taught – and maybe should be, since it can only make people's lives better, the world a safer place.
Genius he might be, but he can certainly tolerate a healthy dose of hypocrisy when it's called for.
Nanami knew that already when it came to Geto, though.
“Skill,” Higuruma emphasizes. “A talent is a wonderful thing, but raw. Unrefined. You've worked at this, haven't you? So it's a skill.”
“Someone's got a thing for semantics,” Gojo says, singsong. The melody of warning, but Higuruma ignores this too – or maybe he just doesn't see it.
“Go ahead, then.” Higuruma gestures, concise.
“Oh, I don't think that's necessary,” Nanami hurries to say. But it's too polite, too gentle to stop the trainwreck barreling towards them. Higuruma ignores him with uncharacteristic inconsideration, saying, “What do you deduce about me?”
And Gojo's answering smile is predatory. Bastards, the both of them.
“A lawyer, by the pin on your jacket. Older, but that’s obvious.” Gojo cocks his head to the side, his eyes calculating, dangerous. “You look it. I'm tempted to say forties, but no, you're not there yet. Late thirties, thirty-nine at most.”
Nanami closes his eyes; he’s absurdly grateful for Higuruma’s patience, and infinitely furious with himself for giving in and allowing this meeting to begin with. Of course, there’s no doubt that Gojo would have engineered something anyway – breaking into Higuruma’s apartment, not-so-accidentally running into him with a full cup of coffee outside the courthouse, simply showing up at his office under false pretenses though with possibly true crimes under his belt – and so Nanami would only be delaying the inevitable. It could at least be on his terms, he’d thought then.
Idiot.
It would be, as he’d told both of them before, easier if he just moved out and kept his personal and professional lives separate. He’d not minded the bleed-through as much when he was Gojo’s sober companion and that’s what the job required, when he was learning and shadowing Gojo was already second nature, but now there was intent behind it, to sharpen his own mind into a weapon.
When there’d been more benefits than problems stemming from it. Nanami is willing to cop to a certain amount of hypocrisy – being Gojo’s friend would be impossible otherwise.
“I found a few greys in the mirror,” Higuruma says, mostly unaffected but for the mild tone of self-deprecation, well-practiced to put other people at ease. “New wrinkles. We all get old, but I’m hoping for a more dignified look, personally.”
“We all do,” Gojo agrees, but he’s unhappy about it, Nanami can tell from the new tension in his voice. “Vain, then? No, I don’t think so. Nanami’d never tolerate you if that was true; he’s fussy like that.”
The fondness in that sentence is devastating, deliberate.
“You take care in your appearance, but not too much care. Just enough to be neat, passable, but on a second look your suit, which should be dry clean only, has been thrown in the regular wash, your tie is faded and trailing a few loose threads. Your shoes, though, those are nice. Real leather, old but polished on the regular. And your cufflinks. Those are cared for, kept to a neat shine too – with silver, that takes work. A family heirloom, from a father, I'd guess? No – a grandfather, the style's more in keeping with an older generation.” Gojo pauses. “Though I’m not an expert on that. One of the few things I haven’t bothered with, but maybe I’ll look into it. Could prove useful one day or another, but they’re going out of style.”
“They suit the dignified look,” is all Higuruma replies with, dry. More amused than he ought to be, with Nanami wanting nothing more than to warn him off, to say that this is Gojo at his worst and perhaps most dangerous.
He doesn’t mean to be cruel half the time is the thing; when he does mean it, it’s nothing short of devastating.
Gojo was already predisposed to dislike Higuruma, no matter how lofty he wanted to be about fairness and the importance of an unbiased mind, being so far above such things. A load of nonsense, Nanami’s always thought. But this casual acceptance – the lack of a reaction – can do nothing more than spur Gojo on.
Nanami knows because it was the same for him – he’s under no illusions as to what drew Gojo to him initially, what kept their relationship stable in those days. Nanami was perpetually unimpressed and paid to be so, and Gojo, used to soaking in praise his entire life, had latched onto that as a new challenge.
Higuruma is not the kind of person to be swayed so easily, only Gojo isn’t trying to impress him, not in the slightest. He wants a reaction, the same as always; Gojo’s never encountered a neutral reaction that he didn’t immediately work to overturn.
“Oh, you’re a tough one to crack, aren’t you,” Gojo muses. He makes a show of stretching his arms out in front of him, fingers interlaced. “ Well . I don’t get a challenge all that often.”
“Gojo,” Nanami tries, cautious.
“No, go on. I’m enjoying watching your process,” Higuruma says. “Your deductive reasoning is interesting, not based on the kind of evidence I’m used to in court.”
Gojo’s smile freezes, then sharpens.
“Court, well. That’s when things go out of my hands, you see, but we always try to make sure there’s more than enough evidence, don’t we, Nanamin?” Gojo’s elbow in his side, equally sharp, threatening a bruise.
“We do,” Nanami allows. “Though I would prefer if that came from catching the perpetrator red-handed, or in the midst of threatening us, far less often.”
“What an interesting life you lead, Nanami,” Higuruma murmurs politely, a little distant. Nanami’s never spoken of the intricacies of his job in detail before, only offered oblique statements – a difficult case, a near-miss now and again, another long night.
“Isn’t it?” Gojo beams. “And all thanks to me, too. But it’s not about Nanami now, it’s about you, right? So let’s get back to it.”
“By all means.”
Oh, no.
“I don’t think –,”
“C’mon, Nanamin! Where’s your sense of fun?” Gojo asks with a raised eyebrow, challenge in his voice. “Your new friend over here can take it. Relax. We’re all big boys here.”
Nanami scowls at him. “I just don’t think we need to continue. You’ve made your point, showed off your skills. Can’t we have a nice dinner?”
“Mm. Nope! I’m not doing this unsolicited, and I hate to let anyone down.” Just like that, Gojo’s attention swings back to Higuruma with laser focus. “I did all the basics and you aren’t impressed, so – how’s this? You hate your job.”
Higuruma blinks, the first sign of surprise that Nanami’s seen from him.
“How can you possibly tell that?”
“Oh, easy. Everything about your suit from earlier; if you were proud of what you did, you’d take better care of an expensive item of clothing required for your work. Dark circles under your eyes mean late nights, unsurprising with the law, but you’re also pretty young to be that senior in the DA’s office. Nanami mentioned that, for what it’s worth,” Gojo adds. “You used to care more, you invested in the suit and shoes, but your tie is new and cheap polyester. You’ve mentioned the court all of one time, and most lawyers who like what they do won’t ever shut up about their victories wringing the last drops of money out of innocent people. Of course, you’re in public defense, and criminal law at that, which means there’s not many cases for you to win to begin with. All that work for nothing? I wouldn’t like my job much too, either.”
Higuruma pastes on a smile, just barely verging on polite.
“I hadn’t realized I was quite that easy to read,” he says after a beat. It still isn’t the reaction that Gojo wants – he won’t be satisfied with anything short of awe. Or, Nanami thinks, his stomach twisting unpleasantly, anger. Those aren’t deductions meant to do anything other than provoke.
“It’s fine. We’re two sides of the same coin, when you think about it,” Gojo continues easily. “A case leaves my hands and enters – well, not yours, probably, because I’d give any lawyer more than enough to actually win a case. But it enters your realm at least. Working hard to put bad people away, right? That’s what justice and evidence is for, right?”
“Satoru.” He doesn’t need to continue; any point has been proven, and this was never the fun indulgence that Higuruma intended it to be. “Enough.”
Of course, Gojo doesn’t listen.
“Sorry, that’s outside the realm of deduction and firmly in that of opinion. Speculation is what you lawyer types would call it.” Gojo slouches in his chair, an action he does sometimes to be petulant, or to give a false sense of security, but right now it makes the tension at the table skyrocket. “You’re lonely, that much is obvious. Long hours, difficult job, dedication that’s still winning out against how much you dislike it at present. Under those circumstances, it’s hard to make friends, hard to find anyone who can understand at all. I’m not unsympathetic to that. Nanamin over here has proved invaluable as a companion, when you consider the morass of humanity that I have to pick from. He’s good with geniuses too, we need delicate handling sometimes. That’s his speciality, though he doesn’t look it. Beyond his remarkable aptitude for learning deductive reasoning, he’s an excellent friend and a well of empathy, all wrapped up in beige and the ugliest tie you’ve ever seen in your entire life. I can’t blame you for wanting to snap him up for cohabitation. He’s great.”
“ Satoru .” Nanami hisses his name out, familiar enough that it would normally make Gojo preen, but here it falls on deaf ears instead as the situation spirals wildly out of control, into a death knell.
“Oh, and you want to fuck him,” Gojo finishes, resting his chin on one hand. His smile is beatific, his expression manically furious. “But that’s pretty elementary as far as deduction goes, so count it as a freebie.”
Higuruma’s still silent, except standing now, cold and remote and equally furious. But he doesn’t say a word, only lifts his glass and upends it over Gojo’s head, plastering silver hair down to turn it a sallow, yellow-brown from the whisky soda he’d been nursing.
“It’s fine if you do,” Gojo continues, even as droplets snake down his face, collect stingingly on his lashes. Nanami is frozen, caught between apologizing to Higuruma and grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him until he apologized to Gojo.
“He’s a real catch. And it’s not like he didn’t know either, come on. I’ve taught him better than that, and I already said! He’s a quick study, I’m a very good teacher.”
Higuruma’s eyes meet his own while Nanami sits there, frozen, and he barely inclines his head before turning around and leaving in his quick, measured strides.
The entire restaurant is staring at them.
“Aw,” Gojo says, breaking the silence. “He left. What a bummer. Couldn’t even take a joke, could he, Nanamin?”
He licks his lips, grimaces, and then gulps at his soda.
“You are ridiculous,” Nanami hisses out, the words too small for the enormity of his anger as it rises. “How – you can’t talk to people like that, you know you can’t talk to people like that. I wanted you to meet him because you’d have been insufferable otherwise, I thought you’d behave for once.”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice how much he wants you,” Gojo says, low and nearly bitter. “Or – wait, don’t tell me that you want him, too? What a joke, Nanamin, you could do better.”
Better, as if he has time, with Gojo as a black hole swallowing more than half his life, and most of the rest allocated to work, to checking in on Yuuji.
Better, as if Nanami isn’t only just allowing himself to want at all, as he tries to put some distance between himself and what he can’t have.
“You’re an asshole, Gojo-san,” he says flatly. It doesn’t land, but of course it wouldn’t; he sees Gojo gearing up to laugh it off as he always does, secure in the knowledge of Nanami’s forgiveness and his own indispensability to Nanami’s life.
The chain between them is pulled taut, and then tauter. This time, it draws blood.
Nanami stands and, with great deliberation, also upends his glass over Gojo's head before walking away.
It’s hollow satisfaction.