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Years of being immersed in jujutsu must have dulled Nanami's ability to comprehend social cues. That's the only explanation he can find for his current predicament. After all, he presumes that most people can tell when they've been asked out on a date. But Nanami? He's only just now realised, twenty minutes after sitting down for a coffee.
Anyone could have made the same mistake, Nanami thinks uselessly, his cheeks warming as he recontextualises all his interactions with Kei that now take on a different subtext in light of this knowledge.
"You've gone pretty quiet," Kei remarks, pausing to swallow the little morsel of bagel he's been working on for far too long. "What's on your mind?"
It would be humiliating on both their parts for Nanami to own up to the miscommunication. He simply can't do it. Instead, he sits straighter while offering a small smile. "I was thinking about how foolish it was of Matsuda to switch classes around just because he wants to go on holiday."
Kei rolls his eyes, exasperated by the antics of their teacher. "I get that it's just night classes but it's run by idiots." He waves a hand, his voice taking on a brighter lilt. "When you joined, I was so glad to interact with someone who has brain cells."
"The last few weeks have gone quickly." Nanami nods. "I'm still adjusting but you've been a real help."
He has to lean in when Kei speaks again, regretting the choice to dine outside when the wind picks up. "Y'know when you said you're openly out, I was surprised. And then when you agreed to go out, I was pretty pleased. You weren't really giving any signals that it was mutual before." The lilt of his voice is playful and when the sunlight catches the brass of his hair, Nanami can sense how easy it could be the fall into whatever it is that Kei wants from him. Easier, certainly, than any aspect of his life that's come before.
Nanami exhales, buying time to think before he settles for a wavering laugh. "I'm not a very emotive person I'm afraid." It's hard not to internally wince. Leading someone on is not his idea of a good time. It would be a small mercy if he could get out of this and explain the misunderstanding later on his own terms. Kei's smile twitches, his gaze going to a point somewhere behind Nanami.
"Do you know him?" he asks, a vaguely ominous question that Nanami doesn't register in whole. He turns to look, squinting into the distance.
"Who–"
Nanami doesn't get the words out, freezing for an earth-shattering second while he tries not to shrivel up at what he's seeing. Gojo is stood on the other side of the wide road. He's uniform-clad and is looking in their direction. At once, Nanami is reminded of his recent nightmares, all of which always start out the same way. Gojo's sudden reappearance and his burgeoning vitriol. He's bitter over the leaving, always leaving, leaving, left, kicked to the curb like a dog with no teeth.
Only this has to be reality because this Gojo waves.
It's difficult but Nanami tries to make it seem like he's not noticed, moving in jerky, stilted frames that are far from being casual as he slinks down into his seat, staring unseeing at his food. "I don't know him," he murmurs, the words settling like gravel on his tongue.
Kei seems unconvinced, checking behind Nanami again. "Are you sure? I think it's you he's looking at."
"I'm sure."
He's playing a losing game here but Nanami still stiffens when a shadow falls over the table, as if staying still would have been enough to render him invisible.
"Fancy seeing you here." These words are spoken under a bright sky, the clouds stretching into wisps. Nanami could be tricked into believing that the last month has been washed away, becoming letters in the sand that no longer exist. He peers upward, half-accepting his defeat and it's not been that long but Gojo is crystalline, with lips that are more peach than pink. He doesn't appear bereft, not at all like what Nanami's dreamed about and he blinks just a bit too much at the realisation.
Is that what I wanted? For him to be pale and lifeless in the wake of my departure?
Gojo prostrate at his feet like a lesser being. It's a repulsive thought. Even more repulsive that Nanami could ever have felt he could have that sort of influence on him.
It's difficult to discern whether Gojo is putting up a front right now or whether he actually means this smile. The fact that Nanami can't tell burns through him, a cigarette stub upon his chest, because he's meant to be able to tell these things, to figure out the differences as easy as breathing air. But nothing about Gojo is easy or should be easy. That would cheapen the experience, would make him like Nanami. And he's not like Nanami. The way even in grief Gojo looks beautiful, even in anger, or right now, in blooming indifference.
Because Gojo has taken all his firsts and now stands before him playing at being fine and Nanami would be angry if not for the fact that's he's counting on it, is doing the same in fact, chanting please not hereFun.
Not for the first time, Nanami has to consider whether Gojo's sustained some sort of brain injury, giving the type of memory loss which only manifests in short bursts.
"Felt?" Kei asks, confusion lining the simple word. Gojo shifts slightly. It's the first time he's deigned to even look at Kei and though his smile doesn't falter, Nanami can sense the coldness emanating from him.
"When I saw him, I mean." Gojo's glasses cover up his eyes well but they must be narrowed right now. "Tokyo is smaller than people realise, I guess."
Kei doesn't bother replying to him, a bold move and not one many are capable of. "Are you okay, Nanami-kun?" he asks instead, his voice quieting in a clear display of not wanting the third-party to interrupt. It's useless though, because Nanami can't get a word in before Gojo continues.
"Why wouldn't he be okay?"
"Would you be okay if some stranger was harassing you?" It's admirable actually, how Kei sits up straighter and steels his voice. He's not usually one for confrontation but seems to have no issue doing so when defending Nanami from perceived harm. The bubble of warmth within Nanami pops the moment he sees how Gojo's mouth has pressed into a thin line, the restraint in that one gesture being very close to benevolence.
"Harassing is a very strong word. And stranger?" Gojo snorts, a humourless sound that erupts in a strong puff. "You must be mistaken."
Kei only shrugs, caring very little for Gojo the longer this interaction goes on. '"Doesn't seem that way to me."
"Who even are you?" Gojo finally asks, his lips curling in clear distaste. Nanami realises that this is a line of questioning fraught with the danger and opens his mouth.
"A friend–"
"His date–"
Their voices overlapping isn't quite enough to obscure Kei's answer and Nanami would turn to stone if he could, reluctant to gauge Gojo's reaction, already knowing that it won't be good. Kei's frowning across at him, but only slightly, unable to parse the wrongness of this situation without years and years of context to rationalise any of it. The silence only lasts a long moment before Gojo is shifting at the side of the table.
"Nanami?" It's only a word, Nanami's own name, and yet it carries a tendril of hurt that Gojo shouldn't be capable of feeling, not when his heart has been buried behind Infinity for half the time that they've known each other. Still, it's enough to get Nanami to look up, jerking his head as if being maneuvered by an amateur puppeteer. He almost recoils when he meets Gojo's eyes, his glasses low on the bridge of his nose. They're wide in misplaced faith, like Nanami will be able to explain away everything and have it all be okay.
"He knows your name." It's not a question but a statement, Kei's even cadence carrying the burden of disappointment and Nanami thinks he might suffocate if he stays here any longer so he stands, his chair scraping the ground in a shrill shriek. The panic that builds within him doesn't touch his voice when he says, "Sorry but I'll see you tomorrow," while he slams a few notes down on the table, scampering in a random direction with a nod. He knows Gojo will follow, doesn't even check behind to make sure of it. The sound of shoes against pavement are nonexistent from the both of them, too trained in stealth even now.
It's a quiet day for the most part but it's still the weekend so Nanami has to weave through people, his legs as heavy as cinderblocks the entire time. He makes it a good distance before he's pushed into an alleyway by a hand on his shoulder.
"So what?" Gojo says, much closer now than he has been in a while. He's discarded his glasses, the full force of the Six Eyes out for this interrogation and Nanami can't avoid the sear of blue. Not at this distance, Gojo's breathing billowing cold against his skin while he looms over him. "You left to fuck other guys?"
"That wasn't a date." It comes out weak, watery. Nanami chews at the flesh of his cheek, hoping for strength in the pain. It does nothing.
"That's not what he thought."
"It was a miscommunication. I thought we were just going to hang out as friends." Nanami stops when he realises something, his face twisting with bitter resolve. "It's none of your business anyway."
The laugh that drips from Gojo doesn't have a place in this world, sounding quite unlike anything Nanami's heard before. He flinches against it. "None of my business? You leave to cheat on me and it's none of my business."
Nanami rubs a palm into his face, testing the pressure against his lidded eye. "I didn't cheat," he insists, already feeling like a broken record. All the luck in the world must have gone to someone else, inverted within him. Dating? Other people? Nanami wants none of it, has never even considered what it would be like to have someone else's hands on his skin when it could hardly be comparable to the feel of Gojo letting down Infinity.
When Gojo moves, it's as quick as it would be in their spars. He's always been faster so he flattens Nanami against the furthest wall with ease. Even with this show of speed, there's no pain. Gojo's just as capable of being gentle as he is of doling out pain. He's frowning, a harsh demarcation between his brows that Nanami once may have brushed away.
"Come home," he says, the word like heaven when spoken in his voice, tasting as sweet as the exact distillment of grace. But Nanami isn't a fool; he knows that home is too vague a concept. It doesn't exist for him, stopped existing the moment he enrolled. Home is not at Jujutsu Tech and it's certainly not in Gojo's arms. "Ieiri misses you," he continues, which is the closest to manipulation that Gojo's ever gotten because he knows that Nanami isn't good at dealing with disappointing others, leaving people in the lurch.
And yet I have, Nanami thinks, the irony a blade. He slumps slightly, Gojo's arm going loose to accomodate him. It's been a little over a month and the habits Nanami's kept for so long are still intact, keeping him to waking up early, listening out for the birds through his apartment windows even though they don't sing here the way they do on campus, green sprawling out for acres upon acres and Gojo's side of the bed always already cold from his early missions.
Nanami doesn't have the luxury of a clan name or Limitless or even the unerring confidence that whatever choice he's made is the right one.
I'm scared, he almost let slip the night before he left, when Gojo had been at his softest.
He couldn't stomach feeding into an institution that will kill them all and yes Nanami is a turncloak. He is every bad thing and very little good and he so desperately wanted to be good but wanting is never enough.
"You know nothing at all," he says, flat and defeated even as Gojo bares his teeth. Curses have been exorcised for less but Nanami remains intact.
"Is that why you let me into your bed? Because I'm ignorant to the horrors of the world and you're not?"
Nanami only closes his eyes. "I needed more."
"More?" When Nanami blinks his eyes back open, his heart catches in his throat because Gojo has leaned away, the sun framing his body. He's a starburst, the beauty of his straight nose and his faded freckles coming into focus along with the betrayal that puckers his lips. "More than me, you mean."
On impulse, Nanami nods. Yes, that's exactly what I mean, even though he isn't sure it is, hasn't been certain of what he joined sorcery for let alone why he's run away from it. He doesn't know if he can find a reason or even if a reason exists to be found but he should at least try and Gojo was never meant to be part of the equation, not when Nanami is unmoored and Gojo has eyes that have seen the universe and he still somehow remains tethered to the earth, to the very dirt beneath their soles and Nanami doesn't know how Gojo does it but he's well aware that they can't continue the way they have, unproductive and leisurely, indulgent, getting fat off their own wiles.
Pretending at peace is worse than war. Nanami's been jittery for an entire summer, waiting for a bomb to go off below him before deciding to do the kind thing and setting it off himself. Better to be in pain than to be in pain and in shock.
"I thought you were almost happy," Gojo breathes out, all the fight gone from him now, his body limp though he still stays standing. It's naive and torturous to hear this from the person who should have a better understanding of how sorcery works than anyone else. After all, Gojo is the very manifestation of cursed energy. The softness to him now is a barb and Nanami holds back a shudder, unsure of whether he'd fall back or forwards if given the chance.
Nanami could scream right now and it wouldn't make a difference, not to Gojo nor to any of the passers-by.
You want me dead, he'd scream. You want me dead or you want me dying and I'll either be a corpse or you'll be a little hero.
I'm too young to die, he thinks, his head spinning. Why couldn't you have played hero with Haibara?
But that's an old wound and a low blow all in one and Nanami can kill but he refuses to maim, the oldest courtesy of civilisation, putting one out of their misery.
"Senpai," he says. Gojo hums, the response so familiar it aches but Nanami can't get himself to speak further, uncertain of what can be said.
As always, Gojo fills in the gaps, an expert in defusing the worst of situations. "Are you eating well? How are you paying rent?"
Shame blossoms deep within Nanami. A part of him has to wonder if Gojo would rather there was someone else in front of him, someone else he'd prefer to be asking these questions to. He smothers that line of thought. "I'm eating fine. And I've got a decent job."
"Your eyebags have gotten deeper," Gojo exhales, raising a hand to thumb at his pallid skin. It's the most touch Nanami has allowed in weeks. "At least try and get some sleep. I could forgive you if you take care of yourself."
This is the difference between being cared for and being cared about. Nanami has been to his new GP, a professional office where they said all the right things and nothing smelled of cigarette smoke. But it was Gojo who pressed a cold compress into his skin when he was sick with fever.
Nanami wants to be venomous but all he can do is brace himself. "I will."
He imagines a kiss. A parting gift, one that's both selfish and greedy.
You can't have your cake and eat it too, says a voice in the back of his head, perhaps belonging to Geto in the days before his own departure, back when he never quite sounded like himself, a mouthpiece for another boy, one that Nanami hadn't met, couldn't meet without becoming lost himself. And as much as Nanami has become a little evil, a rot making a home at his core, he could never allow himself to become lost too.
You can't come back from that. Geto certainly can't. Won't.
Gojo finally releases him, stepping back until they're no longer in the same space, no longer sharing oxygen like they're running low. He doesn't give him a kiss, doesn't do anything actually. He looks incredibly young, incredibly thin, in the emptiness of this alleyway. A car honks closeby, too loud but Gojo doesn't startle, he just scans Nanami with his all-seeing eyes, not even the slightest spark of desire present in him.
"My shirt looks good on you," Gojo says, and Nanami remembers too late how Gojo left his clothes and Nanami had packed them the way one might smuggle drugs, looking over his shoulder in fear of being found. He crumples, a flush reaching across his chest, an explanation on the tip of his tongue.
But Gojo is already gone.