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Nanami likes to think he’s particularly well-prepared for any situation, but comforting a grieving pup is not something he expected to face right now. Or soon. Or ever.
Itadori stares out the window as Ijichi drives, his eyes unfocused as the rain travels down the glass. Nanami’s eyes keep flicking to the rearview, to the young alpha hunched in the backseat, his forehead slumped against the windowpane, and it makes him hesitant for the first time in a while.
He looks exhausted. Well and truly exhausted, more than any fifteen year old should be. He looks weathered, and tired, and hollow behind the eyes.
Not how Itadori should be. The boy could be serious, sure, and empathetic to a fault, and Nanami appreciates that focus in battle, but he’s always carried so much– joy. That was it. Itadori Yuuji is the brightest person Nanami has known since… well, since Haibara. Yu . It’s the endless energy, the heart overflowing, that eagerness to please– Haibara, all the way through.
Now, though, Itadori’s grief is something unbelonging, a heavy stone dropped round his neck.
Nanami feels the need to reach out. It’s his instincts, he knows, the baser alpha instincts that feel the need to soothe this pup. He’s only fifteen– far too young to know of loss.
The air is thick with Itadori’s pheromones, despite Ijichi’s attempt to put the AC on high, and the odor of distress is becoming suffocating. Nanami’s nose wrinkles against it. Itadori is an alpha, sure, but young and just presented. The ginger-citrus-licorice-smoke natural to him still carries the faintest traces still of milky-sweet puppyhood.
Nanami sniffs again. Rain, ash, and blood from the day, they all linger behind. and Itadori’s scent has taken on a burning licorice note, but there’s no other scents he can trace. No family, no friends, no home has scented him.
The boy is in hiding, supposedly dead for about a month, now– but Nanami’s surprised to smell no hint of ozone, no breath of lily petals and the air of thunderstorms, the clean, dangerous smell of Gojo Satoru.
Nanami frowns.
Gojo scents Megumi until the boy reeks. The kid always scowls, unhappy about it, but Nanami has to admit it’s a smart tactic. No one can catch a trace of Gojo and think of anything but power. His scent sings of a powerful alpha defending this pup, a claim and a promise of protection, a threat against any harm. To those who know the smell of Gojo, the warning is even clearer.
So Nanami wonders– why is Itadori under Gojo’s care, but utterly scentless except for his own? It’s not good for a pup to go unscented, even if he is a teen. Pack bonding is integral to healthy psychosocial development and relieving excess stress. For a loner like Kento, the absence of pack scents is unusual, but speaks more to his solitary lifestyle. For a kid like Itadori… It doesn’t sit right with him.
Gojo’s out of town right now, off on another mission or trip, but there’s no lingering scent from days past. It reminds him of Gojo’s townhome, empty and white and vast. Was the kid really staying there all by himself? When did Gojo say he would return?
Nanami tries to push back the doubt. He should not concern himself with the fate of a boy who’s slated to die. The boy has Gojo to look after him for now, and then he will start at the school. Nanami is only watching him for now. He shouldn’t be overly concerned.
Their car hums around the corner on the street to Gojo’s townhome. Ijichi’s quiet, sensing the dour mood, but the beta looks up to Nanami with a question in his upticked brow.
Should he drop the boy off at Gojo’s?
Nanami considers. His gaze flicks back to the rearview mirror and the boy huddled tiredly in the backseat. It’s not Itadori’s first mission. Hell, it’s not his first encounter with death. Still, Nanami can tell today was heavy for the boy.
Nanami remembers how it felt to be fifteen and exhausted, facing the loss of a friend. He remembers how heavy he felt, and how painful it was, to return to a classroom where no one was waiting.
Nanami is known for being impartial. He’s stoic, hardworking, practical. He doesn’t allow his emotions to get the better of him.
Which is why Nanami shakes his head, so Ijichi keeps driving.
It’s a logical decision, Kento tells himself. It’s not a good idea to leave Itadori alone right now, and Gojo won’t return for days. Ijichi keeps driving until they reach Kento’s apartment. Their car purrs to a stop.
“Itadori,” Nanami said, and he pops the passenger door. “This is our stop. You shouldn’t be alone right now– you will stay the night with me.”
Itadori looks passive until the words set in. Nanami watches as his eyebrows climb and his face falls in shock.
“Nanamin, thank you, but I wouldn’t want to intrude. I’ve been staying at Gojo-sensei’s– I’ll be fine there.”
Itadori looks down at his hands as he said it, spikes of wet hair hanging into his eyes.
Nanami has the absurd instinct to brush it back from the boy’s face. He blinks, and readjusts. He can’t back down, now, or Itadori won’t accept him. He would return to the townhome Gojo owns but doesn’t live in. He would wait it out alone.
Nanami frowns. It just wouldn’t be right.
“I insist,” Nanami says. He works his jaw as he thinks. “It would make me feel better to have you near. It would ease my mind, Itadori.”
Just as predicted, Itadori looks up. He stares at Nanami’s face where it’s reflected in the rearview mirror. After a moment, he nods.
“Alright,” He says. “Let’s go.”
Nanami gathers his things and nods his thanks to Ijichi. The man offers a knowing look before he pulls out into the rain.
Itadori seems nervous as Kento unlocks his apartment. Not nervous in the way he had been earlier, jittery and restless to go and save his friend, but tense. Tight. He grips his hands together tight in front of him. Nanami should break him of that habit– it can’t be good for him.
He turns the lights on as he enters, seeing the space for the first time through new eyes. His apartment looks like a furniture showroom. Nice, of course, but stiff. Nothing out of place, and not enough yet lived in. No pictures hang on the walls besides some blandly tasteful art.
Nanami turns back to Itadori.
“The guest bedroom is down the hall. You’re welcome to use the shower. You can borrow some of my things if you need.”
Itadori sniffs subtly. There’s something on his face, not quite shock, but wondering. Nanami fights the urge to sigh. The boy has a question, and he knows what it will be.
“Nanamin,” Itadori says, and he says it carefully. He pauses. Nanami waits for him to pull his thoughts together.
“I didn’t know you’re an alpha,” He finally settles on.
Most people don’t.
Nanami Kento knows what most people think of him. He’s been known as a loner since high school– stoic is being polite. He’s never been one to cut up or chat, and he isn’t the type to make friends in the workplace. He’s never mentioned friends, family, or any pack, and he certainly doesn’t smell of any, either. He barely smells of anything at all.
“I find it more professional to be discreet,” Nanami says. He weighs his words carefully as he considers the young alpha standing in his doorway, reeking of sadness and some uncertainty. Betas and omegas may hide their scent in the field, but it’s unusual for an alpha. “For the people we rescue in dangerous situations, a strange alpha may only cause more alarm. Amongst sorcerers, I find it reduces the alpha posturing, and puts my other coworkers at ease.”
“Oh,” Itadori said, and he swings his hands out at his sides. “I guess that makes sense.”
He seems awkward in the space, hesitant to continue, so Nanami decides for him.
“Why don’t you go wash up? I’ll have dinner waiting when you’re ready.”
Itadori looks like he wanted to protest, but he closes his mouth and nods. Nanami shows the boy to his guest room, a stale place that has never seen a single guest, and provides him with a change of clothes.
Truth be told, Nanami could use a moment to himself after the day they had. He showers quickly and efficiently, and there is merit in the feeling of cleanliness again, the ritual of washing off the day. He allows himself only the briefest second to wonder what he’s doing.
He’d told Gojo when the man had asked– he’s not the type you’d usually ask. He can be brusque. He’s never had pups; he doesn’t know the first thing about watching over them.
Gojo laughed.
“It’s easy,” He said. “Just give ‘em a juice box. He should be fine.”
The answer had annoyed Kento. Anyone could see Gojo took his role as Megumi’s guardian more seriously than anything, yet he still had to be flippant about it.
What the hell was Nanami doing? The boy would probably be fine on his own. He was a teenager now, and had apparently been living alone since his grandfather had been committed. All of this was Nanami’s own instincts, the alpha inside him driving him to offer shelter to a pup in distress– an apparently packless pup, if his scent had anything to say about it, something that made Kento’s eye twitch.
Nanami decides. It makes sense to watch over this pup. Just for now. Itadori has no one else.
Nanami towels off and changes into more casual clothes than his typical business attire. He hesitates in the mirror, examining his reflection on the back of his medicine cabinet. Finally, he removes the pack of scent blockers and places them over his neck and wrists. He isn’t used to having anyone else in his home, and it might be polite to limit the overwhelming and solitary scent of himself in the space. He can’t imagine a lonely bachelor’s den to be pleasant.
Itadori’s still showering when Nanami comes out, a fact that he had been counting on. Nanami gets to work in the kitchen.
Kento cleans and chops vegetables for Nikujaga, something warm and filling he hopes Itadori will like. He loses himself in the routine of it all, the steady chopping of the knife made strong under his hand, the steaming and swirling of the broth in the pot. Haibara had taught him to appreciate fine food, but neither of them could have guessed how the lesson would grow. It’s Nanami’s steadiest hobby, his solace away from curses and death.
“What’s cooking?” Itadori asks, his fluffy pink hair still wet and sticking up in terrible spikes, but he’s cleaner now and a little livelier. Itadori drapes himself over the countertop as he watches Nanami. It breaks him from his reverie.
“Nikujaga,” Nanami says, “I hope that’s alright.”
“Sure, Nanamin,” Itadori says, but his voice falls flat from exhaustion. “But I’m not really hungry right now, I guess.”
Nanami frowns as he checks the steaming rice. It’s probably the exhaustion and grief of the day that makes Itadori think so, but still, it wouldn’t be good to leave him unfed. The boy had fought for his life against a curse that made even Nanami feel weak, going blow for blow like he would never be tired, all while the rain beat at him. The boy hadn’t had any formal training yet, either. Kento frowns.
“You should eat,” Nanami says. “A proper diet is the cornerstone to staying healthy as a sorcerer. Neglecting your health will only worsen your condition and hamper your performance. You should keep your strength up”
Itadori smiles, then, a weak, diluted thing.
“Yeah,” He says. “You’re right, I guess.”
Nanami serves him a bowl and pretends the apathy in the boy’s voice doesn’t tug at his soul. He makes his own dish, then carries it over to the table he’s set. It’s a small dining table, built for four, though it’s only hosted one diner before.
Itadori follows, the bowl of stew cradled in his hands, and he’s pressing the warmth to his chest. He sits.
“Thank you, Nanamin,” The boy says quietly. He lifts the spoon to his mouth, then sighs, and Nanami’s strangely proud. It’s probably the warmth more than anything, but it feels good to cook for someone else.
They eat in comfortable silence, then do the dishes in quiet. It doesn’t take long just the two of them, but it goes faster than it would have if it were Nanami alone. It’s new to hand a wet dish to Itadori for him to dry and put away. He would normally refuse to let a guest help, but Itadori had looked to him in that rabbitty, big-eyed way.
“I want to help,” He’d said quietly. “I want to do something useful.”
Nanami handed him a dish towel gone lacey with holes.
It catches Nanami by surprise every time he turns around. Yuuji’s smell is slowly starting to permeate the space. A deep citrus, ginger and licorice, and a smoky, woody scent, the whole thing like mulled wine his grandparents made during his childhood. It’s still a little burned, slightly acrid, and smelling of a low-level tiredness and hurt too deep to bear, but it’s softened a little with some drowsy contentment, the sweeter note returning from being well-fed, and it’s mostly clean from the shower.
It’s new to Nanami, having someone in his space.
The next time he turns, Itadori’s staring at him.
“Nanamin?” He asks, and Nanami nods politely. “Why do you keep those on?”
The boy touches his own neck, then his fingertips to his wrist. Nanmi blinks, frozen for a moment as he tries to understand. He touches his own wrists, then his neck, and then he gets it: his scent blockers.
“Sorry,” Itadori adds. “If that’s kind of a rude question.”
Nanami tilts his head.
“I thought it might be easier for you. That you might be more comfortable in another alpha’s den if you weren’t on guard from my scent.”
“Oh,” Itadori says. He fiddles with the drawstring of Nanami’s old hoodie, an ancient relic from his student days. Nanami had dug it out from the bottom of his dresser, trying to find the most comfortable clothes he could offer Itadori.
“I don’t mind it,” Itadori says. “Your scent, I mean. You should be comfortable in your own home. You can take them off, if you want.”
Itadori sounds unsure of himself, but there’s something like hope in his scent, a brighter, sweeter note. Nanami moves in one quick motion, peeling off the patches and dropping them in the trash. Itadori sniffs the air, as if he could already smell Nanami’s scent, and his shoulders drop a little.
Nanami hands him another dish, and they dry and put away the dishes in easy quiet.
They settle on the couch once they finish, Itadori putting on some kind of movie that Nanami’s never seen. It’s never something he would pick for himself, an asinine concoction of humans and earthworms rotting with cheap gore, but he refrains from criticizing the alpha pup’s choices.
Nanami’s almost asleep when he hears Itadori speak.
“It was his favorite. This movie, I mean. It’s what he and I watched when I stayed over at his place.”
“Hmm?” Nanami hums, half-asleep. He makes himself think.
Yoshino, Nanami realizes. The boy they had been investigating. The boy who died today. Nanami knew they had gotten along, that Yuuji had earned his trust, but he hadn’t fully realized how much they must have bonded.
“Oh,” Nanami says. “I see.”
It doesn’t feel like enough.
“He was good,” Itadori says, and there’s a catch in his voice that leaks desperation. “He was hurting, but… he was good. In his heart, I mean.”
Nanami is not known for being gentle– blunt and objective, more likely– but he thinks that he can learn. He can try for this lost pup, packless and hurting with no one but Nanami in his life right now.
“You did everything you could for him,” Nanami says, and he’s surprised to find he means it. “A curse is responsible for what happened today. Itadori, it’s not your fault.”
Itadori looks away, falling back into the couch.
“I should have realized. I should have gotten him out, I should’ve done something ,” Itadori says.
“There was nothing you could do,” Nanami says quietly. It feels so different to be here, now, on the other side of this grief. What helped him after Haibara died? Anything? He can’t remember.
“And then after,” Itadori says, and there’s a hitch in his voice as he swipes away tears. “Those three… people. They were people, no matter what shape they were in, no matter what he did to them. I didn’t want to kill them just because they didn’t look like– like people anymore. They’re not monsters, Nanamin, all those people he touches, just because they’ve changed. They were crying at the end, begging for me to–”
Itadori hides his face in his hands, and his scent is overwhelming and strong of bitter guilt-anger-grief-fear , a warring mix of sharp stay-away alpha pheromones and the strong, honeyed wave of distress-pup-help , a signal that would call any adults nearby.
Nanami knows he’s not good at this– he’s lived alone most his life. Still, something in him can’t bear to see a pup so lost. He knows the feeling firsthand. The alpha instincts inside him thrum strong in his chest, and for once, he decides to listen.
Nanami leans into Itadori’s space. Without a word, he swipes his wrist over the boy’s neck. Itadori stills, so Nanami hovers. He waits. Itadori looks up, his eyes red and blotchy from crying, utterly devastated even as he tries to hide behind his hands.
“Nanamin, you don’t have to–”
Itadori’s scent flashes with something different, a a spike of something warm and gingery. Something like surprise , something like please , and a new wave of acrid guilt.
“Itadori,” Nanami says, but it feels too formal now. “Yuuji. I would like to scent you. It will help you to feel more grounded, and I think it would comfort both of us. You risked your life today; you faced things no child should.”
Nanami softens. He needs to be clear on this. He rolls the words around in his mouth before he finally says, “there is no shame in seeking comfort.”
Itadori looks away, his gaze downturned.
“But I failed,” He whispers. “And you don’t like to do this stuff, anyways. I’ll be fine without it, Nanamin.”
“Don’t I?” Nanami asks. He offers his wrist to Yuuji again, hovering just by his cheek. No one consciously controls their scent; it’s primal, instinctive, warnings for other people nearby. Nanami trusts his emotional control enough that whatever the kid can smell in his scent is welcoming an kind.
Yuuji leans into his wrist, his eyes closing, and another little tear falls down his cheek. It’s enough to break Nanami’s heart, if he has much of one left.
Nanami rubs his wrist over the boy’s jawbone, then cards one hand through his hair, the spiky pink fluff at the top. It’s been so long since he’s done this– since Haibara, really– that his heart does a flip in his chest. It will take a minute for his brain to process what is happening and for his scent glands to react. He’s trusting his hindbrain to recognize the pup scent in Itadori’s pheromones. With enough physical contact, they should start producing his own protective pheromones. His brain will start producing oxytocin, and so will Yuuji’s, and it will help the boy feel soothed.
“Come here,” Nanami says, and he pats the spot beside him. Yuuji is hesitant, but he follows, nervously scooting to Nanami’s side. Glancing up to Nanami to make sure it’s alright, Yuuji hesitantly drapes his leg over Nanami’s. Nanami pulls them both sideways so he can stretch out on the couch, and it shifts Yuuji half on top of him. The boy squeaks, tensing up, and Nanami worries he’s done something wrong, but Yuuji looks up and settles in willingly, resting his head on Nanami’s chest.
Relieved, Nanami starts running his hands through Yuuji’s hair, over his neck and shoulders, down his back. Slow, comforting, his palm splayed wide. He remembers how Haibara tried to do it for him, and he almost smiles sadly. He was pricklier in high school, and he knows he stood stiff as a board the one time Haibara tried.
It feels… good, now. It’s a little strange, but right, somehow. There’s a warmth in his chest that he logically knows is the result of his bonding hormones kicking in, but it makes him feel proud. The comfort-help-protect edge to his instincts has dulled to something that feels utterly domestic now that Yuuji has soothed, no longer riled by traces of puppy stress. He likes having Yuuji close enough that the kid can lean on him, that Nanami can support him. He’s never been one for contact, but it’s so much better having Yuuji close than watching from a distance as the boy torments himself.
Nanami tries to push off the feeling. It’s just for Itadori. It’s just to help the boy. He has no other support in his life, so it’s good for Kento to act as a concerned adult in his life.
After a while, Yuuji settles.
Nanami hopes he’s doing the right thing when he finally speaks.
“The people we encountered today had their own lives, their own stories. It is right to honor them,” Nanami says. “It is monstrous what that curse does to them. However, the kindest thing we can do is to offer them peace in another world. It is terrible, but they have no way to regain their former lives. Being toyed with, contorted… it is a pain too gruesome to live with. You did the right thing for the three you found, even though it was hard, and it goes against everything you’ve known about the world so far.”
He speaks lowly, gently, like Yuuji is a child much younger than he is. Yuuji’s fists curl loosely into the fabric of Nanami’s shirt.
“As sorcerers, the best we can do is to stop that curse from hurting others. There is little we can do for the people it has brutalized– we can only vow to fight the thing that hurt them, and prevent that thing from hurting other people. As sorcerers, it’s our job to face the evils in this world that others can’t. Still– you’re only human, Yuuji. You are still a child.”
“I hate that,” Yuuji says, but it’s muffled in Nanami’s shoulder. “I can’t accept that some people have to die so we can help others. I can’t help but thinking, where do we draw the lines from? How do we know when someone’s beyond saving? I’m afraid, Nanamin. The moment we decide some casualties are acceptable, how does that impact how we view everyone?”
Nanami rubs circles over Yuuji’s back. He feels a little helpless in all this. Yuuji’s trying to make sense of the world around him, too kind for the system that grinds sorcerers through mechanical teeth, the curses that cut like shards of glass shattered in bloody anger. Nanami knows it all too well.
“I know,” He says. “It hurts.”
Yuuji trembles as he tries not to cry again. The boy bites down on his lip too harshly.
Nanami places one hand carefully behind the boy’s neck and presses Yuuji’s nose into his shoulder, and Yuuji goes easily. Yuuji is affectionate in a way Nanami is not, but he thinks he can learn. Yuuji seems to crave it, and his scent settles as he breathes in Nanami’s, still heavy but lacking that frantic undertone. Privately, Kento is very relieved.
He thinks the boy is falling asleep before he speaks again.
“Nanamin,” Yuuji asks, and there’s a little rawness in it. “Have you ever… lost anyone?”
Nanami forces himself to keep calm, his hands offering soothing circles, tracing his scent over Itadori.
Nanami’s scent has never been the strongest; he’s never reeked of strength like many alphas. Haibara had always loved it, though, the way Nanami seems to smell of black coffee, fresh bread, book paper and old wood, sour ink. It had been a good match for Yu’s earthy, country smell.
“Yes,” Nanami says. “My best friend.”
Yuuji adjusts so he can look up at Nanami.
“Does it ever… How do you move on from it? Because my Grandpa just passed, and now Junpei, and all those people…”
“You live with it,” Nanami says. “You feel it every day until you don’t, anymore, and sometimes, even then. They appear in the smallest moments enough to shake your core. You don’t move on so much as adjust. Eventually, you go about your life, and maybe you think of them each day. Maybe you don’t, and when you do, it’s nice to remember what they were like. It takes time, a very long time, more than others will want to give you. But you keep living– it’s what they would want.”
Yuuji sniffs, and he’s crying again, so he wipes tears on the sweatshirt sleeve.
“Hey, Nanamin, you’re pretty good at this.” Yuuji laughs, a wet, watery thing.
Nanami disagrees. He’s just the only thing Yuuji has, and that’s a tragedy itself.
“Here,” Nanami says, and he rubs his wrist over the scent gland on Yuuji’s neck one more time. Just to be safe. Just to be sure.
“Are you feeling any better?” Nanami asks.
Yuuji squeezes around his ribs with both arms and damn, the kid is strong.
“Yeah,” He says. “Thanks, Nanamin.”
They settle together to finish the rest of that bizarre earthworm movie. Nanami’s normally not a movie talker, but he allows Itadori to point out certain parts and trivia to him. He tells him Junpei’s favorite part with a bitter smile on his face, and Nanami comforts him when he says, “I wish Junpei were here right now.”
They’re both exhausted by the end of the movie, and Nanami’s pretty sure Yuuji has fallen asleep on his arm. When the credits roll, Nanami lifts Yuuji up to his feet. He thinks for a second about carrying the boy, but scraps the plan immediately. Yuuji is not a child who’s stayed up past his bedtime.
Moreover, Itadori isn’t Nanami’s – he’s just a lost and packless kid living on borrowed time. Hell, Nanami himself is living on borrowed time– for all his hopes, few jujitsu sorcerers make it to retirement, and fewer still actually retire.
It’s why, as much as he’s longed for it, he never has settled down. It isn’t fair to have a partner while he’s still working as a sorcerer. It’s not that he doesn’t want to settle down, but that his days are numbered. He could get close to someone, find a kind omega who has nothing to do with sorcery, a haven of peace from his blunt and bloody life, only to leave them widowed and grieved and without a body to bury. He doesn’t want to curse himself with a love he won’t come home to.
So, it's a quiet dream. Private. One Nanami knows will never grow stronger than a wisp of vapor behind his sleeping eyes.
Even worse are the barely-there thoughts of having a pack and pups of his own. He aches for it, how he wants it, but he refuses to let himself think on it too much. He couldn’t imagine leaving pups behind, their father torn to shreds, no alpha to support them or to keep them safe, his scent growing stale in a house growing haunted. He wouldn’t be a good father; he wouldn’t know where to begin.
It doesn’t matter how he thinks, sometimes, of cooking for more people at night, or how nice a Saturday would be if spent coaching pups’ league soccer.
Nanami has always known that pups aren’t in his cards. He’s fine with that, resigned. It comes with the life that he signed up for.
Still, as he shepherds the boy to the guest bed and bath, Yuuji drowning in the sweatshirt Nanami loaned him and trailing Nanami’s protective scent down the hall, Nanami thinks– maybe, at least, he can be there for this one.