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It’s spring in Tokyo Prefecture, which means warm and beautiful weather with the scent of cherry and peach blossoms carried on the cool mountain breezes rushing through Jujutsu Tech’s strategically opened windows.
In Satoru’s estimation, this is the best time of the year for midday office naps when he can get away from the students for a little while—though his idea of a nap constitutes a lot less sleeping than one might expect, and a lot more day dreaming. His excuse is that Shoko seems convinced that any sort of rest helps when overwork becomes a real concern. She’s told him a hundred times, “Relaxing for thirty minutes with your eyes closed is almost as good as sleeping,” and he’s managed to actually absorb that information.
Sleep rarely comes to him. Even in these stolen moments it’s as elusive as it is in the dead of night when he’s left alone with a racing mind and senses that never stop sending him information, never stop tingling his nerve endings with sensations. He takes what he can and eats as much sugar as necessary to feed his perpetually starving brain and cover the rest with RCT; anything for a few minutes of rest from those who demand the most of him, no matter how willing and dedicated he is to the work.
As it stands, he still has about fifteen minutes before his mostly unnecessary meeting with Yaga. Their meetings could easily be emails, as they never involve anything requiring Satoru’s presence—but Yaga insists on exerting what little control he has over Satoru’s day to day; and because the former teacher-turned-principal remains one of the few sorcerers in the upper ranks that Satoru retains any respect for, he allows for the power play.
Anyway, Yaga’s well aware that if he sent an email, Satoru would never read it. He’s at least that self aware.
After his meeting, Ino and the rest of the first years should be back from their basic first aid course with Shoko and then he can continue shaping the future minds of Jujutsu—
Bzzt bzzt bzzzzt!
On his desk, Satoru’s phone plays out a staccato pattern that he can feel in the heels of his boots that rest on the tabletop. There are very few people that actually call him. Most of them just text, or show up in his office, or flag him down as he walks across campus. Most of the calls he gets are emergencies, or Yaga calling to berate him about something he doesn’t actually care about but the higher ups do. It could be Shoko calling to let him know his students are failures at basic life preserving skills…but then again, she’d probably take pleasure in letting him know about that face-to-face.
Sighing, Satoru resigns himself to forgoing his nap and answering his phone, his eyes still closed tight below the bandages that cover them. The six eyes guide his hand true and he picks up the phone without seeing who’s calling.
“You have reached the Greatest Teacher and Strongest Sorcerer Gojo Satoru,” he beams into the phone. It’s the kind of intro that would annoy both Yaga and Shoko equally. “How may I grace you with my presence today?”
“Gojo-san?”
Like a man jump scared in a cartoon, Satoru leaps a few centimeters out of his chair and fumbles the phone into his lap. Both of his boots hit the floor with a thud. The breeze coming in through the open shoji that faces the school courtyard suddenly feels like the chill that autumn heralds for winter torment.
Once he settles back down to earth, Satoru stares down at the cellphone in his lap.
This has to be a prank of some kind…except no—the name on the caller ID clearly says Nanami Kento, plain as day. Nanami Kento, the man that he could never erase the existence of despite the years since they last saw each other. The man he swore he’d call some day—just to annoy him of course—every time Satoru scrolled past Nanami’s name in his contacts.
“Gojo-san?”
Like a broken record, Nanami repeats his name, though with the phone in his lap, he sounds a million miles away.
“Shit,” Satoru murmurs as he picks up the phone in a slight panic—as if the distance were real and he could easily lose Nanami to it.
Again.
Satoru lifts the phone back to his ear. “Nanami-kun, this is a surprise! Did you run afoul of a nasty curse and find yourself in need of rescuing?” He pauses for a moment, feels the way that his body starts to vibrate with anticipation, then continues before Nanami can answer, “Or did you miss your favorite senpai enough to finally call?”
“Ch. It’s more the former, than the latter,” Nanami deadpans. “Can we meet? Talk somewhere?”
There’s ice water in Satoru’s veins where all his blood used to be. He sits up straight, tries to breathe deeply and speak at the same time. It comes out more like a surprised chirp.
“Right now? Today?”
He’ll ignore the annoyed huff that wafts its way from the phone speaker and into his ear. He can grant Nanami that much at least.
“If you’re in the city, I could meet you somewhere.”
Satoru sighs. “I’m at the school. I have a meeting with Yaga in a few minutes. Then Shoko will deliver my students back to me for the rest of the day.”
“Oh. You were serious about being a teacher?”
He could laugh at the disbelief in Nanami’s voice, but Satoru keeps an even composure somehow. Nanami still sounds like the same little sour puss he was in high school, but with a voice a few registers deeper now. It’s a delicious torment to hear it in his ear.
“Of course I’m serious. Why would I joke about… never mind don’t answer that. I can get Kusakabe to keep an eye on my students tomorrow, if it’s not an emergency. It’s not an emergency, is it Nanami-kun?”
A part of Satoru wants it to be so he can justify the expenditure of cursed energy to teleport to Nanami’s feet and try not to collapse there, groveling for his attention; but Nanami’s gentle chuckle in his ear tells him all he needs to know. Satoru’s terribly disappointed.
“No, Gojo-san. It’s not an emergency. However, I did dispatch a curse today—just a fly head—but I suppose someone needs to know in case it violates some kind of regulation.”
The release of the giddy laughter building up inside Satoru precludes him from informing Nanami that technically, as a “retired” sorcerer, exorcising a curse could get him branded as a traitor and curse user, but Nanami doesn’t need to know that. Besides, Satoru suddenly lacks the faculties to tell him anyway.
“Why are you laughing?” Nanami asks, though Satoru can barely hear it over the sound of the blood rushing through his veins, reclaiming them from the icy cold.
What can he possibly say in response? That he’s overcome with delirium to hear Nanami’s voice again? That he missed his surly nature? That he missed him? Every ounce of him? Every hair on his head? That he knew—he fucking knew—that Nanami would come back and that’s the reason he’s calling.
Satoru knows it.
Eventually he forces himself to speak. “Oh it’s nothing, Nanami-kun. I just think I’ve won a very big bet—that’s all.”
It’s almost a lie. Mei had downright refused to throw good money after bad for a bet she was sure she’d lose. It had been some misguided attempt on Satoru’s part to bully himself past the hurt of yet another abandonment at the hands of his school mates. Shoko, on the other hand, had been willing. Her thinking had been that Nanami was too smart to ever come back, but Satoru hadn’t wanted to take her money. Mei had plenty to spare, it was only fair to try to rake her over the coals; but he couldn’t do that to Shoko. So, a gentleman’s wager they’d struck; putting their pride and ability to assess their former kohai on the line in lieu of money.
Deep down, though, Satoru had known the truth: Nanami was smart, but he wasn’t that smart.
“Listen,” Satoru begins anew—though the laughter still exists in the back of his throat, like mucus refusing to leave. “I have to go or Yaga’s gonna try to tear me a new asshole—” It’s a lie. Yaga will give him an extra fifteen minutes of leeway, but if he stays on the line a moment longer Satoru thinks he might explode “—but text me a time and place tomorrow and I’ll meet you there. You can count on it. Okay?”
“Alright, thank you Gojo-san. I will do that now.”
“See you tomorrow.”
After he hangs up, Satoru stares at the phone for long enough that he starts running into his buffer time with Yaga, but then he receives a text from Nanami and it makes the wait worthwhile. He doesn’t recognize the name of the establishment Nanami’s sent him, but a quick internet search reveals that it’s a little bakery. The photos are filled with delicious looking pastries and treats.
Satoru smiles at the thoughtfulness of it, remembering that Nanami had never been one for sweets himself.
He’s still smiling fifteen minutes later when Yaga bursts through his office door.