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"Call it, Miwa."
The blue-haired girl that had been enthusiastic to start her shift this morning was now quiet and dull. Nanami can see how she tries to swallow past tears as she murmurs, "Time of Death, 7:13 PM."
One of the first things that Nanami makes a point of mentioning to the newbies of the Pitt is that not everyone can be saved.
Of course, just saying the words out loud isn't enough to internalize the lesson: that comes with experience. It comes with the first patient you lose even though you thought you had the perfect solution. The first patient you lose to a stupid mistake that makes you reconsider your entire career. Nanami has been working this job long enough to know that the moment you walk through these doors and clock in, you are at the mercy of the Emergency Room. The ER is an unlawful place that takes and gives without remorse; this is what he tries to instill in his new interns and fourth-year medical students just starting out.
This doesn't mean Nanami forgets to take the lesson to heart, sometimes.
The day shift was coming to a close, and he knows that the night shift-ers are bound to come rolling in and take control of the ER. He would say that his shift ended smoothly, but he wasn't a liar. One too many visits from Yaga in Upper Management and three too many mistakes from his Residents for him to even claim that he was satisfied with how he did his job today. Losing a little girl and her mother was just the icing on the cake.
Nanami bypasses the clock-out computer and heads for the stairs. This path was as familiar to him as it was daunting. Using the last dregs of his energy to keep climbing until he reaches the roof. The noise of his shoes connecting with the concrete is the same; one of the only things that is constant in this place as he walks to the edge of the railing.
He lets himself absorb the fading light of the sunset. The last of the sun's rays peaking through clouds to color the sky orange and pink; and then his eyes drift to the busy street below. Nanami's knuckles go white around the railing.
The little girl had pneumonia that was caught too late, and there wasn't anything they could have done. Her mother suffered a fate much more pitiful; a resident looking at all the wrong places so that by the time they caught the pulmonary embolism, it was too late. Too late, too late, too late—
All of the usual thoughts circle his head. If Nanami had been faster, this wouldn't have happened. If Nanami hadn't been caught up with a disrespectful resident, he would've gotten to a patient sooner. If this girl's mother hadn't been so unreliable, both of them would be alive right now. If he wasn't so incompetent at running his goddamn ER—
The door behind him slams open, and Nanami knows that it could only be one person. The one man that doesn't have the courtesy to give him peace and quiet (but, perhaps, that is the benefit of keeping him around).
"Na-na-mi!" Gojo screeches, much too chipper for the start of his shift. But, Nanami supposes, that his tune will change into biting sarcasm and defensiveness by the time Nanami returns in the morning. "You're in my spot!"
Nanami works his jaw, taking a moment to grind through his building migraine to talk, "One would think that you would've learned how to share by now."
Gojo laughs, a low sound that he knows is reserved only for him. "You would think that, wouldn't you?"
There is pressure against his back; Gojo draping himself over Nanami's body. Even as bells go off in the back of his head about professionalism, Nanami can't help but welcome the pressure, and his grip around the railing loosens.
Nanami can feel his coworker's breath against his neck. The movement of his lips against the shaven part of his hair as Gojo speaks, "You should have been clocked out by now, Nanami."
"I'm meant to do a lot of things, Gojo."
The man hums as a response. Silence overtakes them for a long while. Nanami knows that it is Gojo letting him soak up the last moments of reprieve that the rooftop is giving him. For reasons beyond Nanami, Gojo has always done that sort of thing for him; letting things linger around just long enough that Nanami knows he will miss them when he leaves. It is part of the reason why he is still working this god forsaken job, and how Gojo beckoned him back to this field in the first place, all those years ago. It makes him a little sick to think about… how susceptible he was to one man. But, Nanami knows, that the allure of saving lives would have him back in scrubs one day.
He knew that the very day he quit all those years ago; Gojo just sped up the process (as he is wont to do).
The moment before he gets his footing—standing on a rooftop, knuckling the railing with Gojo pressing himself against his back—is the moment Gojo decides to pull the rug out from under him again. Nanami is promptly spun around when the man's large hands are placed on his hips.
For the first time in hours, he meets the voracious oceans that are Gojo's eyes. The last rays of the sun bounce off of the blue and shock Nanami like a bucket of cold water. He finds himself relaxing further in Gojo's hold; angry thoughts of the night dulled by his company.
"One of those things, Kento," Gojo clicks his tongue in what he thinks is supposed to be admonishment, but is really just a loud prick in Nanami's headache, "is going home. How is my poor little coworker supposed to function if he doesn't rest?"
Nanami lets out a long suffering sigh. Looking away from Gojo's face lets him grab a glimpse of the street again, "You are not my Mother, Gojo."
"What happened?" Gojo asks, no more preamble.
He swallows roughly before answering. "Last two patients coded. A mother and daughter."
Gojo frowns. As much as Gojo likes to joke around Nanami knows that he rarely makes light of the death of families; having kids of your own will do that to you.
"You and I both know that you did all you could." Gojo says, no room for argument. "Think about all the people you did save, Kento."
"Numbers," Nanami hisses, "mean nothing next to how well I do my job. That is barely comfort, Satoru."
Gojo looks at him now with a familiar somber expression. It was far enough removed from pity that it doesn't raise Nanami's hackles, but it was enough to remind him that Gojo did understand what he was going through. What this job did to the both of them. How it sucks your life away into an unending black hole. Nanami deflates immediately.
Seeing his wordless defeat, Gojo presses a kiss to his cheek. "Go home, Kento. I'll see you in the morning for our routine."
Nanami makes a small snickering noise against Gojo's face, "Don't call it that."
"Ah!" Gojo brightens instantly. "I made you laugh, kiss!"
Nanami rolls his eyes, but leans in to kiss Gojo back. It was an old HR violation that gave him a thrill no matter how many times he has done it. He whispers his goodbyes against Gojo's lips, knowing that the moment he exits the rooftop, all those thoughts will come flooding back in. The notion of don't take your work home with you never worked for him: he felt too guilty for that.
But Nanami leaves the rooftop anyway, leaving Gojo to his night shift, and he mentally prepares himself for the morning. Morbidly, he wonders what tragedy will motivate Gojo up to the roof come 7AM.