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To an outside observer, the smile on Gojo’s face would have seemed out of place. He had, after all, just been thrown out of a three-story building, blasted by two at least First Grade curses, and subsequently removed his spotless hand from each of their chests in short succession. But more important than any of that, it was Friday. The one day Gojo could home to a dinner he didn’t have to make. The one day he didn’t have to worry about arranging for Megumi and Tsumiki’s pickup or activities after school. The one day when he felt completely at ease about the kids’ safety without him. It was Nanami day.
“I’m home!” Gojo bellowed, kicking the door open and reverently placing the bundle of pastries and candy he had purchased on the small bench near the door.
“Welcome back!” he heard Tsumiki shout from the kitchen. Kicking his shoes off, he gathered the bundle again and strode into the kitchen. The Fushiguro children were seated at the kitchen table, homework set out in front of them and piping hot cups of tea in their hands. Absently, Gojo wondered if this was why they never seemed to have much homework over the weekends recently. An unmistakable warmth spread through his chest at the thought. Nanami stood over by the stove, chopping carrots.
“Gojo.” The acknowledgment was curt, but it lacked its usual bite. One thing anyone who spent more than a day around Nanami learned was that the man projected about as much warmth as an icebox. Instead, you had to read between the lines. Such as how he always loosened his tie when he was around the kids, or how he never dropped his formality in addressing others, but softened his voice outside of work. Not that Gojo kept track of these things.
“Nanamin, are you poisoning my precious wards with vegetables again?” Gojo said in mock horror, earning a small scowl for his efforts. “Fear not, my precocious dependents! I have arrived to save the day with all of your favorite sweets!”
“Please do not distract them while they are doing their homework,” Nanami said, though the order was undercut by the slight upturn of his lips.
“Thank you!” Tsumiki cheered, pulling on Gojo’s arm until he deposited the bundle on the kitchen table. Megumi grunted in his own expression of gratitude. Gojo plucked a taiyaki from the middle of the pile and walked over to Nanami.
“You didn’t think I’d forgotten you, did you Nanamin?” he asked innocently, proffering the fish-shaped pastry. Nanami huffed as he put the knife down.
“You’re home earlier than usual, Gojo.” Nanami’s tone was flat, but the question was clear all the same. Gojo grinned, pushing the taiyaki closer to Nanami’s face.
“As it turned out, the two curses I needed to exorcise decided to pair up, saving me the time of tracking each of them down.” Gojo’s grin froze for a moment. Was Nanami asking because he wanted to leave? It was hardly an unreasonable request, especially considering Nanami’s own professional responsibilities, but it stung all the same.
“That is fortunate,” Nanami agreed, turning back to the cutting board and picking up the knife, “I still would like to make dinner, if that is acceptable to you.” Gojo felt embarrassingly relieved, silently grateful Nanami was facing away from his slightly flushed cheeks. After a beat, he realized Nanami was probably waiting for verbal confirmation.
“Uh, obviously it’s acceptable, you know you’re always welcome,” Gojo finally said after a forced laugh, cheeks heating up even more. He turned back toward the children, if only to distract himself from the sudden decline of his verbal communication skills. Tsumiki, the little angel that she was, had the decency to at least hurriedly pretend to focus on her homework. Megumi, by contrast, stared directly at Gojo, turning to give the back of Nanami’s head a meaningful glance when they made eye contact.
“Gojo calls Friday Nanami day,” Megumi said, because he was a little shit. Nanami paused, making no attempt to hide his surprise as he turned around to look at the boy. Gojo glowered at him (as much as he could through a blindfold). Really, what had he done to deserve this? His mind immediately flashed to yesterday’s Little League game and his embarrassingly loud cheers, in direct defiance of Megumi’s explicit request for him to “shut the fuck up.” Gojo had no idea where the tiny bastard learned such foul language.
“Is that so, Megumi?” Nanami asked with naked amusement. Gojo’s cheeks burned. Megumi nodded, opening his mouth, presumably to spout another humiliating anecdote, before the white-haired sorcerer cut him off.
“As much as I am enjoying this conversation, I would like to remind one Fushiguro Megumi that he is only allowed to practice shikigami after he has finished his homework.” He smiled sweetly before adding, “I’d hate to see shikigami practice cut short this weekend because you didn’t finish your work today.” Fushiguro scowled, grumbling something about sorcerers with no social skills because they’d fried their brains using their techniques. Nanami had the decency to hide his smirk behind a practiced expression of disinterest.
“Could you leave the taiyaki on the counter?” Nanami said softly. Gojo nodded wordlessly, placing the taiyaki next to the cutting board. Sighing, he fetched his laptop from his bag and sat at the table with the kids to file his reports for the day.
Gojo remembered the first time he’d asked Nanami for help with the kids. The entire week running up to the request felt like a slow motion car crash. He had been assigned a trip in Singapore on Monday; he tried to get out of it, but couldn’t. He turned to Shoko for help covering the weekend, but she’d told him she would be busy as well. Then there was the curse. It wasn’t even worthy of a grade, a simple flyhead landing on Tsumiki’s shoulder that he noticed picking the kids up from school on that Wednesday. Gojo had crushed it with a flick of his hand. But it spooked Megumi, and Tsumiki herself seemed nervous about him leaving for an entire weekend for the first time since he’d taken them in. He knew Fushiguro Toji had abandoned them. Neither of them expressed their fear, at least not in words. But Megumi held his arm after dinner and Tsumiki asked to be put to bed twice that night.
“Gojo?” Nanami asked, cutting the other sorcerer’s spiralling short. The blonde was in his usual business attire, a crisp pinstripe suit and red tie. His hair was slicked back and the suit made his shoulders look even broader. He looked vaguely uninterested, which Gojo figured was his default state of being, but there seemed to be an undercurrent of concern in his voice.
“Yes, Nanamin?” Gojo replied, hoping he could deflect the incoming question by getting under Nananmi’s skin with the nickname. He didn’t want to talk about it, least of all with the man who’d actually gotten out of sorcery. He couldn’t ask Nanami to stay with the kids; it was a huge imposition that probably wouldn’t even work with a busy schedule, and at worst it might even seem like a ploy to drag him back into the Jujutsu world by forcing him to stay on campus. They’d just started talking again, and this Thursday meal was the first time Gojo had gotten him to agree to an in-person meeting. Nanami watched his lunch partner impassively.
“How are the Fushiguros?” he asked, eyes narrowing as he watched Gojo stiffen. Leave it to Nanami to find his opponent’s weakest point, even in casual conversation.
“They’re… good. Megumi has been having more success with his summons lately, and Tsumiki seems to have really settled in at school.” It was a lame answer, and they both knew it. It didn’t include any information that Gojo hadn’t already proudly conveyed over the phone, with the suspicious pause at the beginning as the cherry on top. Nanami responded with his trademark tired sigh.
“You have a mission this weekend.” It wasn’t a question. Gojo wondered if he had let that slip while texting, or if he was really that transparent. He leaned back, hoping the extra space would make Nanami’s gaze less piercing. It didn’t.
“Yeah,” Gojo breathed out, waiting for a twist of guilt that didn’t come. If anything, telling someone else made the burden just a little bit lighter. He wondered if that was selfish.
“What do you normally do when on a mission?” Nanami asked carefully, refusing to look away. Gojo found his own gaze inexplicably glued to the salt shaker on the table.
“Normally I have them stay with Shoko, or on campus.”
“But?” Nanami prompted. Gojo took a deep breath.
“But I’ve never been out of the country for a whole weekend since taking them in. And Shoko’s busy and so is the school. This weekend is the exchange event.” Nanami hummed, turning to his coffee and giving Gojo a welcome respite from the conversation. He watched the former sorcerer, deliberate and efficient, raise the cup to his lips with his eyes closed. He wondered what he was thinking about.
“I assume a normal babysitting service is not an option?” Nanami said finally, opening his eyes and glancing at Gojo. For a moment, he considered the idea. In all likelihood, it would be fine. In two years, they’d only seen three cursed spirits approach either of them, none of them threatening more than mild shoulder pain. But then he thought of the way Megumi had held his head in shame when Gojo’s eyes had widened at the curse on Tsumiki’s shoulder. The nervous glances over his shoulder on the walk home. Tsumiki’s brow knit in concern and frustration as she tried and failed to assuage a fear her brother would not explain to her.
“He has the Ten Shadows, Nanami,” Gojo whispered, leaning close. The ex-sorcerer’s eyebrow rose almost imperceptibly. “But she can’t even see them. I can’t ask him to protect her, not even for a weekend.” Suddenly his throat felt tight and his eyes started to water under his blindfold. He hadn’t been willing to say it, not out loud. Even if the most likely outcome was nothing at all, he was still putting far too much responsibility on a nine year-old. But he couldn’t exactly ask a grown man he barely knew at this point to drop everything just for his peace of mind. A firm hand gripped his shoulder, ripping him from his thoughts.
“Gojo,” Nanami said, face unreadable, “It is not a crime to ask for help.”
“Nanami…” Gojo started, his voice catching. He took a moment to regain his composure before trying again. “You don’t have to. I know you don’t want anything to do with this anymore.” He couldn’t make Nanami go back onto the campus where he’d trained as a sorcerer, where he’d regularly stumbled back within an inch of death, where he’d watched Yu’s lifeless body be hauled away.
“I am not offering this as a sorcerer,” Namai replied sharply, “I am offering this as your friend.” Gojo never did figure out what to say to that, finishing lunch in uncharacteristic silence. And if there were a few tears of relief when Nanami came by the house that night to introduce himself and explain the situation to the kids, that was no one’s concern but Gojo’s.
Dinners with Nanami were always more orderly than those without him. The preparation was methodical, the timing exact, and the array of food imposing. In Gojo’s experience, cooking was a stressful practice that rarely resulted in satisfaction and left him more drained than many of his missions. It was almost frustrating to see how easy Nanami made it look. Maybe it would’ve been if he didn’t get to eat it. Gojo went to fetch Tsumiki and Megumi, who had long since finished their homework by the time dinner was ready. They sat down the way they always did, with the adults at the opposing heads of the table and the children facing each other on the long sides. Their dinner conversations followed a comfortable routine. Nanami asked the kids about their day in a tone of voice he reserved only for them, Gojo supplied his own commentary, and an unspoken acknowledgment that this peaceful domesticity was rare and precious hung over the table. There were rules, of course. Megumi and Tsumiki knew not to ask about what Gojo or Nanami did at work, or why they arrived home when they did. No one had ever said it aloud, but everyone knew that to ask those questions would be to shatter the thin bubble of normalcy they all treasured. But outside of the no-go zones, there were gray area questions. Questions like:
“Why do you only come over on Friday?” Tsumiki asked innocently, causing Nanami to cough slightly to cover his surprise at the question. Gojo knew he should step in, reprimand her for asking so bluntly or reassure Nanami that he didn’t have to answer the question. The man was already doing so much, he hardly deserved an interrogation sitting down to the dinner he made for them. But Gojo said nothing, because he was just as curious as his adopted daughter.
“Would you like me to visit more often?” Nanami replied gently. Nobody missed that his response wasn’t an answer. Tsumiki nodded vigorously.
“Duh. The food would be way better if you did,” Megumi helpfully supplied, earning a half-hearted glare from Gojo. It stung a little bit that the boy held his cooking in such low regard, but that didn’t make him wrong. Nanami sighed.
“I’m sure Gojo’s cooking is very good, Megumi.” The black-haired boy shook his head shamelessly. “Nonetheless, I would not want to impose.”
“You’re not imposing!” Tsumiki protested. Megumi muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “as if you could ever impose on Gojo.” As the most powerful sorcerer alive and an extremely mature adult serving as a guardian for two impressionable youths, Gojo took the high road: kicking his adopted son under the table.
“Alright, we all know that Nanami is a very busy person. Let’s let him enjoy the dinner he’s made for us, okay?” Gojo chided, jolted from inaction by a glance from Nanami. The blonde sorcerer didn’t look away after that, though. If anything, his gaze intensified. Gojo resisted the urge to scratch the back of his neck sheepishly. But Nanami wasn’t giving him an angry look, just a searching one. Something about that intense focus made Gojo feel like a lab specimen under a microscope.
“Megumi has a Little League game tomorrow and Gojo has to be first base coach. Would you sit with me, Nanamin?” Tsumiki said suddenly, rescuing her guardian from having to break the silence. The request was essentially in direct defiance of what he’d just said, but Gojo had to respect her brazenness. She really was his daughter. Nanami hummed thoughtfully.
“Well you know that with our jobs Gojo and I are always on call, so I cannot guarantee I will be able to stay all the way through, Tsumiki. But with that caveat, I would be happy to sit with you.” He turned to Gojo with characteristic seriousness. “I would be honored to learn the chants you do for Megumi.” The tension at the table dissipated instantly, Megumi straining his voice to drown out Gojo’s enthusiastic demonstrations. Tsumiki just laughed and patted Nanami on the arm.
“Thanks, Nanamin.” The blonde sorcerer smiled at that, actually smiled. Not the corners of his mouth turning upwards, or a triumphant grin escaping before the adrenaline wore off after a battle, but an honest to god, heart-meltingly soft smile. At least, that was the effect it was having on Gojo.
“You’re staring,” Megumi snickered, quietly enough that Nanami and Tsumiki probably didn’t hear it over the sound of their own conversation. Gojo scowled.
“If you think I’m above getting ejected at your game tomorrow for excessive cheering, you’re dead wrong.” He waggled his eyebrows as Megumi’s smirk slid off his face, “It’s easier to get ejected when you’re a coach because they expect you to behave better.”
“If you do that I’m showing Nanamin your shrine,” Megumi whispered menacingly. Gojo bristled.
“It’s not a shrine! He stays at the house often enough. It's nice for him to have a clean set of his own clothes here!”
“What about the two shirts and sweater that aren’t in the guest room dresser?” Tsumiki asked oh-so-innocently. Gojo wondered how Nanami would react to the offer of an all-expenses-paid vacation to Malaysia, without his traitorous kids.
“Those are at the dry cleaner,” he explained quickly, cursing internally as Nanami gave him an inquisitive look and making a mental note to slide the sweater further under his bed after dinner. “I was going to pick them up after Megumi’s game.” At least it wasn’t a total lie: he actually had sent Nanami’s missing shirts with his own dry cleaning last week. Nanami simply smiled magnanimously at the argument (seriously, what the hell did his kids have that he didn’t?), shaking his head and taking his plate to the sink.
“Can we go pick out the movie?” Tsumiki asked, as if she hadn’t just stabbed her guardian in the back. Gojo nodded, shooing the two of them away.
“Go on you little traitors,” he grumbled without any real malice. “The cook doesn’t do the dishes, you know,” Gojo said, making his way to the sink with the remaining plates. Nanami didn’t respond at first, placing the dish in his right hand on the drying rack and holding out his left expectantly.
“I don’t mind,” he said mildly when it became clear he wasn’t going to get the other plates. Gojo huffed.
“Well I do. At least let me help.” It was disturbingly domestic, Nanami sliding over to dry and put away the dishes while Gojo took over rinsing the dirty plates. The stock broker had a way of pushing Gojo out of his comfort zone like that. For a fleeting moment, he imagined staying in the kitchen forever, as if leaving would break the illusion of normalcy that he had never really experienced.
“What will you do if you get called in while coaching?” Nanami asked quietly, shattering the spell. Gojo paused for a moment, stalling by scrubbing extra vigorously on the plate in his hands.
“Are you offering to step in?” he replied easily, handing the plate off with a grin. Nanami huffed as he took it, but the tips of his ears were tinged slightly red. “But seriously,” Gojo continued, “I won’t get called in, I’ve made sure of it.” Nanami raised an eyebrow as he put the plate away.
“Oh?”
“Told the higher-ups I’m on official clan business tomorrow morning,” Gojo said, smirking. The corners of Nanami’s mouth turned upward.
“Taking for granted the exceedingly likely possibility that you will be followed tomorrow, like you are most days, won’t they find out?” he asked. Gojo snorted. There was a comforting familiarity in letting Nanami question his most recent effort to stick his thumb in the eye of the elders. It was more than a little embarrassing how much he enjoyed letting Nanami worry over him, in his harsh, analytical way.
“I’d expect them to. Doesn’t matter, it’s not like they can call me on it.” Nanami hummed agreeably, as if to concede the point. Gojo noticed he had a habit of doing that when it came to decisions about the kids. “Besides, Tsumiki and Megumi are more family to me than the clan ever was.”
As soon as he said it, Gojo chided himself internally. It was a little too honest for a flippant comment, the kind of off-hand remark that would inevitably engender questions. Nanami certainly hadn’t missed the implication of the words, judging by the look he gave the white-haired sorcerer. But the questions never came. They never did with Nanami. Gojo tried to ignore the kernel of disappointment at their absence. It wasn’t anyone’s job to worry about the strongest man alive because he’d been lonely as a child. He finished the last plate and went to the cabinet to find a bag of microwave popcorn.
“Did I ever tell you what they did the night you came back from that first weekend I watched them?” Nanami said suddenly, busying himself with cleaning the counters. Gojo turned away from the microwave.
“Uh… no? Should you have?” he replied, a little too quickly. That trip remained a vivid memory even years later. He could still feel the way his chest had started to tighten when he hugged the kids goodbye. Or picture the text from Nanami Saturday evening, a businesslike summary of their day together and a picture of Megumi curled up on the couch under one of his spare jackets. Or the nervous energy that coursed through his veins as he rocked back and forth on his heels while Yaga debriefed him. Had he missed something?
“They insisted on staying up until you returned Sunday night,” Nanami continued, eyes crinkling at the memory. “I never had the heart to force them to go to their rooms and they fell asleep on the couch. I had just finished carrying them to bed when you teleported in.” His eyes were on Gojo, but he seemed to be looking past him. “I remember doing the same thing when my father would come home from overseas.” He sighed, shaking his head and dispelling the warm blanket of nostalgia that had temporarily softened his features. Gojo swallowed the lump in his throat. He watched Nanami calmly stride out of the kitchen and opened his mouth to say something, anything, to preserve the intimacy of the moment. To tell him to come back. To ask him about his childhood. To confess his feelings. But nothing came out and Gojo was left drowning on dry land with nothing but the shrill beep of the microwave for company.
The four of them watched the movie in silence, Nanami stepping out to finish some reports part of the way through. Megumi’s head lolled to the side as the credits rolled. Tsumiki was doing better than her brother, but only just: she was still sitting up straight but her eyes were half closed. Gently, Gojo prodded them to go brush their teeth and get ready for bed.
“M not tired,” Megumi mumbled at the poke, glaring half-heartedly when Gojo chuckled.
“You’ve got a game tomorrow morning, I’d be an irresponsible coach to let you stay up late.” With that, he wrapped his arms around the boy and picked him up, casting a playful glance at Tsumiki. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, missy. Once I’m done with this one, I’ll be back for you.” She just shook her head sleepily, burrowing deeper into the couch.
“I’m gonna stay up with you and Nanamin.” Her voice was serious, though her determination was undercut by the yawn that punctuated the end of her sentence. Gojo carefully repositioned Megumi so that he was resting on his hip, freeing his left hand to scratch his chin in faux consideration.
“Well I’ll have to discuss that with Nanamin, but you know how he is. I’m sure he’d want me to be the responsible guardian and put you to bed…” Tsumiki frowned at that, but didn’t argue.
“I’ll go to bed,” she decided after a beat, “But only if you carry me right now.” Obediently, Gojo bent down and extended his arm. With a noise of exertion unbecoming of the strongest sorcerer in the world, he put an arm beneath each kid and started to the bathroom. As they passed by the kitchen, he heard Tsumiki mumble “goodnight, Nanamin,” into his shoulder. The blonde sorcerer looked up from his book and replied in kind.
Gojo had no trouble putting the kids to bed, his mind wandering the entire time. He couldn’t help but feel like he was missing something. He knew how he felt about Nanami, and he was pretty sure that the man regarded him as a friend at worst. Nobody was going anywhere, not him, not the Fushiguros, and not Nanami. Unbidden, memories of high school floated back to the front of his mind. Because that was the last time he’d carved out a comfortable place for himself with people he trusted. The last time he’d honestly believed he had something permanent. He forced a slow exhale, stretching as he straightened up and made his way through the darkness of the hall, resigning himself to it being one of those nights. Miserably, he sat at the kitchen table and put his head in his hands.
“Gojo?” Nanami asked, cutting through thoughts of ink-black hair and teenage rebellion. The white-haired sorcerer looked up to catch a hint of concern flashing in the other man’s otherwise unreadable expression. For a moment, he did nothing but look back.
“Yes, Nanamin?” he said finally, forcing a smile a little too late to have even a chance of looking genuine. Predictably, Nanami was not fooled by such a pitiful effort. Carefully placing the knife he had been using to chop vegetables on the cutting board, he wiped his hands off and walked toward the kitchen table. Gojo watched each precise action silently, allowing nostalgic affection to wash over him. Some things really hadn’t changed since high school.
“You seem out of sorts.” Nanami cut to the chase as soon as he sat down across from Gojo. With anyone else, this wouldn’t have been a particularly difficult escape. Wave dismissively, crack a couple bad jokes, and remind the concerned person that he was just tired from the endless onslaught of missions; he had done this song and dance before. But Nanami wasn’t asking a question and there was something knowing about the way his brows knit together.
“I just came in to see what you were doing,” Gojo deflected, weak smile still plastered to his face. The way Nanami pinned him down with a glare at the blatant attempt to change the topic was achingly familiar. Like the time in high school he’d pretended he wasn’t sick before Nanami had all but dragged him back to bed, that same look cutting through all his protests.
“I was making some soup,” Nanami relented, “I figured if I made it tonight you’d have something for lunch tomorrow in the fridge.” Gojo smiled, sincerely this time, at the thoughtfulness of it. He knew that they always went out after Megumi’s games because it was a way to celebrate, often with teammates. But the gesture remained kind, and the soup would be eaten at some point over the weekend.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Gojo said softly, “But thanks.” Nanami hummed in acknowledgment, neither averting his gaze nor making a move to get up and finish making the soup. The message was clear: I allowed your diversion, but this conversation is not over. “Can I help, then?” Gojo asked suddenly, looking for something to do other than wither under those all-knowing hazel eyes. Nanami raised an eyebrow.
“Of course,” he replied slowly, looking simultaneously a little pleased and disgruntled. Relief flooded Gojo. Yet again, a conversation about the past had been averted. He knew that it was cowardly to take this way out, not that sober scolding and drunk teasing from Shoko could ever let him forget it. But hey, if Nanami was bothered by the sword of Damocles hanging over their relationship, he certainly never brought it up. And there was the omnipresent fear that he might avoid the topic because he actually did blame Gojo for the past. For not being strong enough to stop Geto once and for all, or to save Yu, or to actually change Jujutsu society like he’d promised. Gojo already blamed himself for those failures, but he wasn’t sure he could live with knowing that Nanami did too.
“What can I do?” Gojo said lightly, hoping he masked the slight rasp in his voice successfully. Nanami didn’t look up from his mushrooms, sliding them off their cutting board into a buttered skillet. Gojo watched his back, the typical tension gone from his shoulders.
“Mince the onion I’ve set out on the counter to my left,” Nanami finally said, waving his left arm. Gojo nodded to no one in particular. Picking up the onion, he slid the board the mushrooms had been on toward himself. He rolled the bulb in his hand, picking at the thin layer of yellowed skin already peeling off in places. There may have been a slight problem. Gojo had never actually minced an onion before. In fairness, he hadn’t any reason to cook for himself until after graduation, and even once he started cooking for the kids he always needed to make quick meals, using the pre-minced onions the fastest option.
“Uh…” he started, heat rising up his neck. “How do you mince an onion?” Nanami looked over from the sizzling mushrooms he was vigorously stirring.
“You’ve never minced an onion.” If it was anyone but Nanami, Gojo would’ve sworn he heard a teasing lilt.
“Well it’s not like I’ve had much time between raising two kids and being the strongest sorcerer in the world!” Gojo replied defensively, still flustered. There wasn’t much he wasn’t good at, but he had to admit that he wasn’t good at not being good at things. It was embarrassing. And if Nanami had criticisms of how he handled his curse hunting, which he was the best at in the world, he could only imagine what the man would have to say about his cooking. But neither irritation nor critique accompanied Nanami’s next words.
“Peel the yellowed layers off of the onion until it’s translucent, it shouldn’t be more than one or two. Then, cut it in half to give yourself a flat surface and begin to mince from there.” The instructions were given almost gently.
“No problem.” Obediently, Gojo peeled off the top two layers of the onion and then chopped it in half. As he began to chop the onion, a sudden pain shot into his eyes. Tears welled up in his eyes. The knife clattered as he dropped it onto the board to wipe his eyes, which served only to rub more onion in his eye. Nanami turned at the sound of the knife being dropped and Gojo’s hiss of pain, taking the mushrooms off the heat.
“Gojo! Are you okay?” Gojo couldn’t see much, but he followed the direction Nanami led him in, hand on the small of his back. If it didn’t feel like his eyes were about to pop out of his head, he would’ve reveled in the closeness. Sinking into the chair pulled out for him, he rubbed his eyes with his sleeve.
“Shit,” Gojo managed, accepting the damp kitchen towel Nanami pressed into his hand and dabbing his eyes.
“Your eyes…” Nanami started, frowning. Blinking away the last few tears, Gojo saw him looking guilty. “Cutting onions induces tears for average people,” the blonde sorcerer explained.
“Ah.” Gojo smiled to break the tension, patting Nanami on the shoulder. If the other man noticed he had infinity off, he didn’t react.
“Sorry, I should’ve realized that your eyes would be sensitive.” Nanami had that familiar expression on his face, impassive on the outside but reprimanding himself internally. Gojo could see it in the tension returning to his posture and the way his jaw clenched.
“It’s fine,” he said earnestly, squeezing the other man’s shoulder. The stinging had subsided, leaving Gojo with little more than damp eyes and a new embarrassing story: the world’s greatest sorcerer, laid low by a humble vegetable. Perhaps his hatred for them was justified after all. Nanami stood after a moment, deftly mincing the onion and throwing the ingredients into a stock pot brought to a simmer.
“It must be difficult to balance raising Tsumiki and Megumi with your obligations.” Nanami spoke slowly as he returned to sit, placing his phone on the table after setting a timer. Gojo gave him a flat look. It was a blindingly obvious statement, expressing a sentiment that must have made up half of their conversations.
“It’s worth it.” Gojo’s voice delivered his stock response rougher than usual. Nanami didn’t respond for a moment, a slight frown the only indication of his feelings on the response.
“And yet you seem to harbor some doubts yourself.” The words hit like a punch to the gut. From anyone else, Gojo would have been offended. But the impossibly knowing glint and stern face across the table didn’t allow him the chance to get his hackles raised.
“Am I being selfish?” Gojo said, withering under Nanami’s appraising gaze. The familiar dread of being known settled into his bones once he asked the question, unable to take it back.
“How so?” Nanami replied, a tinge of uncharacteristic surprise creeping into his voice. Gojo regarded him for a moment. The sharp hazel eyes and bags beneath them felt achingly familiar even as so much else about the man had changed. For a moment, it felt like he’d look away and see the old common room, searching for a new way to annoy/impress his stoic underclassman.
“Taking them in,” Gojo said finally. “Using them to indulge my own fantasy of a normal family.” Nanami’s frown deepened, his brows drawing together. He tugged at his tie, despite the fact that he had already loosened it.
“No.”
“You make it sound so simple,” Gojo scoffed, looking away. It figured that Nanami’s bluntness was not suited for a heart-to-heart about raising children. Still, he could’ve tried for a little bit of tact.
“Do not misunderstand me, Gojo,” Nanami said with a slight reprimand in his voice, “Jujutsu is shit. Your responsibilities are crushing. It will not get easier when Megumi grows up and gets put in harm’s way.” Gojo grimaced, feeling pressure building behind his eyes.
“I’m hoping there’s a ‘however’ somewhere in there,” he joked, surreptitiously wiping his eyes.
“However, you cannot compare what you give them to the idyllic childhood they were never going to have. Their mothers died and Toji abandoned them. Megumi was going to be sold off to the Zenin clan. Even if he had not been, his technique would have dragged him into the world of Jujutsu anyway. And we both know Tsumiki would not have simply let him go. There is no possible world where these children are safer or happier than they are with you.”
Gojo suddenly found it impossible to breathe. Nanami stood and made his way back to the stove, stirring mechanically. There was tension in the set of his shoulders, his entire posture looking more like he was preparing to exorcise a curse than check on a soup. But Gojo didn’t notice his friend’s discomfort as he rubbed his eyes, grateful for the cover provided by his failed attempt at mincing an onion. He felt something funny as Nanami walked back to the table, a strange sensation bubbling up from his stomach.
“Why are you doing this?” Gojo asked, before he could stop himself. A shadow of uncertainty passed over Nanami’s face before it settled back into its default expression.
“I do not know what you are referring to, Gojo,” he replied, his voice carefully controlled. The white-haired sorcerer leaned forward, a stark contrast to Nanami’s ramrod-straight posture.
“You know what I mean, Nanami. Don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate it, but this is different from just going back to Jujutsu. You’re not under any obligation to take care of the kids every Friday.” Nanami didn’t respond immediately, his lips stretching into a tight-lipped smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.
“Well, Gojo,” he said finally, “I have never been particularly good at not caring about what happens to you.” An electric shock ran through Gojo. He stared at Nanami, all worry lines and carefully slicked-back hair, and for a moment he saw the moody underclassman who scolded him for stealing leftovers yet always seemed to cook more than he wanted for himself. The second-year who welcomed him back to the new term with a tin of Danish Christmas cookies because “he didn’t like sweets anyway.” The colleague who stayed in the breakroom despite his oft-expressed distaste for Gojo’s jokes.
“You. Like. Me.” Gojo couldn’t help but gloat as he leered at Nanami, whose brow creased almost imperceptibly.
“I could not explain it to save my life, but unfortunately yes,” Nanami replied, turning away and coughing lightly to hide the blush on his cheeks. Gojo reveled in the collapse of the blonde sorcerer’s stoic facade, leaning so close that he was almost lying on the kitchen table.
“I’ve been known to have that effect on people,” Gojo said, sighing dreamily, “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Nanamin.” The high of seeing Nanami’s composure slip was compounded by the joy of watching his blood pressure rise at the prodding, his lips tightening into a frown and his whole face morphing into an uncharacteristically expressive scowl. That triumph was cut short by a firm hand on Gojo’s right shoulder, however.
“I feel it is only fair, Gojo,” Nanami said in a deathly calm voice, “That you reciprocate my honesty by expressing what feelings, if any, you have for me.” All of a sudden, Gojo found the proximity he had instigated more than a little suffocating. Why was this difficult? He knew how Nanami felt about him, there was no risk involved. Yet his throat closed up and his mouth felt dry as those hazel eyes bored into him.
“I… uh, well, you know,” Gojo offered lamely, earning a smirk and a quirked eyebrow from Nanami.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Gojo. I have been known to have that effect on people,” he said in a tone just a tad lighter than his typical voice. The strongest sorcerer alive could only muster a strangled groan.
“I just want you to know, this was NOT how it was supposed to go. I was going to sweep you off your feet.” Gojo’s cheeks burned as Nanami chuckled softly. The blond’s intoxicating proximity made it impossible for him to feel genuinely offended.
“Are you physically capable of that, Satoru?” Nanami whispered, breath ghosting across Gojo’s face. The white-haired sorcerer shivered.
“I’m going to kiss you now.” In Gojo’s head, it was a suave command that would make his demure underclassman blush. Instead, the words left his lips needy and earnest, but Nanami closed his eyes and the failed delivery didn’t seem to matter anymore.
“Ew. Nanamin can do better.” The two sorcerers pulled apart and whipped around to face two sleepy children. Gojo rubbed his lips mournfully as he glared at the spiky-haired source of the interruption, mind already racing to come up with the most embarrassing chant he could for tomorrow. Megumi managed to look simultaneously chagrined on Nanami’s behalf and pleased at the opportunity to embarrass his guardian.
“Come on, Gumi. I’m happy for them!” Tsumiki cheered, nudging her brother reproachfully. “Besides, this means Nanamin will come over more often!” Megumi smiled at that, nodding and grumbling out something that could possibly have been construed as an apology.
“Is there a reason you two are out of bed right now?” Gojo asked as he ran a quick cost-benefit analysis on giving his son’s wardrobe an all-pink makeover. To their credit, the Fushiguro siblings respected him for once and dutifully marched back to their rooms. As he turned back to Nanami, Gojo hoped that the mortification was limited to himself.
“I suppose this is their way of telling us we should go out on a date.” Nanami wore a delightfully unguarded smile, hazel eyes crinkling as he placed his hand over Gojo’s. Gojo didn’t even attempt to hide his preening, sighing contentedly.
“How about your favorite bakery? We can go this Sunday.” The words sounded surreal to his ear and the soft warmth of the light over the kitchen table gave Nanami an ethereal glow.
“I’d like that, Satoru.” As Gojo closed his eyes and leaned in, he could already picture the thirty messages he would ignore from Yaga after sending in a request for another day off. But when his lips touched Nanami’s, his mind went blank. Those were problems for a future, happier Gojo Satoru.