Chapter Text
Harsh fluorescent lights hummed overhead, joining the scraping of metal chairs against linoleum. Each of them was unpleasant on their own, but together they provided a strange sense of comfort in their predictability and Nanami loved predictability, even down to the bitter coffee and overly sweet pastries no one ever ate. He let the wayward conversations of the other men in the basement soothe him while he prepared to lead his weekly grief support group. For most, Saturdays were for plans with loved ones and friends, for Nanami and the ten men before him, Saturday was their one moment they could let it all out. A moment he could let it all out.
Originally, when he started the group, he tried to avoid the clichés of poor lighting, bad coffee, and even poorer snacks, but when you’re offered a free space and tired of leaving with a large box of expensive pastries that were impossible to finish alone, you make adjustments. If no one was going to eat them anyway, I might as well put the extra yen towards retirement. Instead, he focused his efforts on being different in all the ways that mattered.
He’d attended some similar groups before, at the recommendation of the social worker, and they were always using the same play book. Reminding members death was just part of life and they should try to go on living normally and not let it ruin their day. It was as if he were attending a lecture sponsored by capitalism instead of finding a space to meet others and process his depression. Fed up after the fifth group he tried, he decided to carve out a space of his own, dedicated to feeling their way through the loss instead of burying it. He wanted a space where everyone was comfortable, supported, and heard. Even if no one ever spoke more than a few words that week, it was still worth it. He would be their shelter in the storm, every week. Leading Supporting and Encouraging Male Emotions of Surviving Husbands, or SEMENSH for short, gave him a purpose–his shelter in the storm.
Warm eyes slowly scanned the room as men came in and settled around him in a circle. This is always the worst part, he reminded himself. The awkward silence before they began. Usually, he did his best to catch up with everyone before, but he’d arrived later than usual, which meant room set up cut into his customary small talk time. He made a mental note to follow up with a couple of the men missing this week, most noticeably Itadori-san, who seemed to be overwhelmed by the duties of a single father. I’ll offer to take his little one soon, he decided. Yes, he could at least give him an afternoon to himself. It wasn’t as if Nanami had weekend plans besides this for almost two years
“Alright, shall we begin?” Nanami called, shuffling papers as the others sat at attention in the circle, eyes focused on him, their group leader. When he started SEMENSH two years ago, it was an effort, in part, to help process his own grief the year after losing his husband, Yu. He wanted to meet others who’d also lost the dearest part of themselves and needed support. Honestly, it wasn’t easy in the beginning. A grief support group, especially for men, went against the idea of keeping your mourning behind closed doors, but it was behind those closed doors when grief was the most dangerous. The year following Yu’s death were the worst moments of his life. He was expected to keep carrying on as if his entire world hadn’t been shattered. He was expected to show up to work, only three days after the accident and even participate in after work drinks. It was those nights where he drank himself into a stupor, returning to the emptiness of their home is when Yu’s call was the strongest. It was only three months after he’d lost him that he’d done the unthinkable and almost joined Yu. Waking up in the hospital, a worried brother-in-law at his side was enough to shake him back.
Clearing his throat he introduced himself and ran everyone through the group commitments. He already knew the room was full of regulars, but he couldn’t dispense with the formality. The structure too had purpose. It grounded him. As he continued, a strange sense of joy crept over him, excited their group hadn’t gained a member. It meant, no one else was suddenly ushered into widowhood. It was odd to run something you’d hoped would never become too popular or too crowded. It meant the majority of people were living their life as they should, blissfully unaware of the depths of grief.
“Now that we’re through the most exciting part,” he attempted to joke. “The floor is open for sharing. Remember, it doesn’t have to be anything specific, just a space to talk about how you’re doing and how you’re feeling.” As expected, no one was jumping at the chance to open the floor. Muffled coughs and the rustle of clothing filled the space. He gazed around the circle, in hopes someone else might go first this week. He was just supposed to play facilitator and often found himself being the one to kick things off. He understood, being vulnerable was uncomfortable, especially when society thought your feelings should be private. They were raised to just accept that death was a natural part of life, nothing to grieve. Just because we accept it as a part of life, doesn’t mean we have to ignore its impact, he reminded himself. It was the mantra that got him through the first few months of leading the group. When there were weeks it was only him, sitting alone in this basement.
Guess I’ll go first again, he lamented. Just as he was about to speak, the pop of the metal double doors stopped him. He fixed his attention to offer a warm welcome to the stranger, trying to provide a sense of comfort and encouragement. Many of the other men often said it was Nanami’s warm demeanor that made them feel safe enough to stay. So he always made a point to honor the addition of a new person, even if they only attended a single meeting. However, Nanami’s warm facade faded the moment he heard the other man talking loudly on his phone.
“My GOD, Shoko, it’s soooo depressing here! The meeting’s in a basement, with no sunlight. Might as well be a coffin,” he whined. Nanami could already feel a migraine starting. “ This is why I didn’t want to come to this stupid thing.” He continued to bather on, either oblivious or purposefully ignoring the ten men staring at him. There was a mix of amusement and annoyance in their faces. Well, Nanami might have been projecting. He was definitely annoyed so he assumed others were as well.
Anger rose inside Nanami, matching time with the blood rising to his cheeks. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure. Maybe he doesn’t know we’ve already started, he tried to reason. Nanami could at least give him the benefit of the doubt. Despite his intrusion, maybe it was an honest mistake and he thought no one would be listening. Though, Nanami wasn’t sure if the group not hearing his complaints made it any better. He hadn’t really ever thought the setting particularly gloomy. It was functional for their purposes and did it really matter where you talked about your feelings? He filed those questions away for later and returned to the newcomer. “Can I help you?” Nanami’s voice boomed through the room, stopping the man in his tracks. He slowly turned to give Nanami his full attention, annoyance at first but a mischievous grin slowly spread across his face. Uh oh, the voice in the back of Nanami’s head warned.
“It is my first day and I’m already in trouble with the teacher,” he whispered into his phone and hung up, cutting off the words of whoever was on the other line. He eyed Nanami from head to toe, blue gaze sweeping over every part of Nanami, as if he meant to commit his visage to memory. Nanami could feel an embarrassed blush rising to cheeks to join his anger, turning his face a steady shade of red. No matter how much he tried to keep his cool, his body always betrayed him. “Yes, sorry I’m late,” the other breathed. “I was looking for uh…” He pulled a crumbled piece of paper out of his pocket. “Supporting and Encouraging Male Emotions of Newly Surviving Husbands,” he read.
Nanami nodded, still feeling the urge to hide from the other’s intense stare. “This is it,” he affirmed. “If you’re planning on joining us, please,” He motioned to an empty chair. “Take a seat and kindly be silent so others might have an opportunity to speak.”
“Ooh,” the other man crooned while taking a seat. “Kindly? What a gentleman this–” he leaned forward reading the name tag on Nanami’s cardigan before settling back into his seat again. “Nanami-san is.”
“Thank you,” Nanami replied curtly. “Now as I was saying, the floor is open for anyone to share. We’re all here to support you so please don’t be shy. Remember everything that happens in this space, stays in this space.” Again, he was met with silence and this time he decided to sit in it. For some reason, the loud arrival of someone new had Nanami crawling back into himself. If he, the most open in the group, was feeling the need to retreat, he imagined others might be as well.
“Tough crowd,” the newcomer laughed, adding levity where it was unwelcome.
“Looks like we’ve just had a volunteer,” Nanami stated. Brown eyes fixed on blue, challenging the man to be of value. Perhaps I might be able to scare him off in the next five minutes and get this back on track. It was an odd train of thought for Nanami. Usually he always felt a pang of shared sadness whenever they’d had a new member, thrown into the weight of his own loss all over again. But there was something about this man, even if he was grieving, that put Nanami on edge. He drew a line in himself that there was no space for this type of behavior in their group. No space for someone so openly disrespectful.
“Nanami-san, is it really appropriate to be flirting with me?” Nanami thought his eyes might pop out of his head, from how hard he was staring daggers at the other. Most annoyingly, the other didn’t seem fazed. In fact, the ire from Nanami only seemed to urge him on. There were a few stifled laughs and coughs. Unbelievable. Nanami didn’t respond, letting the uncomfortable silence continue to fill the space. A few of the other members shifted in their seats, as if the weight of the air made them restless. Nanami’s eyes never left the other, the endless ticking of the clocking filling the room before the newcomer broke. “What am I supposed to share anyway?” he responded, an eyebrow raised.
Finally, a real question, Nanami celebrated as he relaxed a miniscule amount. “That is up to you. Typically we introduce ourselves before we speak and then we just share what we’re feeling at the moment. No right or wrong.” Nanami had recited these instructions a hundred times before, but for some reason, this time, he felt how empty they were. In his mind, there was a right way to share and it didn’t seem this interloper, devoid of decorum, would share anything worthwhile.
“Hmm,” the other man nodded slowly, as if mulling over Nanami’s words. “I’m Gojo Satoru,” There was a chorus of hi Gojo-sans. Measured, practiced, predictable. “And I guess what I want to share is…” Gojo spoke slowly, taking in a deep breath before leaning forward in his chair, locking eyes once again with Nanami. “Nanami-san I feel you’re way too cute to be in such a sad group.”
“Let’s take ten,” Nanami barked. He stood up from his seat, making a beeline for Gojo, who sat with a satisfied grin. Without hesitation he grabbed Gojo’s arm and pulled him through the heavy double doors into the hallway. Nanami shoved him a few feet from the entrance and waited for the doors to close, providing them some privacy before he spoke. “Now I do not know how you found out about our group, but it is clear you have no interest in contributing here. Your only interest seems to be desecrating the one moment of peace some of us get during the week.” The strain in Nanami’s voice broadcast his anger more than he wanted. He adjusted his glasses and ran a hand through his hair, attempting to regain the composure he lost. “So, if you are quite finished with whatever show you are putting on in there, can you unkindly leave?” When Namami looked up, Gojo was typing on the phone in his hand. Seemingly oblivious to Nanami’s words.
Are you fucking kidding me? Nanami couldn’t contain himself anymore. Who did this man think he is? Before thinking better of it, he let his anger get the best of him and he closed the distance between them. He swiped at Gojo’s phone, knocking it from his hand. The crack of the glass echoed in the hallway as the phone crashed to the floor. For a brief moment, Nanami felt satisfied at getting his attention. Until he watched as Gojo sank to the ground, worry flashing across his eyes.
“No!” Gojo scrambled to gingerly pick up the phone and ran a finger across the lock screen, thumb tearing on the cracked glass. There was a small flash of a smiling photo of Gojo in the background. He held the phone to his chest, looking relieved. “It’s not broken.”
Nanami watched, head tilted feeling as though he was interrupting a private moment. There was a little voice in the back of his head telling him to apologize and invite him back to the circle. Nanami ignored it, instead wanting to see Gojo leave as quickly as he came. He cleared his throat, attempting to bring Gojo’s attention back to him. “As I was saying–”
“I get it,” Gojo snapped, seemingly pulled back into reality. Back to the place where the owner of this phone had gone to a place where he couldn’t follow. He slowly stood from the floor, inhaling deeply. Each breath putting his emotions back into the box he locked away. Each breath drawing on the smile he’d been wearing since it happened. A smile to show everyone he was his old self. “You play by kindergarten rules. If I don’t share the right way, I don’t get to play. Is that right?”
Nanami flushed, embarrassed at being called out. “The-there isn’t a wrong way,” he stammered. Liar. “But using your time to harass other members of the group is absolutely against the rules.”
“Is a complement harassment?” Gojo’s playful tone returned, making Nanami’s skin crawl. How was he able to just float through the world as if nothing mattered? To storm through Nanami’s most sacred place and then laugh about it?
“Any unwelcome attention is considered harassment,” Nanami affirmed. He glanced down at his watch. They were almost at the ten minute mark since he’d called for the break. He turned on a heel heading back to the doors and at the last second, turning his head to speak over his shoulder. “Gojo-san, in here, we are all doing the best we can to make it day by day.” He sighed. “I’m doing the best I can to make it day by day. I do not appreciate anyone coming into this space and disrespecting what I’ve tried to build for myself and others.”
Gojo’s head dropped, smile fading. “I’m sorry,” he said so quietly Nanami thought he’d imagined it. “This is me doing my best to make it day by day too.”
Nanami nodded, hiding his shock at the sudden honesty. He focused his attention back to the doors, opening them to return to the group.
“Alright, let’s come back together,” he called, letting the doors softly close behind him.
—
Nanami unlocked the door to their, well now just his, condot, one hand clutching a box of uneaten pastries. He turned the light on, kicking his shoes off as soon as he crossed the threshold.
“I’m home,” he said, though he knew there was no one there to answer. Tonight’s group was particularly frustrating. After their small interruption, it ended yet again with Nanami sharing how he was doing and the others politely nodding along. He was again stuck with an entire box of pastries he’d pawn off either in the office come Monday or Ino-kun if he was around tomorrow. He knew it was unlikely given the other’s course load and girlfriend, but there were many days he’d come home to find Ino napping on the couch. Some days it made him regret giving him a key.
He continued into his home, setting the pastries on the counter before pulling out a plate and carefully pulling a sweet from the box. At the very least, he could share the spoils of his failed attempt at community building. He dreamed of the days where others would spend time chatting after a group, drinking the coffee and eating the snacks. In two years, it hadn’t happened yet, but Nanami was a patient man. He grabbed the carefully plated pastry and brought it back to the front of the apartment, setting it down in front of the photo of a dark haired man with a bright smile. “Hopefully you’re not sick of these yet. I know I am, otherwise I’d join you.” Instead of another pastry, Nanami decided to pour himself a nice glass of whiskey and settle in. He sat in front of the altar.
“You’ll never believe what happened today,” Nanami started. He went on to tell Yu about the entire evening, especially about Gojo. Nanami couldn’t get him out of his mind. The white hair, the blue eyes, and the impossibly insolent behavior. It made him angry even just recounting it. Nanami could tell Gojo was just one of those people favored by the gods. He was objectively attractive and fully aware, knowingly wielding it to dominate spaces without a care for anyone else. Nanami could imagine Gojo’s surprise when he didn’t entertain his antics, like he was sure others had before him. Gojo whirled into his space like an unstoppable force, but Nanami was an immoveable object. He would not be so easily swayed.
“If you’d been here, you’d probably…” Nanami thought for a moment, taking a sip. “Find the entire thing hilarious.” He smiled, remembering Yu’s penchant for enjoying Nanami’s discomfort. He imagined his husband sitting next to him, shoulders shaking with laughter as Nanami became more and more flustered. As much as Yu loved him, he did love to see someone get the best of Nanami. Especially when he thought he was being too serious. “Now that I think about it, I feel like you might have sent him my way as a joke from the great beyond. Glad you still have a sense of humor.”
Yes, that is exactly what it was. Gojo was just another sign Yu was keeping a close eye on him. Making sure he didn’t take himself too seriously all the time. The idea of it comforted him as much as the other man annoyed him. Maybe Gojo was the shock to the system he needed tonight, to remind himself why he did this. Those meetings have become a bit predictable and, dare he say, dull in the last few weeks. He’d been wondering if it was really helping anymore, but defending his group against an intruder was a point of pride. It wasn’t until they were interrupted, did he realize how peaceful the group was. “Classic,” he snorted as he took another drink. “You never really know what you have until it is gone.”
It was true for him in more ways than one. The emptiness of his days wasn’t there until after Yu was gone. He’d never realized how full his life was before until it was over. All the little annoyances, the squabbles seem silly in retrospect. In fact, he’d give anything to fight with Yu again about leaving unwashed dishes in the sink overnight. Give anything for the biggest challenge he had in life was scrubbing dried rice out of bowls. Nanami closed his eyes, lost in the thought of what should have been. He shouldn’t be here alone in the dark talking to a photo of his husband.
They should be curled up together on the couch, Nanami reading a book and Yu watching tv with one eye open. He should be coaxing Yu to go to bed after the other worked a 12 hour shift serving. Their conversation would inevitably devolve into Nanami pointing out all the signs Yu needed to rest and Yu continuing to deny he was tired. He let himself imagine just one more night of snuggling in bed together at an almost ungodly early hour because Nanami acquiesced when Yu said he didn’t want to spend any more time away from him that day. Yu was always great at that. Forcing Nanami to pay attention to what mattered. Forcing Nanami to pay attention to him. I should have done it more, he silently lamented. He should have spent every second of every day paying attention to Yu, telling him he loved him, and how he was perfect everyday.
He blinked away the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. “Enough of that,” he muttered to himself, gulping down the rest of his whiskey. It was too dangerous to get caught up in what should be. Instead, he should be making the most of his reality. His reality is that Yu is dead and he spent all of his time whispering "I love yous” to a photo. Recounting his days to an image that would never answer back. His reality is, no matter how painful, he made the choice to keep going because if he died, Yu might not be remembered. If anything, Nanami was staying around to be the keeper of Yu’s legacy of kindness and care. He was always such a strong support for others, and Nanami wanted to carry it on. In fact, it was this spirit that spurred him to start the group in the first place. To be a cheerleader for people experiencing one of the worst times of their life. He figured he could feel his way through his grief by helping people through theirs. Instead of the hours he’d put in at the office, he would put it into others.
The thought of Gojo suddenly popped into his head. He turned over the other’s admission that his attitude was how he went through the day. Upon reflection, Nanami realized he hadn’t been the support Gojo needed in that moment and the full regret of his actions started to weigh on him. It was normally unlike him to be so quick to anger, but there was something about Gojo, maybe his flippant attitude or his shameless faux flirting, that made Nanami feel temporarily insane. No matter, he decided. If the man were to show up at the group again in the coming weeks, he would do the right thing and apologize. “You can hold me to it,” he whispered to Yu before standing and gently kissing the photo.
He downed his whiskey, turned off the lights and sank into the couch.