Chapter Text
To be an adult is to have responsibilities. Even during his so-called days off, there is still a pile of laundry he needs to sort through and an empty fridge demanding to be restocked. Much as Nanami would like, he can't spend the entire day dozing in bed, making up for lost sleep. The responsibilities stack on in his mental ledger, growing heavy and cumbersome. Hunger eventually beats out exhaustion, and the mess in his apartment splices into fever dreams like some kind of hex. The dreams themselves also stack; a tower of surreal sequences that eventually topple over and smack him awake. And when he does, cotton-mouthed and irritated, he sighs into his pillow and quietly weighs his options. Then he shuffles into a sweater and a pair of joggers.
That's how one Nanami Kento ends up in 7-Eleven on a Saturday night, basket in one hand, grocery list in the other, groggily poring over which brand of yogurt to buy. He stocks a chicken cutlet sandwich and a precut salad he can't wait to go home and devour. Actual produce will have to wait to the morning, when he can hit up the yaoyas and farmer's markets. There's no way in hell he will pay grocery store prices for a few green onions and a head of cabbage.
Although, he would be lying to himself if he didn't admit that he hasn't been cooking as much as he would like. Work has taken its toll on his time with its myriad demands, its unpaid overtime and late-night nomikais, making it quicker and oftentimes cheaper to eat at food stalls and kissatens. As a result of his neglect, he's allowed some of his vegetables to go bad. If he had to encapsulate the last year of his life with one image, it would be the sight of a bruised tomato growing mold at the back of his fridge.
He sighs, shuffling around the dairy section and debating whether to spend a few extra yen on a cup of coffee. He's slept far too much, so he might as well use what's left of the night to clean his apartment and regain a semblance of stability.
"Nanami-kun?!"
Now that's a voice he would recognize anywhere. Nanami could be on his deathbed and still jerk up at the brash mention of his name. He grimaces, frozen in place, and wonders if he could just ignore it, pretend Gojo got the wrong person. Unfortunately, sorcerers can't be fooled with such simple tactics of interpersonal avoidance, especially if they happen to have the Six Eyes.
"It's really you!" Gojo exclaims. He rushes toward Nanami, nearly threatening to topple him over. "I almost couldn't tell because of your new haircut, but your cursed energy is still the same."
"Gojo-san," he greets stiffly, giving a small, polite bow. "It's been a while."
"Three years, but who's counting?" the man says brightly. "You really should try responding to your senpai's texts once in a while, you know?! I didn't teach you to be so cold and irresponsible."
"You are not my senpai anymore, Gojo-san. I'm no longer a sorcerer, remember?" he says in a terse, restrained volume.
Gojo gasps, but it's lighthearted. As always, he's not one to take anything seriously. "You will always be my dear kouhai, Nanami-kun. Don't say such nonsense."
Nanami scoffs. Instantly, it's like he never left. Gojo certainly acts as such, quickly launching into a rant regarding everything and nothing he could've missed out on. Ieiri's exploits as a medical professional, Yaga's promotion into a school principal, the fresh batch of first years Gojo has taken under his wing... For a moment, Nanami can almost bring himself to believe it; that he's still a sorcerer, exorcising curses and putting his life on the line on a near daily basis. Even if Gojo has shot up slightly taller and broader, the Special Grade is still dressed in a fresh variant of his school uniform.
"That's enough, Gojo-san," he says softly. The older man has been following him around the konbini while chattering nonstop, adding yet more and more sweets into a overstuffed plastic bag. "I'm not supposed to get involved with sorcery business, it's against the rules."
"You're not getting involved, though, I'm just catching you up," Gojo says innocently. "Don't you want to know what we've been up to?"
There's a note of something light and tender in his voice, almost melancholy, and it makes Nanami sigh again.
"... I'm glad Ieiri-san is doing well at medical school."
"That she is! You're invited to the graduation ceremony, by the way. It should be soon. I'll text you the details."
"Of course."
"What about you? How's the salaryman life, Nanami-kun?"
Nanami makes a face. Now would be the moment where he crafts an elaborate, ostentatious lie about how well his life is going ever since he graduated and left Tokyo Tech. How he's making a lot of money, how he loves living a normal life. But he doubts Gojo would believe him. He doubts he would believe himself.
"It's serviceable. Lots of overtime, though," he says curtly.
"I can imagine! You look quite tired, Nanami-kun, you definitely haven't been getting enough sleep! Wait, hey, I have an idea," Gojo pauses, raising a finger and tapping his chin with it. "Let me cook you a meal! When's the last time you ate something homemade, huh?"
"What?" he snaps. Suddenly, he's not as sleepy as he used to be just five seconds ago. "What do you mean, cook a meal?"
"At your place! I'll get all the ingredients if you don't have them, don't you worry about it. Great Chef Gojo knows just the thing he'd like to prepare."
"I'm flattered that you'd want to do that, Gojo-san, but that's not necessary --"
Gojo in his apartment, in his mess of an apartment, cooking in his kitchen, filling the place with his voice, digging more and more into his life and realizing how boring and lonely Nanami's life is -- this is the stuff nightmares are made of.
Maybe he is not awake, after all.
"C'mon! It's not a bother," Gojo says with a wide grin. "I have to make sure my kouhai is eating well, right?"
Thankfully, the older man has to make a quick detour to buy the groceries he needs for their dinner, and so Nanami has some time before he arrives where he can clean up the apartment. It turns out that his dreams were slightly on the over-exaggerated side - outside of misplaced laundry and strewn about paperwork from the times he's had to take his work home, it's not as bad as he imagined.
He tidies, quickly, and does a quick run through the kitchen and living spaces with a broom. Checks the toilet and sink, the bathroom mirror; tidy enough, if not visibly cleaned for the sake of having company over. But at least that means he's clean.
Finally, Nanami slumps into one of his dining chairs, fatigue from the day hitting him and oncoming nerves from the night seeping in. He has half a mind to call the whole thing off and text Gojo his apologies when a knock on his door summons him back to the abrupt reality of it all instead. The blond drops his head for just a moment, regretting his life choices, then stands and shuffles to invite Gojo in.
The older man is grinning ear to ear, holding up bags of ingredients in either hand.
"Nanami-kun~," he drawls, stepping in without being asked, "I'm excited to see how you decorate."
Shutting the door behind them both, Nanami trails after with a defeated sigh. "Poorly," he answers, and Gojo snorts out a laugh. Somehow it makes Nanami's lips twitch too.
The meal Gojo settled on ended up being salmon teppanyaki with butter-soy sauce glaze and grated daikon, and it's as he's chopping a handful of fresh chives that they get to talking. Actually talking, not just filling the room with idle small talk. It's not deep, they're not best friends, but it's comfortable and soothingly familiar. It feels like it has before, at times, in their youth; like they never grew apart. Like Nanami never drove them apart with his actions and his grief.
He shakes the thought away around a mouthful of rice and salmon. It's cooked to perfection but that doesn't surprise him too much. Everything about Gojo Satoru is perfect and effortless, has been since they were young. Even now, in Nanami's tiny apartment, jacket gone and one shirt sleeve rolled up more than the other — he can't begin to understand how at ease the Special Grade looks, how happy to be in his presence, so he doesn't try.
The conversation continues to flow. At one point, Nanami uncorks his wine bottle and pours himself a glass. It manages to sand down his edges a little, loosens his tongue to the extent that he gets the older man to laugh again, and Nanami finds himself enjoying the sound.
"So, tell me, Nanami-kun," he starts after a minute of comfortable silence. Nanami grunts in acknowledgement, and Gojo swirls his glass of soda like it's liquor, letting anticipation build. "You seeing someone?"
It makes him nearly choke on his rice. He washes it down with wine, coughs some more, and he tries to mask it with another swig. "Excuse me?"
Gojo blinks, unperturbed, and chews a bit of salmon before replying. "Just trying to get a feel for what's going on with you," he explains, and looks around the apartment, as if driving a point home. "I don't see any pictures or portraits, but maybe you're not the kind to have that sort of stuff in your living room. And there's not any woman's shoes in the genkan, but maybe you go to her place instead."
He wants to believe it's the wine, but he's certain it's not when he feels a flush of warm embarrassment catch at his throat. It's on his cheeks too. It feels like he's been taken hostage inside a toaster oven. "That's because I'm not seeing anyone, Gojo-san."
"Really?" the man asks, tilting his head. His surprise is even more baffling. "Got no one special in your life?"
"I've been busy with work," Nanami replies, and it's comes out fairly smooth once he has gathered his bearings. Almost like it's just the kind of stock phrase he'd employ when asked similar things by people like his boss or fellow coworkers. "I don't have time for dating."
"Ah, I see," Gojo says, clicking his tongue. "That's a bit sad, but I can't say I don't get it. I'm quite busy too, you know? There's a shortage of sorcerers, so a lot of missions fall onto me. You should feel grateful that your dear senpai is sitting here, sharing a meal with you."
"I am incredibly grateful," Nanami mumbles dryly, sipping a bit more wine. The truth is, part of him is touched by the fact that Gojo is so insistent to spend this time with him, even if he doesn't understand the root cause of that insistence.
"I suppose that's why I got curious. When you left, you told us you wanted to live a more normal life. I don't know much about what's normal, but I thought dating or being married was part of the deal."
"It's more complicated than that," Nanami replies, sighing a bit, but somewhat motivated to explain himself, since Gojo appears to be largely sincere in his curiosity. "I want to save up for retirement. Ideally, I'd like to get enough money to do so while I'm still relatively young. That doesn't leave me a lot of room for dating, even if I wanted to. I just don't have the time to appropriately tend to someone's needs, to make them happy."
He takes another bite of food. Gojo seems to weigh in his words over a sip of watermelon soda.
"Does it take a lot?" he asks, lightly. His candor has been stripped of much of his brashness, and now there's an almost innocent curiosity left. "Making someone happy, I mean. I don't know how relationships work, so I don't understand why they'd be so difficult."
"Maybe because you can't grasp the concept of something being hard for you, Gojo-san," Nanami retorts, scoffing a little at his admission.
"No, I'm serious. How difficult could making someone happy be? Me personally, I'm happy eating food, watching movies, having some time at the onsen… None of those things require a lot, I don't think."
"What about kissing?" Nanami asks, emboldened by the wine, no doubt. "What about intimacy? What about sex?"
Gojo makes a noise, brows stitching into a knit. "What about them?"
Nanami shoots him an incredulous look. "Romance takes work, too."
"Isn't eating together or watching something together romantic?"
"It is, but that's not all romance needs," Nanami says. Mindlessly, he adds, "sometimes we also have to screw each other."
He drinks a bit of miso soup, chews a bit more rice. He only realizes belatedly that Gojo has gone eerily quiet.
He swallows and looks up to see that Gojo is holding his glass up to his lips, but he's not drinking. Almost as though he's using it as a shield.
Perhaps he's surprised at me swearing. It makes sense for him to be, since Nanami is usually terse and polite in his manner of speech. It takes a few more seconds of awkwardness over the dim lighting of his living-room to realize that Gojo is blushing and shifting uncomfortably in his seat. That he's almost sinking into his shirt collar. That he's putting the glass down after not drinking any of it, only to poke at the salmon with his chopsticks and smile at nothing in particular.
Nanami's lips part — trying, for once, to break the sudden curse of silence, but nothing comes up, so he goes for the bowl of shared sunomono on the table instead. Gojo reaches for it simultaneously and in the collision ends up spilling a few slices of cucumber onto his tablecloth.
"Shit, I'm sorry. Let me clean that up," he says, reaching for a napkin.
"It's my fault, I'll get that," Nanami says, grabbing it instead, making their hands brush accidentally.
"Hah, we're quite in sync, aren't we, Nanami-kun?" Gojo chuckles, retrieving his hand, but it's far too stilted to do anything but unsettle Nanami. He wipes the small mess off his table and in the process of doing so, his brain is chugging along, trying its best to make sense of the last five minutes of this conversation.
"It appears so," he replies eventually, slowly, then asks, "is something wrong?"
"Why do you ask?"
"You clammed up on me all of a sudden, Gojo-san. It's not often that you do that."
The older sorcerer chuckles a little and shrugs. There's another bout of silence before he speaks. "It's just another part of relationships I don't understand, is all."
"Ah," Nanami says eloquently. Mentally, he curses at himself. Why are they suddenly having this conversation? Why is this the topic they stumbled into? He should be steering it elsewhere, into something that doesn't charge the air between them with weird, frayed tension. Instead, he stabs a piece of salmon and brings it over to his lips. "What, so you've just never done it before?"
Gojo stares at him like a deer caught in the headlights of an eighteen-wheeler, and Nanami feels like it's far too late to stomp on the brakes. He lets the silence linger, makes no efforts to smoothen things out or divert them into a more agreeable topic. Certainly there's an element of vengefulness at play; why must Gojo be the only one allowed to make intrusive questions?
"Done what?" Gojo asks, and Nanami snorts.
"Had sex," he says, and tilts his head at Gojo. He's seeing him in a different light, all of a sudden. The blush on his cheeks, the unruly hair and fidgeting hands. He's used to perceiving the older man, his former senpai, as perfectly in control of any situation he is in. He's the strongest, after all; the most intelligent person in the room — in any room — much to Nanami's dismay. This is different.
This is a chink on the man's armor. A gap in his knowledge.
"I haven't," Gojo admits eventually, shrugging. Dismissive at a moment's notice. It's awfully transparent. "It hasn't come up. Like you said, I just haven't had the time for it."
There's rumors in Jujutsu society. Stories and hearsay about many aspects about how their world works, how the people in it operate. It makes sense, considering how shrouded in secrecy everything about it can be. Nanami usually ignored all of it, but as outsider, born from a non-sorcerer family, he can't deny the allure of a few anecdotes, most of which have to do with the Great Clans.
Some of them, about how much importance they put on lineage, on traditional "proper breeding" and the inheritance of good techniques. Such stories often got quite unsavory, but they could also be rather banal. It would make sense, for example, that there'd be a great pressure for the head of the Gojo clan and wielder of their most powerful Cursed Technique to be a virgin, chiefly due to the pressure of many within the clan for him to stay as such.
So the idea about Gojo not having sex, although shocking at first, ends up clicking in his head far better than he initially conceived. Though it still does not quite make sense that Gojo Satoru — the infamously uncontrollable man — would heed to his family's influence on this specific area of his life.
"But have you wanted to?" he asks, and he can't believe he's asking that, a second after he does it. But he can't help his curiosity, nor can he help the strange feeling in his chest when Gojo blushes again.
"… I mean, I don't know," he makes a frustrated sound, props his weight back on his arms. "It's just not something I think about, y'know?"
"Not even when you were young and hormonal?"
"I was dealing with a lot of other things at the time," Gojo explains. "Sex just didn't come up a lot."
Nanami laughs a bit, disbelief stenciled all over his face. "What do you mean, it didn't come up a lot? You flirted with girls any chance you got. You had that gravure model's picture as your phone wallpaper."
"Well, yeah. But flirting is one thing, and with the phone — I was just trying to mess with Suguru, since he told me he liked her pictures." He shrugs a bit again, this time smaller. "I removed the wallpaper when Shoko told me I was a douchebag for having it."
"Well, she wasn't wrong."
"Hey," Gojo protests. "I removed it, didn't I?"
"Yeah, yeah," Nanami replies.
There's silence again, but it's lighter this time around, the tension lessened as amusement has started to fill it instead. The two of them eat. They help themselves to seconds, and once that's done Nanami picks up the dishes before Gojo can try to get to them and starts washing the mess that's been made of his kitchen.
He downs what's left of his wineglass. Gojo finishes his soda. And afterwards, when they have nothing else to do and the only reasonable thing left is to say goodbye, Nanami thanks him for the food and the company and Gojo simply smiles at him, and it's a smile that's different from all the other ones Gojo has given him before, but he can't begin to explain how or why.
"It's fine, Nanami-kun. I'm just happy I got to see you. Take care of yourself, alright? And please, start replying to your senpai's texts!"
"I will," Nanami says, nodding. "I promise. Goodnight, Gojo-san."
"Goodnight!" he says, waving cheerfully before dematerializing from the apartment's hallway. It leaves the salaryman scratching his head.
Why walk out of the apartment if you were going to teleport, anyway — ?
After he's done cleaning and the laundry's been sorted for Sunday morning and he's taken a long, warm shower, Nanami heads straight back to bed. It's two in the morning by the time his head hits the pillow, and though he should be exhausted in theory, in practice his mind is still too wired for him to properly fall asleep. Still too caught up on the eventfulness of his evening, still too caught up on Gojo and the things about him he learned that night.
It starts off innocent enough, his stream of consciousness; thoughts about the school, about the work of sorcery, about Ieiri, and her upcoming graduation… it starts off with all the mundane little details he absorbed over the span of their entire night together.
But then, those details fall to the wayside, and Nanami finds himself thinking about the elephant in the room. How he's an idiot for ever thinking the damned thing could ever be ignored.
He sighs, tossing and turning. Like dice, he rolls it over and over in his hand, feeling each side and their distinct relieves.
So.
Gojo Satoru is a virgin.
Gojo Satoru, his annoying former senpai, has never had sex before.
Alright.
He feels perverted for being unable to stop thinking about it, but try as he might, he can't get himself to. Coupled with striking visual memories of Gojo poring over his stove, or eating at his diner table, it makes for a very frustrating situation.
He groans a little, glancing at his phone. It's sitting on his nightstand, far enough to make him think twice about it, yet close enough that it almost glows temptingly at him. One of the last things Gojo did before leaving was snatch it out of his hands to check whether Nanami still had his number, and Nanami can't stop thinking about the satisfied glint in his eyes when it turned out to be the case.
This is a bad idea, he thinks, extending his arm over to grab his cellphone. This is a very, very bad idea.
Yet, as a lot of bad ideas are, it's incredibly easy to follow. All he has to do is light up the screen to see that Gojo's been chasing a few of them on his own.
Gojo Satoru [2:39 am]: Is porn a good way to learn about sex?
Nanami doesn't believe in God, not really. He doesn't believe in any gods either, which is probably a bit discordant with his reality and the very true, very material existence of curses, but he's just never seen or cared for any possible link between the two phenomenons. He believes in what he sees; what he can interact with, or at least, what can be proven in some concrete way.
All of this skepticism, and he still finds himself praying to every possible deity in existence that one single text message turns out to be a dream.
He finds himself pleading for it silently, even as he unlocks his phone and opens the message app and can see that it in fact is not, that he can hover over it and highlight it and reply to it if he so chooses.
This was supposed to be my day off, he laments.
Yet, he can't bring himself to lock his phone again.
Me [2:41 am]: Random porn is a terrible way to learn about sex. Stop scrolling random websites if you are.
He doesn't expect the reply to come as quickly as it does.
Gojo Satoru [2:44 am]: Well, what do you recommend, then? 🫤
Nanami takes a deep breath, deep enough that he probably takes all the air of his bedroom into his lungs. He exhales slowly and rubs his eyes and tries to ignore the way his cock twitches inside his shorts.
Me [2:50 am]: Come over tomorrow night.
Me [2:51 am]: I'll show you a few things, and try to answer any questions you have.
He watches as Gojo is shown to be typing for a few seconds, then stopping, before resuming and stopping again. He watches this process for what feels like forever.
Gojo Satoru [2:55 am]: What time tomorrow?