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Na~na~mi~”
An arm slings around Nanami’s shoulders, its weight far more familiar than he likes to admit.
“Gojo-san.”
“You really took your time with that mission, huh? I’ve been waiting all day for you to get back!”
The mission was fine; the standard amount of time for a standard amount of curse. Perhaps too long for an exception like Gojo, but Nanami is more the standard sort. Gojo waves his hand at him when he tells him as much.
“You know what I mean, Nanamin.”
He really doesn’t, but Gojo leaves him no time to wonder. Whirlwind that he is, Gojo whisks them both through Jujutsu Tech, shouting, “‘cmon, I have something to show you!”
Gojo guides them down halls and around corners, chattering about how “lucky your timing is, I was just about to gather the students for our trip into the city.” He could have guessed as much; Gojo likes to dress up when he goes out and today’s casual outfit suits him more than usual, sure to be admired. Though Nanami has no time to dwell on Gojo’s outfit and its admiration. They come to a stop before an open door, a finger pressed to Nanami’s lips in a conspiratorial bid for discretion. Gojo gestures for him to look into the room.
The three first-years sit inside, engrossed in some video game, their backs to the doorway. It is a nice scene, the young enjoying their youth, but nothing out of the ordinary, even among sorcerers. Surely he must be missing something. Nanami scans the room with careful focus until soft lips brush against his ear to whisper, “look at what they’re playing.”
He doesn’t shudder. Nanami redirects his gaze to the TV, where a familiar character cuts down an npc combatant. An attack quote he has heard many times takes him back to the many times he’s heard it: here, with Gojo, in the liminal space between Geto’s departure and his own.
“I can’t believe they still have it,” Nanami whispers, “or that the game still works.”
“Obviously I kept it, and it works just fine. My brilliant and talented students have been playing all week. Guess who their favorite character is! Here’s a hint: you absolutely haaaaated him!”
Gojo looks at him over his sunglasses and grins like he’s won a bet Nanami never wagered. It takes a second, but the memories come–an argument, petty until it wasn’t.
“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” asks Nanami.
“They decided to romance him,” Gojo says, grin growing wider, eyes shining brighter, “so there was something good about him after all.”
Nanami sighs. “I told you, I never hated him. In fact, I like him as a character, I just–”
“–don’t like dealing with guys like him,” a teenage Nanami finishes from an adult Gojo’s mouth. “What’s so bad about it? What’s there to deal with?” Gojo asks, his grin plastered to his face by a failing adhesive.
He had said as much back then, too. He said a lot of things; Gojo made bratty comments about Nanami’s playthrough like they paid his rent. They were never made for sticking, rolling off Nanami’s back like droplets on glass, but these were different. Perhaps it was Gojo’s chin propped on his hand and head resolutely pointed at the screen, a loud attempt at nonchalance Nanami was learning to hear. Or how Gojo’s eyes betrayed his efforts; blue spilling out from the side of his sunglasses, trained on Nanami like it aimed to drown him whole.
Gojo now remains silent, waiting and waitching. It struck him as odd back then, and the hit lands today as well, perhaps even more so. What was it he had said in response?
“It’s not him specifically,” Nanami borrows from his past self, “it’s everyone like that.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
No, Nanami supposes, it wasn’t.
“I don’t understand; why are you bothered by it in the first place?” he asks, as lost today as he was the first time around, and no closer to finding.
“I guess I hoped you changed your mind since then.”
It isn’t an answer—wasn’t one the last time around either. He doesn't remember what Gojo said back then, how it all went down, only that it did, sinking them both in a flurry of teenage angst.
Inside, the students cheer as their favorite lands a critical hit.
They’re too old for this, him and Gojo. Too old to retrace steps to nowhere, too old to trade whispered blows. He shrugs Gojo’s arm off his shoulder; from how the other man’s face falls, it seems this too is a transgression. Gojo doesn’t suffer long, however; Nanami wraps a hand around his arm, tugging Gojo away from the room. It’s his turn to guide them now, past the classrooms and training rooms of their youth, until they breathe the air outside. He brings them to a small garden he knows is new enough, somewhere their teenage selves wouldn’t know to find.
“I still do not know why this bothers you so much,” Nanami starts. “Regardless, I don’t like to deal with ‘guys like that’ because I find it difficult to understand their true feelings.”
“What do you mean?”
“They aren’t honest, and I am not a mind reader, nor do I aspire to become one. Take the flirting: he spends the entire game hitting on the protagonist, but if you reciprocate too early, he is disappointed in you. Why flirt then, if he doesn’t mean it until later? And how am I supposed to know when he decides it’s real? His issues, too. Clearly, to the player, he is suffering, but he pretends not to and hides it well from everyone else. So isn’t it natural his friends do not know?”
Nanami expects a retort from Gojo loaded and ready to fire as soon as he finishes speaking, but the other man remains quiet. Few things inspire silence within Gojo. That this is one of them spawns an uneasy feeling in his gut. Nanami sighs and adds, “perhaps these things are obvious to everyone, but I have never been particularly good at understanding them. I try to be clear in my own communication, so I do not appreciate having to learn another’s language when we speak the same tongue.”
At this, Gojo perks up. “Always?” he asks.
“Pardon?”
“You said you have never been good at understanding these things.”
“I also said that I am clear in my communication.”
“Ah, right,” Gojo rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish grin, “you did say “never.” Listen, about the video game… don’t worry about it; it doesn’t matter. Just know that I am always serious.” Gojo wraps an arm around Nanami and pulls him in close, adding, “especially when it comes to flirting with you.”
“Oh?” Nanami says eloquently, a stunning display from his surviving brain cells.
“Yeah. And, you know,” Gojo waves his hand, “it’s never too early to reciprocate. If you were wondering.” Gojo gives Nanami a quick squeeze, almost a hug, and sprints away, turning around for one last wave goodbye before retreating under the guise of retrieving his students.
…they were talking about a video game. And then Gojo had rubbed his neck, bicep on display, and suddenly they weren’t. It should have been frustrating, Nanami thinks, to get blown about so, but he finds he doesn’t mind where the wind has taken him. He closes his eyes, replaying the flush on Gojo’s face when he looked back to wave goodbye.
Nanami pulls out his phone and sends a gust of his own.
>For the record, you’re cute, so I don’t mind “dealing” with you.