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Nanami's not quite sure how he got himself into this situation.
The ‘situation’ being this: still dressed in his work clothes, sprawled across his couch with a spring digging into the small of his back and legs hanging rather uncomfortably off to the side – and he makes a mental note to place an order for a new couch, immediately – and otherwise immobilized by one Gojo Satoru.
The other sorcerer is wrapped around Nanami like a jellyfish, his face pressed to Nanami’s chest, arms clutching at his back and legs tangled around his. They’re so close that it feels like Gojo is trying to crawl into his skin.
Nanami, for his part, isn’t… not hugging Gojo back. It’s just more comfortable, makes more sense, to wrap his arms around the bean pole of a man. He is laying pretty much on top of Nanami as it is, and there’s not really a better place to rest his arms than along the span of Gojo’s back, just above his waist.
So, yes, they are full on cuddling, a fact that Nanami is both astounded by and very much trying to ignore, because if someone had told him that he’d willingly hold the imbecile that is Gojo Satoru, he would’ve told them to stop wasting his time with useless jokes.
But there’s no denying the fact that Nanami can feel Gojo’s racing heart, pounding against the other’s chest like it wants out. Can feel the heat radiating from the other sorcerer, seeping into his skin, making him uncomfortably warm. Can feel Gojo’s soft, rapid breaths puffing against his collarbone. In fact, it’s the first time Nanami has touched Gojo without Infinity between them, and it’s an odd feeling, knowing that – whether he’s in his right mind or not – Gojo trusts him enough to be around him like this. Vulnerable.
Still – “This is pathetic, even for you,” Nanami says bluntly. He’s not expecting a response, as Gojo’s been either asleep or some other variation of passed out, for the last hour. A killer combination of exhaustion, a fever, and a lucky hit from a curse.
From what Nanami’s parsed together in the time since Gojo showed up at his door, unannounced and uninvited and undeniably in need of assistance, flushed and trembling like a user looking for his next fix, is simple as this; Gojo’s been running on fumes for as long as Nanami’s known him, and then some. Sent from mission to mission with barely a chance to even debrief with the higher-ups before being assigned out again. Somehow between it all, he’s managed to fall ill – Nanami suspects it’s something he’s picked up from the grade-schoolers he now is apparently in charge of, and isn’t that a terrifying thought, Gojo Satoru in charge of the wellbeing of others when he can barely keep himself standing – not that Gojo would ever think to blame the kids for his illness. And the exhaustion, coupled with the fever, made space for careless mistakes.
Like getting hit by a curse that apparently leaves one in dire need of human contact.
Nanami had put that one together when Gojo had thrown himself on him the moment Nanami had pulled the door open, long arms winding around him, babbling with a shaking voice about ‘didn’t want to worry the kids’ and ‘you were the closest’ and ‘please, Nanami, I swear to god I’ll leave you alone forever if you just don’t let go –‘
Nanami winces now, feeling a tinge of regret as he thinks back to how he’d shoved Gojo off of him, thinking that this was just another one of the man’s dramatic antics. He hadn’t quite processed the violent shuddering, the almost manic babbling when he’d placed his hands on Gojo’s bony shoulders and extracted himself with practiced ease.
But the noise Gojo had made once Nanami had separated himself – a broken keen, a wordless plea – the way he had curled in on himself, arms coming to hug his own waist as if he were single-handedly keeping himself from shattering, had struck Nanami as so unusual that he hadn’t hesitated to reach back out to the other man.
And now here they are, impossibly intertwined, so wound around each other that it’s difficult to determine where one begins and the other ends, laying on Nanami’s shitty couch. He’d purchased it for the professional, sleek look it gave off, but now that he’s been actually forced to lounge on it, he’s seriously regretting it. It’s unlikely that the thing was built for practical use – it was probably intended to live in a showroom for its entire existence.
Gojo, at least, appears to be comfortable, cheek smushed against Nanami’s collarbone. The other man’s unruly hair tickles Nanami’s chin as he glances down at him. He’s lost his blindfold at some point between the front door and the couch, and Nanami takes the opportunity to really look at him, something he tends to avoid doing, as Gojo can sense someone’s interest from a mile away and then proceed to give him shit about it for the rest of the day.
But now, Nanami’s able to gaze for as long as he pleases, confident that Gojo is sufficiently down for the count, but in doing so, his concern only grows. Long, white lashes only serve to emphasize the deep purple bags beneath Gojo’s eyes. His exhaustion is apparent in the softness of his jaw, the smoothness of his features. Nanami isn’t sure he’s ever seen Gojo look this… relaxed. Even when the other man claims to be napping in the break room, there’s always a tenseness to his to his features, a minute furrow to his brow. He must really and truly out of it.
Nanami sighs, hand absently beginning a lazy stroking movement along the other man’s back, fingertips trailing lightly over the softness of his shirt. He knows Gojo took care of the curse that did this to him – the man had stuttered something about that between his begging Nanami not to let go – but he can’t help but selfishly be thankful for it. At the rate Gojo was going, he’s lucky that this was the outcome, rather than something more… permanent.
At least, Nanami hopes whatever’s afflicting Gojo isn’t permanent. The tightly clenched jaw, the trembling, the whimpers of pain will stick with Nanami. He’s not quite sure what Gojo is experiencing, exactly – the man wasn’t able to properly articulate apart from please hold me please don’t go – but Nanami imagines that it must be excruciating, to warrant such a reaction from the the usually carefree, infuriatingly independent man.
There’s a buzzing, suddenly. Nanami knows it’s not his phone, as it is unfortunately plugged in to charge in the kitchen, meaning it must be Gojo’s.
Slowly, awkwardly, and refusing to acknowledge what he’s really doing, Nanami adjusts his grip, dropping one hand lower, down the curve of Gojo’s spine to the dip of his lower back, then further still, until he reaches his pants pocket. Gingerly, Nanami works the phone out from the other man’s pocket, taking care to be as quick and professional as possible.
Once it’s successfully freed, he pulls it up, clicking the screen so that it shows the missed notifications. There’s three texts from someone names ‘Tsumiki-chan’, two from Shoko, and one missed call from ‘Megs’.
Those must be the Fushiguro children, trying to get in touch with Gojo. Shoko is also probably checking in, undoubtedly wondering where the typically omni-present man is. Nanami’s about to try his hand at guessing Gojo’s password, because it would probably be nice to give the kids a heads up that their guardian probably will not be making it home tonight, and also to text Shoko for backup, because he’s not sure how much longer he can handle being Gojo’s body-pillow. But just as he’s about to type in his first guess – 1-2-3-4 – the phone begins buzzing in his hand.
It’s ‘Megs’ contact, and Nanami pauses for a second at the contact photo that fills the screen. It’s just so… cute, which is not a word that Nanami uses regularly, if at all. But it’s Gojo grinning wide at the camera, hair flopping over his – shaded – eyes and chin resting on one very grumpy looking child. The boy’s spiky black hair is a sold contrast to Gojo’s white locks, and his deadpan stare into the camera is almost unnerving. But his cheeks are rounded with what Nanami assumes must be snacks of some sort, the tiniest curve to his lips indicating that he’s not as miserable as he might want to seem.
Belatedly, Nanami registers that the phone has been ringing for some time, and quickly slides the button to answer. Below him, Gojo makes a soft noise, something between an exhale and a whine, and tightens his grip around Nanami’s torso while simultaneously pressing himself impossibly closer, forcing the air from Nanami’s lungs while he’s at it so that Nanami’s ‘hello?’ comes out embarrassedly breathless. But in his defense, Gojo is nether weak nor small, and there’s only so much that Nanami can take.
“You’re not Gojo,” the voice on the other end says flatly.
“No, thankfully,” Nanami says, relaxing a bit as Gojo loosens his hold, and the boy huffs what might be a laugh even though Nanami was being completely serious. In the background, he can hear another voice, a girl, scolding Megumi, you can’t talk like that to Satoru-san’s friends, it’s rude! “He is with me, though,” Nanami adds, and the boy exhales noisily with what might be relief.
“Why isn’t he answering his phone?” The child – Megumi, Nanami presumes – presses.
“Did something happen? Is he okay?” Comes the girl’s voice, clearer after a brief scuffle.
“He’s fine,” Nanami says, and it tastes like a lie as he reflects on the trembling form that greeted him in the doorway, the fevered skin currently pressed against his. “He’s a bit under the weather,” he amends.
“I knew it! I knew he wasn’t feeling well and was just hiding it from us!” The girl – Tsumiki – cries, almost triumphantly, before abruptly growing concerned again. “Do you know what’s wrong with him?”
“I think Sa-… Gojo-san just needs a good night’s sleep,” Nanami says carefully, stumbling over where he’d almost said Satoru. He’s never interacted with children before, and his first time having to be consoling two kids who are home alone about their crazy over-powered guardian with the self-preservation skills of a lemming isn’t exactly where he’d wanted to start.
But Nanami’s nothing if not practical, so – “Are you two alone? Do you have somewhere you can go?” He’s already calculating how much it would be to send a taxi to pick them up – money isn’t the problem, of course, but he’s not sure how he feels, how Gojo would feel, about sending a stranger to pick up two underage kids.
“Shoko’s coming over soon,” Tsumiki says, matter-of-fact. There’s another brief scuffle, and Megumi’s voice is back. “She always comes over on nights when the idiot is away.”
And Nanami’s… not quite sure why he’s surprised about that, but he is – he honestly wouldn’t have thought Gojo to be the type to well, plan ahead like that. It seems much more his style to fly blindly into exorcisms with every intention of making it home in time for dinner.
But apparently, that’s not the case. “Hm. Well, tell her to call me when she does,” Nanami says, absently bringing his other hand to Gojo’s head as the man twitches rather violently against him, scratching lightly along the other man’s scalp. His hair slips through Nanami’s fingers, silky.
“Okay,” the kids agree, easy, unconcerned. “Tell Satoru-san we miss him and to get better soon!” Tsumiki shouts hurriedly, as if worried that Nanami will end the call before they have a chance to say goodbye.
“Don’t tell him I said that, though,” Megumi says shortly, and Nanami listens, quietly amused, to a muffled thump and an indignant hey! Then – “fine. Tell him to get better soon so he can come back and I can beat him at Speed Run.”
“Will do,” Nanami says, having no idea what that is. “If you need anything, call this number back, okay?”
The kids hum in ascension, and Nanami’s about to end the call when Tsumiki pipes up again. “By the way, is this Nanami-kun?”
Nanami is more than a little surprised to hear his name from this girl, because that means Gojo had talked about him to the kids. And judging from Tsumiki’s tone of voice, he’s been mentioned enough times for them to make assumptions.
But Nanami is not rattled easily, especially not by young girls who think they’re smarter than they are. “It is,” he says simply. “I’ll have Gojo call you back once he’s awake.” And with that, he ends the call, head dropping back and arm falling to the side of the couch, phone loose in his fingers. Children are so exhausting. He should know – he’s got one laying on top of him right now.
Belatedly, Nanami registers a shift, almost like a heaviness in the air. He blinks his eyes open, looking down – right into Gojo’s obnoxiously blue eyes.
His hand is still dangled in Gojo’s hair, and there’s really no good way of explaining that one, so Nanami just clears his throat and goes to pull away.
Gojo just watches him, skin still flushed and eyes fever-bright, before he shifts his glance to where Nanami’s arm is dangling off the couch.
Nanami can almost hear the wheels in his head turning. “The kids,” he croaks after a long moment, voice raw, and Nanami tenses as Gojo suddenly shifts, arms loosening from around his waist as he moves to push himself off. “I need – they need –” He lifts his head, arms shaking as they brace brace his weight as he pushes himself until he’s hovering almost over Nanami. For a second, Nanami think's he's better, whatever side-affects from the curse have worn off -- but then his train of thought is cut off with a gasp that breaks into a sob as Gojo collapses back down, pressing himself once more to Nanami’s chest.
Nanami stays still, letting Gojo take the space he needs, but once it’s clear the other man won’t be attempting to rise again, he brings his arms back to circle him.
“They’re fine, I just spoke with them,” Nanami says, the softness of his voice surprising himself. It must have something to do with the fact that silent tears are cutting glittering tracks down Satoru’s cheeks, sticky where they dampen Nanami's shirt. “They said to feel better soon.”
Gojo doesn’t respond, and Nanami focuses on the way that the other man’s shoulders rise and fall steadily with each breath.
“They deserve better than me,” Gojo whispers after a long moment, so quiet that Nanami almost missed it. But he heard it, he can’t pretend he didn’t, and he exhales slowly, resuming the stroking motion along Gojo’s spine.
Because he can’t help but disagree – Nanami might not know much about Gojo’s relationship with the Fushiguro children, but from his short interaction with them over the phone, and the way he’s heard Gojo talk about them around Jujutsu Tech, full of pride and love, it’s clear that he cares for them, and they care for him. It’s something Nanami never would have expected – because Gojo Satoru, taking care of children when he’s barely past childhood himself is something Nanami doubts anyone saw coming – but now that it’s happened, he can’t imagine life working out any other way.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he settles on saying. “You’re more than enough.”
He feels the brush of Gojo’s long lashes, wet with tears, against his collarbone. The other man has closed his eyes, and Nanami’s not even sure if he’s heard him, or if he’s fallen asleep again. But then --
“I feel so empty,” Gojo whispers, and his voice is vulnerable and small and so many things that Nanami has never remotely associated with the Strongest Sorcerer of the millennium, the miracle of miracles who shifted the entire balance of the world as they know it, and Nanami feels a pang in his chest, like something is hollowing him out, making space for the man who defies space itself.
Nanami doesn’t respond – he can’t, because he’s smart enough to know that he can’t fix Satoru, can’t fill his life and his soul like others who came before him might’ve. And he’s practical – he knows that the majority of this is the fever, the curse, and the exhaustion, bearing down on Gojo until he’s reduced to a mere man, and Nanami will not hold this against him. He’ll let Gojo have this moment, this vulnerability, and he’ll stay with him on the fucking awful couch, despite the pain in his back and the thirst that has been making itself known more and more as time goes on and the shirt that tugs uncomfortably where it’s still tucked into his slacks, because Satoru has been there for so many people, and it’s time that someone is simply there for him.
So Nanami just tightens his hold, tucking the other man impossibly closer, and lets his eyes drift shut, the feeling of Gojo's heartbeat a steady warmth against his chest.