Chapter Text
Gojo kicks the omega out of his bed before dawn.
He hasn’t slept all night, his almost ever-present headache has gotten worse, and he’d managed to completely forget that he’d brought someone home with him until wandering back into his bedroom and seeing an unfamiliar body nestled between his sheets.
He stares for a moment, startled. Then he says, loudly, “Hey. Time to go.”
The omega grumbles sleepily and cracks one eye open. Upon seeing Gojo standing there, he smiles. “One more round?” he asks, opening his arms invitingly.
Gojo shakes his head, impatient now. “Listen,” he starts, and then pauses. “Okay, I have to be honest. I don’t remember your name.”
The omega sits up, looking decidedly more awake and offended. He opens his mouth, but Gojo holds up a hand.
“Yeah,” he says. “I don’t actually care. Get dressed. Get out. I’m not saying it again.”
He doesn’t intentionally put any alpha reverb into his voice—Suguru had told him once that it made him sound like an asshole, and Shoko had told him that it just straight up made him an asshole—but there must have been some reverb there after all, because the omega practically leaps out of the bed and starts pulling on his discarded clothes.
He’s out the door in three minutes flat, without even a glance back, and Gojo isn’t sorry to see him go. He’d really only picked him up in the first place because he was feeling stubborn and wounded and a little high on his own pride.
He remembers with crystal clarity Yaga’s words to him from earlier in the day, the conversation that had precipitated Gojo bringing home the first omega who looked at him with any interest.
“Listen, Satoru,” Yaga says, his voice already long suffering. “We’ve decided that unless you find a Guide, a good one, you’ll be removed from field work.”
Even wearing his blindfold, Gojo manages to stare blankly. “What.”
“You’re a powerful Sentinel, Satoru,” Yaga says, and now his voice is placating. “No one is denying how crucial your skills are in the field. You’re almost singlehandedly responsible for our success at finding and eliminating cursed spirits.”
“Then why threaten to have me removed,” Gojo asks, his own voice flat. Emotionless.
“You’re out of control, Satoru,” Yaga says tiredly. “Sometimes it feels like you can’t tell the difference between friend and foe anymore. You use Six Eyes on everyone. You never drop Infinity. You’re reckless with yourself and others. You’ve caused more structural damage during your last six missions than all the other Sentinels combined over the last six years.” Yaga reaches out a hand, thinks better of it, and drops it to his side. “You’re not well, Satoru. Everyone can see that you’re having a hard time controlling your senses.”
What Gojo has a hard time with is understanding why any of that matters. He’s an alpha Sentinel. He’s the most powerful Sentinel in centuries. He’s strong, determined, and hasn’t failed a mission in years. So what if his head hurts? He doesn’t see the problem. But he can feel that Yaga is in no mood to argue the fine print.
“What are my options?”
“There’s only one,” Yaga says. “Find a Guide, Satoru. Without one, you’re on desk duty.”
Gojo swallows convulsively. “You know why I can’t—”
“I know, Satoru,” Yaga tells him. “I know. But this decision is not in my power to change. This is your only choice.”
Gojo scoffs now, remembering. He doesn’t need a Guide. He works alone and has done for years. He likes it that way.
He carefully does not think about Suguru. It’s easy now, not thinking about him.
Instead, he turns his attention to the problem at hand. If he doesn’t find a Guide, he’ll be pulled from field work. Gojo’s entire reason for existing is to hunt down and destroy cursed spirits. Being put behind a desk would be worse than death.
If Yaga and the higher-ups want him to find a Guide, he’ll find a Guide. And if he happens to find the weakest, most lenient Guide he can? All the better.
He doesn’t need another person getting in his way.
The Tokyo Professional Guide Society is a large, pleasant building. The cool white exterior is inviting. Trees line the walkway to the main entrance. Birdsong fills the air.
Gojo sneers as he approaches the building. He’s been here once before, in the quiet, desperate months after Suguru… well, after Suguru. He recalls meeting dozens of Guides, their hands touching briefly, looking for that spark of connection that said they could help Gojo.
He hadn’t met anyone suitable then. He doesn’t expect to meet anyone suitable now.
Still, it’s this or a desk. So Gojo adjusts his blindfold, making sure it’s secure, plasters a smile on his face, and walks inside.
“Good morning!” he calls out cheerfully, falling into the charming persona he uses most often with civilians.
It works immediately. Before he knows it, he’s being helped by a small, pretty beta woman. She’s obviously taken with him, keeps looking at his blindfold—a not unusual accessory for Sentinels, though Gojo uses it for rather different reasons—and flushes with pleasure each time Gojo says something flirtatious.
“Any special requests?” she asks, finally turning her attention to her computer and compiling a list for him from the Guides who hire out their services through the Society.
“No alphas,” says Gojo with a broad grin. “I never get along well with other alphas.”
“Betas or omegas, then,” she says. “Shouldn’t be too long a wait. Half an hour, and then we’ll have a room available.”
Gojo suppresses his shiver—he remembers being in a room last time, meeting Guide after Guide, searching their energy and their eyes, trying to find the right one, but none of them were him, none of them were Suguru, it was wrong, it was all so wrong—and simply nods. He takes a seat along one wall, waiting.
He’s in the middle of viciously playing his most ambitious word against Shoko in their current round of Words with Friends when he hears it, a low, quiet voice. A familiar voice.
His head snaps up, phone and game forgotten.
He lets his sense energy expand, filling the room, trying to find the source of that voice. His blindfold doesn’t stop him from seeing, not really. He can feel energy so clearly it’s nearly a second sight, even with his Six Eyes covered. On top of that, his sense of smell as an alpha Sentinel is nearly unmatched.
His nostrils flare, searching.
And there it is. The voice. The scent. Someone he hasn’t seen in years, and never expected to see again.
“Kento,” he breathes, standing up. Gojo is so shocked he pulls up one corner of his blindfold, then shoves it up all the way into his hair.
Across the lobby, Nanami Kento stares back at him. He looks just as surprised as Gojo feels. Gojo walks closer, willing Nanami to stay, to not run from him. Nanami doesn’t run. He just watches Gojo come closer. The person he was speaking with, a young beta, backs up nervously, then whispers something to Nanami and vanishes through a doorway.
“Gojo-san,” Nanami greets, when Gojo is finally in front of him.
His narrow eyes are the same bright brown that Gojo remembers. His hair, though several shades darker than Gojo’s own white strands, is the same golden color, though slicked back now, not like it was in school. He’s taller, too, and more filled out, and his omega scent, always so light and pleasing when he was a teenager, is fuller now that he’s in his twenties.
Gojo is so dumbstruck he doesn’t know what to say. He wants to collapse into Nanami’s arms. He wants to put his face in Nanami’s neck, burrow in and live there. Even just the sight of Nanami is enough to calm him, to make him feel more centered.
This is dangerous ground, he realizes. He came here searching for a weak-willed Guide. Kento is the opposite, and he’s already caught Gojo in his gravitational pull.
Even so, Gojo can’t bring himself to walk away.
“Nanamin,” he says breathlessly, the familiar nickname coming easily to his tongue. “Hi.”
Nanami sighs at the name, but Gojo doesn’t miss how his lips quirk up the tiniest bit.
“Gojo-san,” he repeats, eyes scanning him quickly. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
Gojo smiles crookedly. “That’s it? We haven’t seen each other in nearly eight years, and all you can say is you’re surprised?”
Nanami gives him an unreadable look. Even using all of his sense energy, feeling out Nanami’s scent and his cursed energy, Gojo can’t quite read him.
“You look like shit,” is what Nanami finally says, and Gojo barks out a laugh, hoarse and loud.
“Yeah,” Gojo replies, still laughing. “I imagine I do.”
He barely sleeps anymore. There’s always pain behind his eyes, whether he uses his blindfold or not. He can’t remember his last decent meal.
Yaga isn’t wrong to think that Gojo is out of control. Gojo hasn’t been in control in a while.
“Do you hire out?” Gojo asks. “As a Guide?”
He knows Nanami worked as a salaryman for a while, after leaving Jujutsu High. But that was years ago.
“No,” Nanami says instantly, too quickly. “No, not anymore, I—” he shudders, though it’s slight enough that Gojo is sure no one but him would notice. “I work here as a trainer. I help newer Guides.”
Gojo nods. He wants to ask more, but he can guess enough, why Nanami wouldn’t hire out. He remembers Haibara. He remembers why Nanami left school.
“You must be here to try to find a Guide, then?” asks Nanami, steering the conversation in another direction.
Gojo laughs again, though it’s humorless. “Yup,” he says, his voice high. “Ultimatum from the higher-ups. Find a Guide or be pulled from the field.”
Understanding enters Nanami’s eyes. “Okay,” he says, voice low. “Who’s helping you? Let me take over. I’ll put together a list of great Guides. I’ll find someone for you.”
He starts to walk away, and Gojo panics. He’s only heading toward the front desk, but still Gojo panics.
“Kento, wait,” he says, reaching out. His fingers find Nanami’s wrist, just briefly, and his mind finally stills. His headache eases. The tension drains from his shoulders. The cursed energy he can see and feel constantly fades, nothing more now than an awareness at the edges of his vision. Even Infinity, which he wears at all times like a second skin, recedes.
Gojo sighs, a sound of pure relief. He feels his own tiredness now like he hasn’t in months, and yet it is such a real feeling, so human, that he can’t be upset. He thinks he might finally be able to sleep. Then Nanami wrenches away from him. His eyes are wide, expression stricken. He’s shaking his head.
“No,” he says, his voice cracking. “Not me. I can’t, Gojo, I can’t, please—”
There’s a wild edge of desperation to his words. Gojo’s headache roars back to life. He feels like he’s being torn in two. Part of him wants to respect Nanami’s wishes, leave him alone, walk out. The other part wants to latch on and never let go.
“I’m sorry,” Gojo gasps, lurching forward, his arms coming around Nanami in a hug. “I’m sorry.”
He says it, but he isn’t sure he means it. He doesn’t want to drag Nanami into this, back into the world he so decidedly left behind so many years ago. He made a promise, then. He promised Nanami he wouldn’t come looking for him, that he wouldn’t bring him back. He promised.
But he hasn’t felt relief like this in ages. Nanami feels so good in his arms. He smells so good. Everything around Gojo goes quiet when he’s touching Nanami.
Gojo is selfish. He holds on. Even as he knows how disastrous this could be, he holds on.
He breaks his promise.
Nanami barely prevents both of them from crashing to the floor when Gojo suddenly goes boneless in his arms. He’s a big man, ridiculously tall and deceptively heavy, as most alphas are. His face is tucked into Nanami’s neck. The tip of his nose finds Nanami’s scent gland.
Nanami’s knees buckle. He allows himself to fall, right there in the lobby, until he is sitting on the floor. Gojo falls with him, though Nanami does his best to keep Gojo’s lean limbs in line. Gojo mumbles deliriously, words Nanami can’t quite catch.
“You’ve really fucked it up this time, Gojo-san,” Nanami tells him quietly.
For several minutes he simply sits there, letting the reality of his situation sink in.
He got eight years, he thinks to himself. Eight years away from jujutsu society. Three as a salaryman, a soulless, thankless job. One year hiring out his services as a Guide. Four years as a trainer, when he realized he couldn’t get that close to anyone again.
Eight years.
In eight minutes, Gojo Satoru ruins everything.
“How very like you,” Nanami murmurs.
Gojo, of course, drunk on Nanami’s omega pheromones and swimming in the relief of finding a compatible Guide, doesn’t answer.
Nanami brings a gentle hand up to his shock of wild white hair. He runs his fingers through those soft strands. The metallic hollowness that has defined Nanami’s life for eight years, that has become almost like a companion to him after all this time, grows smaller.
It is a two-way connection, after all. Gojo isn’t the only one feeling something right now.
Of course, Nanami never wanted to feel this again. He is fine being hollow. Happy. The hollowness is shaped like Yu; no one else can fill it.
But he has a feeling that Gojo is certainly going to try.
Mina, one of the betas who works at the front desk, approaches. “Nanami Kento-san,” she says, kneeling next to him. “Are you okay?”
Nanami nods tiredly. “I’m okay, thank you, Mina. Give me a moment and I’ll get him out of here.”
Her eyes shift to Gojo, sprawled half across the floor and half across Nanami. “Is he… What’s wrong with him?”
So many things, Nanami wants to say. Not the least of which is a sudden-onset Sentinel drop.
“He hasn’t had a compatible Guide in eight years.”
Mina’s eyes widen. She gestures toward the desk, and her computer. “I was compiling a list for him. Should I proceed?”
Nanami could say yes. He could lug Gojo into one of the meeting rooms, send a parade of Guides through to him, and hope and pray that one of them has the spark of compatibility.
He could forget about Gojo. Go back to his life.
“No,” he tells Mina, resigned. “Don’t bother. He won’t connect with anyone else, not now.”
She stares at him, her mouth slightly open. It isn’t a secret that Nanami hasn’t worked with a Sentinel in years. He refuses all requests that come his way.
Nanami sighs. “Get me the paperwork. I’ll get him home and fill it out. Put me in the system as his official Guide.”
As soon as Mina walks away, Gojo’s mouth moves against his neck. His voice is low, a barely-there rumble, but Nanami catches one word: “Inevitable.”
Nanami closes his eyes. He rests his face, for one blissful moment, in Gojo’s snowy hair.
“Yeah,” Nanami murmurs. “I guess you always were.”