time out

A/N: I get ahead of myself. This was supposed to be post-the eyes and the teeth, but I honestly haven't read the manga so... I guess that's something I'll be doing in the next few weeks.

I had this written back in May, thinking I had the energy to write a full one-shot about Kento falling in love with a character that "definitely isn't his type" and it was supposed to be fluffy and sexy, but let's see going full-blown takes me.

Kento doesn't pine. He struggles, trudges, flounders, and eventually falls.

AKA: Kento Nanami doesn't want a lot of things in life, but he wants her (in it).

Kento Nanami doesn't want a lot of things in life, just the simple things, the mundane things. When he comes home to his small, one-person apartment, he wants silence. Peace. A kind of quiet that isn't tense or forced. When he comes home, he expects no change or disorder. Everything in its proper place. Everything has its own space, its own time. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing different from the usual. Predictable. Dependable. Safe.

So when Kento Nanami comes home, he doesn't expect a bag of takeout hanging on the doorknob and a hastily written note that says:

"I don't owe you anymore."

He's made it a point not to owe anybody anything, not even the world, because the world doesn't owe anyone anything, so...

So what was this?

He picks up the bag cautiously. There's no trace of cursed energy around it, so it's safe. Too safe. He can't smell anything from the bag, but it's warm. Like it came straight from the stove and was hastily packed to fulfill a company promise to have orders ready to eat in minutes. He thinks, when he finally unpacks it, he'll come up with a mess of tape, paper, and plastic.

But he's overthinking things, even when he tries his best not to. So he seeks out the simple, the unadulterated, the pure and whole, the essential. It's like cooking, like eating. Everything is measured. Everything is in moderation. He's a simple man with simple tastes, and anything extravagant or ostentatious is too much. Simply too much.

So when he finally comes to unpacking the containers, the strong, almost pungent smell hits him immediately. There are only two people in the world who would order mapo tofu for him, but only one who would bother with a note.

So he eats his fill and then sends a text:

"You never owed me anything in the first place."

Still, he thinks to himself, it's the thought that counts.

But when he checks his phone the next morning, there's no reply.

Of course.

It's not that he expected or waited for a reply. He isn't some high schooler with all the time in the world. He lives on a routine, on a schedule. Everything has its proper place and time. Everyone has their proper place and time, and she... She didn't barrel into his life like a shooting star. She came like everyone else, like anyone else, from the world of curses and spirits.

Through Satoru Gojo.

But it wasn't anything fated or destined. It was something that just happened.

"There's someone you need to meet!"

He and Satoru had traveled to Shibuya some years ago, to Harajuku specifically, where Satoru insisted they make a stopover to all the colorful and eccentric shops on the busy street.

"Not every day you get to visit Harajuku, you know."

Which was exactly the point. Today was a Saturday, sure, but he didn't want to spend all of it traipsing through Harajuku with his senior. And when they reached their actual destination, after three souvenir shops, two boutiques, and four food establishments, a tattoo parlor was something Kento expected.

One, because it was common knowledge, if not a common stereotype, that jujutsu sorcerers are eccentric, unusual people. Two, because the tattoo shop was a new establishment that stood out from the older shops on the street. And three, the moment they entered the shop, the woman at the desk greeted Satoru with a:

"Senpai!"

She looked vaguely intimidating with piercings decorating her ears, several rings on her fingers, and intricate tattoos covering her body or what skin was visible. She looked a proper delinquent, and it only made sense that she owned a tattoo shop in Harajuku.

"I thought you said after lunch?"

But for some reason, the calm of her voice didn't connect with her threatening image. She sounded casual and tired, but she smiled brightly. She called Satoru her senior. And from what Kento can hear from their conversation, she matched Satoru's chatty energy like they'd been friends for a long time.

"Well, it's still after lunch, isn't it?"

"It's six-thirty in the afternoon."

"Still after lunch."

"I could've had a customer or two, or three..."

"Let me treat you to dinner, then."

There Kento was, standing by the entrance like he didn't want to be there. Not that he's averse to tattoos and tattooed individuals, he's seen tattoos of closed-eye deities and fury-faced spirits, but not to this extent. The designs displayed on the walls look as if they've been lifted from a jujutsu bestiary, and the large portrait of Lord Enma hanging above the desk proves that this is a jujutsu sorcerer's place of work. He then turned to his senior, who carried an easy conversation with the woman. She wasn't someone Kento knew from Tokyo or Kyoto, so he'd wondered a bit about when and where they could have met.

"Oi, Nanamin! What do you feel like eating tonight?"

They turned to him–right, they were talking about food.

"Any place that serves hot meals is fine."

He wasn't picky, anyway. But if he'd had a choice, he'd be on his way home now to cook a nice, fulfilling dinner. Alone.

"There's a new hole-in-the-wall that just opened..."

She looked at him like she was waiting for his reply, but before he knew it, she and his senior were chattering about which dimsum to order and what order to eat them. So they've already decided to eat there.

"Sorry." She said when she made her way towards the door, "I don't believe Senpai had introduced us. Hi."

She held out her hand, which was free of any tattoos, and spoke her name.

He hadn't heard of it before, not even her family name, but he returned the gesture.

"Kento Nanami."

She looked at him and replied with a lazy smile, "It's nice to meet you, Kento."

But he wasn't smitten then. He definitely wasn't. Because she looked nothing like his type and sounded nothing like how he thought she would.

"How does Chinese food sound to you?"

Nothing like he thought she should.

So when they went for Chinese in a semi-hidden hole-in-the-wall, she ordered an array of steaming, strong-smelling tofu-based dishes, nine in total, and surely that was too much for just the three of them. But then she requested that five of those dishes be packed to-go.

Five? Who was she taking those home to?

"I don't really have a lot of time to cook, even for myself." She said when the plates are cleared and the takeout containers are brought to the table, "So I order out, or in. Depending on where I am."

And Kento wondered then, in the back of his mind, what she does and where she goes. Ordering five dishes for takeout seems a bit much, would that mean that she's eating out of containers and boxes every meal of the day? Isn't that... expensive?

"Thank you for the meal!"

Satoru clapped his hands like a child.

"Hey, you said it was your treat, senpai."

"I said dinner, not dinner and to-go, 'ya know?"

"Fine."

She took several bills out of her wallet, so money isn't an issue. Maybe she was just... lazy? But Kento doesn't prod and he doesn't assume. They've only just met, and he doesn't know a thing about her and why Satoru wanted to introduce them to each other. Was this a prelude? Are they going on a mission together? Or did his senior just want company?

"I wasn't taught how to cook, not really." She tells him on their way to the train station, "I was raised in a family where exorcising curses was more important than cooking rice."

So she's from a line of jujutsu sorcerers, likely an ancient one too.

"I learned how to boil water as part of a purification ritual, before anything else."

It sounds like a joke because Satoru laughs.

"And you learned how to fry eggs to appease house spirits."

"Well, some spirits like eggs fried rather than boiled, senpai."

...but it isn't?

"What about you, Kento? Senpai told me you're a foodie." She laughs nervously, "What did you think about the place?"

She changed the subject too quickly and he doesn't know what to answer. The food was fine. One dish was a little too salty at times, it seems the sauce wasn't mixed well. One dish lacked the spiciness that it would have had if it used chili paste instead of chili sauce–and yes, there's a difference. Kento had, at least to him, a fine palate, but he wasn't too picky about food. He's a foodie, not a snob.

"It was..." he searches for a word, "fine, good."

"Good." She echoes.

He wasn't a big fan of overly-savory dishes, but it seems that she is, which is another thing that separates them. They were almost like polar opposites. And this is just something normal and natural. A man and a woman meet, this is just something that happens.

So the paper bowl of steamed rice topped with mapo tofu was something that was just brought to his doorstep, nothing more. It was to make amends, the note said, but he wasn't that big a fan of spicy, smelly food. And she knew it. So if this had any meaning to it, it was to get back at him. Or maybe it was an attempt at communication, they haven't encountered each other for weeks now. But if it was, she'd at least act her age–their age–and respond to his message.

Or maybe it was only right that she didn't reply. She started the conversation and he ended it, as simple as that. They're mature enough to know when a conversation has long ended, so that's that.

Still, he doesn't like the feeling in his gut that tells him otherwise.