time out
A/N: This took me too long to write, but don't worry. The real shippy chapters are coming up after this.
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).
It's not often that Kento leaves Tokyo.
In the very few and very distant times he does, it's to visit his family in Kanazawa during what time he has left during the holidays. He isn't particularly fond of life in the city, and he'd rather move to the quieter, smaller towns near his childhood home. Tokyo is Tokyo, and jujutsu sorcerers earn more where there are more people.
It's not like Kento hates going way, but the last time he did, the last time he went home to Kanazawa, was something he regrets.
There is something rotting here. The smell is faint, but pungent. Something is rotting. Something is dead. It's easy to imagine a carcass hiding under the floorboards or a half-skeleton that's something close to being mummified hiding in the cupboards, but something smells. Something is rotting. Something used to be alive here. Something used to live here.
Kento doesn't know which is more terrifying, the fact that he's come to exorcise a ghost or the fact that this ghost is his grandfather.
Or was.
He doesn't know what to call it, him, anymore. He's ever really been close to either side of his family, the bulk of his family experience being nuclear. Just his father and just his mother. He has no siblings to speak of, and knows very little about his cousins and other relatives both here in Japan and abroad.
"Rest in peace, grandfather."
His earliest and clearest memory of his grandfather involved pickled radishes and fresh horseradish. His grandfather was a farmer, the first of his generation to move from the Netherlands to Japan, to find some peace of mind and a life of relaxed agricultural work. His grandfather's dream was to own a farm, to grow his own food and cultivate the land for the future. And his mother was no different. She stayed behind, in Kanazawa, growing the farm into something more worthwhile and finding herself a husband who studied horticulture to form the self-sustaining pie.
The only thing is, their son was born a jujutsu sorcerer.
But Kento's parents don't know that, and they never will. His parents know nothing of the supernatural world beyond the superstitions, myths, and the occasional horror story or urban legend. Everything that's an apparent reality for Kento is only hearsay for them and the rest of the population. Everything that's part of Kento's daily life is considered fantastical and unbelievable for them. No ghosts and no horror stories. No mischievous spirits and souls out for vengeance. Nothing out of the ordinary and nothing that can be called too extraordinary.
Sometimes, Kento wishes he'd been born as just a farmer.
Truth be told, he doesn't mind Kanazawa. In fact, he'd rather be there than Tokyo. He'd rather sweep floors and tend to plants, pick insects out of leaves and hose down cattle, than whatever he's doing here in the big, bustling, insomniac city. Kento would rather be in Kanazawa than anywhere else, would rather live a quiet and solitary life than anything else, but he can't. Because of who he is and what he does and what's supposed to do and be, he can't.
When Kento leaves Kanazawa, he leaves a letter for his family with a single sentence.
"I'm sorry. I'll come back when I can."
But it's not like his family can't reach him. His mother calls every now and then, and his father sends over printed pictures like he's in a totally different country. Kento loves his family and knows they're safe, but sometimes the fear that comes with his work becomes a reality. Sometimes, Kento thinks he ought to tell his family to leave Japan for someplace else, tell them to go back their roots in the Netherlands–because the country isn't as haunted or as cursed–but seeing them happy and knowing they're doing what they want to do...
"Are you happy where you are, son?"
Sometimes, Kento wishes he'd been born a normal child. Maybe then he'd have gone to his grandfather's funeral with just sadness and regret in his heart, and not an overwhelming weight of guilt and a burning desire to hunt down the curse that did this to his grandfather.
And now... Now he's in an old inn in Kumakogen, far and away from all the loud noise and all the blaring lights of any city, waiting for something to do. Ehime is a lot quieter than he'd imagined, and the air is lighter too. There's an entire itinerary waiting for him, conveniently listed in a pamphlet on the bedside table.
Between two beds.
Right.
Because this trip was originally intended for Ieiri.
Not him.
So this arrangement is… He should ask her about it, shouldn't he? And even when there's no backing out, when he's already here and supposedly sharing a room with her, he ought to ask about it, right? Out of courtesy. Out of propriety.
"Are you sure this is fine?"
The question isn't even that intrusive or jolting, but she pauses all the same as if he's suddenly addressed the elephant in the room.
"Oh."
Yes, he wants to say, oh.
"I didn't even think to ask," she laughs nervously, "since this trip was— I'll check if I can book the room across this one."
She's moving before he says or does anything else, muttering apologies and "being-out-of-it" lately, that he wants to change his earlier question to: "Are you sure you're fine?"
Because she's always been fine, always been alright, always been without worry and without tension. Whether she's with him or anyone else, she has always been just fine. She doesn't need to say it, so nobody ever asks her, but the question remains. And the question ought to be asked.
She looks at him like he'd just spoken it.
"Nanami-san, I…"
It's very rare for her to be like this, to be a surprised and stammering mess who rarely knows what to do or say. Well, not that he'd been witness to this state of hers before. He'd only heard about it from Gojo or directly from her. And in her words, "self-deprecation in all its awkward and unsung glory."
"I'm fine," she continues, "thanks— thanks for asking. Uh…"
He thinks it can be admirable, how she wants to reassure him and everyone else, but he knows better than that. With what experience he had kissing-ass and plastering fake smiles, Kento thinks he can tell when someone's faking it and when someone's being genuine. And right now, he thinks she's just trying, still trying.
"I'll get this sorted out, and then we can start with our itinerary!"
She bolts out the door, and it tells him exactly that no, she's not fine. Not at all. Now he thinks this trip was meant more for her than anyone else. He's just here as an accessory, something to bring along just because, and he thinks Ieiri might have been that too. But he doesn't want to think badly of her, doesn't want to think of her as someone who'd openly use other people like this. She's not Satoru who spends his free time people-watching, but at the same time…
He sits on the armchair and watches the yellow-toned light illuminate the room. And out of everything that's happened, his mind chooses to remember that restaurant in Roppongi.
"Sorry, Nanami-san."
The one with the White Day special.
"It's all fully-booked, but we can order takeout and eat it somewhere else."
She had called the day before, and apologized for not realizing it sooner. But he didn't want to make her feel bad, didn't want to make her feel guilty for inviting him to a restaurant and not having the mind to reserve a table. No, he didn't blame her. With their terrible and unpredictable schedules, it's a surprise they've somehow intersected more times than anyone would expect.
"Takeout sounds good."
And with that, he expected to get a lukewarm meal the next day, where they'd eat it in the lounge of Jujutsu Tech like they're actual teachers and professors, and not sorcerers and exorcists masquerading as normal people.
"Sorry, Nanami-san. I've been called to the family. Something urgent."
In retrospect, he thinks he probably expected this to happen. Because she was from this ancient and respected line of onmyoji. She is essentially from a completely different world than everyone else, than most of the jujutsu community. So when she didn't appear for days, then weeks, Kento wanted to think he wasn't worried. She wouldn't end up where most other supernatural exorcists end up.
And then there was a bag of mapo tofu hanging by his door and a note that says she didn't owe him anymore. She didn't know where he lived yet, so he concluded that Satoru had something to do with it.
"She bought you mapo tofu? You don't even like spicy food."
He later realized that she bought Gojo something too, just to be fair.
"And here I was all content with the takeout dessert tray. I should ask my kouhai for more favors."
She wouldn't mind it, really, he thought that day, because she was a nice person and she owed a lot of what she knows about the jujutsu communities in Tokyo to Satoru. Back then, he thought she might be inclined to be that proactive junior to their hyperactive senior, like in those comedy shows on TV.
"She's a good person, Nanamin. So don't overthink her kindness."
Kento didn't expect Satoru, of all people, to say that.
Now, he stares up at the ceiling light and waits. Ehime is quiet and he is not used to the silence. This place would otherwise be welcome, he thinks, if he wasn't so confused and awkward about how to act around her.
"Nanami-san!"
And speaking of…
She comes back, heaving but otherwise pleased with herself.
"I got us two rooms across each other. Come on."
She moves quickly, efficiently, and he is quiet as he follows her through it all.
"We've wasted so much time, I'm sorry." She says between steps, "Itinerary's changed too, we're supposed to go sightseeing, but I got a call about the yokai terrorizing the area, and–"
She looks at him, "You don't mind doing business first, right?"
He knows it's not a suggestion.
"Get done whatever needs to be done before we can take a romp around Kumakogen."
He thinks she doesn't what that word means, but his cheeks don't flush, his expression doesn't falter. Maybe it's just her hometown slang, maybe.
"No," he replies after finding his voice, "no, I don't mind."
He thinks to tell her he's just a freeloader in all this, that it's her job and he's just going to get in her way. Maybe. But then again, he thinks this will be one of the very few opportunities he'd get to see her family's cursed technique, one of the few times he'd get to think that he's going on an actual mission with her, exorcising spirits and yokai with her, one of the very few times he'd get to say that it was just the two of them–
"It's almost convenient that the three yokai we're hunting are in relatively nearby locations," she continues as she counts the doors.
"Here."
She stops in front of one and he stops beside her. She takes one of the keys in her hand and offers it to him before turning away to unlock her door.
"Let's meet for lunch in an hour and a half, Nanami-san." She says as she opens the door to her room, "We can discuss everything then, but I think we can take all three of them in one go."
Three yokai in one day?
"Don't worry," she assures him as she switches on the lights in her room, "We're just going to scout the area, see how much damage there is. No exorcising until tomorrow."
And the only thing he has to say to that is, "Okay."
"Okay," she smiles, "see you then, Nanami-san."
She closes the door before he even opened his.
He's fumbling with the key in his hand and the words he'd held back.
"You can call me Kento if it's just the two of us."
Because she calls Nitta by her first name–Akari-chan. She calls Ichiji by a token nickname–Taka-san. Ieiri by her given name sometimes–Shoko-senpaaaaaai–when she's particularly curious about something… And even Satoru when she's getting frustrated and wants to make a point–Satoru-senpai! But never him. She would before, but why did she suddenly opt to use his last name? They're already on friendly terms and it's not like he isn't part of her immediate community–
Kento.
She'd call him by his name without any honorific and any pretense, but now... He wonders what's going on in her head, what she thinks about him if she even is, and what she thinks about this entire thing. They have seven days here in Ehime, and he's starting to wonder if he can hold out for that long.
The lunch is not a date.
He reminds himself of that fact when he opens the door the same time as her.
"Oh, Nanami-san," she greets him with a smile, "on the dot as always."
And because he's new to Ehime, he follows her quietly as they make their way to the inn's restaurant. It's a sizeable room with dark hardwood and open views of the courtyard outside. It's a refreshing sight of greens and browns, warm where the city sights remind him of cold office spaces and concrete. He makes a mental note to get out of the city more often. Maybe he can offer to join her the next time she goes out.
As friends, of course.
"So, the yokai, right?"
She starts the conversation as soon as they're seated, and like always she's as ecstatic and excitable as ever. She shows him a leatherbound book, with a worn cover and yellowing pages. She tells him it's a copy of the bestiaries in their family collection.
"If you're ever in Hokkaido, I can show you the full library."
He thinks the suggestion is nice, smiling to himself as she talks about the three yokai they're targeting this afternoon.
"Afternoon?"
He doesn't think that would be possible.
"I think we can do it," she chuckles, almost nervously, "a sorcerer and an onmyoji of our caliber?"
Well, he doesn't think she's wrong.
So he agrees.
"Sure."
"And we'll have more time to actually sightsee."
She smiles, full of promise.
"The first one is right around here, actually. It's haunted the inns and hotels in the area, and if the reports are right, it should be in one of the hotel rooms."
The Jatai, from what she had explained, is a possessed kimono sash that hunts after men at night. But it's broad daylight. Midday. It couldn't possibly show up now, would it?
"You're right, Nanami-san," she sighs after checking the empty rooms, "we'll come back later tonight."
Something tells him this is going to be a long, long day.
"Onto the next one. This will be a bit difficult, but I think we can lure it out. It's just around here, I think."
Now, the Kasha, as she has described it, is a cat, a quite literal cat-burglar who steals the bodies from funeral services, never to be seen again.
"There's actually a lot of ways to prevent it," she continued as they made their way down the streets, "In Yamagata, for example, they hold two funeral services. The first one is fake; the coffins are filled with rocks so when the Kasha tries to steal the body, it's left with nothing."
They pass by a temple.
"In Miyazaki, the funeral priests chant, 'Don't be eaten by a baku, don't be eaten by a kasha' during the processions. I was witness to one of those before, and it's a real sight. Tourists might find it a little strange, especially if they're not familiar with the lore."
He wants to ask how many places she's already been, how many more stories she has to tell.
"And in Okayama, the myobachi is struck during the ceremony. The sound keeps the kasha away, much like how striking pans would chase away strays."
By luck, they manage to come across a funeral procession.
"And in Ehime," she says, looking for the coffin, "they place a head-shaving razor to deter the Kasha."
And right on cue, a priest places down a head-shaving razor atop the wood.
She steps close and says under her breath, "Up there, Nanami-san, look."
She points far above them, and atop a roof, there the kasha stood. It is a large, monstrous cat with its fangs and claws bared at them. It's seen them, it's going to attack them. But with all these people?
"Wait, Nanami-san…"
The kasha snarls at them, then turns back to the procession. It glares at the head-shaving razor, but decides to follow after the procession, anyway.
"It's a persistent one," she smiles, "and my grandmother did always tell me to keep an eye out for stray cats."
He doesn't understand what she means by it.
"Follow me, Nanami-san."
So they follow the kasha in silence, eventually walking ahead of it and the entire funerary procession, feeling like those spies in those movies…
"We won't cash with it directly," she says as she takes out her notepad and begins writing on several pages, "but we will keep it out."
She hands him half of what stack she has written and tells him to circle around half of the cemetery's border and place a tag on every other fence post…
"…and we'll meet in the middle."
He nods wordlessly and finishes it effectively.
"Good work, Nanami-san." She smiles brightly.
He doesn't tell her that the kasha above them is snarling. It doesn't seem to have any intention to attack, but that's not normal behavior for a cursed spirit. It's like there's something keeping it at bay. Was it just the paper seals? It couldn't be, because it would have attacked them long before she even started writing them. But what could it be, then?
"Oh," she notices the kasha above them and waves at it like Gojo would, before turning back to him and showing her tattooed arm.
"It's the same inscription as the notes we placed," she points to the unfamiliar characters, "but more… complete. More protective."
He doesn't wonder how prepared she can be, but he does wonder–the smallest, tiniest bit–if she can do something similar for him. Even if it's just a small note or scribble…
"You can keep those, Nanami-san," she points to the remainder of the seals with him, "place them behind your doors and windows to prevent any unwanted entities from visiting you."
"There aren't any ghosts where I live," he tries to make a joke…
She stares at him.
…and he fails.
Then she laughs, loudly, boisterously, but he finds that he doesn't mind it.
"That's because ghosts operate differently than cursed spirits," she says and he notices a slight frown, "they're in limbo, so sometimes they's not fully visible, even to you sorcerers."
"Even Satoru?"
"That–" she clicks her tongue, "is something I should ask him when we get back."
He imagines a what-if where Gojo could actually see ghosts and other supernatural entities and just chooses not to tell anyone, if there's an unspoken inside joke between Gojo and… well, an inside joke Gojo keeps to himself because it is actually quite funny to imagine the rest of them going about their day-to-day lives with these creatures just hanging around on their own separate plane.
And then he remembers that she had a ghost too.
"It'd be really funny, Nanami-san," she sighs, "if Satoru-senpai could see ghosts and just chose not to tell us."
He wonders if her ghost had… No, no. He stops wondering about it, it's none of his business anyway. She's told him what she was comfortable with, and that's fine.
"Maybe he'd have inside jokes with them too."
He looks at her wistful expression and reminds himself that it's coincidence that they've thought the same thing.
"That seems like him," he agrees.
"Yeah," she echoes back.
He reminds himself to not ask Gojo if he's seen her ghost.
"Next one, Nanami-san. And I promise, after this, we're going back to exterminate the jatai."
Then she takes him a bamboo forest at the edge of the city. On the way there, she tells him that the Nobiagari is a shape-changing yokai found in bamboo forests that primarily hides itself between rocks and bamboo.
"It attacks fast and swift, darting around and all, but the trick is to not look at it when you're fighting it."
He tells her that would be difficult, and she continues telling him about the different varieties or its various ways of attacking.
"I'm not sure which term to use, since they all look the same. But in those spotted in Tokushima strangle their victims to death. Those in Kagawa would crush the victims with their entire body by forcing itself to the ground. And finally, those spotted in Ehime are a bit… meaner than the previous."
She begins making gestures, letting one arm act as the Nobiagari, and her other hand act as the hapless victim.
"Those Ehime are a bit more creative, once they lock eyes with their victim, they slowly raise their neck and wait for the victim to tilt their head to see it. We humans are so curious, aren't we? And once the victim's neck is craned, it bites into their throat in one quick move."
How morbid, he thinks.
"But escape is possible," she continues enthusiastically, "if you keep your eyes down and don't look up."
He think it just went from difficult to impossible.
"And kicking it about 30 centimeters above the ground will cause the nobiagari to disappear, but I didn't bring a measuring stick with me, so… we're going to do this brute force style."
Brute force?
He doesn't peg her to be that kind of fighter. She's all about preparation, isn't she?
"But you wouldn't mind me in the support rule, would you, Nanami-san?"
"Of course not."
Damn– He reminds himself to not answer so quickly.
"Oh, great!" She claps once, "I look forward to our first together."
The small, tiny, minute part of his brain tells him to tell her that he looks forward to their first too.
"I can finally see the 7:3 Sorcerer, huh?" She says under her breath, "And you can see my family's and know how it operates, why I keep changing tattoos all the time."
That same part of his brain says this is how jujutsu sorcerers court each other. He refuses to believe it is (unless it comes from someone else's mouth, other than Gojo's). Besides, he already knows about her tattoos anyway.
Still.
So his reply is curt, quick, and devoid of any suspicious intention:
"As do I."
She smiles at him the same way she's smiled at him on this trip.
As it turns out, the nobiagari has a soft underbelly.
"That," she pants, staring at its disintegrating body, "I did not know."
He wipes the sweat off his brow and takes in a deep breath.
It was not just one nobiagari that resided in this forest, it was something close to a small colony.
"And I didn't know either," she flexes her fingers, "that this part of the forest was fully occupied by their kind."
He looks around, seeing that they've somehow made a clearing in the middle of the bamboo forest, and is even surprised that they'd managed to do it without any injury.
"But that was amazing, Nanami-san!" She turns to him, "You really are deserving of the Grade 1 title."
He is quick and efficient, as with all things he does, because he doesn't waste time. He won't. The title of Grade 1 sorcerer doesn't really offer much, but he could say the same for her.
So he does.
"You are too," he says steadily, fearing he might lose his voice, "you have a wide arsenal of techniques."
"Most of them are single-use, anyway," she shrugs and smiles lopsidedly, "but they are pretty awesome. It's all pomp, all about unpredictability, so it's not always as effective as what you just did."
"It works," is all he can say to that.
"It does," she laughs like they weren't just attacking a horde of cursed spirits, "but this is thanks to you, Nanami-san."
And then she smiles again.
"Just one last."
So he dares to smile back.
"Yeah, one last."
But as it turns out, the jatai wasn't just in their hotel, but it was in his room.
"Would you believe our luck!"
She exclaimed, but immediately takes it back:
"Sorry, not– Not for you, Nanami-san."
Then she volunteered to exorcise it for him, "It's the least I could do in exchange for your help."
He thought that was the most she could do. He could handle it by himself, couldn't he? She did most of the work today and all of the pre-work, so she ought to–
She bared her stomach–the tattoos on her stomach, rather, before he could stop her. That's when he realizes it's her last visible tattoo, and that she was prepared to do all this by herself.
That small part of him, again, nags at him from the corner of his mind. It wants to tell her that she doesn't have to face these cursed spirits by herself, that they already work so good and so well together earlier that they should consider being–
"I forgot to tell you, Nanami-san," she says as she checks for other spirits hiding in his room, "the jatai hunts after men."
So that's why it was in his room.
"And it won't show itself to women so easily."
Oh.
"I owe you twice now, because you've made all this possible."
Twice?
"So," she stretches her arms before turning to him, "what would you like for dinner?"
He notices the now-bare skin of her stomach and wishes that small voice in his head would shrink into oblivion.
"Anything is fine."
She steps out of his room and stops at the door across his.
Right, he reminds himself, her room is right across his.
"Okay," she smiles, "meet you in the lobby in about twenty minutes?"
"Sure."
Of course he will never, ever, ever tell her what the voice told him about how the skin of her stomach could feel against his.