For the few hundred metres towards what Nanami deemed to be a secure enough pick-up point, Nanami practically all but carried Gojo. Gently lowering his now unconscious form onto the pavement, Nanami knelt beside Gojo, lightly taking his wrist between his thumb and forefinger as he tested for - and found - a weak and thready pulse.
Nanami's sharp eyes scanned his bloodied body with the precision of a field medic assessing battlefield injuries. The gash across Gojo's stomach was deep, the dark fabric of his uniform saturated with blood that was starting to pool on the concrete beneath him. His breathing was shallow, each rise and fall of his chest laboured and uneven. The various slices on his thighs and across his back and arms, too, were serious, blood seeping steadily through the torn clothing and staining the ground.
But it wasn't just the physical wounds that worried Nanami. Gojo's face, usually alight with that infuriating, irreverent spark, was pale and slack, a sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. His hair clung damply to his forehead, and his fingers twitched faintly, as though his body was still trying to summon cursed energy that simply wasn't there.
Nanami exhaled slowly, jaw clenched. He couldn't afford to let his emotions take the reins now. There was far too much at stake - too many variables that required immediate and precise action. But as his gaze lingered on Gojo's face, a knot twisted in his chest, a feeling that was foreign to him only days ago.
"Damn you, Satoru," Nanami muttered under his breath in frustration.
One grounding inhale and exhale later, he reached for his phone with steady hands, dialing Yaga's number first. The principal answered halfway through the second ring, his tone brisk.
"Nanami? Report."
"It's bad," Nanami said, keeping his voice measured. "We encountered Kido. Gojo sustained significant injuries - concussion, blood loss, several deep wounds. His Limitless remains rendered useless, and his cursed energy is severely disrupted."
There was a pause on the other end before Yaga's voice returned. "Is he stable? Was he able to use Reverse Cursed Technique?"
"He's stable for now," Nanami replied, eyes flicking back to Gojo. "But it seems as if his body's ability to use Reverse Cursed Technique to heal has also been compromised. We need Shoko. Tell her to prepare a bed - this can't wait."
"Understood. And Kido?"
"Likely escaped," Nanami sighed. "But I'll provide a full report once Gojo is seen to."
"Get him back safely," Yaga said firmly before the line went dead.
Nanami didn't hesitate as he switched to Ijichi's number. The assistant picked up almost immediately. "Nanami-san? What's the situation?"
"I need a car at these coordinates, now," Nanami said, fingers navigating with practised ease as he sent the assistant manager the necessary details. "Gojo is injured. We're taking him back to Jujutsu High for treatment."
"I - yes, of course," Ijichi stammered, not even attempting to disguise his shock that Satoru Gojo, the man he was so afraid of, even managed to be injured at all. "I'll be there as soon as possible."
Nanami ended the call and slid the phone back into his pocket, his attention snapping back to Gojo. He sat close, his eyes scanning Gojo's unconscious form for any sign of change.
Before he realised, Nanami caught himself brushing a strand of Gojo's hair from his face, the motion so gentle it startled him. The sudden urge had been something he couldn't explain, but he felt the need to keep Gojo close, to protect him in ways he never thought he'd need to protect anyone. The thought of losing him - no matter how improbable - sent a ripple of discomfort through Nanami, one he couldn't reason away.
As Nanami began to work on what he could of Gojo's injuries, he kept his movements precise, his mind already several steps ahead. He tore a strip of fabric from his own coat, wrapping it tightly around Gojo's thigh to stem the bleeding there. Pale beige rapidly gave way to red as blood soaked through the makeshift bandage. Nanami's hands continued to move efficiently, the only outward sign of his urgency the faint crease between his brows.
The distant sound of an engine reached his ears, growing louder as an angel in the form of Ijichi's black car approached. Nanami stood, his back straight and shoulders squared, his calm demeanour hiding the tension and worry simmering beneath the surface. When the car screeched to a halt, Ijichi jumped out, his face pale as he took in the sight of Gojo lying motionless on the ground. And blood. So much blood.
"Help me get him in the car," Nanami ordered, his voice sharp but not unkind.
Ijichi nodded quickly, moving to the other side of Gojo as Nanami lifted him with practiced ease. Gojo's head lolled against Nanami's shoulder, his hair brushing against the fabric of Nanami's coat.
Once they finished securing Gojo in the back seat, Nanami climbed in beside him while Ijichi took the driver's seat. Without any hesitation, Ijichi pressed his foot to the pedal and sped off toward Jujutsu High, the tires kicking up dust in their wake as they left the ruins of the building behind once more.
It was tense inside the car, the only sounds the hum of the engine and Gojo's laboured breathing. Under different circumstances, Nanami mused, Gojo might have found his current position surprisingly comfortable. The unconscious sorcerer was spread horizontally across the rear seats, his head gently resting on Nanami's lap. Thanks to Gojo's tall and lanky build, though, his legs had to be slightly bent to fit all of him comfortably, which elicited a dry chuckle from Nanami as he took in the sight.
Nanami kept one hand pressed against the deepest wound across Gojo's stomach, his other resting lightly on his shoulder to steady him as the car jostled over uneven terrain.
Gojo stirred faintly, a soft groan escaping his lips. His eyelids fluttered, but his vision remained unfocused, his head turning slightly toward Nanami.
"Nanamin…" Gojo's voice was weak and slurred, but still carried the barest trace of his usual playfulness. "Do I at least…look rugged and handsome?"
Nanami let out a soft breath, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Don't talk. Save your strength."
Before he could protest, Gojo's eyes slid shut again, his breathing uneven as he slipped back into unconsciousness. Nanami's grip on his shoulder tightened slightly, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to maintain what remained of his calm exterior.
The car's engine hummed softly as it rolled to a stop as close as Ijichi could get to the infirmary entrance. Gojo stirred faintly, his head tilting against Nanami's thigh. His face was pale, his usually vibrant features dulled by exhaustion and pain.
"We're here," Nanami said, his voice low as if afraid to disturb the fragile quiet that had settled over them.
Gojo's lips twitched faintly, the ghost of a smirk pulling at the corners. His eyes fluttered open, the pale blue unfocused and hazy. "Finally," he murmured. "Thought we'd never…get there."
"You're not the one who had to keep you from bleeding out in the backseat," Nanami replied, though his words lacked any sharpness they might have carried under other circumstances.
Nanami exhaled slowly as he looked over to Ijichi, who was already hurrying out of the driver's seat and around to open the car door. "Get the doors to the infirmary open," Nanami ordered, his voice clipped. "We're not wasting time."
Ijichi nodded quickly and sprinted toward the building, leaving Nanami to handle the rest. Moving carefully, Nanami slid one arm under Gojo's shoulders and the other beneath his knees. He could feel the tremor in Gojo's body and frowned at the feverish heat radiating from his skin that wasn't present earlier.
As he lifted Gojo out of the car, a faint groan escaped from the man in his arms. His head lolled against Nanami's shoulder, his breath warm and shallow against the side of Nanami's neck.
"You'd make a hot nurse, Nanamin. Ever consider…a career change?"
"You're not in a position to make jokes," Nanami reproached. He adjusted his hold, careful not to jostle the gash across Gojo's middle. "Save your energy."
Gojo hummed faintly, the sound dissolving into a soft sigh as he let his weight sag against Nanami. Every step Nanami took toward the infirmary was deliberate, his movements precise despite the tension in his shoulders and the growing ache in his arms. The blood seeping through Gojo's uniform was warm against his blazer, a stark reminder of just how much damage Kido had done.
The infirmary doors slid open as they approached, Shoko waiting just inside with her sleeves rolled up and a faint frown already etched into her features. Her sharp gaze swept over them, lingering on the concerning amount of blood staining both men and the unnatural pallor of Gojo's face.
"Put him on the bed," Shoko said briskly, stepping aside to let Nanami pass. She was already moving to grab supplies, her hands humming subtly with cursed energy as she prepared to assess the damage. "Looks bad."
Nanami hummed in agreement as he carefully laid Gojo down. The cot creaked faintly under the weight as Gojo's body settled against the mattress. "Multiple lacerations, a concussion, and his cursed energy has been completely destabilised," Nanami confirmed.
Shoko muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse before she moved closer, her hands glowing faintly as she hovered them over Gojo's most concerning injuries. "Let me guess," she said dryly. "He took on Kido by himself without any cursed technique to speak of."
"Obviously," Nanami said, his eyes lingering on Gojo's face. The faint crease between his brows deepened as he watched Shoko begin to work.
Gojo's lips twitched faintly, eyes open just enough to catch the dim glow of Shoko's energy. "You two…are talking like I'm not here," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Rude."
The air felt heavy against Gojo's skin, every inch of him aching in ways that made it hard to focus on anything else. The deep laceration across his middle burned with a sharp, unrelenting heat, each shallow breath pulling at the torn edges. His thigh throbbed dully, the muscle aching with a steady, pulsing pain that made him romanticise his leg no longer belonging to him.
The nausea still churned in his stomach, a sickly, spinning sensation that made his head swim. He squeezed his eyes shut against the light overhead, his breaths becoming uneven as he tried to steady himself. It wasn't working.
"Hold still," Shoko said, her voice cutting through the haze. "I can't sort this out if you keep squirming."
"Not squirming," Gojo retaliated quietly, though even he could hear the strain his own voice. "Just…existing."
Shoko ignored him, her hands moving with precise efficiency as she pressed her palms against the wound at his side. The pain spiked sharply, a searing jolt that made his back arch slightly off the cot and his vision momentarily fade to grey. He let out a strangled gasp, his hand twitching at his side as he fought to remain still.
"Easy," Nanami said, his hand moving to Gojo's shoulder to keep him steady. His grip was firm but careful, his thumb brushing gently at the edge of Gojo's collarbone in what felt like an unconscious gesture of reassurance. "She's almost done."
Gojo's head turned slightly, his half-lidded gaze catching the worried frown in Nanami's brow. It was deeper than usual, his sharp features softened by something Gojo couldn't quite place. The sight made his lips twitch into a faint, crooked smile despite the state he was in.
"Nanamin," he murmured, his words soft and muddled. "You're gonna…w'rry y'rself 'nto one big wrinkle."
Nanami's hand remained firm on Gojo's shoulder, his usual stoicism betrayed by a faint flicker of something softer. After a moment, his other hand moved, brushing Gojo's damp hair aside in a gesture that was both practical and unexpectedly gentle.
Without warning, Gojo's breathing hitched, and his body tensed. A wave of nausea surged through him, sharp and sudden, pulling him from his dazed state with startling clarity.
"Nanami," Gojo rasped, his voice barely audible. "I'm gonna -"
Nanami moved quickly, sending up a silent prayer to whatever Gods there may be that there was a bin just within reach as he held it in front of Gojo. One hand supporting the back of his head, Nanami turned him to the side just in time. Gojo retched weakly, his body trembling faintly as the motion pulled at his injuries. Nanami held him steady, his grip firm but careful, his other hand resting lightly on Gojo's shoulder to keep him from straining further.
Shoko glanced up sharply, her frown deepening. "That's one hell of a concussion," she said, her tone brisk but tinged with concern. "It's making everything worse."
Gojo groaned softly, his body sagging back against the cot in relief as the nausea subsided. "Fantastic," he muttered, "add it to the growing list…"
"You're dehydrated," Shoko said, already moving to grab a saline drip. "And your cursed energy's completely out of sync. Between the blood loss, the concussion, and whatever the hell Kido left behind in your system, you're a mess."
Gojo let out a faint hum of acknowledgment, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smirk. "Always…was good at multitasking."
"Stop talking," Nanami chastised quietly, his hand still resting on Gojo's shoulder. "You need to rest."
Shoko didn't look up as she worked, her focus returning to the wound across Gojo's middle. "I can stabilise him," she said tightly, "but this cursed energy isn't normal. It's not just residual - it's active. It's reacting to his body's efforts to recover, disrupting his energy flow on purpose."
Nanami's brow furrowed. "Can you remove it?"
"I can purge some of it," Shoko replied, "but it's not going to be easy. And I can't guarantee I'll get all of it. Like I said, this isn't a normal injury. It almost seems like Kido's cursed energy was keyed specifically to Gojo."
Gojo shifted, glancing at Nanami. "Guess I'm special."
"Special doesn't cover it," Shoko sighed, her hands glowing faintly as she sent another pulse of cursed energy into the wound. Gojo flinched, his body jerking slightly before he slumped back against the mattress.
Nanami's grip on his shoulder tightened slightly, his jaw clenching as he watched the tension in Gojo's frame. "Do what you can. I'll handle the rest."
Nanami squeezed Gojo's shoulder in a wordless goodbye, and began to make his way towards the door. He'd make time later to continue flicking through some of the case files he kept in his quarters, but for now he wanted nothing more than a hot shower to wash away the blood and dust that were courtesy of their excursion.
As he reached for the door handle, Shoko covered it with a gloved hand, her sharp eyes narrowing. "You've been hovering like a storm cloud since we got here," she said, her voice hushed. "What's your deal?"
"I'm doing my job," Nanami replied evenly, though Shoko didn't miss the edge to his tone.
Shoko arched an eyebrow, her hand dropping from the handle. "Is that what you're calling it?" she asked. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're doing a lot more than just being involved with 'your job.'"
Nanami's jaw clenched, but he didn't respond immediately. His gaze flicked back to Gojo, who was drifting in and out of awareness, his expression unusually peaceful despite the situation.
"You care about him," Shoko continued, her voice softer now but no less pointed. "And I don't just mean as a colleague. You're not fooling anyone, Nanami. Least of all me."
Nanami exhaled slowly, his shoulders tensing. "This isn't the time -"
"It's exactly the time," Shoko cut in. "You're standing there looking like the world's going to end if I don't piece him back together. And I will. But you need to figure out what you're going to do about…whatever this is," Shoko gestured at Nanami vaguely.
"He's my responsibility," Nanami said quietly. "That's all."
Shoko snorted softly. "Sure, keep telling yourself that." She let out a slow breath. "I've done all I can do for now. He's stable but not out of the woods yet. The cursed energy is still present, but it'll take time before it fully clears."
Nanami nodded, his focus still on Gojo. "Let me know if anything changes."
"Just don't let him run himself into the ground again," she said. "He'll do it if you let him."
"I won't."
Nanami pulled the door shut behind him, leaving Shoko with Gojo and Suguru in the quiet room.
The infirmary had grown quieter as night settled over Jujutsu High, the soft hum of monitors surrounding Suguru and Gojo's cots lingering in the air. Gojo's breathing was slow but steady, his body still as a fever burned itself out under Shoko's careful watch.
Nanami stepped out to wash away the day's exhaustion before heading off to coordinate with Yaga, leaving Shoko alone in the room with her unconscious patients.
She leaned back in her chair, eyes flicking between Gojo's pale face and the vitals on the monitor beside him. The sight of him like this - still, vulnerable - didn't sit right with her. It wasn't often, if ever, that she'd seen him this badly injured, even during their days as students.
A soft sound drew her attention to the other bed in the room. Suguru stirred faintly, his head turning slightly on the pillow. His eyes fluttered open, dark irises dull with fatigue but still sharp enough to assess his surroundings. He looked around the room slowly, taking in the sterile room, the monitors, and finally, Shoko seated nearby.
"Shoko," he murmured, voice rough from lack of use. Suguru cleared his throat softly. "What…what happened?"
Shoko rose from her chair to approach him. "We think you may have had a seizure. You've been out for a while."
Suguru's brow furrowed faintly, eyes flickering as though searching for something, narrowing as they landed on the bed across the room.
Gojo's still form lay illuminated by the faint glow of the machines surrounding his cot. The rise and fall of his chest was steady but shallow, his face pale and framed by damp, disheveled hair. Suguru's expression softened, his lips parting slightly as a quiet exhale escaped him.
"What happened to him?" There was something raw and unguarded in his voice, something that Shoko hadn't heard in years.
Shoko folded her arms. "Kido happened. Whatever he used disrupted Gojo's cursed energy completely. He's stable for now, but it wasn't easy getting him here."
Suguru's eyes didn't leave Satoru. His hands clenched faintly against the blanket draped over him, his body tense despite his obvious exhaustion. "He looks…"
"Fragile," Shoko finished for him, her voice quieter now. "Yeah. It's not a word I'd usually use for him, but right now, it fits."
Suguru's gaze lingered on Satoru, his expression a complex mix of guilt and longing. He swallowed hard, the tension in his throat visible. "He always acted like nothing could touch him," he murmured. "Like he was invincible."
"Not today," Shoko said softly. "And not anytime soon, if we're being honest. Whatever Kido did - it's sticking. He's going to need time to recover. Maybe lots of it."
Suguru let out a quiet, bitter laugh that lacked any humour. "Time," he echoed faintly. "Something we never seem to have enough of."
Shoko studied Suguru for a moment, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. "You're not just worried about him because of the fight with Kido, are you?"
Suguru didn't respond immediately. He remained fixed on Satoru, his expression distant. Finally, he exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging. "It's complicated."
"That's one way to put it," Shoko said, her tone wry. "It's always been complicated. But it's also pretty obvious. You still care about him."
Suguru's jaw tightened, and for a moment, Shoko thought he might deny it. But instead, he let out a deep breath, his eyes closing briefly. "I always did," he admitted softly. "Even when I didn't want to. Even when I thought I hated him."
A moment of silence.
Suguru's expression softened as he watched the faint movement of Satoru's chest. "He doesn't need me anymore. Not the way he used to."
Shoko raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't mean you stop caring. And it sure doesn't mean he doesn't care about you."
Suguru didn't answer, his focus entirely on Satoru. The quiet stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words and lingering regrets. Shoko let it hang in the air for a moment before stepping back toward her chair.
"Get some rest," she said, brisk but not without warmth. "You're not doing him - or yourself - any favours by staying awake."
Suguru nodded, though his eyes didn't leave Satoru. "You'll…let me know if anything changes?"
"I will," Shoko replied. "But right now, he just needs time. And so do you."
Suguru's lips pressed into a thin line, but instead of lying back as Shoko instructed, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. His movements felt sluggish and clumsy, his body protesting every step as he shuffled toward Satoru's bed. Shoko opened her mouth to object but stopped herself, watching as Suguru dragged a chair closer. He sat heavily, his elbows resting on his knees as he studied Satoru's pale face. After a moment, he leaned back, propping his feet on a nearby stool and settling into a somewhat comfortable position.
Suguru hesitated, eyes lingering on Satoru's hand resting limply at his side. Finally, he reached out, his fingers brushing against Satoru's before curling around them. The contact was light but deliberate, his grip steady despite the faint tremor in his own hands. He breathed out softly, shoulders sinking as if the weight he carried had shifted, even if only slightly.
Shoko leaned against the counter, watching him silently. The room was steeped in a quiet heaviness, not just from Suguru's presence but from the other layers of emotion weaving through the space. Suguru's feelings for Gojo were as clear as the exhaustion on his face, but it wasn't just him. Shoko thought of Nanami, the way he had hovered at Gojo's side earlier, uncharacteristic worry etched into every line of his face. Both of them had threads tying them to Gojo - different but equally knotted, tangled with emotions that neither of them seemed ready to confront. Shoko sighed, dragging her attention back to her work, but the thought lingered. She could only hope that whatever bonds held them together would be enough to carry them through what was coming.
The hallways of the school grounds were quiet this late in the afternoon, sunlight streaming through the windows in long, golden shafts that stretched across the polished floors. Nanami walked with his usual measured pace, a folder tucked under one arm as he headed toward the staff offices. His mind was focused on logistics - the fallout from the recent mission, updates on Gojo's condition, and the increasingly urgent matter of Kido's next move.
He rounded a corner and stopped short. Ahead of him, leaning against the frame of an open window, was Suguru Geto.
Nanami had seen him only briefly since their return - too caught up in Gojo's care to think much about Suguru's discharge the day before. But now, seeing him standing there, his long dark hair tied back and his posture deceptively relaxed, Nanami felt an unbidden wave of tension roll through him.
"Nanami," Suguru acknowledged. He turned his head slightly, dark eyes catching Nanami's as though he'd been waiting for him.
"Suguru," Nanami replied, keeping his tone neutral but laced with the formality of someone still unsure whether to trust the man in front of him.
Suguru pushed off the windowsill, his movements fluid despite the weariness Nanami could see lingering in the faint set of his shoulders. "Heading somewhere, or are you just always this composed?"
Nanami didn't bite. "I could ask the same of you," he said, stepping closer. "You've been discharged, so I've heard."
Suguru smiled faintly. "I thought I'd take a look around. It's felt like…a long time since I've been here."
"A lot has changed," Nanami said flatly, his gaze steady.
"Not everything," Suguru murmured. "Some things are exactly as I remember."
Nanami exhaled slowly, his grip on the folder tightening. "If you're staying to play on nostalgia, don't. Satoru doesn't need that right now."
At Satoru's name, Suguru's composure cracked. His lips parted, and for a moment, he looked like he might argue - but then he sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "I know."
Nanami crossed his arms, stance firm. "Do you? Because from where I'm standing, you know your presence here affects him - emotionally, mentally. After the things you've done, he's still vulnerable, whether he shows it or not."
"I'm not here to hurt him," Suguru said quietly, voice threaded with something raw. "I'm still not even surewhyI'm here…"
The words hung awkwardly in the air between them.
"While I was recovering, some of my memories started to return," Suguru continued, this time quieter, the words almost lost in the stillness of the hall. "And some of those memories… I'll have to live with every day since -" He stopped, his throat working as he forced the rest of the sentence down. "Since I became the person I swore I never would."
Nanami didn't reply immediately, studying Suguru's face with an intensity that felt almost surgical. There was something in Suguru's expression - an ache, a weight - that Nanami recognised as being genuine and heartfelt, but something inside of him still didn't want to trust the man before him.
"And now you're what? A different person?" Nanami asked, his tone laced with skepticism.
Suguru's lips twisted into a faint, bitter smile. "I don't know what or who I am anymore. But I know I'm here. I know I've made mistakes. And for whatever reason, I've been given a second chance - to fix things, or at least to try."
Nanami's frown deepened, his mind working through the implications of Suguru's words. "Fixing things with Satoru isn't as simple as deciding you want to," he said finally. "He's not the same person he was when you left. And even if he forgives you -"
"I'm not asking for forgiveness," Suguru interrupted. "I don't expect it. But I love him, Nanami. I always have. If I can be in his life - if he lets me - I'm not going to waste that chance."
The rawness in Suguru's voice was undeniable, and Nanami blinked in surprise at the bold admission of his feelings toward the white-haired man in question. He wasn't blind - he'd seen the way Suguru looked at Gojo, the quiet longing that had lingered in his eyes even back when they were students. But he'd also seen the aftermath of Suguru's choices, the pain Gojo had carried, whether he admitted it or not.
"Satoru's been through enough," Nanami replied firmly. "If you're going to stay, you should ensure that you're here for him - not for your own guilt or redemption."
Suguru met Nanami's gaze, his eyes dark yet resolute. "I'm here for him," he said. "Whatever that ends up meaning."
Nanami studied him for a long moment before nodding once, curtly. "Good. Then leave him his space until he's ready to deal with you."
Suguru's faint smile returned, softer this time. "Fair enough."
As Nanami made to leave, Suguru's voice stopped him. "Nanami."
He glanced back, his expression neutral.
"Thank you," Suguru said earnestly. "For watching over him. For being there when I wasn't."
Nanami didn't reply, but the slight dip of his head was acknowledgment enough. He continued down the hallway, his steps steady but his thoughts heavier than before. Behind him, Suguru remained by the window, eyes drifting toward the infirmary as the golden light of the afternoon began to fade.
Nanami knocked firmly on Yaga's door, waiting for the brusque "Come in" before stepping inside. Yaga sat at his desk, stacks of papers surrounding him, his sharp gaze lifting to meet Nanami's as he entered.
"Nanami," Yaga greeted. "What do you have?"
Nanami set the folder on the desk, opening it to the first page. "A full debrief of the mission," he informed. "Gojo's injuries, Shoko's preliminary findings, and a summary of Kido's techniques as we encountered them."
Yaga leaned forward, his hands braced on the desk as he scanned the documents. His expression darkened as he read, his brows knitting together.
"Gojo's cursed energy flow is still disrupted?" Yaga asked, glancing up.
"Yes," Nanami confirmed. "Shoko managed to stabilise him temporarily, but whatever Kido did has embedded itself deeply. She believes it's specifically designed to interfere with Sato-" Nanami cleared his throat, "Gojo's Infinity - and possibly his entire cursed energy system, affecting most every aspect of Limitless."
Yaga's frown deepened. "And Kido? Any leads on his current location?"
"Not yet," Nanami admitted. "But there is something more I would like to address." He straightened slightly, his hands clasping behind his back. "During the mission, I was separated from Grojo. It wasn't by choice."
Yaga's expression prompted Nanami wordlessly to continue.
"A tremor initially brought parts of the building down around us, which is what caused our separation to begin with. It seems like soon after, however, that Kido dropped a form of veil that appeared to disrupt communication and movement. I tried to push through to reach Gojo, but the layout of the building shifted - I could hear and sense him ahead, but the paths didn't lead to him. It was as if the building itself was being manipulated."
He paused, one hand reaching out to firmly grip the back of the chair in front of him. "I had no other choice but to retreat and wait at the entrance for Gojo to return on his own. By the time he had done so, he was already severely injured."
Yaga exhaled heavily, leaning back in his chair. "So Kido didn't just plan for Gojo - he planned for you, too. He wanted you isolated."
"That's my assessment," Nanami said. "And if he's capable of that level of control over his veils, we need to assume he can be capable of more."
Yaga nodded slowly, his fingers drumming against the desk. "What's your recommendation?"
Nanami hesitated briefly before speaking. "Let me lead a reconnaissance mission. We need intelligence on Kido's movements, his strongholds, and any cursed objects he might be using. If we wait too long, he'll gain more ground."
Yaga's expression was unreadable as he studied Nanami. "You've been carrying a lot of weight lately," he observed. "Gojo's in and out of commission, the students need supervision, and now you're volunteering to take this on?"
"It's not about what I can handle," Nanami replied evenly. "It's about what needs to be done."
Yaga leaned back, crossing his arms. "And what happens if something goes wrong on this mission? We can't afford to lose you, Nanami."
Nanami's grip on the chair tightened. "With all due respect, Principal, this isn't about me. If we do not act now, Kido will attack again, and we will be even less prepared than we were last time."
Yaga sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You've made your point. But I want a team with you - no solo heroics."
Nanami nodded curtly. "Understood."
As Yaga returned his attention to the folder, Nanami allowed himself a brief moment to breathe. The memories of the helplessness he'd felt then had stayed with him, gnawing at the edges of his usually unwavering resolve.
"I'll get it done," Nanami said quietly, more to himself than to anyone else.
Gojo sat slouched on the armchair in his quarters, one arm draped lazily over the backrest while the other rested against his stomach, his now dead phone sitting on the bed where he'd haphazardly tossed it moments before. The ache from the wounds across his middle had dulled over the last few days thanks to Shoko's ministrations, though his cursed energy still felt muted and sluggish - like a part of him had been severed.
Nanami's knock came firm and precise, cutting through the quiet. Gojo's head tilted toward the door, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "It's open," he called, his voice laced with feigned lightness.
Nanami stepped in, his expression as unreadable as ever, eyes sweeping over the room briefly before settling on Gojo. His presence filled the space instantly, his usual composed demeanour almost felt intimidating in the small, intimate room.
"Nanamin," Gojo purred, grin widening slightly. "Did you miss me?"
Nanami ignored the remark, stepping further inside and closing the door behind him with a quiet click. "I wanted to check on you," he said flatly, though Gojo didn't miss the edge his tone carried.
"I'm alive," Gojo said with a shrug, leaning back further into the couch. "Not much else to report."
"You shouldn't be moving around," Nanami said, brow furrowing slightly. "Shoko cleared you for resting here, not for acting like nothing happened."
"Acting like nothing happened is what I do best," Gojo replied, a faint brittleness to his tone. "Besides, what do you want me to do? Lie there and twiddle my thumbs while you and everyone else fight my battles for me?"
"That's exactly what you should do," Nanami snapped, his composure slipping. "For once in your life, stop pretending you're untouchable and let somebody else handle things."
Gojo's smirk faltered, and for a moment, something colder flickered behind his eyes. "I didn't realise I needed your permission to breathe, Nanamin."
"This isn't about permission. It's about survival - yours and everyone else's. You can't keep pushing yourself to the edge just to prove that you are still the 'strongest'. It's reckless, and it's selfish."
"Selfish?" Gojo repeated, his voice rising slightly as he straightened in the armchair. "You think this is about me? Every time I get sent on clean-up duty, it's to protect all of you. You, the kids, the school - everyone. Do you think I enjoy this? That Ilikethe weight of being 'the strongest'?"
"Then stop pretending like you have to carry it alone!" Nanami shot back, bristling with frustration. "You're not invincible, Gojo. And the more you act like you are, the more you will hurt those around you."
The words hit harder than Gojo anticipated, and for a moment, silence hung heavy between them. Gojo's shoulders sagged slightly, cocky bravado dimming. "I don't know how to be anything else," he admitted quietly.
Nanami's gaze softened for the briefest moment, but it was gone as quickly as it came. "Then learn," he said, stepping closer. "Because this -" he gestured to the faint bruising on Gojo's face and the stiffness in his posture - "isn't sustainable."
Gojo stood, pushing the chair to the side. His movements were slow and cautious, but his height still brought him level with Nanami. "You don't get it," he said, voice tightening. "You've always had the luxury of being able to step away, to choose where and how you fight. I don't have that option."
Nanami's jaw clenched, his frustration boiling over as he closed the remaining distance between them, Gojo's back meeting the wall as he unconsciously took a step back. Before he could think better of it, Nanami reached out, his hands slamming against the wall on either side of Gojo's head. The sudden movement surprised Gojo, his eyes widening slightly as he found himself effectively pinned.
"Enough," Nanami growled. His eyes bore into Gojo's, the usual calm replaced by something raw and heated. "You don't get to pull that martyr bullshit with me, Satoru. Not after everything."
Gojo opened his mouth to respond, but whatever retort he had died in his throat as Nanami leaned in, his proximity overwhelming. The warmth of his breath ghosted over Gojo's skin, and for the first time he could remember - concussion aside - Gojo felt off balance.
The kiss came suddenly, Nanami's lips capturing Satoru's with a fervour that surprised them both. It wasn't gentle - it was urgent, fueled by pent-up tension and frustration. Satoru froze for a moment, his mind struggling to catch up, but then his body responded instinctively. His hands moved to grip the front of Nanami's shirt, pulling him closer.
The kiss deepened, Satoru's initial hesitation melting away. His hands moved with confident deliberation, sliding up Nanami's chest before slipping beneath the hem of his shirt. His fingers found firm, warm skin, and the distinct ridges of muscle beneath his palms sent a thrill through him that he hadn't expected. He pressed his hand flat against Nanami's abs, feeling the strength coiled just beneath his skin with every breath.
Nanami shuddered faintly at the touch, his body momentarily betraying the tightly coiled restraint he usually carried. His lips moved against Satoru's with an ardour that matched the heat pooling in the space between them. Gojo's thumb traced a slow circle against Nanami's side, his grip shifting slightly to pull him closer, as if anchoring to the solid weight of the man in front of him. The world around them faded - there was no Kido, no lost cursed energy, no lingering wounds - just the heat of skin against skin.
Satoru's hands roamed further, sliding down along the defined lines of Nanami's torso, mapping out every inch of his body with a teasing deliberateness that made Nanami's breath hitch against his lips. His touch was both firm and exploratory, his fingers dipping along the grooves at Nanami's hips before curling slightly, as though savouring the sensation. A low hum escaped Satoru, muffled by the kiss, the sound reverberating between them and sending a shiver through Nanami that he couldn't suppress.
Nanami's own hands shifted, one slipping from the wall to settle on Satoru's waist, fingers pressing lightly but possessively against the fabric of his shirt. The other hand traced the curve of Satoru's jaw, grounding him even as the intensity of their movements grew. Satoru pushed closer, his body slotting against Nanami's in a way that felt natural, inevitable. His fingers splayed against Nanami's skin, the heat of his touch radiating like fire against the cool tension Nanami usually carried himself with. Every subtle movement spoke volumes, a clash of need and restraint that blurred the lines between desperation and control.
In this moment, with Satoru pressed against him, Nanami felt his self-control unraveling thread by thread. The way Satoru's pale lashes fluttered when their lips broke apart for air, the faint flush that dusted his cheeks, and the subtle curve of his mouth - it was maddeningly beautiful. Satoru's touch wasn't just physical; it burned into Nanami's every nerve, carving itself into a part of him he'd tried so hard to ignore. There was a hungry primal desire to claim every inch of the man who so often infuriated him that warred with a tenderness that made his chest ache. The urge to tell Satoru everything - to let the carefully guarded feelings he'd been burying finally surface - was almost overwhelming.
Nanami allowed himself to wonder - achingly, selfishly - what it would be like if things between them were different. If the weight of their responsibilities, their pasts, and the walls they'd built around themselves didn't exist. The thought burned through him and he fought against the primal urge to push Satoru down onto the mattress and lose himself completely in his body.
With deliberate care, Nanami's fingers found the hem of Satoru's shirt, and eased it upward. The fabric slid away to reveal pale skin marred by dark bruises and bandaged wounds. His hand hovered for a moment before gently tracing the edges of a cut on Satoru's ribs. For a fleeting second, something flickered in Nanami's eyes - a raw and vulnerable sadness at the sight of Satoru's injured body. It was gone in an instant, replaced by a fierce and protective anger that seemed to radiate off of him. His jaw tightened, his hold on the man before him steady as though silently vowing that no harm would ever touch Satoru again.
The moment blurred the lines between weakness and desire. Satoru wasn't sure if the lightheadedness coursing through him was from the lingering pain and concussion or the intimacy of Nanami's touch. There was a quiet power in the way Nanami moved - controlled and deliberate. And yet, watching Nanami hover so carefully over him, his strong hands brushing his skin with an almost maddening gentleness, stirred something in Satoru. He wanted to see Nanami unravel, to pull him into his orbit and dominate the unshakable man who almost seemed so anchored. But the vulnerability of his own battered body was a cruel tether, holding him in place, forcing him to feel the moment for what it was - intense, tender, and utterly consuming.
The sharp pull of white hot pain lanced through Satoru's side, tearing the moment apart. He'd forgotten himself completely, lost in the feverish need to draw Nanami closer, to take as much of him as possible. The reckless movement aggravated the gash across his stomach, sending a fresh wave of agony crashing through him. His breath hitched and his knees buckled without warning as his vision went blindingly white for a moment. The pain dragged nausea up from the pit of his stomach, leaving him feeling dizzy and clammy.
Nanami caught him immediately, strong arms steadying him before he could collapse. "Satoru," he said, his voice tense with alarm, one hand firm against Gojo's back, the other bracing his waist. Satoru let out a shaky exhale, his forehead falling against Nanami's chest as he clung to the other man's open shirt. He swallowed hard, fighting a war against the bile rising in his throat.
"I'm fine," Satoru managed, his voice rough but determined. After a deep, steadying breath, he glanced up, the faintest flicker of a grin appearing on his lips. "It's nothing, just keep going."
But Nanami froze, his hands unmoving as his brow furrowed deeply. "No," he said firmly, leaving no room for argument. His eyes lingered on Satoru's face, then dropped to the fresh blood seeping through the bandage. Something flickered in Nanami's eye - guilt, perhaps - as if the sight of Satoru like this was somehow his fault.
"I won't," Nanami murmured softly. "Not when you're like this. I can't."
Satoru blinked, his smirk fading slightly as he processed the words. He could see the tightness in Nanami's jaw, the faint tremor in his hands as though holding Satoru upright was not only a physical effort, but an emotional one. "Nanamin," Satoru started, "I'm -"
"Don't," Nanami cut him off, his grip still firm but his expression clouded with something close to anguish. "Don't try to push past this. You're injured. You're…" He trailed off, his words caught in an emotional knot.
Satoru stayed quiet, leaning heavily against Nanami, his forehead still pressed against his chest. Finally, he let out a soft, breathy chuckle. "I think this is the part where you're supposed to kiss it better, Nanamin."
Nanami didn't respond, his hands steadying Satoru even as his heart ached in a way he hadn't anticipated. The unexpected feeling of guilt lingered, heavy and unshakable, as he slowly eased Satoru toward the bed. For now, protecting him was all that mattered. Anything more could wait.