Me And My Man

Me and my man 🦆🦆

Hop on the Ijichi train with me, choo choo!

Driving lesson

You asked Ijichi for some driving lessons.

Tags: platonic Ijichi & OC/Reader. Friendship. Fluff. Comedy. Crack taken seriously. Ijichi deserves more appreciation, he’s so precious.

WC: 600

This is part of my "Jujutsu Partners Canon Divergence AU". A sequence of short stories and random drabbles for a Nanami x Reader x Higuruma long fic I might write. To see the ever-growing list of one-shots and short stories, please visit my masterlist :) 

Disclaimer: these stories are NOT written and posted in chronological order of events. To see where this one fits in the timeline, please refer to the masterlist above.

Also, this is barely proof-read. I apologize for any blunders 😅

The car jumped, jolted and stopped. Then, it jolted, sped up for a few meters, and halted violently again. You and Ijichi were getting savagely shaken inside the car at your less than ideal abilities in driving it. He had his seatbelt on, and held his glasses on his face, afraid they might take flight the next time you moved your feet.

“Ms., what are you doing?” Ijichi asked, concerned, as you gripped the steering wheel like you were holding onto it for dear life.

“I don’t know!” You exclaimed, in a mix of frustration and desperation. “I have no clue.”

You had asked on a day off for ijichi to help you learn some driving skills, if it ever were something you needed. He agreed, a little suspicious and anxious as to why you would ask that, especially from him, given you seemed to be close to other people like Nanami or even Gojo, who could actually aid you in finding somewhere to get a proper driver’s license.

In reality, you just wanted to learn the basics, so here you were, in an empty parking lot, nearly heart arresting the poor man every time the car moved.

He sighed softly, thinking that going over the instructions one more time would be helpful. “Let’s go back to the beginning. You need to press the brake pedal. Then, you push the button on the gear shift, and slide it from Park to Drive, still pressing on the brake pedal.”

“Right, that’s where I’m at right now. I’m holding the brakes.”

“Then, you let go of the brake pedal slowly, and begin pressing the gas pedal softly.” Ijichi was emphatic when he uttered the words slowly and softly.

“At the same time or do I let go of one pedal and then press the other?” You asked, earnestly.

Ijichi was very confused, and you noticed it.

“What? What’s wrong?”

He silently tilted himself to take a look at your feet, and that was when he realized that you had your left foot on the brake pedal, and the right foot on the gas pedal.

“Ms., you need to operate both pedals with your right foot. Just rest your left foot on the opposite corner.” Ijichi said, pushing his glasses back into position once more, incredulous you’d be doing that and thought it was just fine.

“What?! I have to use only one foot?!” You grunted, tilting your head back on the rest. “Who the hell conceived this death contraption?!”

“An American entrepreneur named Henry Ford.”

You sighed. “Ijichi, I know that. It was rhetorical.”

“Oh.” He answered, slightly embarrassed.

“I mean, I think I should actually go get some lessons and get my driver's license?” You thought out loud, scratching your head with one hand as you put the car in Park with the other.

“Heaven’s, no.” Ijichi let out instantly, by accident.

You looked at him surprised, and he tensed up, ready for the scowling he was already very used to receiving from sorcerers.

You were actually amused at his unrestrained sincerity, and began cackling, much to his confusion. Your laughter was wholehearted.

“I’m a jujutsu sorcerer, my expertise needs to be fighting and exorcizing curses,” you began, “and with no false modesty, I feel like I’m pretty good at it.” Your eyes then met Ijichi’s. “I think I should leave navigating this grim machine for people who are good at it. People like you.”

He looked at you a little taken aback, and feeling somewhat proud at the compliment.

“Yeah, ‘heaven’s, no’. That sounds about right,” you said, chuckling again at it. He began laughing with you, feeling his concern subside.

“So, let’s go get something to eat? All these near death experiences made me hungry.” You chirped, light-spirited.

Ijichi nodded. “I’ll drive.”

You started removing your seatbelt so that you could exchange seats. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, buddy.”

*scooches the blade away nicely* *kisses the furrow softly* now, I can die happily *suffocates oneself in his chest*

My man 💕

A huge round of applause to you, OP.

A heart-felt writing 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

ᥫ᭡。 our last stop.

⟢ pairing: nanami x fem!reader

⟢ summary: this first year of marriage has not gone the way nanami expected at all. but maybe it’s alright. he’s with you after all. he always will be.

⟢ cw: angst, character death, takes place before/during shibuya arc, terminal illness, canon typical violence and gore

⟢ wc: 5.4k

⟢ a/n: this fic has been marinating in my drafts for a good while now and I’ve finally managed to finish it! happy reading :3 divider by @/cafekitsune

“I brought you something.”

The door to your room clicks shut softly behind your husband, a plastic bag in one hand, his blazer in the other. Your body feels heavy, weary, but you brighten at the sight of him, sitting up straighter in bed as he pulls up a chair to sit by you. He sets the bag down on the small table in front of you, mindful of the different tubes that connect to machines and bags of fluids that in turn connect to you. 

“Please tell me it’s chocolate.”

Nanami chuckles as he sets down his things alongside a second bag, this one made of brown paper, sealed shut with a round sticker from his favourite bakery. “No chocolate this time, sorry. Here,” he says, peeling it open and revealing a muffin topped with chopped walnuts just for you. “Eat it while it’s still warm.”

Before he hands it to you, he peels down the paper and then delicately places it on the table so that you can break bits off and nibble at it. It’s not too sweet but it’s nutty and warm, and you hum as you break off little pieces and start to eat. It’s hard to eat a lot of things these days, but your husband always manages to find a treat that your stomach agrees with - these muffins are one of them. “What else did you bring?”

“Apples, tangerines, strawberries and plums.” He produces them from the plastic bag one by one as well as a knife and starts to cut the fruit into small, bitesize pieces for you to snack on. “How have you been feeling today?”

“Tired,” you hum, popping another morsel of muffin into your mouth. “I’ve been in and out all day. But I haven’t been sick or anything.”

“That’s good. I’ll speak to the doctor when I leave,” he murmurs as he peels an apple, a long ribbon of red curling off the piece of fruit. “See if we can get anything done about your treatment.”

“How about you? How’s work?” you ask conversationally, stifling a yawn as your eyes begin to droop. You’ve been awake since he texted to say that he would be on his way and it’s already started to take its toll on you. Simple things are no longer simple. What once came as easily as breathing, now takes a herculean effort, including keeping your eyes open for more than an hour.

He smiles, but it’s tight. “Work is work,” he tells you. “As shitty as usual.”

“What about all that business with the traitor?”

“Have you been talking to Gojo again?” he grumbles, slicing the apple thinly with a little more force than necessary.

“He came to visit yesterday,” you shrug, plucking a piece from the plate balancing on your blankets. “And before you start, I asked him to tell me what’s going on since you don’t seem to tell me anything.”

“Darling, there’s a reason for that. You don’t need to concern yourself with the jujutsu world-”

“I’m married to a man that’s part of that world, so I think you'll find that I do,” you counter easily. Even though you’re bed bound and unwell, there’s still a fire crackling inside you that can never be put out. Nanami supposes it’s his own fault for falling in love with someone who blazes so brightly.

“You need to focus on getting better.” He gets up to wash his hands in the little sink by the door, drying them on a couple of paper towels. 

“I am. But you need to keep me in the loop or I’ll worry about you regardless.”

“Are you trying to guilt me?” he asks, raising his eyebrow as he sits back down again and takes your free hand in his, fiddling with the wedding band around your finger. It doesn’t quite fit as snugly as it should and the physical proof of the effects of your condition make his heart ache quietly. 

“Yes, I am. So tell me everything, Ken.”

Reluctantly, he starts to talk. He tells you about the suspected mole who’s been leaking information, about how the school was infiltrated and how the students were attacked. “Something’s coming,” he says quietly once he’s finished. “I feel it in my bones.”

“Are you scared?” You sound exhausted, your words slow as you fight to keep your eyes open. Nanami stands, setting aside your half eaten snacks to pull your blanket up around your neck. He thumbs at your cheek gently, like you might shatter if he touches you any more firmly. Your skin is dull and dry, cheeks hollower than they used to be,  He’ll never admit it aloud, but the answer to your question is yes - he is terrified.

The fear isn’t born from killing curses or injury or possibly losing his life, no. What Nanami fears is losing you. Seeing you like this each day, watching you slowly wither as the days grow colder, breaks his heart. The doctors simply offer him sympathetic looks when he asks about any improvements in your condition, if the treatment you’ve been receiving is working at all. He can’t bear the thought of you leaving, but it persists in his mind regardless.

But that’s his secret to keep. So he smiles, leans down, and kisses your forehead. “I’m not scared,” he lies. “It’s all part of the job. Besides, that’s what that white haired idiot is for.”

“Yay for Gojo,” you yawn and he snorts as you drift off to sleep once again, signalling that it’s time for him to head home himself. 

The apartment is silent as he steps inside with a heavy sigh, flicking the light on as he eases off his shoes. His only companions are the soft thump of his socked feet along the hardwood floor and his own steady breaths. He drops his blazer on the couch and makes his way into the kitchen to fix himself a late dinner, hoping that the task of cooking will waft away some of his thoughts. 

It works for a while. His knife rhythmically slices through each vegetable he traps firmly under his knuckled grip. The meat is next, becoming uniform ribbons that he tosses into a bowl to quickly marinate in a few seasonings. Hot oil pops and sizzles, creating a din in his ears and his mind quiets as he focuses on each step. He finds some semblance of comfort in familiarity, humming a little tune under his breath as he drifts from cooker to counter. The kitchen feels warmer, brighter even, as he plates up the fruits of his labour. 

Nanami turns in the direction of the dining table, his mouth halfway open to speak when he catches himself and seals his lips shut.

The colour drains from the room, swirling down the kitchen sink as he sighs and shakes his head to himself, slowly taking his seat alone. His appetite has gone. It’s only through great effort that he manages to feed himself, each bite bland to him as he chews. Nanami has always been excellent in the kitchen - you always praise him every time he cooks for you. But what good is the skill and care he puts into each dish if you’re not able to share it with him?

“She’ll be home soon,” he murmurs to himself, as if speaking the words aloud will convince him. “Just wait a little while longer.”

After clearing up and quickly showering, Nanami finally crawls into bed, his eyes and limbs heavier than lead. The bed is comfortable, the way it always is - he saw to that when he insisted you buy only the best mattresses and pillows for the highest quality of sleep. The softness cradles his body, moulding to every line of his body as he stares up at nothing. But it doesn’t feel quite right. It's not as warm as he would like, not the way it is when you’re curled into his side, ghosting shapes into his ribs with your fingertips. 

Though he’s exhausted, he’s unwilling to succumb to sleep yet. For when he does manage to drift off, his dreams will likely be filled with the sound of flatlining monitors and your weakening grip on his hand. In his waking life, Nanami knows that to not be the case - he knows you’re breathing deeply as you sleep in your hospital bed. But his subconscious has other ideas, manifesting his deepest fears into images that wrench his heart out of his chest and jerk him awake with a gasp after just a few hours of fitful rest.

Routine is what keeps the blond sorcerer going, the way it has since your diagnosis, and it continues to serve him over the next few days. Wake up, shower, shave, brush his teeth, eat breakfast and then head out on any missions he’s been assigned. When that’s done, he drops by a convenience store followed by the bakery on his way to visit you. He’ll sit with you until you fall asleep, run through the same questions with the doctors and then head home to eat and sleep and try to stave off the sense of impending doom rolling around his gut. 

Each day is the same. Each day, there’s no change. 

You’re stable, he’s coping, the sorcerers are waiting. 

The clock ticks and another day is crossed off the calendar. 

“Can you sit on the edge of the bed for me?” Nanami asks gently and you nod tiredly. He helps you shift so that your legs hang off the edge of the thin mattress. You waver a little as he moves tubes out of the way so that he can sit behind you, his warm, broad chest brushing against your spine, legs bracketing yours. He shuffles back a bit and reaches into the bag he brought with him, pulling out a brush. 

Your hair is still damp after Nanami helped you wash it - you refuse to let the nurses bathe you, insisting that your husband be the one to do it, wanting to hold on to your last shreds of dignity. He’s always been more gentle and infinitely more comforting, helping you forget for a few moments that you’re in a hospital. For a while, you can both pretend that you’re at home and he’s helping you bathe because he likes to take care of you, not because you’re sick. You can pretend that you’re an ordinary husband and wife, two people in love, with no worries weighing down your shoulders as he shampoos your hair.

Just as delicately as he’d washed it, your husband begins to run the brush through the ends of your hair, slowly working his way up to untangle any snarls and knots. It’s gotten longer, hanging past your shoulders in thinning locks, lacking any of the lustre it held before you fell ill. And he’s tried to bring it back, the shine, the thickness, the strength in each strand. But it seems the curse eating away at your body is far greedier than he expected. 

Ironic, that he would compare your sickness to a curse. It’s not the kind of curse he’s used to fighting. If it was, a quick slash at 7:3 would remove the problem. If it was, he could save you from it. If it was, then perhaps he wouldn’t feel so helpless. If it was a cursed spirit, then maybe he wouldn’t have to watch you wither away.

Shaking his head of his thoughts, he continues to brush your hair, the rhythm of each pass of the bristles calming him somewhat. “Would you like me to cut it?” he asks as he starts to work on your roots.

“Do you have scissors?” 

“I’m not sure, let me have a look.” As he rifles through the bag, you hum to yourself. 

“Is there any point in cutting it?”

“The ends have seen better days, so yes.”

A sad expression passes over your face that he can’t see as he tests the small pair of scissors he’s found with a couple of experimental snips. “But it’s all falling out.”

Nanami glances at the brush and frowns. Caught between the bristles are loose clumps of hair. He tugs them out, balls them up and tosses them in a nearby bin before returning to his task. “That’s no reason not to take care of it.”

“Ken, what’s the point? There probably won’t be anything left soon. You’re just wasting your time.”

“I don’t think it’s a waste of time,” he murmurs, parting your hair neatly down the middle.

“Really?” you scoff. “You can’t think of anything you’d rather be doing right now?”

He falls quiet, gathering your hair carefully down your back. He places a plastic bag in his lap to catch the hair that falls and then, he begins to cut it in a straight line. Snip, snip, snip, the sound of his scissors biting through your hair fills the silence. He brushes through it once he’s cut off the dead ends and begins to neaten up his handiwork. “There are a few things I would rather be doing right now, yes.” Your breath hitches but he continues. “I would much rather be packing your bags and taking you home with me. I would much rather cook for you at home and feed you a freshly made meal at our dining table. I would much rather bathe with you in our tub and sleep with you in our own bed. I would much rather come home to you, rather than visiting you here when my day is done.”

“If I could have it my way, you would be strong and healthy. But reality is not so kind. So yes, my darling, there are things I would rather do with you, but above all of that, I will always want to take care of you first. Wherever that may be.” With a final pass of his brush, he sets his tools down, gathers up the plastic bag and ties it off with a knot before setting that aside too. 

Your shoulders tremble. Wordlessly, he wraps his arms around you and holds you close to his chest, his heart thumping strongly against your shoulder blade. He shushes you gently, rocking you from side to side. Weakened fingers cover his, colder than usual but still yours. He kisses your temple, once, twice and swallows his own sadness, for the sake of helping you through yours. 

“You’ll be okay, my love,” he says softly, not completely believing the words himself but saying them anyway, hoping that maybe hearing them will soothe his own worries. “I’m here with you. No matter what happens.”

On the penultimate day of the month, Nanami has the day off, so today, he deviates from his routine a little. He visits the convenience store, the bakery and then - he goes to the florist. Upon entering the shop, the little bell above the door rings merrily, a floral, earthy scent permeating the air. It’s quiet in here, rows upon rows of flowers and greenery sitting in bright clusters that he observes carefully as he walks between the aisles. 

One bouquet in particular captures his attention. It’s made up of tiny purple heliotropes that crowd together, nestled amongst full, white roses and fronds of green that tie it all together. Each flower has bloomed beautifully, the petals open and vulnerable, not yet kissed by decay. Carefully, he lifts it out of the bucket of water it sits in and runs his finger over a rose petal, silky soft against his skin. You’ll love them, he’s sure of it.

He offers a small smile to the elderly woman behind the counter as she wraps up his purchase in paper and takes his payment. “You have a good eye,” she says conversationally. 

“Thank you,” Nanami says politely. “They’re for my wife.”

“Ah, how lovely! How long have you been married?” 

“It’s been a little over a year,” he answers, carefully taking the bouquet from her. “Though it doesn’t feel like any time has passed at all.”

She smiles knowingly. “The years will pass you by in the blink of an eye and you’ll be old and wrinkled like me before you know it. You’re young. Savour it.” Nanami is about to quip back that he’s not young at all, that he’s a fully fledged adult, but he holds his tongue and nods, bidding her goodbye.

When he arrives at the hospital and approaches your room, there’s a nurse leaving it. He nods in greeting and she smiles. “She’s been talking about you all day.”

Nanami’s chest warms a little as he enters your room. You’re sitting up in bed, sunlight streaming in through the windows and casting a golden halo around you that makes you appear angelic. Your face brightens as he approaches, a happy smile lighting up your features and his heart does a little flip. 

“Ken! You’re here!” you crow. Even though you still look tired, you appear to be full of energy today. He can’t help himself, chuckling softly as he leans in to kiss your lips. You cradle his face in your hands, keeping him from parting from you too soon. Your lips are dry and slightly chapped, the bitter taste of medicine echoing on your tongue but he doesn’t mind, happy to indulge in your kisses for a little while longer. “You’re full of energy today. What on earth have they been feeding you?” he asks, amused.

“Nothing special,” you shrug, settling back against your pillows as he takes his usual seat. You hear a rustle and peek at his hand. “Are those flowers?”

“They are,” he nods, offering you the bouquet. You gasp softly as he shows you the blossoms he bought for you, the colours vivid and alive against the brown paper they’re nestled in. 

“For me?”

He rolls his eyes good naturedly. “No, for the little old lady next door.” You pout and he pinches your cheek lightly. “Who else would I buy them for?”

“I don’t know, you do have an affinity for little old ladies,” you giggle, raising them to your nose to inhale their fragrance. 

“Then does that make you a little old lady too?” You glare at him playfully and he stands, holding his hand out to you for the flowers. “Let me put them in the vase.”

As he rolls up his sleeves and busies himself with changing out the dead flowers for the fresh ones, a grunt sounds behind him, accompanied by the shuffle of slippered footsteps and the squeak of wheels. He turns and his eyes almost bug out of his skull when he catches you trying to walk over to him, shakier than a newborn giraffe as you cling to the pole of your IV. You’re only a couple of steps away, but he still quickly strides towards you when you wobble precariously, wrapping one arm around your waist and steadying you with the other. 

“Whoops, guess my legs aren’t what they should be,” you laugh sheepishly as he holds you upright.

“If you wanted to get out of bed, you should’ve asked me,” he scolds lightly.

“I know, I just-” you frown slightly and glance at the window, at the sun that’s beginning to descend and burn the horizon. “-I wanted to watch the sunset. I can’t see it from my bed and it’s been raining for the past few days and…”

Nanami relaxes and leads you over to the window, helping you into the chair there. He keeps a loose arm around your shoulders, letting you huddle into his side for warmth. Neither of you utter a word as you watch the sun dip lower and lower, draining the sky of candyfloss pinks, smouldering oranges and clear blues. It’s so serene, watching the city plunge slowly into darkness before artificial lights flicker on to keep the world awake.

“Kento?”

“Hm?”

“I love you,” you tell him quietly, covering his hand with yours. “I’m so lucky to have someone like you by my side. Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Is that not what marriage is?” he murmurs, dropping a kiss into your hair. You look up at him and smile. 

“Yeah. Yeah it is.”

“When you’re better, let’s go somewhere.” You look up at him, brows drawn together.

“Where do you have in mind?”.

“Somewhere warm and relaxing. Far from here.”

“Like a beach?”

“Mm. In a country we’ve never seen before.”

You sigh and rest your cheek on his stomach. “There’s so many places to choose from, Ken. Where would we even start?”

“How about the place we were supposed to go to on our honeymoon?” 

The plans you’d had back then had fallen through because of appointments and tests with various doctors. As such, the two of you had agreed not to spend your first week as a married couple abroad, choosing instead to go to an onsen in Oita for a few days. 

“Kuantan,” you murmur with a small smile. “I bet the sunsets there are even more beautiful than this one.”

⋆｡‧˚ʚ ❀ ɞ˚‧｡⋆

On the night of Halloween, Nanami is calm.

Frustration does him no favours in the face of such an incident. Frustration is foggy and skews judgement, which is something he can’t afford, especially not right now, when he finds Ijichi prone on the floor, with blood bubbling from a wound in his back. It’s hard though, not to feel that way. Ijichi’s blazer is soaked with it, crimson dripping in fat droplets onto the concrete. A flash of grief strikes through Nanami like hot iron, a face from his youth appearing in his mind's eye as he hoists the unconscious man onto his back, setting out on the streets of Shibuya to find a safe place to deposit him. It’s a miracle that his heart still beats, albeit weakly, though he can’t be sure how long that will last - if he’ll join the ranks of the other supervisors they’ve lost tonight.

As he gently puts Ijichi down, his phone vibrates in his pocket. His brow furrows in confusion - that shouldn’t be possible within a veil. He surmises that there must be a weakness in the curtain around here and somehow, whoever is calling him has managed to get through. Taking his phone out, he glances at the contact name before answering - it’s the hospital. There’s a harsh crackling noise that makes him wince as he puts it against his ear.

“‘rom…. -pital.. -speak wi-.... Na… -mi.” He strains his ears, trying to decipher the snatches of broken words.

“Yes, this is Nanami speaking,” he says slowly when the static dies down. There’s more crackling and popping as a distorted voice warbles through the speaker in answer. “Is everything alright?” 

“...-organ… fail…- ‘erything… -can… Go-… perf… -gery.”

The line goes dead. 

A crash sounds nearby. 

Nanami takes a shaky breath as his brain fills in the gaps. His heart aches like it’s being squeezed in a tight fist, until blood leaks over the fingers of whichever sick being chose this for you. Dread rolls through his stomach, his phone clutched tightly in his hand.

He has two options here. He can abandon his fellow sorcerers to go and be with you, or he can help them win this fight more quickly and then go to you. If he delays going to the hospital, he won’t know what condition you’re in until this fight is over. But abandoning the other sorcerers means abandoning the students too, and that doesn’t sit right in his chest either. Logically, even if he were to go to you, what help could he offer? What use would he be just sitting around and waiting whilst you’re undergoing, what he deduced to be, surgery? That’s what you’d say to him, at least. ‘You’re not a doctor Ken, just let them do their job and you do yours.’

His job. What a fucking job it is, he thinks, staring at the drying blood that clings to his palms. He should be with you, regardless of his job. Another crash rings out and he inhales deeply, closing his eyes for a moment and saying a silent prayer to whichever deity is listening. His jaw clenches and he adjusts his glasses. Then, he heads towards the commotion. 

The quicker he ends this, the quicker he can get back to you. 

⋆｡‧˚ʚ ❀ ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Half of Nanami’s body burns. It’s nothing like the superficial burns he’s sustained in the kitchen over the years. It’s different. Like there are flames and sparks continuously licking at his skin, eating away at it with the heat from a thousand suns. He can’t hear the crackle and pop of fire, though that might have more to do with the fact that he can no longer hear from his left ear. The smell of burned flesh hangs around him as he walks, acrid and unpleasant. An image flickers through his mind, of you wrinkling your nose and poking at a burnt steak in a pan, your first attempt at a date night at home. Nanami smiles crookedly despite himself, the right corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

It hurts. Everything hurts. It hurts to breathe and it hurts to blink. Moving hurts but he continues on anyway. Thinking of you hurts the most. But at the same time, thinking of you soothes him. Holding the image of your pretty face in his mind’s eye like he’s cradling a picture frame, helps the physical pain lessen. But the aching in his heart is constant as it beats tiredly.

Distantly, he hears the sound of a telephone ringing, the shrill sound bouncing off the walls of the corridor. It’s echoed by a vibration in his trouser pocket. Nanami pauses at the top of the stairs that lead down into the station, reaching for his phone with his unblemished hand, answering it without checking the contact name - he can make a fairly good guess as to who is on the other end. 

“Hello?” he murmurs. 

This time, the line is clear. “Nanami-san? Are you able to come to the hospital? We need to speak with you. It’s urgent.”

“I can’t, he sighs.

“But-”

“It’s alright,” he says quietly. “Tell me.”

There’s a stretch of silence on the other end. “We did everything we could but her body was so weak and-” They take a steadying breath. “Your wife didn’t make it through surgery. We’re sorry for your-”

Beeeep.

Malaysia.

His phone clatters to the ground, right there at the top of the stairs as he begins his descent. 

You wanted to go to the beach, didn’t you? Somewhere warm and relaxing. Where water laps at your feet and the air feels like the kiss of a lover.

Each step he takes echoes throughout the station, his Oxfords tapping loudly against linoleum. Something wet drips down his right cheek, clouding his vision. He continues on blindly.

Perhaps if you really like it, the two of you could move there. That would be nice. He could build a house for you by the beach and the two of you could spend each day soaking up the sun and cooling down in the water. He could finally get through the stack of books he’s accumulated. Maybe you could read them together.

His remaining eye blinks and he can see a swarm of disfigured humans. The grip on his blunt blade tightens a little. 

You’ll take his hand in yours. You always do. Maybe tug him down the shore with a giggle, the sea breeze combing through your hair and ruffling your summer dress. He’d follow. He always does. A smile on his face as he leads you in a crude dance. 

Muscle memory guides his movements. One, two, three, four. He cuts through the warped beings that press in on him from all sides.

Sea water soaks his trousers and the hem of your dress. He’s breathless with joy and you sparkle brighter than the sun. He pulls you in, presses you against his chest and sways gently with you. 

Blood splatters his already ruined trousers, mingling with his own and matting his hair. It drips down his chest and his hands are slick with the stuff, causing his hold on his cursed tool to waver.

The water is warm and your lips are even warmer as he dips you down to kiss you. The sun burns at his back as it starts to set and you smile, your skin kissed by gold as you look past him at the sunset. 

“Kento,” you whisper sweetly, reaching up to wipe at his cheeks. Your palm settles over his heart. “Don’t cry, my love. I’m right here.”

“You’re here?”

“I’ve been here the whole time.” That grating, thin voice that belongs to Mahito replies smugly. “What do you say, old friend? Shall we chat?”

Old friend? Nanami blinks and your image melts away. He’s still in Shibuya, staring down at blood stained linoleum. A pair of shoes enters his line of vision, a different ghost replacing yours. One that’s a little more blurred around the edges, the memory of his face eroded by the sands of time - Nanami recognises Haibara all the same. 

He wonders. If his reason for leaving, returning, staying was good enough, if not a little vague. He looks at his friend, waiting for something. Comfort or wisdom or something. The fuzzy image of Haibara is silent, pointing behind him expressionlessly, and Nanami turns to see Yuuji rushing into the station, a look of panic crossing his youthful features as the scene before him registers. The boy's lips tremble, shaping around his name. Despite the blood soaking his clothes and hair, Yuuji looks far younger than his fifteen years. A lost child, desperate for an adult’s guidance. 

Nanami is tired. So very tired. He’s reached the end of the line. He did what he could. What should he say? What can he offer to a boy like Yuuji, burdened by far more than his shoulders should ever have to bear. To add to that would be tantamount to cursing him. He can’t do that. It’s not right.

“Kento,” comes your soft whisper. The smell of brine and jasmine is faint but it fills his nostrils. “It’s okay.”

He smiles at Yuuji. He hopes it’s reassuring. That he understands his words.

“You’ve got it from here.”

⋆｡‧˚ʚ ❀ ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Streaks of peach and tangerine weave around wisps of blossom and cotton. Something soft but grainy cradles his body, sinking into his hair and tickling the nape of his neck. His left hand is occupied, fingers filling in the gaps between his own, a thumb stroking rhythmically over his knuckles. Nanami inhales slowly, his eyes fluttering closed for a breath as the waning rays of sunshine bathe his skin in warmth. The scent of brine and jasmine is stronger here.

“We’re here.”

“I did say we’d visit Malaysia,” he says. You snort beside him and squeeze his hand. “I just didn’t expect it to be quite so soon.”

“Hey, we got here for free. I call that a win.” Nanami chuckles, his head lolling to the side so that he can look at you. You’re just as beautiful as you’ve always been, like a freshly bloomed rose, every petal perfect, soft and bright. Reaching out, he curls his fingers over your cheek, pleased to find it plump and healthy.

“It wasn’t free, darling. The cost was life.”

“Life was overrated, anyway,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Isn’t this place so much nicer?”

It’s hard to disagree when you say it like that. Perhaps everything that happened was a blessing in disguise.

“It is.”

“See?” You sit up, laughing as you pull him up with you. You point at the horizon, at the sun dipping beneath the sea. “Isn’t it perfect?”

He responds with an affirmative hum, wrapping his arm around your waist whilst your head falls onto his shoulder. Nanami kisses your temple, lingering and tender. “I’m sorry,” he says after a few moments. You shake your head and smile gently.

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I could’ve chosen differently.”

“You could have,” you agree. “But then you probably wouldn’t be sitting here with me.”

“That’s true.”

“I could never blame you, my love.”

“I know.”

Even as the minutes tick by, the sun never gets any lower than it is right now. It remains as it is, the way that you and your husband remain as you were. Constant, unchanging, eternal. Blessing or curse - it’s best not to say.

⟢ taglist: @pastelle-rabbit @koenigami @gojoest @threadbaresweater

I really need Suguru to kidnap me from work with his rainbow dragon 😩

hi pretty baby,

send this to the twelve nicest people you know or who seem to have a good heart and if you get five back you must be pretty awesome 🤍🪽🪷

xoxo, k

Awwww, thank you Kayla. I really appreciate it, love 💋💋💋