the kitchen is loud in that soft, lived in way - rice steaming on the stove, a window cracked open to let in the late afternoon breeze, the low hum of the city outside.
you’re at the counter, sleeves rolled, trying to finish cutting vegetables before the timer goes off again.
behind you - absolute chaos.
“why do we have to clean our room now?” your son whines, dragging the words like they physically hurt him.
your daughter slumps dramatically over the table. “you said later, you're insufferable - always changing your mind.”
you close your eyes for half a second, breathe in, and turn around. “i said after homework. homework is done. rooms next.”
they groan in unison.
“ugh, you’re so unfair,” your son mutters, just loud enough to sting. “you don’t even know how boring it is.”
the words land deeper than they should - not because they’re cruel, but because you’re tired, because it’s been a long day. because you’ve been holding everything together with quiet patience and the unspoken understanding that is just a part of you.
before you can respond, the air behind you shifts.
satoru had been leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, watching with that lazy, half-amused expression he wears when he’s pretending not to pay attention.
his blindfold is gone; his piercing blue eyes in full view, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. when he straightens, the room subtly reorients itself around him - like gravity remembered where it belongs.
his voice is calm. low and definitely not playful.
“hey.” he starts - both kids freeze as if caught in the middle of a crime scene.
they turn toward him instinctively. gojo steps forward just enough to be unavoidable, hands sliding into his pockets. he doesn’t raise his voice. he doesn’t smile.
“don’t talk to my wife like that.”
the words hit the room - and you.
something in your chest tightens, then warms, then aches. "wife" - fuck - not corrective, not casual. possessive in the quietest, surest way. like a line drawn, no - carved in stone.
the kids go silent.
“she asked you to do something reasonable,” gojo continues, tone steady, unshakable. “and you don’t get to take your frustration out on her just because you’re bored.”
your son opens his mouth, then thinks better of it when gojo tilts his head slightly.
“you can be tired,” gojo says. “you can be annoyed. that’s fine.” his gaze sharpens - not cruel, just firm. “but you will be respectful.”
your heartbeat stutters from something else entirely. from being seen. backed. claimed without spectacle. it stirs something deep and private, something grounding and dizzying all at once.
“i’m sorry,” your daughter says quietly.
your son nods. “yeah. sorry, mom.”
you hadn’t realized how tense your shoulders were until they finally drop.
gojo glances at you then - just briefly. the edge in his expression softens in a way only you ever see. a silent i’ve got you.
“alright,” he says, clapping his hands once, the mood loosening just enough. “rooms. ten minutes. i’ll check.”
they scatter down the hall - the kitchen settles again.
you lean back against the counter, exhaling. gojo steps closer, lowering his voice. “you okay?”
you nod, but the way your pulse is still racing gives you away.
he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your temple, lingering just a second longer. “you don’t have to carry everything alone,” he murmurs. “that’s my job too.”
your throat tightens but you smile anyway.
from the hallway, a voice calls, “dad - does shoving everything under the bed count?”
and as the noise resumes, your hand finds his wrist for just a moment - steadying yourself, grounding that stirred, glowing thing in your chest - because you know now, more than ever, that you’re not standing alone.
it was such a thought, one can suppose. but that's all he has in him at the moment. itadori yuji had been gnawing at the corner of his wooden chopsticks for a good minute, fuschia brows furrowed like he was solving some great cosmic riddle that could never be solved.
finally, he said, “okay, but seriously, i've been curious about. what does nanamin do after work? like, he just leaves. always so…quiet. where does he even go?”
nobara rolled her eyes. “home, obviously. probably sits in a sterile apartment, eats salad without dressing, and reads economic forecasts.”
yuji gasped. “that’s worse than what i was imagining!”
they both turned to dark haired young man, who had been doing his best impression of a brick wall. yuji leaned over the table until his face was nearly into fushiguro megumi's own features.
“c’mon, you know, right? spill it.”
“no.” megumi said flatly.
“that’s not a no, i suppose.” nobara accused, pointing her chopsticks.
“it is a no.” megumi insisted, irritation flickering in his blue-green eyes. “and even if i did know, i wouldn’t tell you. it’s none of your business.”
yuji deflated, flopping dramatically onto the table. “why is he so mysterious?!”
later, they cornered gojo satoru in the hall. he was humming to himself, sunglasses perched lazily on his nose. he was enjoying the sun, drinking his favorite cola (too sweet for consumption) drink.
"yo sensei!" yuji waves at him.
gojo smiles, waving back. "it's my kids! look at you doing so well~"
"we aren't your kids." megumi huffed, crossing his arms.
"ack! not my own son saying that to me. i'm disappointed, megumi!"
megumi rolls his eyes. "so am i."
nobara sighs. "can we just ask him what we came to ask him?"
“oh yeah! sensei, where does nanamin go after work?” yuji demanded.
gojo smiled, tilting his head. “curious little kittens, aren’t you?”
“just answer it already, sensei.” nobara said, arms crossed. "we've been thinking about it instead of training."
for once, gojo didn’t tease. he only adjusted his glasses, the smile softening but not losing its distance. “hm....but that’s not my story to tell.” he said simply, and walked away. "sorry curious cats, that's just how it is!"
yuji and nobara were left staring after him, more frustrated than before but also unsettled. megumi sighed and excused himself. gojo satoru continued to look at the sky, taking a sigh.
the truth, at that hour, was unfolding elsewhere. nanami kento slipped off his tie the moment he stepped through the door, hanging it neatly on the rack beside the light switch.
his fine leather shoes followed, lined up with quiet, accurate precision. he exhaled a long, tired breath for a moment, then let his shoulders soften.
the apartment smelled faintly of lavender and something sweet, the diffuser in the corner doing its work. he carried two bags of groceries into the kitchen, setting them down carefully. a clock ticked softly on the wall.
“darling?” he called, voice gentle.
a shuffle of movement answered him. in the living room, you sat curled comfortably in an armchair, your hair pinned back loosely, a blanket pooled over your knees.
you looked up as he entered, your eyes bright but unfocused, your expression uncertain. “oh, i....i see.” you said softly, tilting your head. “hello.”
kento’s chest tightened in the way it always did. he smiled anyway, steady and patient. “hello.” he murmured. “it’s me. kento.”
you blinked back at him. a flicker of recognition almost passed through your features. then it slipped away, leaving polite bewilderment.
he walked over and knelt at your side, lowering himself until his tender, vulnerable face was level with yours. he gave you a soft smile, a smile that had long belonged only to you.
“may i sit with you?” he asked, even though he always did.
you nodded slowly. he took your hand, warm and fragile, and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. the tremor in his chest steadied with the rhythm of your pulse under his lips.
your evenings followed a careful rhythm. he cooked for you like he usually does. it was nothing fancy. you didn't like that. you preferred simple hearty meals, familiar dishes you used to love.
sometimes you remembered and those were such good days, that kento doesn't stop smiling for days on end. sometimes you didn’t and that's okay too, because he could hold your hand.
but tonight you wrinkled your brow at the taste of the miso soup. it seemed to be something you were trying so hard to remember something about. you furrowed your brows before looking at kento.
“did i make this?” you asked.
“no, my darling.” kento answered softly, smiling as he ladled more into your bowl. “i did.”
you nodded, accepting the answer as if it were brand new information. after dinner, he guided you gently to the sofa. he read aloud from a novel you had chosen long ago.
his voice was low and steady. you listened, sometimes with interest, sometimes with your eyes drifting elsewhere, lost in the haze of your mind. still, he read.
when you grew restless, he played your favorite records. the old vinyl crackled as soft jazz filled the room. occasionally, you swayed a little to the music, and for those brief moments, it almost felt like before.
later, he helped you prepare for bed. you laughed once, calling him “such a gentleman” as though you were strangers courting. his heart ached at the words, but he smiled.
he brushed your long tender hair carefully, devotedly tucked you under the blankets, and stayed by your side until your breathing slowed into sleep.
kento thought you had drifted off completely when your kindly fingers tightened suddenly around his hand. he looked at you, startled at the act.
your eyes were clearer than they had been all evening. “kento?” you whispered.
the sound of his name on your lips nearly broke him, as it always does. his throat closed, and it took every ounce of control he had to keep his voice steady.
“yes, love. i’m here.”
you studied his face, tears gathering faintly in your eyes. “you came back.”
he bowed his head against your hand, a tear slipping free despite himself. “i never left.”
for a heartbeat, for a breath, you remembered it at that moment. even for a moment, your soul, your heart called out to him. you smiled at him the way you used to, all warmth and certainty.
then the clarity faded almost instantenously. everything crumbled fast. your gaze clouded again, and you murmured something soft, soemthing perhaps akin to confusion before drifting back into the fog of sleep.
nanami kento had longed understood what it is. he had long accepted it. for bitter for worse, that's what you both promised. for sickness and in health. for all your lives, longing to love.
that's why he stayed, as he always does. he purses his lips in a flat line. his hand still in yours, holding on as though he could anchor both of you.
the heartbreak was quiet, patient, endless. loving you meant carrying both your memories and his own, even when you could not. and so he stayed, choosing you everyday.
this was enough, even if you get worse, even if you never get better. he would do his best to love you well even if it gets worse. he was good enough. he was good at remembering enough of that love for the both of you.
the night passed slowly, as nights always did. nanami barely slept, his body slouched uncomfortably in the chair by your bed, his hand never leaving yours. exhaustion tugged at him, but he stayed, steady, unyielding, the way he always had.
when dawn crept in through the blinds, pale light softened the room. he stirred, eyes blinking open, and for a moment he simply sat there, watching you breathe.
your beautiful face was calmer in sleep, untouched by confusion or fear, almost the way he remembered from years ago when mornings were warm with coffee and quiet laughter.
nanami kento leaned forward slightly, just to look closer. every line of your face was etched into him, into his soul, his heart. every memory kept alive in the hollow of his chest.
he could remember the day he met you, a day at a horrible day after work and he sat there at the park, uncaring about the rain. and almost suddenly, the sun shone when you covered him with your umbrella, the darkness of life swept away by your sunshine.
you rescued him from his own misery. you still do. even when fate twists things over and over again. he would do it over and over again. that's just what he was sure about. as long as he gets to be with you, it will always be worth it.
then as the bright morning sun started to peek through the glass windows, slowly, your eyes fluttered open. unfocused at first, drifting until they found his own.
for a moment, you simply stared at each other, face to face, close enough that he could feel your breath. the quiet added to the ethereal essence of that morning. that special, beautiful morning.
“good morning.” he said softly, his voice rough but gentle, as though the words themselves were a prayer.
you blinked, a small smile blooming on your loving lips. it was almost shaped like a heart. one of the things kento loved about you most. it was almost instinctive the way you did it.
it was like some part of you knew, even if you couldn’t hold onto it. and that's why it was even more beautiful. your smile makes everything beautiful. your existence makes his life beautiful.
“good morning.” you whispered back.
his chest tightened, the ache sharp and sweet all at once. his heart broke and mended in the same breath, because even if you didn’t remember, even if it was only for a fleeting second, you were still here with him.
he let out a shaky exhale, caramel eyes glistening, and leaned closer until your foreheads almost touched. he lets his lips echo a smile that could only be reserved for moments as special as this.
“i love you.” he murmured, the vow as constant as the sun rising outside.
your eyes softened, and though the clarity in them was fragile, fleeting, you said it back. almost too simple, and even more, almost certain.
“i love you too.”
and nanami kento closed his bright caramel eyes at that, a quiet, trembling smile on his lips, holding on to the words like a man clings to air. for him, it was enough. he was satisfied.
if he ended up losing his life tonight.
if he ends up not coming home from shibuya.
this would have been enough.
the days after all the misery in shibuya were heavy. all that grief sat in itadori yuji’s chest like a stone, immovable, suffocating. nanami kento's death replayed in his mind over and over.
it was the calm way he faced it, the faint, tired smile, like he was already halfway gone. and he hated it. he hated how easily he had accepted death like a good friend.
because knowing now what he did, it shatters yuji with endless guilt. nanami kento had a life. he had a world that belonged entirely to him. and it was taken from him.
he sniffed, the tears threatening to break as the little slip of paper yuji had found tucked neatly among nanami’s belongings became heavy in his windbreaker.
in the paper, there was an an address, written in nanami’s careful hand. he had left it in his preparatory letter. and they were full of instructions, full of information. and the direction to the life he was leaving behind.
he went there one rainy afternoon. he didn’t know why. maybe to feel closer to him. maybe to deliver news. maybe just because he couldn’t stand the thought of nanami’s life being reduced to a memory on a battlefield.
when you opened the door, you looked at him kindly but blankly. “hello..” you said, polite, voice warm but unsure. “can i help you?”
yuji swallowed hard. “i…...i’m a friend. of nanami kento.”
you tilted your head. the name meant nothing. “i’m sorry......i.....i don't.....” you murmured gently, as though the failure were yours. “i don’t think i know anyone by that name.”
the words hit him harder than any curse could have, he was certain. his vision blurred. he forced himself to nod, to smile, to keep from breaking in front of you.
he should have left then. but when you invited him inside with the casual courtesy of someone welcoming a stranger, he stepped in. the apartment smelled faintly of lavender.
there were traces of nanami kento everywhere in this house. there were ties hanging neatly by the door, a record player waiting in the corner, books lined on shelves in perfect order.
you offered him warm tea, hands steady, your lips echoed in a smile so soft, he thinks it breaks his heart even more. itadori yuji could hardly breathe. and then, without planning to, he started coming back.
that day, it was just to check in to see how you were. to make sure you were eating, that the groceries weren’t running low. then it was to cook for you, because he remembered nanami kento always kept simple ingredients on hand.
but after that, he just kept coming back to the house, to take care of you like a son would. he read to you in the evenings, stumbling over words but steadying his voice the way nanami kento might have.
he fixed the little things in the apartment. first the broken knob on the dresser, then the loose hinge on the cabinet. little by little, he started doing that. because it felt wrong to let them stay unfixed when nanami kento never would have.
sometimes you asked his name, forgetting each time. sometimes you looked at him with polite curiosity, sometimes with fleeting affection, as though you saw something in him you almost recognized.
once, just once, you called him “kento.”
yuji broke down in the kitchen afterward, hands shaking as he held back sobs. but he kept coming. he kept coming back to make sure you were alright. and perhaps, even selfishly, get to heal his losses little by little too.
he told you stories, certainly not about curses, not about shibuya, but about nanami kento in small ways. at least of what yuji knew and what he had heard.
he talked about how he made the best sandwiches, how he hated overtime, how he was always so reliable it almost hurt. you listened, sometimes smiling at the stories, sometimes forgetting by the next day.
but yuji told them anyway. because someone had to remember.he never said aloud that he was doing it for nanami kento, that this was his way of carrying the man’s love forward.
he just showed up, again and again, cooking, reading, fixing, sitting quietly by your side when the silence grew heavy. in a short amount of time, it was as if he was living here with you.
and when you asked, one evening, “why do you keep coming here?” yuji only smiled through the ache in his chest. his hands were folded tightly in his lap, knuckles pale, like he needed something to hold onto.
“because he would have wanted me to.” he answered simply. his voice was gentle, but the weight behind it pressed heavy in the quiet room.
you studied him, tilting your head as if searching for something in his expression. then you smiled softly, almost shy. “is he your father?”
yuuji blinked, caught off guard by the innocence of your question. his throat tightened as he lowered his gaze, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “the second time i ever got close to a father figure, yeah.”
you seemed to think that over. your bright eyes softened, and then, almost as though a warmth passed through you, you smiled again, tender.
“then…...he would be so glad to have had a son like you.”
the warm, tender words hit him like sunlight breaking through a storm. yuji’s eyes stung, his chest swelling with emotion he tried hard to steady.
“yeah.....i....” he whispered, his voice rough. “i think i would…i would have been glad to have a father like him too.”
the silence that followed was gentle, fragile. you sat back, your fingers worrying lightly at the blanket across your knees. then, as if a door in your memory had quietly creaked open, you spoke again.
“did you know that me and my husband, kento, wanted kids?” your voice was light, fond. it was like you were telling an old secret. you giggled, the sound small but bright in the dim room.
“we would have wanted a child so good like you.”
yuji froze, his breath catching. he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if he even could. so he swallowed hard and nodded, tears burning the corners of his eyes.
“i…..i think he would have loved that, [name]-san.” he managed, his voice breaking despite himself. “he would’ve loved you both having that.”
your gaze drifted somewhere far away, soft and hazy, but you were smiling still. “maybe, in another time.” you murmured, like a dream slipping from your lips. “maybe when he’s not busy anymore.”
yuji’s chest tightened painfully. he opened his mouth, then closed it again, the truth caught in his throat like glass. he couldn’t tell you that your husband wasn’t just busy.
he didn't have the heart to do it. he didn't have the heart to tell you that he was gone, that he had left everything behind in shibuya, including you.
instead, he reached for your hand, tentative. it was almost like he was a son afraid that his mothr might pull away and he would have nothing. but you didn’t. your fingers curled around his, fragile but warm.
“yeah, [name]-san.” he whispered, forcing a smile though his vision blurred with tears. “maybe when he’s not busy anymore.”
you hummed softly at his answer, comforted, as if the thought itself was enough to anchor you. you looked fondly at a picture of your husband, smiling back at you from the frame.
“he always worked too hard, my kento. you would notice it quickly when you see him.” you added after a moment, your voice laced with both pride and affection. “but he always came home to me. always.”
yuji pressed his lips together, a sob threatening to break free. he bowed his head, squeezing your hand tighter like he could promise that for nanami now, in his stead.
“he would have kept coming home to you, i....i know he would.” yuji said quietly, his voice trembling but steady in its conviction. “no matter what. i…...i’ll make sure of it.”
your eyes flicked toward him, curious, but you only smiled again, sweet and certain. “you’re a good boy, yuji-kun.” you whispered, as if bestowing a blessing. “kento would be so proud of you. he would love you a lot, if he got to know you.”
that was the moment itadori yuji couldn’t hold back anymore. he leaned forward, his forehead pressing into the back of your hand, shoulders shaking with silent grief.
and though you didn’t quite understand, you stroked his hair gently, as if he were your own child. as if it was your role to go on ahead and comfort him, like you were his mother.
“shh.” you murmured softly, the way you must have comforted kento once upon a time. “he’ll be home soon. he'd like you and he'd comfort you too."
and yuji let the tears fall, nodding against your hand, even if he was the only one left who knew the truth. even if he was the only that remembers.
it was okay. it was good. that was fine. he will remember for you both. and he would protect you too. just like nanami kento would have. because that's what his role is now.
reading this as someone who does cross stitch but is scared of the other kinds of embroidery is like overhearing an incredibly tall and buff person say they have beef with Mr. Tom, the kitten that chills at the bookstore
i would like to sit on his lap in my pretty little skirt and just talk about the bad day i’ve had while he looks up at me with love and understanding in his eyes and comfortingly pats my thigh and actually listens even though he’s rock hard and it’s lowkey starting to hurt him.
kaledo-art
kianamaiart
blakekathryn
2087
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theartofmadeline
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