Thinking about Nanami Kento, the composed gentleman in public, who absolutely ruins you behind closed doors
His calm voice. Neatly pressed shirts. Polite smiles. He carries your bag, opens doors, pays attention when people speak. And people notice.
They whisper, fondly:
“You’re so lucky.”
“He’s such a gentleman.”
“I bet he’s the type who lights candles and puts on jazz first.”
Gojo cheekily says, "What's it like? Lights off dark, missionary?"
You just nod, every time. Smile. Keep your hands folded in your lap because your thighs still sting from last night.
Because no one knows that behind that perfect collar and TAG heuer watch is a man who fucks like he’s starving. That when the tie comes off and the bedroom door shuts, he doesn’t ask—you barely get the chance to breathe before you're bent over the bed, one hand on your spine, the other wrapped tightly around your throat.
They don’t see the handprints he leaves on your hips. They don’t hear the way he growls when he’s deep inside you, hips slamming into yours with a rhythm that makes the headboard bang. Or how he bites. How he grunts things like:
“Look at you... taking all of me like this.."
So when a coworker giggles and says, “Nanami-san seems so... restrained. I bet he’s really gentle in bed,” you glance over at him—reading quietly across the room, glasses on, forearm propped on his knee.
He looks up and smiles at you. That gentle smile. The one that always comes right before he breaks you.
You sip your drink and hum, “Mm. Something like that.”
And you feel the bruises bloom again in memory—on your thighs, your neck, deep inside—and you smile wider.
The thought of Ryomen Sukuna accidentally falling for the human he was supposed to kill off n’ then finding her in every lifetime- the big, bad king tearing down entire towns, wafting through the air maybe even in spirit just trying to find you.
"Here, I keep them on hand for the kids," Nanami says, handing Nobara a hairband from his pocket.
First comes Nobara's question. "Kids? Plural?"
"Nanami! How many kids do you have?" Yuji's voice rang out as Nanami stood beside Gojo, watching the first year students train.
"Four," The blonde haired man responded simply, checking his phone. A text from his beloved wife. He opens it with little hesitation. One picture, their little five month old daughter laid on her mother's chest. He smiles.
"Four kids?" Nobara asked in surprise.
"Four daughters," Nanami corrected her without glancing up from his phone. A second picture. His twin daughters, three years old, had drawn something together that his wife had sent him a picture of.
"Don't you get tired of all those girls in the house, Nanami?" Gojo asked, throwing an arm around Nanami's broad shoulders.
"No." Nanami responded, scowling. "Why would I?" He checks his watch with shimmery pink nails, the work of his eldest daughter. Underneath his brown business shoes and black socks held up by sock garters, his toenails matched, the same shimmery pink.
"Four kids and not one son?" Yuji asked, his big brown eyes gazing curiously at his teacher.
"Aren't you at least a little disappointed?" Gojo asked, cocking his head at his coworker.
"My genetics determined that we had daughters. I love them all dearly." Nanami spoke, shoving Gojo off of his shoulders.
"I have four daughters, and they look almost exactly like my beautiful wife. I'm more concerned about all the boys I'll have to fend off of my doorstep than I am about only having daughters." Nanami said proudly, a soft smile making it's way onto his usually stoic face.
"Now, if you don't mind, my wife says dinner will be done in 20. Have a nice day, everyone." And with that, Nanami Kento leaves, a big smile on his face. He can't wait to get home.
Survives the Shibuya Incident—barely. not without cost.
Mahito’s transfiguration hit him hard- too hard. The explosion left one side of his body twisted in pain and fire.
He comes home with deep lacerations up his left side, skin warped and torn.
He loses vision in his left eye. It clouds over. Dead. He keeps the eye socket, but it’s a permanent fog. You never flinch, not once.
Nanami who is quiet after the war, quieter than before.
He was never loud—but now, silence is the only thing he trusts.
He speaks in low, even tones, and often stops mid-sentence. Like the words got lost in the smoke.
You never push. You just sit beside him. You learned to read his pauses like a second language.
Has a ragged line of burn-scar tissue from jaw to collarbone on one side. The first time you see it, post-recovery, he’s standing in the kitchen shirtless.
You blink- once.
Then walk to him, gently tracing your fingers along it like it’s not something ruined—but something sacred.
His breath hitches.
He doesn’t cry, but his hands shake when he holds your face.
Will never admit how deeply he mourns the version of himself that could still fight beside his students: the guilt, the helplessness.
He teaches at Jujutsu High now: theory, curses, domain strategy.
He wears glasses again. (just one lens now, he doesn't joke about it, but he lets you do it.)
The students call him "Nanami-sensei" with deep respect.
But he never stops wondering if he’s enough now.
Comes home from long days in the classroom and collapses face-first on the couch, not from exertion, just…existence.
You press kisses to his shoulder blades, trace lazy fingers along the edge of his scarred ribs.
He lets out a breath you know he’s been holding since morning.
PostWar!Nanami who..
Doesn’t sleep well anymore: nightmares. of the train station, of Mahito’s hand, of Yuji screaming, of fire.
Sometimes he thrashes. Once, he hit the wall so hard the plaster cracked. Another time, he woke up with a gasp and whispered, "Not again. Not you. Not you too."
You held his face and whispered, "I’m here. I'm real." until the sun rose.
Struggles with his reflection. Not because he thinks he's hideous. he doesn’t care about vanity. But because he doesn’t recognize the man in the mirror. Sometimes, you catch him standing shirtless in the bathroom, unmoving. just…staring.
You walk up behind him, wrap your arms around his middle, and press your cheek to his spine.
"You’re still the man I love."
He doesn’t speak.
But his hand finds yours.
Feels unworthy of your love.
He’s not the man you met. Not the man you kissed in the quiet corner of the staff room. He’s broken. But you love him harder.
You kiss the sharp edge of his scar. You cup the side of his face that he tries to hide.
You whisper, "You don’t have to be whole to be mine."
PostWar!Nanami who..
Takes up reading again. long-form fiction. mostly old detective novels. Sometimes, when the light’s soft and you’re sprawled on his lap, he reads aloud to you in that low, slow voice that always makes your spine shiver.
Lets you trace the ragged line over his ribs with your mouth.
your kisses there are reverent, almost religious.
He always flinches the first time—but you never stop. You worship the pieces of him he once thought no one could ever want.
Sometimes, he exhales a shuddering moan as your lips trail over the ruined flesh.
He murmurs, "You make me feel real."
PostWar!Nanami who...
Doesn't initiate intimacy as much anymore—but aches for it.
not just sex- touch- closeness, grounding.
But the shame runs deep.
He doesn’t think he’s desirable.
Not now. Not with the tremor in his hands and the scar on his face.
The first time you crawl into his lap, kiss him deep, and whisper, "Let me love you," he trembles.
Literally trembles.
He grips your hips so tightly you bruise. When you take your time—tracing every healed burn with your fingers, murmuring soft things against his throat—he breaks.
Quietly. Slowly.
One tear. Then another.
He whispers, "I thought I lost this. I thought I lost you."
You kiss his jaw and say, "You’ll never lose me."
Still wears his watch. The one that cracked during the incident.
He keeps it in a drawer now, says it’s a reminder.
"Of what?"
"That I lived. Somehow. And that I should make the time worth it."
Post!War Nanami who..
Doesn't think he’s sexy anymore.
Not with the way his body looks now, the way his muscles pull tight around scarred flesh, the clouded eye, the way his left hand trembles when he tries to unbutton his shirt.
He thinks sex is something for his past.
He never used to be vocal. Pre-incident Nanami was quiet, controlled, almost frustrating in how still he was even during sex. You always knew it was about control. About keeping his composure. But after Shibuya? That control is cracked.
Still that quiet, deliberate man. but now?
now there’s urgency.
Like he doesn’t want to waste a second of having you.
Like every breath between you is borrowed time.
He holds you like you're a miracle.
He murmurs your name like prayer.
He makes love now—not just fucks. slowly. reverently. with a kind of hunger edged in awe.
Now, he needs your touch like oxygen.
Needs the weight of your body over him, grounding him.
Needs the way your hands trace all of him—even the damaged parts—with unshaken devotion.
He can't hide anymore. Doesn’t want to.
You’re straddling him one night, soft light filtering through the curtains, his hands bruising your hips as he thrusts up into you—slow, deep, so achingly full.
One eye locked on yours, the other clouded, scarred.
His jaw clenches. You see it coming. The moment he’s about to look away.
But you stop him.
"Don’t look away from me."
And something in him shatters.
He groans—deep, low, almost broken—and pulls you down to kiss him.
Sloppy. Open-mouthed. Hungry.
That night, you ride him until he forgets everything else.
The war. The fire. The pain.
Just you.
Just your name on his tongue—hoarse, reverent—over and over until he spills inside you with a gasping, "Thank you, thank you, thank you…"
Afterward, he curls around you like a shield.
Scarred chest pressed to your back.
His hand resting on your belly, possessive, warm.
He whispers into your hair, "I didn’t think I’d ever have this again."
And you whisper back, "You never lost it."
A/N: i felt bad for abandoning you guys for like a week, so heres some headcanons for post war nanami, picture is from pinterest. ANYWAYS, hope its decent
arranged marriage Nanami with a people-pleasing reader
last chapter - next chapter - series masterlist
*please be wary, this chapter contains sexual harassment*
Your room was constantly empty growing up. That's not to say nothing happened or you were perpetually alone, but it was very rare for one of the workers at the family estate to visit you. Or anyone else for that matter. You were the one doing the visiting.
One of your greatest concerns regarding your inevitable marriage was simply the nature of sharing a room with someone else at all times. You wondered if your spouse would grow sick of you. If you were a strangely awkward companion. If perhaps you would be too clingy, or otherwise too hesitant. Maybe you were an uncomfortable bedmate, who knows?
All of these worries had ceased, however, with the onset of Kento in your life.
He was gentle and patient with you, friendly and curious to know you. This morning, you had awoken with recollections of the previous night. Had all that really happened? It seemed more than ever that perhaps you really had made a friend.
Your time in Kyoto was fun; you had enjoyed pretending to be normal, but when you would come home for break, you were reminded that your world was not one that could be escaped from. As much as you would have liked to have stayed friends with your classmates, that just hadn't been in the cards for you.
You felt luckier than ever, having stayed up late simply talking with someone you knew would remain present in your life. You had assumed marriage was something scary, something that only lead to more anxiety, but now, your worries seemed wholly irrational.
He called you by your first name, and you his. Even now, Kento stood before you in loose pajamas, his hair tousled in a way you had never seen, pouring you a drink.
"Have you ever been to the beach?" He asked, passing you the cup.
You shook your head, "No...not a real one anyway." He simply nodded.
"Me either." Shrugging, he sat down on his mattress, yawning and running a hand through his hair. It made you smile. How was it that he looked so attractive, unkempt?
It did come as a surprise that he hadn't been to the ocean. You had learned he was quite fond of the water- that, paired with the independence he seemed to exude, you would have expected him to have been at least once. His homeland was an Island after all.
"One time, in school, after finishing one of our missions," You stretch and pull one of your luggage bags to your mattress, "my classmates and I stopped by Lake Biwa." You shook your head, recalling the experience. "It's near Kyoto, and it's so big, it was easy for me to pretend it was the ocean."
Now you would get to see the real thing. You set aside your swimsuit and began to put a bag together for the days ahead of you.
--
You had arrived at the final destination (before the return journey, of course), the northernmost point of your trip, early that morning. You had been so busy getting to know your husband the night before that you hadn't packed for the days away from the mainland.
Organized as ever, Kento had the schedule mapped out to ease your mind. Today, you would stay in together until noon. After a brunch on the train, you would take a ferry to Pulau Redang, a beautiful island with crystal clear water. You needed to bring your luggage with you because you would not be sleeping on the train this evening, but rather, at a resort in the island.
You set aside the heels you had worn to dinner the night before, opting instead for a comfortable pair of loafers, flipping them upside down, you zipped up your bag. Recalling the contents you had just filled it with, you stopped short, knowing you would be changing into the bathing suit you had brought along before departing.
You had a loose pair of overalls to cover it, and everyone would be in swim attire. What did it matter, anyway? The truth was, you couldn't put aside the notion that you wanted desperately to look nice.
It was a modest one-piece; even so, your family would have some choice words if they saw you in it. When you compared it to the bathing suits the beautiful women you had seen on the beach wearing, you felt suddenly embarrassed.
In the bathroom, you fiddled with the straps of your linen overalls, checking around you for anything you might need while off the train.
When you came around, Kento did not even allow you to pull the bag off the luggage rack, insisting on carrying it for you.
You laughed a bit when his forearm came into view, lifting the case with ease and settling it at his feet. You looked up at him, "Don't you remember how strong I am?" Certainly, the higher-ups hadn't left out your skill in the jujutsu world from the man. Even if your family hadn't let you work towards a promotion, your rank was nothing to scoff at.
"When it comes to unburdening my wife, it's not really a matter of strength but, yes, of course." He smiled softly your way, lifting your bag so it didn't roll on the train's luxurious carpets. "I have no doubt in your ability, do believe me." He set the bags down then, maneuvering in the hall to turn off the lights. "But I can't say I wouldn't be pleased if you would let me do it for you.
--
An attendant took your bags when you made it to one of the restaurant cars. They had groups of workers bringing luggage to the resorts through a private service since early morning. It only took a reservation check to know where to deliver your bags.
You ate an early lunch with a small group of passengers before the Express had a private vehicle waiting to bring you both to the dock, where a large Merang Jetty boat awaited to carry you to the most beautiful location you had ever seen.
The voyage was comfortable with the way the breeze passed you by, and paired with the shining sun, you had never felt so alive. Every so often, puffs of sea spray would spritz and cool your face, making you laugh. Nanami had gone to the upper deck of the boat to bring you a beverage when suddenly another passenger came to greet you.
In all honesty, when you had boarded, you had thought he was one of the employees of the boat service. He had spent much of his time standing around the women serving the guests aboard, speaking loudly and waving his hands like he owned their attention.
He had a big grin on his face, and he stood awkwardly in front of you for a while. It made you quite nervous to have him silently staring. The boat was moving quickly, only a half-hour trip, and the man wobbled slightly with the movement of the waves beneath you.
He leaned over to grip a seat behind him. His brows were arched in a way that read as a concern. It felt strange to have him smiling so eerily before he spoke up, "Are you traveling alone?"
You wondered suddenly if he had been day drinking, what else could explain the volume of his speech? The joviality in his voice?
"Oh, no, I'm here with someone else." You smiled back. He seemed friendly enough. You weren't completely certain he wasn't just a worker welcoming guests; his eyes were already looking at other passengers, likely looking to strike up conversation once he was done with you.
The boat canted slightly, and he nearly lost his balance. You had a seat beside you that was open, but something told you not to offer it up. You instantly felt ashamed and guilty at the notion. "Are you alright? Why don't you sit?"
He tucked himself between a wall and the top of the seat to your right. He leaned down far, not sitting, but intruding on your space all the same. "Well, aren't you a sweet thing?" You squint, trying for an appreciative smile but not quite being able to, "Is this your first time in Malaysia? Where are you from?"
You turn away from him and wonder if Kento was stuck speaking to the bartender. "Um... yes, I've never-"
You jump slightly when he smacks a boisterous hand on the seat beside you. "Exciting! It's a great place, really, nice broads." He leans in close again, and you grip the edge of your chair so as not to pull away. "They love foreign guys, it's all super easy over here."
He laughs like he's said something funny, and you purse your lips. Some of the attendants from earlier seem to be making their way toward you, a tight smile on their faces. Before they reach you, though, the man is tugged back. You feel as though you can breathe again,
Nanami seemed to have returned, and in an incredibly swift motion, he redirected the man to face him. "Careful." Kento's face was polite as ever, but you had never heard his voice so deep, "We're being asked to find our seats."
The man didn't seem to be put off by it at all, patting the hand Nanami had on his shoulder. "Ah, thanks, man."
Kento wiped the touch off on his shorts and nodded with a curt, "Of course." Before facing you.
"What was that?" He was speaking much softer, and his sweetness warmed you. He narrowed his eyes in that way he does when he's trying to read your mind, "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine." You suddenly have an urge, and you act on it. Patting his arm as if you were petting a cat. A jitter rolls up his spine like the waves lapping at the sides of the boat. He looked down at your hand, completely distracted. Maybe the mist made him cold?
And what on earth had compelled you to do that?
He was still looking at your hand when you pulled away, shaking your head. You laughed it off, "I think he just wanted to talk to somebody."
Nanami made a 'hmm' sound and reached across you to retrieve the drink he had set aside when he saw the man so near to you. Silently, he decided not to leave you alone again, even in such a small space.
--
When you dock, it doesn't take long for staff to come and point you in the right direction. Some guests, already stripped down to swimming attire, make their way to a more crowded area of the beach. There are booths of people braiding hair, making drinks, and offering fruit.
The attendants of the ferry had handed out brochures depicting "The Blue Tears," a breathtaking bioluminescent glow of the beach. You knew immediately that this was something you wanted. You could only hope you would be lucky enough to catch sight of the natural phenomenon.
You are informed that your bags have already been checked to the hotel and that your rooms will be ready by evening. Soon after learning this, Nanami offers to take you around the island. And while you know that you would want to at some point, you could cover the whole thing by foot- you knew he was wanting to go to the ocean.
Kento was already dressed in a loose button-up and a pair of shorts that you realize might be swim trunks.
Your anxiety is turned up a notch, ceaseless thoughts consume your mind when you think about shedding some layers. The two of you pass by live music, stands offering food, and an elderly lady selling jewelry.
Kento has asked you suddenly how well you can swim, and you have to force your eyes off of his nimble fingers unbuttoning his shirt and try to assure him of your ability.
You recall that Nanami had, in fact, witnessed you (even for just a moment) in some pretty raunchy lingerie; even so, you want to keep a loose cloth coverup over your black one-piece. Only throwing it away from yourself when your husband turns from you to walk into the ocean.
He was respectful enough to mind his gaze, but it was not so simple for you. The man was built in a dreadfully distracting way. The saltwater sliding down the tanned skin of his back brought wholly unwelcome thoughts of licking him clean, and at the notion, you dove headfirst to clear your mind.
Good Lord, what is wrong with you?
You watch him when you resurface, allowing the cool water to encapsulate your body, the necklace you wore tickles your clavicle with the motion of the tide. The water was so clear, everything was beautiful, and it was all so distracting that your brain was quiet, devoid of anxious thoughts for the first time in years.
A pair of teens splash each other, not too far off from you, their laughs are infectious, and you spin around to take in the image before you, wanting to commemorate it. You feel even better than you had at Lake Biwa with your classmates.
Kento came in close, and you shared meaningless conversations that had no reason to be as funny as the two of you found them. He seemed to monitor the distance from the beach every so often before leaning back and letting the sun warm his face.
Swimming was more tiring than you recalled it being, but nothing could have prepared you for the delight of the moment. The two of you floated on your backs, the water kissing your cheeks repeatedly.
--
Time falls away from you. The two of you swam all evening, and at some points, you would wade closer to the beach so you didn't have to swim as hard. You had a blast, and when you finally extricated yourself from the water, the two of you ate all kinds of foods from the nearby stands. Even after sunset, the beach was still comfortably warm despite the chill of the wind.
In the light of the lanterns, you feel more comfortable in yourself, just wrapping the cloth over your shoulders. And standing there, eating some kind of meat on a stick, soaking wet, and flushed from exertion, Kento smiles and whispers something. It takes you a moment too long to understand what he had said. He was already moving on.
"I hope you know how lovely you are."
You feel as though you have never left the ocean, still floating there with him an arm's width away. You probably looked ridiculous, what with your wet hair, sandy feet, and satay on your fingers? You use the back of your hand to wipe at your mouth and laugh at him.
Kento walks a few paces before you, shaking his head while you call him insane. The people you pass while trying different foods tell you to come out tomorrow night to see the bioluminescent hues. How lucky you felt in that moment, Nanami seemed just as thrilled as you were.
When you were younger and training so regularly, your stamina had never been an issue, but after eating, the weight of your exhaustion hits you. It had been a long time since you strained every muscle. You feel slightly annoyed that Nanami was not even remotely out of breath.
He was carrying both of your shoes, and your linen overalls hung on his arm. You knew that you would sleep well tonight after a shower, though a new side of this man might just keep you up. Thinking about just how broad his shoulders were, just how earnest he had looked when he called you lovely.
He must have been teasing, you know that, you very well could have had peanut sauce on your face when he said it, but it caused your heart to speed up nonetheless.
You bring a hand to your warm cheek, feeling the heat present despite the cool air on your damp skin. You huff a breath as you walk up the steps to the hotel you were staying at.
You wait in the foyer while Nanami gets your cards. He had insisted on allowing you to rest for a moment after he chuckled hearing how out of breath you were.
After taking a seat, you're embarrassed to realize that standing up from the position you were in might take a great deal of effort. Perhaps you had overdone it.
You were too distracted by the haze in your head to notice the familiar man making his way toward you. It didn't take long to recognize him, though. All loudness and indecency.
He laughs, making some comment of surprise to see you as if you had been more than brief, unfortunate acquaintances. "Funny seeing you here, hmm?" He wiggles his eyebrows at you in a very odd fashion. It was clear he felt closer to you than you felt to him.
"You're not following me, are ya, sweetheart?" The slight dampness on the back of your thighs from the salty ocean clings uncomfortably to the chair below you, and when the man leans in to touch the side of your face, you feel as though it is what keeps you frozen in place.
Just as you begin to shake your head away from his intruding hand, he pulls it back, still leaning all the closer. He smells of alcohol and laughs right by your ear, suddenly speaking lowly, "No, surely not...you keep out of trouble, doncha?"
You motion for him to move, a gentle, "excuse me." chokes from your mouth, your eyes attempt to find Kento, but the lounge blocks the welcome desk.
The man suddenly grabs at your arm and in an intoxicated motion, rubs it against his chest and belly. His shirt is unbuttoned and the feel of his skin makes you sick. You try to drag your hand away from him, not caring for niceties anymore, but he's closer than ever, and his breath puffs against your face when he talks, "No, you're a good girl, aren't you."
You're nauseous, your heart is pounding, and for some reason, you can't seem to call on your cursed energy. It's not even the exhaustion in your bones; you're having some kind of mental block. He seems to quite like touching himself with your unwilling limb, but once your hand starts to be brought lower, you jerk your hand free. A frightened "Stop it!" leaves you as you bring the arm to your own chest.
You've forced yourself to your feet, hoping he will take a step (or thirty) back, but he seems insulted by the action. Brows furrowing as if your apparent repulsion is incomprehensible.
He's got his hands on you in an instant, he's shoving your shoulders down, forcing you to sit once again. He's doing a strange shuffling motion on his feet, perhaps not having thought his actions though, and then, only a horrible moment later, it's as if he's climbing on top of you.
You hesitate to shove him off, for some reason, putting your hands back where they had just been forced feels jarring but thankfully, you don't have to.
In one starting motion, the drunk man goes from breathing on your neck, knee almost on your lap, to being completely knocked to the floor, prone on his back, his head cracking loudly on the marble floor.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Kento is shaking above him, having just yanked the man off of you, he doesn't waste a moment helping you out of the seat. He removes himself from you instantly, his eyes almost seem to jitter with how quickly he is taking you in.
You realize that he is trying to see if his touch has frightened you, but you're not backing away from him, you find his wrist, and stare, "I'm fine...I'm fine." You're shaking your head, it's like ice-cold water has been doused on you, and you're filled with sickening shame.
You were fine; he had hardly done anything to you, so why did you feel so overwhelmed? Why was your pulse rocketing in your ears? Why were you breathing so loudly?
Nanami extricated you from the scene with speed, in an attempt to not make too much of a scene for your sake, he controlled his tone when speaking to the staff who had come running at his shout. Informing them that they better get that man away from him before he did something unsightly. Something he wouldn't regret.
You find yourself patting his arm, telling him it's okay. You're so embarrassed that you had reacted in such a way, that there were so many people involved now, that it had even happened in the first place.
You massage your neck, a strange laugh escaping you. One of the attendants from the front desk brought you a robe and you try to turn the gesture away, but Kento takes it, and with incredible attentiveness, wraps you up. He holds the sides of the fabric, looking at you directly. It doesn't take long for the hotel manager to come and personally escort you to your room.
Time seems to move so slowly, you force yourself to keep up as he leads you down a nearby hallway. Kento has a hand on the small of your back, he's watching you closely, and you try to force yourself to focus.
You bite your cheek, and the hall tilts. Nanami keeps you from cantering to the side, but you have realized too late what exactly is happening.
It's been a while since something like this has happened, but from the exertion of the day, and moving so suddenly, you feel as though your blood pressure has dropped. Your vision pulses in and out of focus.
By all accounts, you do try your best to make it to the hotel room, but every step you take to follow, you become more discouraged by the distance. Nanami says your name, you hear it and you know there's nothing you can do.
You try to pull away from your husband to lean against the wall, but he misinterprets your action, holding you tighter, and before you can attempt to fall to a sitting position, you have lost all range of motion.
Consciousness leaves you.
--
Nanami had already been worried by your state when he began leading you after the hotel attendant, but the moment he noticed your breathing change, he surged with panic.
He followed you to the floor, gently laying your head on the carpet. He did not recognize his own voice calling for help. His heart is in overdrive, and he doesn't know what to do. Had you fainted from shock? Were you unwell?
He thought back to how flushed you had been when he had told you to rest a moment while collecting the key cards. Had you been feeling unwell since even then? Why hadn't you told him?
Thankfully it didn't take long for you to groan from your position on the floor. Nanami kept calling out your name like a mantra. The hotel manager had used a walky-talky to call for help, but you were already trying to sit up before anyone arrived.
Earlier, Kento had been so cautious, anxious that his touch would scare or upset you somehow. Now, he grabbed your cheeks in his hands, unable to control himself.
"What happened? Are you alright? Are you not feeling well?"
You silently encircle his wrist, leaning your face into his tender touch, "I'm okay, I'm sorry, I'm alright."
He squinted, shaking his head with furrowed brows, "You're sorry? Don't be sorry, what's happening?"
Someone turned the corner of the corridor, and they were in the very same uniform as the man on your left. He seemed concerned, sprinting to a kneel beside Nanami to feel your pulse, your forehead.
You tried to wave them off again, "I'm okay, I'm very sorry, I have anemia, I didn't think this would happen..."
The hotel attendant looked understanding, nodded, and asked if you needed anything, if they could do anything to be of service to you, but once again, you waved them off.
Nanami was looking at you closely; he was so focused on your face then, watching your every movement. He seemed almost upset.
You recall another angry face.
--
Years ago, something like this had happened, you had been training in the dojo at the family estate, everything seemed normal, you had been sleeping and eating well, and yet after one flailing movement, you had found yourself sightless, lying on the tatami mats.
When you had awoken, the family doctor was there, informing your father of this condition, he said that it was improper for women to be pushing their bodies in the way you had been, that such distress on such a weak form could affect fertility, could lead to weak stock, to hysteria common amongst women.
You didn't train after that.
--
You really were alright, that's the embarrassing part. You were quite sure you would be able to comfortably make it to the room just fine but Kento was having none of your actions to brush him off.
The room spun again, not with vertigo, but with the action of him lifting you sturdily against his chest. He was breathing tightly, and every so often, he would murmur reassurances. He was still off kilter though.
He didn't know you were anemic.
He felt that it was rather important information to have on his wife and yet, here you were, trying to convince him to let you walk on your own.
He wonders why you hadn't said. Was it possible that you thought it wouldn't affect you? Could it be that you had your condition under control until now? Or, he suspected, his stomach churning, was it that the higher-ups thought he would not want you unless your condition was perfect? Had you hidden it from him on purpose?
Anemia wasn't uncommon, but he hadn't seen someone faint like this before. Nanami recalls suddenly the past he so desperately had wanted to pursue. The life away from Jujutsu he had thought would bring him freedom. He recalled the boss who had overworked him to sleeplessness. The deep discontentment he found himself in when he lived to serve those around him.
In that moment, holding you closely to his chest, he wondered if that had been how you felt. If you had been trapped there, the same way he had been. Only now, with your body tucked into him, he wondered, was that your norm?
He couldn't let that happen.
The two men from before brought Nanami to the reserved room, and they opened the door for you both, asking repeatedly if you needed hot chocolate or a cold compress. You seemed more cognizant, turning them down. Your luggage was just beside the door, you realize.
Before you could turn them away again, the hotel manager pointed out some beverages and salty snacks on the table. Kento thanked them, and after the workers had turned to leave, he set you down on the desk that was in the main entrance of the room.
He murmuerd something about wanting to lay you down, that perhaps he should have your knees above your head, but his main priority was trying to keep you from jumping off the counter to prove you were really quite well.
So much embarrassment riddled your brain, and Nanami was too sweet to be anything but needlessly worried.
He bent his knees to look at you closely. Ignoring your words of assurance, he placed his palm gently on your forehead. He cracked open a water bottle, and you knew instantly that you were fine since your brain was quickly picking up on how tensely his muscles became when he tore the lid off.
You wanted to bite his arm.
Seriously, what is wrong with you?
He clutched your chin, watching you swallow the liquid, only satisfied once you set the bottle down yourself. He reached over to a small packet of peanuts in a basket amidst other treats laid out free of charge.
Ah, yes, you were just fine, you felt every stroke of his thumb on your thigh as he watched you eat away at the individual nuts. You found it funny, or maybe you were just laughing to ease your ruckus of a heartbeat.
Kento did not find it amusing; his brows were still tightly knit together, had pulled back after noticing how close he had become, and only once petted the back of your neck when you laughed at him.
You really just wanted to curb this deep-seated concern of his.
"You need to lie down." Before the man could pick you up himself, you swung your legs off the desk, he didn't exactly gasp, but he huffed a,
"Please don't do that..." Before you could promise again that you were right as rain. Cheeks flushed in explanations you didn't want to share. In silent prayers, he would leave this all alone and somehow forget this had ever happened.
He still walked you out of the foyer, only just barely passing by the archway that led into the bedroom, when your steps halted. Alerted almost instantly.
He looked down at you, palm gently rubbing your back, "Please. It's best for you to lie down, even if you really are feeling alright."
Your mouth opens and closes a few times, looking between your husband and the massive room before you, "It's...not that."
He follows your head a few times, "What's wrong?" He looks closely at your eyes, and you don't understand how he isn't getting it. He turns to face you completely, brows furrowing, hands encompassing your face. Perhaps he thought you were feeling weak again.
"Kento." You look distinctly from him to the scene through the doorway, drawing his hand from your face.
He slowly turns again, trying to understand your tenseness, it takes him a bit, silly man, before he stills. "Oh..." He straightens considerably, finally understanding.
It seems there was only one bed in your room.
〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰
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