Nanami Kento: Relationship Headcanons (now a fic), Part 8
Contents: relationship, establishing feelings, angst, first arguments.
Warning: MDNI!! Content warnings will be given for the relevant chapters. But before that ... the angst.
Your assurances that you had enjoyed what had happened in your office sparked something new between the two of you. Every time Kento saw you, his fingers were seeking out yours. His hand was always on your waist or lower back, sometimes unconsciously. You were beginning to learn just how much he was a man of restraint, how he reigned in so many of his natural instincts on a daily basis. He seemed to be wearing the armour that the world demanded of him, but as time passed, that same emotional apparel was shed, bit by bit, when he was in your presence.
The concept was so foreign to him, that Kento seemed to be surprised by how he had no control over those aspects of his personality that you brought to the surface.
For instance, on the evening that you had your first argument with him.
He had returned from a mission, covered head to toe in the foulest combination of sludge and rancid water, his suit ruined beyond repair and various bruises already blooming on his skin.
It had been a solo mission and several higher grade spirits had been present. Although not badly injured, Kento was exhausted, sore and in a foul mood over the lack of detail in his prior briefing. Showered, dressed in a mismatched set of clothes borrowed from Gojo, purplish discoloration spreading up from his collar, he paced your office.
"Is it too much to ask that they simply confirm mission parameters? That they provide us with updated blueprints? That we get back-up in case of emergencies? Oh, don't get me wrong. I've always known how little our lives mean, how they spend us like cheap currency, but this... this is just shoddy and lax and poorly planned - "
You brewed him tea as he ranted, a certain heaviness, a razor edge that dug into some deep part of you, furrowing your brow as you glanced back at him. He was right, of course. The rarely seen higher-ups often used their sorcerers like pawns in chess games, sometimes losing sight of the value of human life from their rarefied strata.
You waited for the tea to reach just the right temperature, choosing your words carefully. In a pause in his speech, you asked the question you already knew the answer to.
"Do you really think it's a coincidence?"
He stopped, facing the far wall.
"Why do you mean?"
"Do you think I don't know what happened on Takuma's mission?"
Takuma Ino, a young sorcerer, going so far as to deny himself a grade one sorcerer class unless his recommendation came from Kento, had been the victim of similar incompetence just last week. Kento turned to you now, and his expression was carefully blank in a way that made you want to grab his shoulders and shake him.
"Ah. You know about that?"
"Of course I know. You called an intervention. You were angry, and you made them look incompetent. This is retaliation for that, Kento, however you look at it. They can't interfere to the extent where your life may be in danger, but look at what they did."
His body was now rigid, his mouth set in a tense, stubborn line.
"And what did you expect me to do? Sit back and let them get away with placing young sorcerers in danger?"
The teaspoon clattered into the saucer as you spun around to face him fully.
"What? Why would I ever question your need to do that?"
"Well, it certainly sounded like a criticism."
"That's because it was a criticism. But not of your intention, Kento. Are you being wilfully obtuse?"
"Then what did you expect me to do?"
"Handle it better. Are you telling me you don't know how their egos would have been affected? That's you didn't know how that could have backfired?"
"Am I now to be responsible for the failings of others? Am I suppose to pander to these ... these ..."
It was testament to his rage that he couldn't even come up with adequate words that would convey his disgust for these people. You closed your eyes and passed a hand over your brow.
"No. I don't expect you to do that. Never. But Kento, sometimes your temper does get the better of you. You do make rash decisions, especially if it's on matters that are ... very personal to you."
You knew, of course. Once he'd mentioned the name Haibara, you'd looked through the records. The crisp, clinical phrases on the yellowing pages of the autopsy report spoke volumes on what had been omitted.
The range of emotions that crossed his face surprised you, almost making you wish you could take the words back. But it had been the truth. He looked taken aback, the surprise chased shortly by anger, and then a flash of something deeply pained, a small twist of the knife.
"If that's how you feel, then - "
"Don't finish that sentence, Kento."
Your voice is quiet, firm, and he actually pauses.
"Because I haven't finished what I was going to say. Please listen. You took that decision, and I understand your anger. I understand it completely. But you did it with no sense of self-preservation whatsoever. Do you think I don't know how little you think of yourself when others are in danger?"
You took a steadying breath, willing your voice to remain even, to reign in the emotion that threatened to roughen the edges of what you had to say to him.
"You had every right to stand up for Takuma. But in future, if you want to do things like that, at your own expense, run it by me first. Because it seems like I'm the only one who has your best interests in mind. You certainly don't."
"My best interests? I - "
He seemed at a loss in terms of how to respond to this. His jaw worked in furious frustration, but then he stopped, strode to the door and flung it open, his heavy footsteps carrying him away from the office, away from you.
You released a breath you had been holding and clutched the edge of the table, a horrible vice closing around your throat. You had always hated confrontation, and this was no exception. But this time, you hadn't been able to help yourself. It was as if something tenacious, something steel-clad and oblivious to your fear had risen to the surface. You couldn't have let him go without hearing what you really thought, even if you wanted to.
And now, you were left to face the consequences. Sinking into your chair, you let your head drop wearily into your palms.
Is this what caring for someone meant? Was this the bereft ache that you were supposed to feel when he was angry, when he was hurt, when he was gone? How had you gone through your whole adult life and still found yourself so ill-equipped to deal with the feelings he left scattered around you? Feelings that you now gathered up and hoarded in a protective layer around yourself, clinging so desperately to the idea that what you said hadn't been wrong.
Had it?
Someone was approaching the office and you straightened hurriedly, taking a deep breath, attempting some form of composure before you had to face your professional demands.
Kento strode back in, as precipitously as he had left, this time closing the door behind him and locking it. You stared at him, dumbfounded, steeling yourself for what he had to say. He regarded you in silence, and you took him in, fully this time.
His eyes were slightly red-rimmed, raw looking. The ugly abrasions stood out more starkly against his skin. His hair was completely out of its usual style, falling softly around his cheeks. Those same cheeks that you had traced with such tenderness now seemed so shadowed, so gaunt. His plain grey work shirt, the spare he'd kept at the Tech, clashed with the black trackpants that Gojo had provided, lending his dignified bearing a distinct pathos. There was a tender, bruised quality to the set of his mouth, a vulnerability in his glance that you had never seen before.
You realised, then, that in his own way, he was letting you see it, all of it.
Wordlessly you held your arms out to him and he came forward, almost child-like in his direct approach. He got down on one knee and his head drooped slowly into your lap, a heavy sigh escaping him as your embrace enclosed his shoulders. You held him tightly against your chest, feeling the solidity and power in his frame, wondering how long it had been since anyone had leant him their strength.
Time passed, your time at work. You thought of your employers, sitting in comfort while this man fought with every silent breath for some semblance of justice, for something good in this world. You breathed in the warm scent of his scalp and held him tighter as shadows lengthened in the room. If your time and livelihood were also currency to them, then let it be spent like this.
He apologizes for his outburst, of course, and this time there is a wariness there, as if he is aware of just how much he has shown and cannot believe that you will actually accept it. He avoids coming to your office, stating that he distracted you from your work enough with the issues he brings and wanted to keep your meetings strictly outside of work, or in the break room, where your interaction would be one of forced professionalism.
If he had been any other kind of man, you might have found it frustrating. There was something else here, though, some subtle message (maybe one that even he was unaware of), an indication that something needed to be proven. You were determined to rise to the occasion.
And so, you made your plans.
You called him one evening, on a Thursday. You had not seen him at work. You decide to forgo messaging, because you missed his voice. He picked up almost immediately, speaking your name, his tone slightly surprised, but warm.
"Kento, I need to know something."
"Yes, dear?"
"Are you busy this Sunday?"
"No. I was going to ask you to spend the day with me."
"Well, I'm asking you now."
"To spend the day together?"
"Yes."
He pauses and a soft chuckle reaches your ear.
"Does it make a difference who asks?"
"Yes, it does. For this Sunday."
"And why is that?"
"Because I've made plans for us."
"You have?"
"Absolutely. You can't always be the one planning our dates."
"I see nothing wrong with that. But, pardon my curiosity, where are we going?"
"It's a surprise, Kento."
"Oh no."
"What do you mean 'oh no'?"
"Nothing at all."
"Explain."
"A slip of the tongue, my darling."
"A slip of the tongue, my foot."
"And a most delightful foot it is."
"Stop slithering your way out of things."
"I take offense to that word."
"Anyway, I'll give you a hint. Since I'm an exceptionally kind person."
"I'm eager to hear it."
You clear your throat.
"Dress for the outdoors."
"Are you sure about that?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, when you say that to me, I imagine tough trousers, hiking boots, a walking stick ... "
"Oh no. None of that."
"Ah. So you mean outdoors, but your kind of outdoors."
"My kind?"
"Lazing in the sunshine and eating grapes."
You let out an incredulous laugh.
"You're awfully cheeky today, aren't you?"
His voice immediately takes on a lower, smoky tone.
"Am I going to be punished for that?"
Oh no, you don't, sir.
"Yes. I'll punish you. With a large quantity of grapes."
There is a short silence.
"Hmm."
"Aren't you going to ask me what I'm going to do with those grapes?"
"Maybe I'll wait for Sunday, after all."
Sunday comes and you feel both excited and a sense of nervous anticipation. You've never planned a date to this extent before. You've hired a car from the Tech for the day, one of the company cars that are always available for employees. You're aware that you might just be abusing the privilege, but you've never used this particular perk before and you're feeling slightly rebellious.
You've picked the perfect spot for a picnic, in a private piece of land owned by an old family friend. You'd spent many childhood days there when times were better and your mother had still been with you. The land was now cared for by a third party, but you were one of the people who still had access, and you could imagine the place clearly in your mind's eye.
Food, of course, played an important role in this. You'd thought out the menu well in advance and purchased all the ingredients you'd needed the previous day. You were going to prepare his special sandwich, of course, along with a green salad with fresh corn and avocado, onigiri with various fillings, croquettes, marinaded artichokes with parmesan, some of those store-bought honey cakes, coffee jelly, along with a small tribute to your mother's simple favourite, sandwiches with mature cheddar, cucumber and the mint chutney she had taught you the recipe for. Champagne and bottled water would be carried carefully along in the hamper, along with glasses, cutlery and plates.
You'd made sure that you'd woken up early and prepared everything that needed to be made fresh. When it was time, you sent Kento a short message, telling him that you'd fetch him from outside his apartment, and headed there. It had been a while since you had driven, but the muscle memory was there, the steering fluid under your fingers, and you'd re-adjusted in no time. You felt somewhat proud, and confident that today would go off without a hitch.
Kento was waiting on the street corner, and the sight of him momentarily stole the breath from your lungs. The collar of his white shirt showed above a simple, plaid sweater, light colored jeans emphasizing his long legs, rugged brown shoes and his customary watch, glinting from beneath his sleeve, completing the ensemble. There was no sign of the dark glasses and his hair was not slicked back, lending him a relaxed and casual air. As you drew closer, you could see the remaining yellowish traces of bruising against the side of his neck.
His eyes travelled over to the car, and when he spotted you behind the wheel, they softened and creased at the corners, with a warmth that you still couldn't believe was directed at you. He climbed into the passenger seat and your fingers met his, naturally.
"Good morning, handsome."
He coughed and shifted in his seat, still not accustomed to your teasing, but heartfelt compliments.
"Good - well, hello."
His warm grasp was now trailing along your arm, belying the awkwardness of his words, and you laughed.
"Shall we?"
You shifted gear and set the car in motion. Soon, you were out of the city limits, the clear autumn air crisp and warm enough for you both to let down the windows at intervals, taking in the breeze. Kento's hair caught the morning sunlight, the shorter strands at the nape of his neck suddenly, tenderly visible. You want to run your fingers over them, but you knew you'd get a scolding for not paying attention to the road.
He spoke, not taking his eyes off the scenery.
"The other day. In your office."
"Kento. I told you that everything's fine between us."
"I know it is, but there's still something I want to say to you."
"Go ahead."
The effort with which he forms the next words tells you how difficult it is for him to express thoughts like this.
"When you ... held me, I felt ... different. Like something had changed in my life, so profoundly. I felt as if ... a heaviness I had been carrying for so long had lifted a little. When I went home that day, I ... I remembered my friend. I let myself think of him. Of happy times. I've never really been able to do that before."
You're smiling softly and his fingers are tracing the shape of your arm again.
"That's good, right?"
"I think so. For me, that is. But I need to know ... "
"You need to know if those same burdens are not being passed to me, correct?"
He looks at you, and from this angle, you can see something of the wonder in his gaze. You laugh.
"It's already pretty obvious when you're with Yuuji. All that darkness you want to keep away from him. From all the students. I know, Kento. I know the kind of world we live in. I know that you can't protect everyone forever. Those burdens are not yours to give, or take away. At some point, you have to trust that ... it is enough."
"That what is enough?"
Love. That's what you want to say to him. That love is enough to carry you through the worst of what the world has to offer. But you don't. This time and place isn't right. Instead, you turned your eyes briefly to the sun shining through the trees ahead.
"Today is a beautiful day, isn't it?"
"It is."
@tsukimefuku @g-kleran @actuallysaiyan @kentocalls
