Did he really deserve to seek Nanami Kento out, in the dead of night no less? Without warning and entirely unannounced. Would Nanami Kento be expecting him in any capacity? Perhaps had they not... gotten into it a few nights before the other man would have sought him out. But they had, gotten into it, an exchanging of harsh words and even harsher looks between the pair of them. The taste of what he’d said and how he has said it, the bitterness of it all, still lingered upon his tongue as if it were acid. Eating away at the muscle, his gums, his teeth, his jaw until it felt as though it had burned a straigh path all the way into his chest; and into his heart.
The answer to his question was no. Gojo Satoru had not deserved it but he had done so regardless of that fact. The sorcerer had always been selfish like that. He’d arrived at the other mans apartment without much of a plan, all he had known was that he needed him. He needed him to make him forget the awful and horrible thing he had done. He needed him to see the blood on his hands and accept him in, he needed him to see him as he was. Because now it felt as if he was one of the only people in the world who could see him as he was. For what he was. THE HONORED ONE! What a fucking misfortune that was.
Nanami had opened the door after only two knocks, certainly having already felt his approach, the overwhelming aura he knew that radiated off of him uncontrolled. The look of surprise the other man gave him at not simply letting him in was overlooked on his own part. He could have lied, he could have told him that he’d forgotten his key or lost it or throw it away or any sort of story but the truth of the matter was he’d felt Nanami deserved to decide whether or not to let him in. And had he been in the other mans shoes, looking at himself and the entirely pathetic way he’d come crawling back to him - he would have slammed the door in his own face and never bothered with him again.
But because he was Gojo Satoru and not Nanami Kento he said nothing and selfishly kissed him when he’d not been turned away immediately at the frame. He’d kissed him since there was nothing that he could say that didn’t make him feel worse about himself or less pathetic or less selfish. He’d taken his face into his hands and kissed him as if he hadn’t taken a breath since they’d last parted ways. In some dramatic and metaphorical way, Gojo supposed that was true as well. It did feel like the air in his lungs changed when he was around Nanami, as if the other man exuded pure oxygen he could only steal in a kiss.
And then Gojo had wanted more, desperately letting his hands wander to pull and tug and tear and collide one another so closely not even a molecule of air separated them. To which, of course, Nanami had relented. Which made him angry at himself all over again. Why? Why did he allow him back in whenever he liked? Why hadn’t he sent him off with his obnoxious and needy antics long ago? Why did he accept him? There was no logical answer and though Gojo was more than content in not pressing him over it, it still confounded him.
Now, the morning after, Gojo’s thoughts still lingered on that confusing why that he felt he’d never have an answer to. Blue eyes lift at the question Nanami proposes, away from the coffee and sweet roll placed before him at the kitchen table :
What’s on your mind? You seem quiet.
“You want me to be louder next time?” Gojo feigns innocence, as if last few days hadn’t happened at all. It was at least worth a shot to avoid the sort of conversation Nanami probably envisioned them having... Not that Gojo truly believed he’d allow him to get away with it. So instead he attempts to focus on watching Nanami move about the quaint kitchen, the way the muscles of his arms shift when he lifts his own mug to his lips to blow away the steam.
Of course he wouldn’t, by the look he was currently giving him for such a reply. Gojo lets out a long sigh, blue eyes torn away from his companion’s half dressed frame and into the coffee that was mostly sugar and cream. Exactly how he liked it of course, because Nanami simply knew these sorts of things. A thought that makes him feel all the more guilty.
“… What if I don’t want to talk about it?” Gojo asks, laying his upper body onto the countertop he sits in front of. The stone is cool against his skin, it sends goosebumps all across him. What if he had been doing everything in his power to keep his thoughts distracted? From the first moment he had stepped into Nanami’s apartment that idea had been going... mostly well. At least he’d lie to himself that it had been. Now, now it all felt like it was rushing him. Gojo lifts a hand to rub at his hair, his face, his neck. It does nothing to relieve the growing tension that prickles over his skin.
“I know you’ve already heard the news, it’s been a celebration after all.” He relents with a defeated sigh, their gazes meeting when the sorcerer lifts his head. He reaches out his hand but Nanami is too far for him to touch. The thought makes his heart ache, which was ridiculous he tells himself. Nanami was right there in front of him. Nanami wasn’t going anywhere. His fingers curl back inwards, into a fist that drops the counter and remains as such.
“Geto Suguru is dead.” There’s something bitter in his throat when he says the other mans name, like a vile poison. Like a curse on the tongue. “... And I’m sure you know too... that I’m the one who killed him.” @uminotami
