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The oldest religion in the world is the one where everyone loses. Gojo calls it ambition, but others—less wounded and not as cynical—would call it love. The one religion Gojo prescribes to is his skin and bones; the only thing he can trust to not betray him is his own body.
Everything tastes like acid when you've burnt your tongue. Gojo's had a lifetime of being told that his burns are only secondary, that strength means no pain and that only weakness deserves a salve. Once, he believed this to be true. Being born as the heir to a great clan means accepting your fate for what it is.
Fate has a funny way of turning you on your head, shaking you up and leaving you stranded.
Fate appears to Gojo in many ways. It appears as Nanami Kento.
"You're staring again."
Ieri is right. He is staring. This doesn't stop him from doing so, but he does level a grin at his friend. "I'm observing."
"Why?"
Why? Gojo considers the question and finds that the truth is probably more than he's willing to divulge. Nanami Kento left on a Wednesday, two weeks after graduating from Jujutsu Tech. Four years of complete radio silence and one phone call later, he's wandered back with great reluctance. Gojo thinks he's been staring ever since. It's hard not to be hungry for every glimpse, to store each detail away with his six eyes.
Four years can change a lot. Nanami had left without a goodbye and Gojo never sought one out. The life of a sorcerer leaves much to be desired and Gojo's pride stopped him from reaching out. After all, if Nanami cared he would have said something—anything.
Nanami left as a disillusioned teenager and came back as a reticent adult. Gojo wants to know all that happened in between but he hasn't been able to do anything but stare. It's all he can do. He thinks he might make a misstep if he tries anything more, might fumble in his sincerity to uncover the enigma that is Nanami Kento.
They're at some progress meeting, all the licenced jujutsu sorcerers are here because they have to be but it's usually more a social gathering than anything. Nanami is the only one in a suit. It appears to be a sartorial choice he's picked up sometime during the years of estrangement and not one he seems eager to relinquish.
He looks good, so Gojo can't complain.
"You're shameless," Ieri says now, a poorly suppressed laugh seeping through the sentiment and Gojo grins as he turns to look at his longest-enduring friend.
"Always have been."
It's a lie, of course. Gojo has more shame than most but shame packed tightly is like a paperweight if you don't look too carefully—barely visible and only heavy when it's in your hands.
He's always holding it.
Gojo is afraid that one day he won't remember what it's like to not be holding this shame; this endless guilt that stifles him, a collar around his neck. He doesn't know what to do with his hands and will keep them open for lack of any other options.
Ieri must sense his sudden melancholy because she bumps her shoulder against his arm and points to where Masamichi is giving some sort of moralistic lecture. The bombastic nature of his speech is amusing and the rest of the meeting continues without a hitch.
He doesn't head out immediately when it's over, waving off an invite to a karaoke bar that they all seem to be heading to. There's the beginning of something in his head, pain curdling in a manner that is both familiar and disgusting.
"You sure you don't wanna join?" Ieri is peering down at him from where she stands, gaze soft and knowing. She knows what his answer will be, but has asked anyway. Gojo nods, grateful despite the pain.
"You kids have fun."
There's a pause wherein Shoko hesitates, mouth opening as if to say something but then she halts in the movement and waves goodbye.
When she's gone and all the rest have left, he finally groans, the sound like a stone dropping into the silence. It seems he overworked himself on his latest mission, his eyes are more sensitive than usual. The overhead lights are like needles and he forces himself to focus, grinding the palms of his hands into his eyes to dilute the feeling.
This doesn't happen too often but Gojo has been reckless, pushing himself for the sake of pushing himself.
I could be singing right now, he thinks. It would have been enjoyable to go out for pleasure just once. He hasn't been able to for a while.
Gojo had been what one might call a party boy once, back when the days were long and his youth seemed endless. When he and Shoko were part of a trio and not a duo. There were times when he didn't go home for days, stuck doing missions and so when he had free time he went straight to the booze and clubs. It was only a short-lived affair, his desire being tempered by his friends' concern. Now, however, he finds himself feeling like a spare part whenever he's at a rare social gathering.
Life changed course when Geto departed. Geto's absence is a blade to his back—a constant reminder that he could be better and could have done something different.
Thinking of the past does nothing to help the pain. Gojo grits his teeth in aggravation before finally rising to his feet in short lurches. He leaves like that, smiling briefly at staff even in his rush to escape into the cold night. Gojo hadn't brought a jacket with him but the bitter chill feels good against his overheated body. He leans against a lamppost and fishes his phone out of his pocket, intending to call a taxi to go home when he catches movement in the darkness.
Gojo would recognise that flash of blonde anywhere.
"Nanami?" He calls across into the silence. "You didn't go for karaoke?"
Nanami stares at him from where he's sat perched on some bricks. Then he makes a face, nose wrinkling in displeasure as he stands and draws closer. "Did you expect me to?"
No, not really.
"Why are you still here then?"
Nanami only lifts his phone, the screen is open on Uber, and the car is still a few minutes away. "Whose idea was it to gather in the middle of nowhere?"
Gojo smiles, back straighter now that he has an audience. "You know exactly whose idea it was."
"Masamichi hasn't changed much," Nanami replies in acknowledgement.
"But you have." He doesn't mean to say it, but this close Gojo can see how pink Nanami's lips are, and the constant pinch between his brows that hadn't been there when they were teenagers. Time steals from us all. Gojo doesn't know what to do with this knowledge.
"Everyone changes."
"Not me." Gojo tries for a grin again but falters, suddenly weighed down by exhaustion and an unforgiving heart.
The light from above is lighting Nanami up, giving him the appearance of a golden halo. When he moves, head tilting in scrutiny, the light shifts—the halo slipping by inches. Gojo wants to grab at the light and pull it upright, back where it belongs.
"You most of all."
The jujutsu world is a hell pit. The lifestyle claws at you until you're left raw and bloody. Gojo has no doubts about this. He knows that contentment is not something that will ever be possible for any of them. An urge to push Nanami back rises, to drive him from jujutsu society before it can deal him any more damage. But it's not Gojo's choice to make and Nanami would never do it himself. Not again.
"I'm the same as ever."
Nanami breaks out into a laugh, dark tie swinging with the movement, mouth open wide enough for his teeth to gleam. Gojo feels his heart drop, free-falling at the core of him.
If he were to say how he truly feels, would it become a bullet or a rapture?
"Why didn't you say goodbye?" He asks and the words slither out of his gut like something regurgitated—repulsive in every manner. It cuts through the laughter. Gojo wishes to take it back and wishes for Nanami to not look at him like that. As if Gojo is an unknown.
"What?"
"You never said goodbye when you left."
Nanami hasn't taken off his glasses, a pair he must have taken to wearing quite recently, the slim lenses overlay his eyes in three different shades of green. Gojo blinks, six eyes seeing through to the hazel irises that he's always envied. The other man seems at a loss, but he doesn't move.
"It was a long time ago."
"I waited."
"You seemed preoccupied. I didn't think you would notice my absence."
Preoccupied. Gojo knows what he's implying but for a moment he's dizzy with the realisation, that Geto leaving was enough of a wound for Nanami to assume he could leave without a word, that Gojo would be so stuck in his grief that he would never notice.
He hates how much sense it makes.
"You don't know how hurtful that is." Gojo laughs but it's dry and painful and he feels the past decade bombard him.
A drizzle has started to fall. The rain lands on Nanami and he shivers. "I'm here now. Does that count for nothing?"
It was Gojo who woke up in the dead of night to a call from an unknown number. It was Gojo whose heartbeat raced in the seconds before picking up and it was Gojo who felt an immeasurable sense of relief when he heard Nanami's voice for the first time in years.
It's hard to deny himself of this simple truth.
It counts for everything.
Gojo shrugs, instead of saying what he means. He thinks he might regret this sooner or later—might wish to have said I never stopped waiting and now you're here.
A car sidles down the street. The headlights are dimmed, barely cutting through the darkness and Gojo absently notes the licence plate along with the number that's nestled in the corner of the windscreen. It must be Nanami's uber.
"Get home safe," Gojo says, pointing toward the car and taking a step back. He watches the rain hit the space around his hand before sliding off and feels like he's missing something.
A moment later, the car comes to a slow stop in front of them.
"I will." Nanami reaches back and pulls on his wrist, "and so will you."
Gojo stumbles forward in surprise from the force, bracing himself against Nanami's side. "I can call my own uber."
"A sick person shouldn't stand in the rain."
"How do you know I'm unwell?"
"I haven't forgotten what you look like with a fever. Four years is not nearly enough time for me to forget."
They're standing in the rain and Nanami's hand is warm against his skin. Infinity is off. Gojo doesn't know when that happened. They're standing in the dark and if Gojo tilted down just a little then maybe Nanami would kiss him.
Nanami tugs at him again.
"Okay," Gojo says in a short breath. "Thanks."
Maybe the wait was worth it.