Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s the third time they’ve had to call for a repairer this month, and yet it’s no use: the damn elevator is still broken. Geto doesn’t know how it’s even possible at this point: they’re in a brand new building, to which are still tied all the initial construction insurances, and to which one must add every single supplemental coverage Gojo has decided to add “just in case”. They are, quite literally, paying more in insurance than they do in rent, and that’s almost a blessing considering how many times they’ve had to call someone in.

It’s only more painful today, when the late autumn weather has cooled down all temperatures by a dozen degrees with a chilly, humid breeze that had Geto fetch his winter coat in defeat. He is bundled up in a thick, heavy jacket, already sweaty with his morning uphill walk, and he carries a terribly inconvenient tray of to-go coffee - his own dark americano and Gojo’s ungodly order of caramel swirl and chocolate excuse for a stimulating drink. It’s an insult to cafés and small businesses of all kinds, and the barista never fails to make a disgusted face when they eye the receipt - it’s only got of organic the name and brand, but the rest could kill a small child.

Now, Geto’s hands are cramping as he watches the never-changing floor screen on top of the elevator, and his coat suffocates him. He should have drunk his beverage on the way, spared himself an excruciating few extra minutes of uncaffeinated existence. Several of those minutes, in fact, he has spent waiting in front of the infuriating number “17”, just above the unmoving metallic doors. Many of his co-workers and other employees of the building have already walked past him towards the stairs, but Geto’s stubborn. He doesn’t want to admit defeat and face the unspeakable reality he’s going to have to climb up. 

It’s only when the building staff approach - two poor guys in purple and black, just like their eye bags - that he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. They stick up a “OUT OF ORDER” banner on the gates, and avoid his gaze in silence as they walk away.

Geto exhales, frustrated beyond words, and eyes up the stairs. The way up is as excruciatingly awful as he’d expected. Step after step, his winter coat overheats his skin, makes the whole task of holding the tray of coffees just unbearable. The friction of his damp, heavy clothes only irritates him more, and by the time he makes it to the tenth floor, he’s red-cheeked, fuming, and the fabric sticks to his skin like an unnerving sweat sponge. His frustration knows no end, and the assistants and workers who cross his path scurry away with not so much as a greeting. It’s a relief only in so much as he’s too annoyed to trust himself with corporate smiles, but their looks of concern and fear toy at the edge of his patience. He’s an athletic man; he works out, he walks to work, he bikes, he runs. The stairs are never a problem to him, they only happen to humiliate him today, because he’s overdressed, overheating, holding his briefcase, Gojo’s fucking coffee, and-

“Ijichi.”

The name escapes him before he even processes his coworker’s presence, and he latches onto an easy outlet. Ijichi, the office’s secretary, is passing by with his files pressed to his chest and his eyes on the floor, avoidant and anxious. Geto’s only more frustrated that he cannot control his voice as he groans.

“The elevator’s broken again.”

Ijichi’s scrambling for confidence he’s determined to seek in the floorings. It pisses Geto off to no end.

“Yes, Geto, my apologies. I’ve called the repairer in-”

He cuts him off without a glance and hands him the tray of drinks; Ijichi’s eyes bulge out of their sockets as he almost drops the coffees with how fast Geto demands a reaction out of him.

“Hold this. Has Kokichi been warned?”

He pushes the door to his office open, flicks the button for the electric blinds; the view would be breathtaking if the heat radiating from his cheeks wasn’t so humiliatingly uncomfortable.

“Y-yes, he’s been instructed he can work from home today.”

“Good. This situation cannot happen again, it’s the third time this month. Do you remember what accessibility means?”

With a quick gesture, he removes the sticky coat and hooks it to the rack. His eyes find Ijichi, who’s stammering out for an answer to every comment Geto throws at him like reproaches.

“Yes- yes, Geto, we-”

“Accessibility means accessible. I want Kokichi back in the office by tomorrow morning. Can you make it work?”

“Yes, G-”

“Good. Then get on with it.”

He steals the tray back from him, and gives the poor secretary an off-handed shoulder squeeze before walking past him. Already, the removed weight of humidity and warmth offers him a breath of relief. The air courses against his shirt and cools him down where sweat has collected, and he doesn’t even have half a mind to think about how his button-up has been ruined barely twenty minutes into his day.

There is only one person to be blamed for this, and it isn’t Ijchi - to whom he will have to apologise later. Geto’s eyes land on the wooden door at the end of the corridor, and his steps quicken. He walks past a few colleagues whose greeting smiles are wiped off by the cold glare of his eyes, and they cower away with slouched shoulders. They do not fear him, but they’ve learnt to respect his furious pace. Geto is never quite as unreachable as when his vision tunnels into a decisive line towards Gojo Satoru’s office. There are some paths that cannot be crossed.

Geto grips the handle and storms in. His is a pinch-lipped anger, always cold and sharp, but responsible enough to face a situation of the like. Gojo’s gaze turns to him, wide and curious, but Geto ignores him. They’re not alone.

They’re not alone, so he doesn’t slam the door, doesn’t snap nor crush the coffee cup on his desk. No, there’s another man in the room, an unscheduled appointment who turns to him with stiff shoulders and furrowed brows. He looks at him from over his rectangle glasses, too low on his nose, and the shock in his eyes betrays the respectful tension of his body. Geto watches him in silence for a few seconds, the hands he’s got wrung behind his back and the standoffish sternness of his expression. He swallows the smouldering frustration that bubbles in his stomach and glares back at Gojo. 

“Good morning. I… apologise for the intrusion.”

His boss is an asshole. A bastard of the worst species who’d stepped into his dorm room in college and remained stuck to him like a chewing gum ever since. Gojo leans back into his chair, a leg over the armrest. His nonchalance is an insult both to Geto’s fury and to the stranger’s wariness. 

“Why, don’t sweat it! Come in, come in~ Is that my coffee? Thank you very much!”

Geto’s jaws lock up, and the strain is as painful as the steps he takes towards the desk. Gojo reaches out for his cup, and he has to fight himself not to cause an accident. His friend’s eyes sparkle with mocking mirth as he takes a sip out of his caffeinated sugar; he’s all too aware his scolding is delayed by the presence of the stranger. Geto takes this opportunity to look back at the blond man with a quick exhale. He’s still watching, tense and cautious, very clearly unimpressed by his first impression.

Geto gives him a calm smile.

“I’m very sorry about interrupting your meeting,” He gives him a quick bow, “Geto Suguru, Chief Financial Officer. And you are?”

The other man’s gaze lingers on him with attentive scepticism, and Geto realises that at no point, since he’d crossed the threshold, had he given him the slightest sign of courtesy. He couldn’t blame him for the initial surprise, but the prolonged glaring now borders on poor manners. Still, the stranger turns to bow, but Gojo is quicker. 

“Oh this is Nanami Kento~ He’s my highschool best friend.”

“Am not.” The response is immediate, more scathing than all the silent judgement Geto had received. Gojo rolls his eyes with a vaguely hurt pout he camouflages in a grin, and Suguru’s brows furrow. He watches as Nanami turns to him again. The stiffness in his shoulders lingers, but drains from his face in a curt, calm expression. He’s still not smiling.

“I am Nanami Kento, I’ll be joining you in the financial department as an advisory accountant. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

It does not sound like one, but Geto’s priorities lie elsewhere. His polite smile aims for Gojo, who only grins wider.

“I see. I was not aware we were hiring, I presume he was a recommendation sent to us?”

“Nah,” Gojo shakes his head, “He’s a friend, and he’s a diligent worker. Smartest guy I knew back then, and he graduated from the University of Tokyo!”

“I see.”

It’s testament to Geto’s baffled mind that he cannot align more than two repetitive words. For Gojo to hire someone out of the blue and add him to his team without his informed consent is so painfully unsurprising the mental gymnastics leave him speechless. Geto simply nods, and turns to Nanami with a smile. He’s got to make things work, somehow, but Gojo’s up on his feet a second too fast. 

“Of course you see~ When has my judgement ever been so skewed you couldn’t understand it, mhm?” He walks around the desk and presses a hand on Geto’s shoulder; his mischievous smile frustrates him to no end, “Trust me, it’s for the best. Nanami here is very sharp with numbers, he’ll make your job a thousand times easier.”

There is not much Geto can do when the concerned part stands in the room, perceptive and wary. Gojo’s all too aware of his predicament, and for as much as he wants to fly up his feathers, Geto nods and turns to Nanami with a calm smile.

“Well, in that case, I am eager to work with you, Nanami.” Nanami lifts his chin, far too smart to be convinced, and Geto is surprised to find himself grinning wider, almost desperate to appear agreeable, “If you step out and find our secretary, Ijichi, he’ll be able to give you a tour. I have a few things to discuss with Gojo this morning, but I’ll be around to help you settle in very soon.”

Gojo’s hand squeezes his shoulder; he knows he’s in trouble, and that alone soothes Geto’s frustration. In front of them, Nanami remains silent for a few more seconds. He’s fascinating, Geto thinks, in how he doesn’t seem to bother with anything too frivolous about his projected image. A beige suit, slicked hair, prim and proper, but that is all he seems ready to offer in terms of deference and humility: his face remains closed and probing, and he lingers into his analytical silence instead of hurrying off when invited to do so. 

Geto does not know what to make of him, but just as the lack of reaction reaches the thresholds of impoliteness, Nanami bows again.

“Thank you,” he says, “I’ll be in your care.”

Suguru’s cheeks hurt from the extended smiling, but Nanami simply walks away and closes the door behind himself. The frustration bubbles up in his throat and bursts into many questions, comments, and complaints, all of which he harnesses into a beam of fury he directs at his boss.

“What the hell, Satoru?”

Gojo escapes his personal space to hurry around the desk, and slouches on his chair with a pleased grunt. The rictus on his lips means nothing well, and conveys all the fun he’s extracted from the interaction.

“What? You don’t like him? I got him just for you.” 

Geto rolls his eyes, anger simmering in the back of his head; the heat of humiliation contrasts with the cold humidity of his sweaty armpits, and overstimulates him to no end.

Gojo makes the terrible decision to straighten up with a coo.

“Aw come on, he’s an excellent guy! I did tell you I was thinking about expanding your department. That way you can hang out in my office more often~” 

“He wasn’t on the schedule this morning,” Geto pinches the bridge of his nose, ignoring everything he finds no relevance in, “Why’d you take him at the last minute?”

Gojo sighs, “Ah, so many questions… And here I thought you were the only one able to see my vision, always! You made me lie to him!”

“And you made me look like a rude fool!” Geto gasps, throwing a hand towards the door.

Gojo grins; he wrings his hand together and rests his elbows on the desk, “Well, you made the decision to barge into my office.”

Geto’s eyes widen, and his mouth gapes open. 

“You- made me carry- I…” 

He’s all out of arguments, not because Gojo’s right, but because his best friend’s sheer audacity has reached such unprecedented heights of ridicule he doesn’t actually think he can win this. Gojo’s being dishonest, and his day’s started off on enough of a wrong foot to make him limp through to clock-out time. He does not have any time to spare on his stupid grin and one-sided mind games.

“Nevermind,” he exhales. He takes a deep breath, and lets the oxygen cool his blood down and clear his foggy brain a little. It’ll be fine. He’s got spare shirts in his office, Ijichi is a forgiving man, and Nanami is just like any other new guy they’ve hired. Most of all, Gojo gojo-ing away has not worked on him in a long time, and today won’t be any exception.

He looks up, and sighs, “It doesn’t matter. Extra help won’t hurt anyway. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

Geto pauses and looks him up and down, before he shakes his head as he reaches for his suitcase, “Nepotism will not be well-seen by our employees.”

“Ugh, nepotism is such a lame word, especially coming from my best friend,” Gojo rolls his eyes and crashes back into his seat. Geto doesn’t even bother pointing out they founded the company together , and Satoru gives him a shitty grin, “He’s got this. I’m sure you’ll love him anyway. He’s such a sweet guy.”

Geto shrugs, pulling out a few files with a quick glance at his boss. He isn’t too sure about that last bit.

“Anyway, let’s get on with this. Have you taken a look at last quarter’s numbers?”

“Glad you asked: not a single peek.” 

*****

The rest of the morning passes in a quick blur. His meeting with Gojo drags on for an extra thirty minutes that drain him more than they annoy him, and Geto’s only able to make it to his office by eleven. He changes his shirt, at last, and the fresh puff of deodorant he adds on finally relieves some tension off his shoulders. What a frankly, absolutely shitty day - one that has only just started. 

The next two hours he spends catching up on emails and one-on-one calls with partners and consultants, all of whom make a point out of berating him for his lateness. Geto’s patience wears thin with each tense comment, with each apologetic smile he has to serve. There’s nothing he hates more than having to grovel, and Gojo’s role in his ordeal only infuriates him some more. He only has half a mind to email Nanami in between two meetings, offering a brief apology and attaching some tasks and documents for him to get started on. If there’s one thing this company’s not missing, it’s workload, and Geto needs all the hands he can get. He’d have simply rather discussed with Nanami face to face before shoving files into his inbox.

It’s way past lunchtime when Geto can finally catch a break, and even then he cannot cling to it for long before letting it go with a sigh: he’s got apologies to hand over, some he can only deliver in person.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, dissatisfied with the dull headache the pressure doesn’t soothe, and stands up. Behind him, the city stretches below a heavy coat of clouds, and Geto can only be grateful he’s working somewhere warm. Positive thinking won’t salvage his morning but it might take him through the next few hours with a vague semblance of control.

The first figure he catches in the hallway is Ijichi, running around as per usual. Geto’s stomach sinks even further below ground; he’s never digested guilt very well. He takes a few steps closer and lifts a hand to grab his attention. Ijichi is quick to notice, and hurries over with a few files pressed to his chest. Geto cringes at the eyebags on the poor secretary.

“Hey Ijichi, how are you doing?”

“Oh, good!” he clears his throat, averting his eyes. For a brief second, Geto thinks that Ijichi’s really easy to get frustrated at, if only because he looks just the part - the victim part, that is. His own thoughts discourage him, and he focuses on giving him a warm smile as Ijichi rambles on, “Good good, busy morning, you know? Um- the repairman’s working on the elevator, so Kokichi will be back tomorrow, as promised-”

“Good, excellent.”

Geto interrupts him, and Ijichi visibly relaxes. He remembers to breathe and nods back, the avoidant shimmer in his eyes betraying his anxious discomfort. Suguru quickly intervenes; the less of a big deal he makes out of this, the easier it’ll be on Ijichi.

“Thank you for your quick thinking, Ijichi. I’m sorry about my earlier temper, you know how those stairs can be,” Ijichi blinks with surprise, then smiles; Geto walks past him with a quick pat on his shoulder, “Remember to take a break, okay? If we lose your brain, we’re all dead.”

“Of course, have a good day, Geto.”

There, easy peasy. Geto exhales victoriously, shaking off the rest of his discomfort with a grin. Already, his head feels lighter, and serotonin bursts through his body like energy shots. He’d be entirely dishonest if he said he didn’t find personal relief in righting his wrongs, but he’s never found any harm in killing two birds with one stone. He wouldn’t go as far as to say he’d ever hurt people intentionally so as to apologise and ride off the high of forgiveness, but a genuine conversation, here and then, could simply do wonders to his day. Truly, even Ijichi had gotten a kick out of it based on his relaxed smile - a little apology and some compliments never hurt anyone, especially on shitty days.

Geto’s anticipation heightens as he walks towards Nanami’s door, ready to repeat the same process for similar if not higher rewards. Getting a grin from an anxious Ijichi felt amazing enough, but getting a visibly stoic and wary man like Nanami to smile and open up to him? Oh that would certainly boost him up for the rest of the day. 

Giddy and steps aflutter, Geto reaches his door and knocks. He turns the knob and passes a head through the threshold, only to find Nanami at his desk, papers in hands, and still just as sharp-eyed and confused. The expression on his face is softened by his parted lips, but his brows furrow in anger at being interrupted in his work. Geto mentally kicks himself; fuck, wrong step. 

“Hi,” he still tries, smiling as eagerly as he can, “May I come in?”

Nanami’s voice is much less enthusiastic as he answers.

“Of course,” he looks back at his files as he speaks, curt and lightly exasperated. Geto squeezes himself in and closes the door; Nanami’s gathering his papers without even sparing him a glance.

Geto wouldn’t qualify the situation as especially hostile, but he cannot deny it falls off the ledge of what he had envisioned; Nanami’s closed off, and from what he can read of his facial expression, more concerned with his documents than with his superior. It doesn’t quite annoy him as much as it intrigues him, and the smile on his face widens to balance out the clear disinterest on Nanami’s.

“I’m very sorry, my morning meetings dragged on,” he begins with corporate bashfulness, chuckling to try and pry pity out of Nanami’s cold gaze. His silence all but tells Geto his late appearance had no impact on him, if only because Nanami was not expecting him, nor looking forward to. He receives barely more than a glance for all acknowledgement, and a nod for good measure - still, not the single trace of a smile, and Geto’s stomach tightens with frustration when he is forced to keep on speaking. 

The unfamiliar warmth of shame swells up in his chest as he clears his throat and looks around, “I see you’ve made yourself quite at home,” he comments as his eyes fall on a few plants in the corners.

At that, Nanami gazes up again, and his glasses fall on his nose. Geto smiles at the sight; he has a cousin who wears glasses, and she, too, would watch people above said glasses when she was younger. His aunt always pushed them back with an exasperated sigh, and the fond memory eases the growing discomfort in his chest. 

Nanami’s hazel eyes roam around the room and settle on a plant. His brows furrow angrily, and Geto has to repress a wider grin; it’s fascinating, he thinks, how expressive he can be for a selected few seconds. Judgement, confusion, frustration, all blending into annoyed brows and a light twitch of the lips, before his eyes are on him.

Geto hides his smile too slowly, but Nanami’s discreet scowl is gone again, and his gaze settles back on his computer screen.

“This is the standard office agencement, I believe.” 

Nanami catches no arm extended to him, nothing standards and social conventions could ask for, and Geto is too stunned to find any further annoyance within himself. He’s baffled, frankly speaking, and watches for a few seconds as Nanami lets the silence settle back in the room. He wants to get mad - it would be easier , more familiar to get mad - but he cannot quite settle on what kind of tension he’s picking up on. Is Nanami being rude? Is it disrespect? Is it simply the bare corporate minimum? 

He clears his throat and wrings his hands behind his back, shaking his head with a strangled smile. Whatever game Nanami is playing, he’s definitely sparing himself the unnatural grins and gimmicks. It’s only more frustrating that the whole task of being agreeable falls upon his shoulders…

“Right,” he chuckles dryly, “Yes we… We did buy those fake plants, I think.” Or rather, Ijichi probably did, at some point.

Given Nanami’s very recent but exhaustive history of letting the ball drop in front of him like a deflated balloon, Geto chooses to keep it for the moment. He sighs and takes a step closer to the desk - he swears Nanami’s nose scrunches up in disdain for a split second, but lacks the evidence to comment.

“Well, in any case!” he smiles, “I wanted to properly welcome you to the financial section of Blue Fish & Cie. I apologise for my unseemly manners earlier I was… Well, I hadn’t expected you to be there, frankly,” he chuckles, and Nanami doesn’t smile, simply stares, “I believe your appointment was scheduled rather late? I hadn’t seen it on the calendar…”

“Yes, it was,” An answer at last, factual and minimalist, “I apologise if my presence threw you off.”

“Oh no! No no, it… Well, you see-” 

Geto groans and gazes up to the ceiling; the way in which he formulates the next few ideas will definitely matter in his attempts at regaining Nanami’s respect and approval. He cannot just settle on bashing the CEO, but he also has to convey the difficulties that come with handling Gojo’s unexpected decisions on a daily basis. 

It’s the only way for him to explain his earlier frustration, the coffees in his hand, the sweat, the impatience, and the very poor impression he’d given of himself on Nanami’s first day at work. That he doesn’t yet know why Nanami’s hiring came in so quickly and under such secrecy barely shifts the balance for the moment; he must connect with him first.

“Gojo tends to make unexpected decisions, here and then. I was… a little wary, initially.”

Nanami’s brow quirks up, “Wary of me?”

“No I mean-” he sighs, trying not to dig himself a deeper hole, “He… he can be unpredictable, and he can have as many strokes of genius as he does foolish ideas.”

“Foolish ideas?”

This time Nanami’s annoyance lowers his voice, and his eyes throw quiet daggers at him. The comment lands like a personal insult on him, and Geto knows he’s got seconds to mitigate the damage.

“Yes but not- not you!” he smiles, gesturing around a little. It’s humiliating, how he has to fold himself in four to ensure he doesn’t bruise Nanami’s ego. The more time passes, the more frustration bubbles up again, meaner, impatient. He’s more and more convinced Nanami’s bare minimum is bordering on full disrespect, and he tries to keep a good face up for the time being. He’s here to apologise; discipline, if it comes down to it, will come later.

“I meant in general. He can schedule unplanned meetings, make a major decision on his own…” he sighs, “Sorry, this truly does not sound the way I intended it to. I simply meant to say that Gojo being Gojo never leads to neutral consequences.”

Geto smiles again, hoping to gather some sympathy at last, “I mean, as his friend from highschool, you probably understand that. As for me, knowing him from college-”

“Forgive me, sir. I fail to see how any of this is relevant to my onboarding.”

Well, that strategy didn’t work either. Geto’s stomach tightens with frustration at how embarrassingly flat Nanami’s response is, and the way his hazel eyes look at him above his glasses does not even have the decency to be challenging. Nanami is simply utterly and completely disinterested, in the most factual and down-to-earth anti-corporate way he’s ever seen. It’s enraging, and Geto cannot quite put his fingers on why. The most he can assume is that having to twist and prance through the knots and turns of the professional maze is exhausting in itself, and even more so when one’s interlocutor doesn’t even try to entertain his efforts.

It’s humiliating too, he reckons, especially as a supervisor. He tries not to wallow in it, however, and clears his throat with a tense smile. 

“Oh well, I… simply wanted to apologise, nothing more. I did not mean to… Well-”

Embarrassment melts into burning annoyance in his chest, and he decides to cut his losses with as much dignity and control as he can. Hazel eyes still watch him, apparently unaware of the turmoil they have caused, and that fact alone has Geto swallowing dry. 

He smiles, and his cheeks hurt, “But I now see you’re quite busy already, so I won’t bother you much longer. If you need help with your tasks, let me know.”

“Thank you.”

Infuriating. Absolutely enraging. Geto’s seething, frustration boiling through his patience like a droplet on a scalding hot car. He swallows and turns away, walking towards the door with a ringing fury in his ears. Why? Why is this affecting him so much? It shouldn’t, it absolutely shouldn’t. He hasn’t known this man for more than twenty minutes spent in the same room, and those handful of moments they’ve shared have been enough to rile him up like no one ever has before. Those calm eyes, those stolen moments of emotion, the blandness of his reactions whenever Geto expects more, anything more than a piercing gaze. This is not how he should be feeling, and his hand is too slow at reaching for the doorknob; already he’s turning around, words spilling from his smiling lips with the cool sharpness of polite tension imbued into an apologetic chuckle.

“Sorry, Nanami. I must ask: have I done anything to upset you?”

Nanami looks up - sharp hazel eyes, sharp jaws, sharp mind - and the answer has nothing of a challenge safe for its content.

“Do you mean aside from questioning my qualifications, sir?”

Geto’s blood runs cold. He sees red. A second passes during which fury vibrates at the edge of his lips; he swallows it back, and gives Nanami a tight smile. This time, it doesn’t reach his eyes and Nanami must have noticed it, because he doesn’t look away, and lowers his chin instead. Good.

There’s no defiance in his gaze, and he’s docile as he waits. Geto takes his time as he strolls closer. He wrings his hands behind his back, squeezed so tight his knuckles must be white.

“Ah. I see.” 

Geto always prefers his challenges bare and honest, easy for him to approach and handle. Certitude of disagreement frees his mind from social platitudes and hypocritical avoidance. Nanami’s apparent disinterest had a root he couldn’t reach, and now Geto is glad he gets to confront him without further doubts as to its sincerity. If anything, Nanami’s tone hasn’t changed: he still looks ever so calm and unbothered, safe for the wary glimmer in his eyes, just like this morning.

Aversion. Clear as day now that Geto knows where to look. Sheer unadulterated contempt. 

It’s almost exhilarating, bursts through his veins like adrenaline. He’s obsessed with it, with the way Nanami simply doesn’t look away.

“Let me settle this very clearly then: I did not question your qualifications; I merely pointed out that we had not been actively hiring until Gojo took you in. I hope you understand this simply was a lapse in communication for the both of us.”

Incisive, straight to the point, aggravating. Geto rarely snaps, but when he does he channels every ounce of fury into cool words and scathing smiles. In front of him, Nanami doesn’t waver; he keeps his chin low and his eyes alert, and watches Geto speak without so much as a twitch of the lips. Something buzzes in Suguru’s stomach, vile and unnerving, and yet pumps through his body like an intoxicating high. He’s so close he can see Nanami’s lashes, the freckles on his strong nose, the dangerous line of his lips. It’s a personal vendetta, now, and when Nanami moves it’s to lift his chin and look at him better. Geto’s heart skips a beat with furious delight.

“I see. In that case, thank you for clarifying.”

Oh Nanami listens. Nanami hears him loud and clear, and he makes sure Geto knows it. He’s looking him in the eyes with silent defiance, imperceptible and carved into omission. Nanami’s indifference is empowering, and drives Geto up the wall with curiosity. 

It’s as if Nanami doesn’t care what he thinks of him, and perhaps he truly doesn’t. Perhaps he simply cowers away for no one, bows down to no one. Perhaps he simply works and succeeds, and enters the office like a dissociating soldier on a field. 

Geto doesn’t believe it. There’s ego underneath those hazel eyes, ego that spills out when his brows furrow, when he believes himself wronged. It’s ego that challenges Geto, and discipline that bends his face into aloofness - but all Geto sees is wits, skills, sharpness of the mind. It makes his nostrils flare with anticipation, and he simply smiles down at him.

“Of course. Thank you for understanding.” 

Nanami doesn’t answer, but Geto doesn’t wait for anything; he simply steps away, and stops at the door to give him a last grin. His nerves flare up with delight when he sees that Nanami is still looking.

“Now, seeing as we must collaborate from here on out, I trust our partnership will go beyond such petty issues.”

His insidious smile spills the words like a provocation, and Nanami nods.

“I trust it will.”

*****

Geto Suguru believes himself to be a patient man - a kind man even. He’d go so far as saying he hasn’t done much harm in his life, but that would be an exaggeration. He is no saint, no monster either, and he’s got limits to which he sticks so as not to lose his mind over matters and men alike. 

But he’s a patient man, he knows it, giving smiles away in sunlight and rain, and he doesn’t believe himself worse for it. He finds no harm in positivity for as long as it is useful and realistic, and he finds even lesser harm in forcing himself to be good-natured in corporate environments. He’s on the higher end of the ladder now, and he’s got many people by his side who’d rather enjoy a slightly hypocritical grin than a cold-hearted sneer - granted there are steps between easy-to-cover annoyance and full-blown fury, of course. 

Geto deals in smiles and firm handshakes, so he’s been taught to be patient and to trust himself around others. Nanami Kento is testing the limits of that patience, and Geto doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to handle it.

Days have passed since that fateful morning during which Geto’s iron hot frustration met Nanami’s cooling fury, hence crystalizing their relationship into a shapeless blade on which neither can dance. Past the altercation in Nanami’s office, Geto’s efforts have - initially - been somewhat numerous enough, but ultimately met with disregard and clear disinterest. From warm greetings in the morning that Nanami cuts short to buying the sharp newcomer a coffee he politely declines, Geto hasn’t been able to make a dent in the metallic wall Nanami’s built around himself.

The situation wouldn’t be so abysmal had they not been working in the same department, but as things are, Geto and Nanami are closer in rank and pay grade than the clear coolness between them should imply. In fact, Nanami’s skills have immediately shed light on Gojo’s easy hiring policy and quick promotion of his highschool friend: succinct, incisive and persuasive, Nanami’s mind has proven to be efficient and valuable in ways that have lightened Geto’s workload by far already. Working in tandem should have been a productive given, and every morning Geto spends being essentially ignored by his coworker slows down what could quite literally be the greatest duo their company has known. This shortcoming alone fills him with dismay. 

And perhaps that frustration lies at the very root of the issue, because if Geto does make efforts to be patient and welcoming, he cannot deny that he is absolutely and shamefully part of the problem. From their cold conversation on Nanami’s first day to the now abysmal state of their relationship, his patience has waned to a decrepit twig, leaving only his rarefying morning smiles and coffee offers as tentative approaches. Yes, he is trying to make amends whenever possible, but for every scathing remark Nanami utters, he snaps back just as fast, just as harshly, and sours the mood of their entire day. When Nanami points out the numbers are poorly organised, Geto smiles that it is his job to make them look better. Whenever Geto suggests Nanami uses a different approach with a client, Nanami argues that his methods are none of his concern for as long as the job gets done. They walk past each other in the lobby and entirely ignore one another, spend lunch and coffee breaks in different rooms, and every working session they have to share are spent in utter silence instead of brainstorming efficiency.  

Their sole presence in the building fills the rest of their coworkers with dread, and although they watch in worried silence whenever they stand by the printing machine, the unbearable tension they bring by existing in the same room forces most people to flee and whisper behind closed doors. 

This unfortunate turn of events is all the more frustrating that it fills Geto with shame. He is more than aware that his behaviour is creating a terrible work environment for long-term colleagues and friends, and the gossips and worried glances are as unnerving as they are calls to action. He wants to make things right - he wants to, at the very least, fall on speaking terms with Nanami - but every occasion they get to discuss outside of work hours is either cut short or falls short of an actual argument.

Point in case, for example. A few days after the elevator was repaired, Nanami and Geto had arrived at work at the same time. They’d noticed each other for afar, and while they had refused to acknowledge each other at first, they still opted for the electric cubicle like two mature adults would. Needless to say, Kokichi had taken one glance at the two of them before deciding to hang back - he’d rather have the whole elevator for his wheelchair anyway, a good excuse.

Geto’s stomach was churning furiously under the weight of the unnerving quietness, and his own mind was racing. The very idea that, maybe, Nanami did not even bother to spare him a thought filled him with irrational annoyance, and he needed to make sure of it.

After a floor or two of ridiculous silence, Geto smiled and chuckled.

“Doesn’t this feel a little silly to you?”

Nanami’s hazel eyes had snapped towards him, calm and sharp, but the silent bastard had made no effort to smile or appear even the slightest bit indulgent.

“What does?” he’d asked, and his cold tone had pushed Geto into his deepest limits not to roll his eyes and sneer at his rudeness.

“Well, the two of us, clearly hostile, stuck in an elevator,” he grinned, “It’s like in the movies~”

Nanami’s brows had furrowed - as usual, for a split second of judgmental bullshit - before he’d nodded. 

“Oh, I see.”

The acknowledgement alone had filled Geto’s chest with curiosity, hoping that perhaps, at last, he’d managed to say something Nanami hadn’t immediately deemed irrelevant or reprehensible - maybe even something he had found entertaining. That was, until Nanami turned back towards the opening doors and moved to walk out.

“Do let me know if I ever need to contact HR about this.”

Yeah, a bastard. A fucking, absolute asshole of a man. Geto had been patient, open-minded, had tried every trick in the book, and yeah , maybe he’d lost his cool once or twice, but Nanami was a fucking bastard. Now he would keep making efforts, if only to avoid getting himself in trouble or early burn-out, but if Nanami wanted nothing to do with him, then he would not hurt himself going the extra mile.

Just thinking about the asshole made his chest tighten with fury, and as he leans back into his chair in Gojo’s office, the thoughts haunt him enough that he has no appetite. Gojo, on his end, is scarfing down on a sandwich while throwing him amused glances here and then. 

“You know what?” he says in between two mouthfuls, “ I think you’re just used to people sucking up to you. Like Ijichi.”

Geto reaches a hand up to pinch his nose; he rolls his eyes, “Sure. Let’s all agree to say I’m the bad guy. No need for Nanami to question himself when you’ve been giving him a white card from day one.”

Gojo snickers at that; the idiot hasn’t made a single comment about the state of affairs, not even siding once with Geto every time he brought the situation up to his attention. He can’t possibly fathom why, given the sour atmosphere of the entire company, but Gojo’s seemingly very amused by the infighting, and always plays it down whenever Geto tries to talk to him.

Today is no exception, and the bastard only gives him a mirthful wink, “Nobody said anything about you being the bad guy~ I’m just saying people suck up to you. Nanami doesn’t, is all!”

Geto groans; Gojo is being ridiculous now. This goes far beyond classical corporate distance. Nanami is polite with everyone but him, and Geto can’t possibly accept this is only because of the first impressions he’s given of himself.  

“He just makes no effort!” he sighs, throwing his hands in the air, “He… he makes me feel like an asshole boss when we’re virtually doing the same tasks!”

Gojo grins, “Well, you kinda are an asshole boss. Ijichi knows something about it.”

Suguru rolls his eyes, “You know what I mean.”

Irritation swells up in his chest, fuelled not by anger but rather by dissatisfaction. He’s disappointed, both with himself and with the situation, and the sensation is just as new as it is overwhelming. Gojo’s being of very little help no matter how much he smiles, and a part of him thinks that perhaps his own grins have never fooled Nanami - nor anyone at all, truly. 

His stomach sinks a little at the thought, and his eyes sadden as he watches the ceiling. Lunch breaks with Satoru are usually enough to soothe him when he’s stressed, but not even his best friend can comfort him today. Whatever it is that he’s doing, he’s doing it all wrong, and now not even Satoru’s stupid comments can cheer him up. Anger simmers in the pit of his belly, but fails to warm his body up against the biting coldness of sorrow. He doesn’t even understand where this sadness comes from, especially not when Nanami frustrates him to no end. Why does he even care?

An oncoming migraine blurs his vision, but he can feel movement from Gojo’s chair right as he closes his eyes. His brows furrow when the wooden floors sink and creak under the approaching weight of his best friend, who he can feel hovering over him. He makes it a point not to open his eyes.

“You know, you could actually just be an asshole boss. I know I am~”

Geto exhales, “Sure, Satoru. Great tips.”

“I’m serious. You’re his supervisor, he’s gotta listen to you.”

“I don’t want him to hate me even more,” he groans, “The whole point is to convince him I’m actually a nice person to work with, which he doesn’t believe at all because of you .”

Gojo laughs at that, warm and cocky, and his hand presses on the headrest; it smells like chicken caesar, and Geto wriggles his nose at the scent. 

“Hey, you know I love claiming praise for stuff, but I think this one’s on you, buddy,” Geto blinks at that, but Gojo’s already walking away, arms wrung behind his back; he looks over his shoulder with an innocent grin, “Who knows, maybe he just read through your bullshit smiles~”

Oh. Touché. Now Geto’s ego rears at the comment, and he straightens up with a low groan, deep in his chest.

“What the fuck does that mean?” he frowns, eyes blazing.

“It means you’re a fake,” Gojo chirps as he leans against his desk, “You’ve got to be the most petty guy I know, a judgmental piece of shit too, and yet you’re smiling all the time. A fake ~”

What a fucking piece of shit. Geto is surrounded by bastards, it seems, because why on Earth is he being called out on his so-called hypocrisy by the king of bullshit himself? He may not be an angel but he’s far from the worst guy out there. If anything, he’s trying his best, which is far more than what Nanami’s doing.

“Making efforts is not being a fake,” Geto rolls his eyes, “Stuff pisses me off, I bottle it up and move on. It happens to everyone.”

Gojo grins, “Sure, Ijichi knows something about those “bottling up” skills of yours.”

“I snapped once and apologised, I-” he exhales in frustration, letting his head fall into his hands, “I don’t even see how that has anything to do with Nanami’s behaviour! Even if I was smiling too much at first, we’re not even on speaking terms anymore. We’re just- fuck , we either argue like passive aggressive assholes or we just ignore each other!”

Gojo falls back into his chair, lazily slinking his legs across the desk as he gives him a wide grin.

“Have you considered just snapping and letting him know exactly what you think of him?

Yes, as a matter of fact, he has. Many a times even, but that’s the whole point: he’s not going to, because it would be more destructive than productive, and is beyond unprofessional. Just as unprofessional as Gojo’s ridiculous ideas, actually.

Geto groans in frustration and stands up, striding towards the door with one last furious glare at his best friend.

“You’re being of no help at all,” he sneers as he opens the door.

“Not trying to be!” is the last thing he hears before slamming it behind himself. In any other circumstances, he would have controlled his strength, closed the door and smiled at his colleagues. But today’s Saturday, and most of them are at home, resting away from his moods and unbearable presence. The very thought sends a pang of frustration ringing into his heavy head with how pathetic and self-centred it is, and yet he cannot believe himself to be entirely wrong.

The corridors and meeting rooms are empty and quiet, with no eyes to witness his ridicule and no presence to surround his gloom. It’s foolish to admit, but the vacuous place is easier for him to fit in now; he might just come to work on weekends more often. 

Geto’s steps take him to his office, but hunger is finally tightening his stomach; his lunch box will be better once reheated, so he swallows a sigh and steps away from the door and further into the building. The cafeteria lights buzz above an empty room, loud in the quietness of the building, and Geto’s eyes widen a little. His stomach swells with apprehension and sinks into his heels; it’s a surreal sight amidst the soulless office, but Nanami stands there.

He’s facing the coffee machine, right by the microwave, and Geto has seconds to make a decision about the following few moments of his life. In the silence of the cafeteria, the challenge appears more peaceful, easily swayed by the tightening knot in his stomach. They don’t have to talk, he thinks, or at least they don’t have to talk for long. Saturdays welcome lonely workers under the strange truce of unusual hours; Geto’s brows furrow as Nanami’s very presence adds curiosity to his hunger, and both take the shape of rearing needs as they slowly drag him over to the counter. The air is warm and humid, like a horse's grunt, and Geto’s eyes fall onto a boiling tea cup. Nanami doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound as he stands by his side; his hands are red where he holds the cup - it must hurt, Geto thinks, and the thought is foreign. 

Twisting his satchel around, he takes out his tupperware and removes the lid. Even as he puts the food in the microwave and sets the timer, there’s no sound coming from Nanami’s side, no greeting nor sighs, nothing but the silence of the office and the buzzing seconds of the machine. Geto’s eyes linger on his reflection in the little window, and as the box turns in circles inside, so do his thoughts. It’s a quiet minute, deliberate in its stretching seconds, and with every moment that passes Geto can only find himself. He stands inside the thrumming box, self-centred and quiet, running himself into circles the silence swallows up. He becomes a buzzing noise too, a background to a minute of stillness that will pass regardless of decisions, regardless of inaction. He doesn’t know why the thought aches, but frustration seeps in, angrier in intensity but as dull as the sea - it comes in waves of courage, tears at the stretched skin of his chest, and begs him to do something before time runs out. The timer is on, and Geto’s eyes dart to the side.  

Nanami’s peaceful. Heavy purple pulls on his eyes, lowers them to the cup of tea in his hands. Whatever he sees in there, Geto sees in the microwave window. Lonely and loud, a ticking watch until the meal is ready and the hands stop hurting. A beginning and an end.

He looks melancholic; there’s a saccharine softness to his hazy gaze that forces Geto to look away. His reflection disappears just as fast as the microwave beeps, unbearable, and stops. The moment has passed. Geto’s chest tightens, and he’s surprised to find himself clinging to it, clinging so tight his throat strains. He clears his voice and speaks.

“You’re not home today.”

It’s a Saturday. Geto shouldn’t be here either, and yet the silence of the cafeteria welcomes them both all the same.

Nanami leaves a beat before answering, and that extra moment throws them off rhythm.

“How’d you guess?” 

Snarky, sarcastic, spoken with the bluntness Geto knows and loathes. It’s all too familiar, sparks an ire in his stomach he swallows back with a scowl. His sharp eyes trail over and find that Nanami’s not looking at his mug anymore, but rather at the wall. Whatever he sees there, it has lost the sweetness of silence, and his eyes are cool instead.

“You don’t have to bite my hand every time I make an attempt at small talk,” Geto groans, tearing the microwave door open.

Nanami’s response is just as calm and incisive, “If you get bitten each time, maybe the solution is easier than you think.”

Geto sighs loudly, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. His patience is wearing thin, hammered as it is by the tightening hunger that brings him too close to snapping. He shuts the door and picks up his tupperware. His eyes lock onto Nanami’s side profile, and his nostrils flare with annoyance. The asshole has the audacity to look unbothered, not sparing him a glance. It takes everything within him to control the tremor of fury in his voice.

“We work together, Nanami,” he groans, “The least we could do is try to be on cordial terms. It would be more mature than whatever this is, don’t you agree?”

His comment leaves room for a moment of silence; Geto’s eyes blaze, but Nanami does not move. His gaze lingers on the cup again, holding it tightly. Suguru waits, and with every passing second, the quiet comes back, peaceful and patient and so overwhelming it takes physical shape. It stands in between them, never quite letting them approach, and yet binding them to mutual restraint, a soft form of tolerance through which they can exist in each other’s space without words. 

Anger subsides, rises and crashes in Geto’s belly, and he waits. Nanami sighs at last; it’s curt and impatient, and he looks back at the wall as he speaks.

“I wasn’t in yesterday.”

Geto can only nod, “I know.”

Nanami’s eyes trail down to the counter, just next to the mug; his head tilts ever so slightly to follow his gaze closer to the microwave.

“So I’m in today,” he shrugs, “That’s it.”

Geto frowns. It’s a logical answer by itself, the desire to catch up on a day’s worth of work at most. Curiosity sinks deeper into his belly, unsatisfied with the skin-grazing explanation of a skeletal argument. 

“And what happened?” he asks.

Nanami looks up; sharp eyes meet his at last.

“That’s none of your business,” he answers, and Geto exhales.

The receding waves of his irritation come crashing down onto the cliffs of his lips, explode into a grunt; he’s foaming at the mouth with the poisonous scum of anger. 

“You- fine. Forget I asked.” He turns to pick up his food, but the weight of the box pins him to his place; resentment builds into a bitter aftertaste that steals his hunger and replaces it with bile, “God forbid anyone asks you anything , Nanami.” 

His coworker doesn’t answer; rather, he lifts his mug and moves away. His gesture is slow enough to be calm but too natural to be deliberate; he’s just moving away because the conversation’s ended, because Geto’s dismissive snark is all Nanami needs to be excused and get back to wherever it is he must go. 

It squeezes Geto’s heart, fills it with the same sorrowful frustration he cannot quite place. He’s doing something wrong, he must be, and Nanami’s slipping through his fingers like he doesn’t care about holding onto his efforts at all. He’s unreachable, and Geto isn’t sure he will have another shot at understanding why.

His shoulders slouch in defeat, and he spins towards Nanami with knitted brows and a sigh.

“Is… this cannot still be about your first day, is it? I… Haven’t I made amends, since then? What do I need to do to get another shot at being a good colleague?” 

Nanami pauses and turns to face him; there it is again, the insulting ease of confusion in his furrowed brows and sharp eyes. He’s making Geto feel insane, like he’s the one hallucinating the whole ordeal; he’s even ready to think maybe Nanami’s doing it on purpose, gaslighting him into thinking there’s no problem at all.

Geto exhales and leaves his plate on the counter as he gestures towards him.

“We- we’re acting like actual children,” he tries again, “We’re a nightmare to everyone who works with us. You’re an excellent worker, Nanami, I’ve told you so before, I’ve been tryi-”

“I’m not trying to make friends , Geto. I’m here to work,” he cuts him, “I’m here to be productive. You made a terrible impression on me on my first day, but you’re the one who’s continuously making a big deal out of it. I do not want to forgive you, I do not need to forgive you, I do not need to like you. We are colleagues . We work together, we fulfil our tasks. Now if you let me do my job-”

“Nanami it is my job to make comments and work alongside you,” Geto scoffs; he cannot believe his own ears, and a smile of bewilderment graces his lips, “I- We don’t have to be friends, but my god, we can’t just… be passive aggressive all the time! This is a terrible work environment!”

“We do not get along, that’s it,” Nanami sighs. His sharp eyes meet his again, “I do not like you, you do not like me. We are efficient at what we do, that’s all we need to be.”

Geto groans and gestures towards him, “Yes, but we could be more efficient-”

“How so? By talking about the weather and how my sick days went?”

His eyes widen. Annoyance builds up at the extremities of his limbs, disinhibiting them as he moves around with increasingly urgent and frustrated arms. A tense laugh bubbles up in his chest, and explodes on his lips with clear disregard for corporate conventions. 

“Oh so you were sick, good! Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Nanami’s body language shifts immediately; he stiffens, defensive, and his gaze lingers on Geto’s unpredictable arms and smiles. He holds his mug closer to his chest, and his eyes shine with a wary glimmer. 

“I’m going back to work.”

Geto’s chest swells with anger; no, he isn’t. He’s not avoiding the conversation once more, pretending like he’s such a good worker and a professional corporate man. His eyes blaze up as he smiles, stepping over as Nanami moves away.

When Geto follows, Nanami stops and glares, gaze shimmering with surprise and caution. He straightens up, watching him with furrowed brows and fluttering eyes.

“Sure!” Suguru smiles, sarcastic and mean, “Get me the files very soon so I can fill them in and send them back to you. Some good old emailing back-and-forth when we’re two doors away, talk about efficiency!”

Nanami only half-turns away, “Goodbye Geto.”

“Yeah, goodbye Nanami! Don’t forget to close your door so I don’t accidentally wave at you on my way over!”

“You’re insufferable.”

Nanami’s sigh has a shiver of fury buzzing up Geto’s spine, and his eyes blaze as he tilts his head, “Am I? Oh sorry, I think I’ve missed the part where you’re a joy to work with.”

His colleague shuts his eyes; his shoulders slouch, and he lifts his chin to gaze at him with a weary exhale, “Do you even hear yourself?”

Geto sees red. 

“Do I hear myself? Do I- Do you hear the way you speak to me? Do you see the way you look at me?”

It’s all he sees all at once.

“You’re a gloomy fucking piece of shit, always glaring at me like I’m some idiot without a single braincell. You’re shit at taking criticism, you’re shit at collaborative work, you’re shit at small talk, and you know what the worst part is?”

That he can’t stop.

“It’s that you look so fucking condescending at that, so fucking high and mighty, just glaring and sneering, not even letting a single joke fly by because you’re so fucking unbothered you forget emotional intelligence actually matters. I don’t know what your fucking deal is, but if that’s how you’re going to move forward, then don’t you worry, I’ll stop trying. Let’s just fucking ruin the mood every single day until it doesn’t matter if that fuckass elevator works or not because everyone will be begging Gojo to work from home! How fantastic, Nanami, you truly are a wonder to us all!”

Silence settles in again. Unnerving and loud, and it buzzes and turns until all Geto can hear is his own uneven breath. It bursts through his eardrums until he cannot hear his own words anymore, but watch their remnants on Nanami’s face.

He’s too deafened to remember their cruel folly, but something’s shattered there, in the quietness of the cafeteria. Nanami stands still, parted lips and raised brows - wide eyes, filled with the unspeakable. With silence and spinning shock and the hurtful reflection he’d seen in the microwave window. Cruelty is a mirror, tears are its shards. Nanami doesn’t cry, but his voice trembles with a whole other blade: anger.

“So that’s the price of your so-called kindness, uh?” Cold and dry, raw with his wavering shock, “It’s ugly, ugly work underneath…”

His deep sneer startles Geto out of mutism, and his brows knit up; he opens his mouth without having anything to say.

“Nanami-”

“Do not speak to me.” Nanami’s voice dips so low that Geto can only swallow his shame. He watches as Nanami’s eyes blaze with fury; he raises a hand, still red with the mug’s heat.

“I do not know who you think you are that you can raise your voice at me and expect to make a valid point, but you are dead wrong.”

Distress fills Geto’s heart as the whole extent of his mistake lays bare before him, heavy with consequences he does not understand yet. The empowering storm of fury has left his mind in shambles, and he cannot think fast enough to try and pick up the broken pieces of their relationship. 

He’s too shocked to think, too afraid not to try - but Nanami’s done with it, with him, and it’s perhaps a small solace that he’s strong enough for the two of them. With a pointed stare, Nanami lifts a hand to silence him, and removes himself from the conversation altogether.

“Don’t. I’ve heard enough. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way home.”

On those words, he leaves Geto to an unbearable quiet, and doesn’t turn back on his way.

It’s half past one on a Saturday afternoon, and with Nanami’s distant steps disappear the last moments of a fruitful silence, now ugly and rotten.

*****

Guilt is an uncomfortable guest, a freaky little thing that bides its time in the corner of a room and only jumps out to punch Geto in the belly when he lets his guard down. It’s worse on Saturday evening, when he gets home after an unproductive afternoon he’d spent beating himself up over the sheer foolishness of his actions, but the worst comes during a Sunday of idleness, heartless cooking and aimless wandering around the city. Without files and meetings, he’s left entirely to his own hours, long and languid, and his wretched companion tails him without a word. Silence becomes a stranger, and emptiness a void rather than a room. It’s a limitless kind of shame, and so it’s a limitless kind of day. 

Geto doesn’t hear from Nanami all weekend, and he doesn’t expect to. Gojo knocks at his office door on Saturday, inquiring about the screams from earlier with an indescribable smile, and he doesn’t insist when Geto asks for space. Gojo checks on him, however, with stupid cat compilations in the evening and an obnoxious good morning text on Sunday. He doesn’t answer to either, but his friend does not take it personally. The weekend stretches into incomprehensible seconds, and the oppressive weight of his stranger’s gaze forces him to bear it. The brief relief of sleep doesn’t come easy, and only increases the violence of the quiet ghost. It stops punching him by Sunday, but crushes him with its whole weight - it leaves him no peace nor respite, no moment to himself. A helpless form of loneliness in which his own words beat him and the remnants of Nanami’s blazing eyes haunt him. 

His stranger takes many shapes but never keeps him company. 

By Monday morning, Geto has nothing but his shame to drag, and the vague idea of an apologetic speech. It’s a few jumbled sentences he’s not even sure make any sense anymore, but they carry everything he thinks he deserves - hence, not a lot. Guilt abandons him at the elevator and watches him go up; he’s on his own again, amidst a sea of people with fuel for saliva, and his presence ignites hurried whispers like a blazing trail. 

The surrounding buzz of his colleagues drowns out the sudden emptiness of existing amidst others, and Geto nods in passing at Ijichi. The receptionist is kind enough to smile back, and Geto makes it to his office room intact.

He settles in with a long sigh and musters all the strength he has to cling to routine and busy himself; his stomach hurts from the knots in which it’s twisted itself all weekend, and he logs in as fast as he can. Not fast enough, it seems, for his best friend to come a-knocking and enter without permission. 

“There you are~ I thought you might have forgotten about little old me!”

“Satoru, not now,” Geto groans, but looks up with a frown when he smells a familiar scent. Gojo waltzes in closer and sits on the edge of the desk, setting down a to-go coffee in front of him. It’s just how he takes it, dark and long, but it’s got a silly doodle on the side. 

“I told them to draw a flower to brighten up your day~”

Geto sighs at that, and presses his hands to his eyelids; a headache blooms there rather than a flower, but the thought counts enough that he can’t help but chuckle. He really, really hates himself these days, and Gojo is making it so terribly hard to linger in his bubble of gloom.

“I’m not sure I deserve a flower right now…” he exhales, and Gojo takes a sip out of his own “coffee” - read, sugar milk.

“Eh, don’t fret over it too much. Nanami’s not even in today.”

Geto almost jumps at that, “He isn’t?”

He snaps his head up so fast Gojo grins, and his cheeks immediately heat up. It’s hard enough feeling guilty all the time, he doesn’t need Satoru’s comments on top of everything else. 

Geto covers some of his shame behind his fists and rests his chin there; his friend sighs like the dramatic asshole that he is and shakes his head.

“Nope. Sick day.”

Again. Geto would lie if he said he wasn’t worried, but he’s more upset that he won’t be getting any chance to apologise that day. The thought that, perhaps, Nanami’s still feeling awful because of him makes his heart sink, before he slaps himself mentally for such a self-centred conception. Nanami was sick on Friday, probably wasn’t entirely healed up by Saturday - he’s certainly still physically sick, far from the emotional aches Geto’s been ailing with for the past few days. In fact, Geto almost hopes that his words have lost their impact on Nanami to the less personal pain of illness; he hopes he’s not plagued by both at the same time.

The now familiar twist of guilt churns in his stomach, and Gojo’s voice cuts through the fog with a grin. 

“Think you made him sick?”

Geto’s eyes dart up and squint at the idiot, “That’s ridiculous. I just…” he pauses, ponders, and sighs at last, “I feel bad.”

Yes, that’s it. It’s a silly feeling, more complex than words usually allow. The whole ordeal of prying his own heart apart to find the nuances of his shame is all too overwhelming. He feels bad, and “bad” wears many heavy gowns: the choking stiffness of sorrow, the deep layers of loss, the woolly, suffocating heat of resentment. He’s overdressed again, standing at the top of stairs at the bottom of which he’s tried to abandon Nanami, and the exhaustion is so severe that the very thought of going back to help scares him. It’s a silly feeling, yes, for a silly overdressed fool, overheating and overwhelmed. 

Gojo hums; Geto gazes over at him to find he’s looking at the ceiling, pretending to be thoughtful. That alone is a bad omen. 

“Yeah, I would too. I guess.”

Geto lets out a bitter chuckle, a light sneer gracing his lips as frustration makes him snappier.

“You’re the one who told me to be an asshole boss to him,” he reminds him, and Gojo’s eyes widen. 

“Yeah! I didn’t think you’d actually do it!” he exclaims, before giving him a complicit wink, “But I must say I’m impressed~”

Geto rolls his eyes; of course he is. That bastard always relishes a good stir of drama, and Geto’s rarely the one to feed his voyeuristic gossip tendencies. He groans and rubs at his throat in annoyance, closing his eyes. Oh he’s going to suffer a resounding headache by the end of the day…

“It’s not something to be proud of. I was an asshole.”

“Yeah, but at least you were an honest one!” Gojo argues, “Sometimes it takes an ass to clean the slate and start on better foundations.” 

Geto’s not so sure about that proverb, but Gojo’s too fast for him to comment, “Anywho, you’ve inspired me!”

He furrows his brows and looks back at his best friend. Gojo’s grin remains just as bright and innocent in ways that betray the very concept of trust. Geto’s always been suspicious of the way Satoru processes the world around him, but the idiot’s never so dangerous than when he is grinning through an unspeakable idea.

Suguru cocks an eyebrow,  “I have?”

“Yeah,” Gojo slaps a hand to his chest in solemn gratitude, “See, I have also decided to be an asshole boss!”

As he speaks, he dips his arm down and picks up a green folder he’d most likely propped up against the desk when he’d walked in. It’s testament to Geto’s exhaustion that he hadn’t noticed, and that he focuses on that detail rather than on the very open admission that his best friend is up to no good. 

His frown deepens when Gojo lifts the folder and drops it on the desk with a resounding clap.

“These are pretty sensitive documents,” he says, and makes a dramatic face as he sighs, “Can’t really scan them, you see? I need Nanami to read them, and then burn them. That’s how sensitive the whole thing is.”

Geto hasn’t stopped frowning. His brain cannot keep up with the extent to which Gojo’s antics escape his grasp. They’re a marketing company. There’s not a single piece of data worth fighting for, let alone requiring the hassle of paper-printing - and subsequent burning.

He lets a moment pass during which he simply glares at the green files, before his eyes move up towards Gojo’s in wide silence.

“What the fuck are you on about?”

Gojo’s grin only broadens as he shakes his head and gestures around at the very basic corporate office they stand in. 

“What? We’re a serious business!” he pats the documents with an intense head nod, “We’ve got sensitive stuff in there.”

Another moment passes; thoughts run through Geto’s tired mind with for only quality that they distract his brain from the dreaded image of Nanami’s shock. It only takes a few more seconds before his helpless gaze turns lucid and pointed; Gojo’s smile grows mirthful before Geto even speaks the words.

“The scanner’s busted.”

“Yup.”

Geto sighs, and makes a circling motion with his hands to encourage Satoru to give him the complete details at last, “And you want me to…?”

Gojo’s grin, all at once, is wolfish, “Deliver these to Nanami after work, of course!”

Ah. 

Geto’s eyes slowly widen, and he shakes his head before the words even cross his lips,

“Satoru, I-”

“Hey!” Gojo stands up at once and clicks his tongue disapprovingly, “Asshole boss here, I make the rules!”

This cannot be happening. Geto’s heart sinks in his chest at the mere thought of going to Nanami’s place to invade his privacy in a moment of sickly vulnerability. He has to be the last person Nanami wants to see at the moment, and his heart picks up in his chest in a panic. He cannot do this. Gojo cannot make him do this. This is beyond being an asshole boss, this infringes on the limits of humanity. His best friend is committing the cardinal sin of betrayal and he is grinning about it all the same.

“Just have Ijichi do it!” he gasps and straightens, watching as Gojo takes a step towards the door with a handwave.  

“No can do!” he chirps with a wink, “He’s got nothing to say to Nanami anyway, consider it killing two birds with one stone~”

Geto’s convinced he’s going to be one of the birds, and Gojo’s stupid grin is the stone, “Am I not just so nice? I’ve given you the perfect opportunity to talk things through with him!”

There’s no changing his fate. He could, theoretically, scan the documents at home, email it, be done with it. That would keep the exchange to a pleasant minimum, a comfortable place from which he could continue to wallow in self-pity while suffering Gojo’s dramatics about a breach of confidentiality and the impending end of the world once the scanned papers are spread to the public. But Geto finds Gojo’s eyes and spots a challenge amidst the amusement, a trial in the shape of a joke - and hence the kindest of nudges too. There’s a moment of silence again, during which his best friend doesn’t push, simply waits, and Geto walks over the finish line with a defeated groan and a glare.

“You’re an asshole.”

“An asshole who’s always right!”

Geto scoffs, and he crosses his arms as he lifts an eyebrow, “You said Nanami and I would get along though…”

Gojo’s eyes shimmer; he pretends to think, “Mhm~ Did I?” Geto knows that stupid grin all too well, “Can’t remember! Bye, Suguru! Have a nice work day!”

He’s gone in a flash, and leaves Geto with nothing but his thoughts and the green folder of opportunity. Asshole boss, for sure.

*****

It’s way too cold a day for Geto to be standing outside for that long. He should have rung the bell five minutes ago, gotten it over with and left, but instead he’s standing outside of Nanami’s apartment door like a fool. His hands are freezing in his pockets, and not even his god forsaken coat can keep him warm. He takes a glance behind him and considers leaving, walking down the stairs to his car, step away from the two-story building to leave its occupants in peace - by god, Nanami’s neighbours could step out any time now and confront him about awkwardly standing on the threshold of his place for over fifteen minutes. He has to look like the most insane of creepy men out there, and he frankly wouldn’t be surprised if the red and blue lights of a police car flashed over the walls within the next five minutes.

Geto exhales, trying to ignore the nagging presence of guilt by his side, and tries to guess shapes and forms through the blurred out window in the door. It’s to no avail, and he hopes Nanami can’t see a dangerous dark figure from his side of the glass either. At least, the lights are on; he’s home.

With a sigh, Geto tugs at the bag over his shoulder, and presses the bell. The muffled tune rings out inside the apartment and signs the very nearing end of his reluctant wait; he swallows his heart and breathes in deeply through his nose to calm himself down. 

He’s quite confused, however, when he hears the frantic thudding of hurrying steps coming towards the door. He wouldn’t have expected Nanami to run inside for anything at all, and especially not for a stranger on his doorstep at seven in the evening. Is he expecting somebo-

The door opens before the thought can form, and Geto’s brain gives up on any kind of neuronal connection whatsoever when a child looks up to him. He’s wide-eyed, panting a little from his rushing over, and he’s almost hanging from the doorknob to which he clings. Geto’s too stunned to be polite: he glares down at the little thing - a young boy, three at most, with a missing tooth and very pale brown hair, almost pink - and his eyes widen, lips parting.

A toddler. Nanami has a toddler.

“Yuuji! Yuuji, what have I told you about opening the d-”

It seems Nanami can run indoors, in the end. Geto tears his gaze from the unexpected child to look over at his colleague, who’s run-up to the door is interrupted by a similar state of shock. His sharp hazel eyes widen, a thousand emotions flitting through his face to settle on pure shock. Geto cannot say a word: he just watches as Nanami straightens up, jaw hanging a little. Dark circles underline his wary gaze, and his parted lips are slightly chapped. He’s a little pale, it seems, but Geto can only guess it stems from the fear of having one’s child taken by a stranger on the doorstep.

The silent look of bewilderment they share only lasts as long as it takes “Yuuji” to unhook himself from the door and tippy-tap his way over to what Geto can only guess is his father. He hugs his knees and hides behind Nanami, looking up with big wide eyes as he expects an admonishment his poor dad is in no state to give. Instead, he glares at Geto, and presses a mindless hand to the kid’s fluffy hair.

“I thinked it was pizza! I’m sorry!” the boy chirps for all excuses, and Nanami’s head moves towards him before he changes his mind and keeps on glaring in shock at Geto. The latter does not know what to do with himself by this point, and anxiously awaits the final verdict of what he knows will be a harsh sentence.

“It… thought ,” Nanami vaguely says, “You thought it was pizza… But we hadn’t ordered pizza, we’ve already eaten, Yuuji.”

Geto’s heart lurches in his chest; Nanami’s voice is distant, like he’s answering by automatism while his mind struggles to process what is actually happening. He does not look angry in so much as bafflement leaves his jaw hanging and his eyes filled with shock and confusion. He’s wearing a loose white T-shirt, tucked into comfortable brown pants, nothing quite like the strict beige suits he often wears to work. Geto can see the skin where his neck meets his shoulder, the collarbone where the shirt deeps lower than a button-up would. He swallows, forces his gaze to meet Nanami’s again; his colleague’s brows furrow and, at last, he moves up to the door. Little Yuuji follows, all curious and contrite, and clings to his father’s side as he does. 

It is when Nanami’s standing in front of him, a hand on the door for safety, that Geto realises he hasn’t spoken at all.

“Hi,” he says, and his voice is raw; he clears his throat as Nanami’s gaze slowly ignites with the familiar light of wariness and anger. Geto knows he’s on thin ice, so he tries to smile, “I… have brought you documents. It’s about the Kyoto campaign, I think, it… The scanner is broken, you see, so I thought- we thought you’d want to glance over them ahead of time.”

Nanami’s gaze slides over to the bag Geto hands him, then back to him. The poor man can only swallow, “There’s no pressure, of course. For you to get back to work, I mean. You can take the time you need to heal,” he tries to laugh, but the chuckle is dry in his throat.

Nanami’s suspicious, still, and Geto cannot blame him. Nonetheless, he reaches out to grab the bag, and opens it to take a quick glance at the folder. Geto isn’t too sure how he could be lying about the contents or the reason for his visit, given the situation, but when Nanami looks up, he’s squinting at him still. 

Geto swallows, but Yuuji is, once again, faster than either of them. He tiptoes to try and reach the bag, and looks over at his dad with big saucy eyes.

“What that? Dada is sick? Why is Dada sick?”

Geto’s eyes dart to the kid for a second, and his brows furrow. Why is Yuuji surprised? Nanami’s obviously not feeling well, even a toddler could see that. Why else would Nanami be staying at home anyway?

Yuuji’s concern draws his father’s attention at last, and he looks down; there, his eyes soften, and Suguru’s heart catches in his throat when he caresses the little boy’s cheek. 

“Dada’s not sick,” he says, and squeezes the boy’s face with a soft, gentle hand, “Now go to your room. I’ll be there to tuck you in very soon.”

Yuuji beams at that, and Geto notices that the boy is in pyjamas indeed. His stomach sinks when he realises he has probably interrupted their bedtime routine, but Yuuji’s excited nod keeps him fond and amused. 

“Okay!” is all he squeaks before hurrying away just as fast as he arrived. 

Geto smiles up to where the boy disappears in the corridor, and his eyes meet Nanami’s on their way up. There’s a lingering smile on his colleague’s face from when he’d looked down at his child, soft and small, and it all suddenly hits Geto that it’s the first time he’s seen him smile at all.

His heart drops, and so does his grin; he’s left with nothing but heated cheeks and avoidant eyes, while Nanami’s expression melts back into stern wariness. He looks Geto up and down, as if he’s waiting for him to speak, and his mind almost implodes with the weight of the silence between them. His thoughts rush back to the smile he’d seen, and won’t leave his brain to his command. He’s not sure he’s ever felt so ridiculous, so he tries his hand at whatever he can think of to break the silence.

“Bedtime at seven? That sounds harsh,” he chuckles feebly, and Nanami leans in against the door. He crosses his arms.

“It’s seven thirty. And he wakes up early to go to daycare.”

Right. Factual, sharp, unimpressed. Geto mentally scolds himself for trusting his own mind with anything at all, and his chest tightens with anticipation. It’s now or never: he has to apologise, make it quick and professional, and leave Nanami to his son and to a good night of rest. It’s easy, he’s mulled it over on the entire car ride, for the past two days too; he knows what to say, he knows how to say it, he knows why he’s saying it.

And yet, the words are shy in his throat, choked by guilt and beaten by overthinking. Every second that passes makes the silence more awkward, and he’s wasting precious opportunities for a nice and mature resolution to a conflict he’s instigated. Sorry , he has to start with that, build from there. Sorry about Saturday, I’ve been an ass, I truly wasn’t thinking and I insulted you beyond what should-

“It’s cold, you’re letting cool air into my home,” Nanami says, and Geto’s eyes widen all at once. 

Oh fuck, fuck, fuck he has to apologise about that too, he has to say sorry and leave, he’s run out of time, he’s completely messed that up- 

“Come in.”

Geto hasn’t heard that correctly. He cannot have. Impossible.

He frowns and looks over at Nanami, who’s tilting his head back towards the corridor with a quick nudge. It’s surreal, and surely Geto hasn’t heard him right. He knows he’s starring, but at this point it’s all he can do to make sure he’s reading into the situation properly - and he definitely isn’t.

Nanami is still watching him, as unreadable as ever, and when Geto gapes uselessly in his search for something to say, he simply continues.

“I’m cold. Come inside, or leave.”

Whatever instinctive biological machinery wires up to life after that, Geto isn’t exactly sure where it comes from. He’s grateful, however, when the door closes behind him and warmth finally seeps into fingers he’d long forgotten were freezing. He doesn’t even remember making any conscious decision to move his limbs and walk in. All he knows is that one second he was outside, and the other he was listening to Nanami’s instructions: his coat goes on the rack to his right, and the shoes just underneath. There are guest slippers, please put them on, and now he’s waiting in the living room while Nanami goes to tuck his son in. 

“It won’t be long,” but it’s long enough for Geto’s soul to reintegrate his body and take in the sight of Nanami’s apartment. Long enough for his eyes to trail over the walls where pictures of family and friends hang, pictures of Yuuji too, and to the couch and TV in a corner. Long enough for the warm, dimmed lights to appease his senses as they cast golden halos over dark wooden furniture and merge with the night that pours in from the window without entirely swallowing it. 

Nanami’s living room is comforting, Geto decides, with bookshelves and plants around, and as he sits at the small dining table, he finds he has much to look out for and appreciate. It’s a refined space, blends in nicely with the small open kitchen, more modern, that stands behind him. There, too, Nanami has chosen warm lights, and Geto thinks that all that the home misses is a fireplace. 

He hadn’t expected Nanami to live in such a cosy place, but then again, he hadn’t expected to ever walk in either. The thought seeps back into his brain once the warm living room eases his initial shock away. His heart squeezes in light apprehension, but he has very little time to worry beyond reason. Already, Nanami’s slow steps echo from the corridor, and he reappears in what all in all seemed like a second.

Geto forgets to breathe as he walks past him into the open kitchen, and he cranes his head back to look at him. The position is uncomfortable enough for him to twist over his chair and wait in silence as Nanami grabs a kettle and makes his way towards the sink.

“Tea?” he asks, and Geto almost forgets to answer.

“Yes, please.”

It’s unexplainable. He does not have a single clue about what he’s doing here. At this point he’s half expecting Nanami to poison his tea and be done with him at last. 

A few minutes of silence stretch about without fuss as his colleague turns on the stove, gets some mugs out. Geto watches him, but from where he stands his gaze drips from his broad back to where his hands are moving at a practised speed to prepare their drinks. It’s a comforting quietness, and Geto’s lost in thought by the time Nanami turns round. He straightens up on the spot and lets his eyes follow as he walks around the table. 

Geto’s brain panics too much for him to process more than shape and movement; it’s only when Nanami sits in front of him that he sees him again. Ever so calm, so quiet, so attentive. There’s no gravity to his features, no danger to his body language. He sits there, and he waits.

There the silence stretches again, an indolent cat rolling over on the table in between them that neither of them wants to push off. Nanami’s watching him; he’s not slouched, per se, but he’s leaning against the table, resting his chin on his hands. He’s quiet and patient, and there’s no harshness in his gaze. He’s watching him, and that’s it. He’s waiting.

Geto, on the other hand, reads stiff and tense, hands wrung together over the table. His eyes run from Nanami’s probing gaze to his whitening knuckles every few seconds, and he knows he must speak before Nanami’s patience wears too thin for him to weave it into a healing bond.

He swallows, at last, and exhales.

“I must apologise…” he begins, and Nanami steals a breath from him to form his own comment.

“Well, you certainly seem keen on believing so, so let’s hear it.”

He’s sharp, as always, but not aggressive. There’s an amused lilt to his voice that’s forever absent from his face, and when Geto looks up it’s to meet calm hazel eyes, stoic and unreadable. He nods and shakes his head.

“I do, I… I’ve been awful to you this weekend. I’m very sorry. I was cruel and unprofessional, and my words went way beyond my thoughts.”

He wants to say more, explain and overexplain until there’s no stone left unturned, but he knows the apology must hang in the air for a moment before they go any further. It must be accepted, too, if not understood, and so Geto waits with a shameful glance up to where Nanami listens. The latter is looking down at the table, seemingly lost in thoughts, and Geto knows his silence means he can continue.

“I’m sorry about showing up unannounced too. This… I should have figured out a way to send this by email, I… I’m sorry. You were right, I keep disrespecting your privacy, I… I’m really sorry. About everything.”

It’s all very bland, all very empty. Geto’s all too aware he sounds pathetic and redundant, with nothing to offer but platitudes, the most basic of apologies. He’s sorry, he didn’t mean it, but he doesn’t dwell into the why, the how, the depth of what made his eyes linger with fury and his heart burst with pained frustration. He doesn’t linger there, in this foolish corner of his heart that burst forth without cause or reason. It’s not the kind of burden one brings to an apology, and so the table remains barren, long and gigantic between them - and the cat jumps on again to purr into his ears like thrumming blood.

Nanami’s still looking down at the table. If he sees the little beast, he makes no movement to chase it away. His eyes have lost the cautious edge Geto has grown familiar with to a more distant blur, unfocused, unhurried. He’s frail, it seems, from the sickness, and perhaps he is weary too. Perhaps Geto exhausts him in ways he doesn’t even realise are unforgivable. 

His chest tightens, and his eyes drop to his own hands; he forces them to relax in the same second he uses to exhale, at last, and breathe in again. He lowers his shoulders, straightens up a little, closes his eyes. 

The cat lingers, and so does the apology; he must wait, relax, give time some space and space some time. It’s unnerving, but Nanami isn’t snapping, biting, yelling - so he must believe that, maybe, they are getting somewhere. In this moment he’s carved for his selfish needs, Geto must believe Nanami can find the words to chastise him for good or give him one last chance if he is still allowed one of those.

“It’s okay.”

The cat jumps off. Geto’s eyes trail up to where Nanami looks unmoved, unfocused. He’s still watching the table where silence has left a few strands of warm fluff. For a second or two, Geto almost believes he’s imagined the words. They seem nonsensical; he hadn’t even pictured a single scenario in which he could hear them.

Still, Nanami continues, his voice a little muffled against his hand.

“I was an ass too. A huge ass, even.” 

Nanami’s eyes trail up, sharp and calm, and his brows furrow before the obvious bafflement on Geto’s face, “Don’t look so shocked, I was. You know it. You’ve confronted me about it, many times, and I shut you off every time.” 

He moves, at last, and the way his body straightens up has Geto’s eyes darting around frantically, from his long hands to his stiff shoulders, the reddened imprint of his hand on his square jaw, the parting of his chapped lips when he exhales from the exertion. Nanami rests his arms on the table and leans in a little; his serene eyes meet Geto’s, and he concludes.

“I’m sorry for being an ass, too.”

There’s no greater kindness than forgiveness, no forgiveness without kindness. The world spins on but life pauses for a quick exhale. Spring follows winter, and day follows night; some comforts are as easy as nature and yet as soothing as their darkest moments.

Geto lingers into the wave of relief that washes over him and leaves him shocked but relaxed, filled with questions he doesn’t know how to ask and gratitude he tries to wield into a smile. He can’t even express it. His brows knit up, and Nanami’s eyes watch him with curious patience, never quite smiling and yet not quite as indifferent as Geto knows him to be. His apology is genuine, lingers in the air in turn, and so Geto is at a loss for words, for anything at all to continue the conversation. 

He hadn’t expected them to meet half-way, to reach a mutual agreement so fast; now he should be thanking him, shaking his hand, and leaving him to a good night of rest. It’s how the story should go, because they are colleagues again, on neutral terms after weeks of absolute loathing, and because whatever will become of their relationship will only blossom in the office. They are professional acquaintances, and so Geto should take his win, his bow, and leave.

But he cannot. He cannot bring himself to go. Not now, not when Nanami’s hazel eyes watch him quietly, without snarls nor anger, not when the dim lights cast an amber halo on his skin, his golden hair, and dip the softness of his tired gaze in honey. Geto cannot be blamed either: he doesn’t believe a single soul could leave when such a welcoming silence purrs against them.

“So you’ve got a son, mh?”

The words spill out, soft and casual, and they make sense. They build a question up from the ground from which they have finally torn all the hurdles and walls. Standing face to face now, all they can do is try to discover one another - it’s the first time they’ve ever met.

Nanami’s brows twitch, and he lifts his head. He’s not smiling, but his eyes are.

“You noticed.”

The tease is noted with a quick eye roll, but ignored otherwise, “I didn’t know.”

Nanami shifts again, and Geto’s smile loosens as he focuses on him: he watches as Nanami rolls his shoulder and lifts a hand. He curls it into a fist, and rests his cheek there again; he closes his eyes. Geto cannot tear his gaze away.

“That’s because I didn’t tell you,” Nanami simply says, “I must say I’m surprised Gojo didn’t tell you himself, but I take it he knows how to respect boundaries.”

His eyes reopen for that last bit; they meet Geto’s with intentional accusation, and Suguru can only receive the little smack with a conceding chuckle.  

Still, the comments are mocking without bite, which is enough for him to know the strange instant of patience they share has not yet ended. Nanami is leaving openings for him to reach into, and he’s all too happy to probe where the teeth don’t sink.

“Are you and his mother…?” he smiles, careful with the words he speaks and the ideas he wields.

Nanami’s eyes lower for a second; they lose the spark of amusement, but travel back to meet his gaze regardless. Geto doesn’t push, rather, and waits for him to offer what he wishes to give away.

“He’s not my biological son,” comes his answer, and with it a fond glimmer melts in his eyes, “His mother was my best friend. She passed away a little over a year ago.”

Geto’s heart sinks. This is a statement that does not call for an answer, one that is given as a passing fact, a necessary evil to take in and accept. Nanami speaks calmly, watches him in return, and the thought that he is assessing him too fleets through Geto’s mind. Whatever it is that Nanami has decided to entrust him with, it is a trial. Perhaps the only trial that ever mattered, the conscious moment during which he is given a second chance and Nanami waits to see if he is worth his patience.

Yuuji is his son, but also his best friend’s. The information matters less than the reaction, and so Geto’s brows knit up softly. It’s not pity nor shock; it’s sympathy, a welcoming embrace for a confidence he’s now responsible for. 

“Oh… I’m sorry,” he says and doesn’t look away, “That’s awful.”

He must have gotten it right, because Nanami’s eyes linger, and he simply nods, “It is. I’ve made my peace with it. All that matters is I can give Yuuji the life she wanted for him.”

And that’s it. That’s all they need. Quietness drifts through the room, gives a quick answer to a valid question, and only time will tell if details will be shared or silenced. Already, Suguru knows he’s been granted more trust than ever in the past weeks, and he cherishes the easy trust that comes with early secrets and quiet understandings.

It’s a part of Nanami’s life he’d stumbled upon when Yuuji opened the door, and a fraction of it that Nanami offers for the moment. A smile graces Geto’s lips, soft and kind, and he nods. 

“How old is he?” he asks, and Nanami easily welcomes the change of subject.

“Two years and a half.”

There’s pride in his voice and warmth in his eyes; Geto craves more, craves a smile. He’s desperate for a little victory over this very even table on which they play. Be it ego or curiosity, he wants this win, he wants to tear it from Nanami’s body and go home with a strong basis for more and a gloating lead in their duel. He wants them to be equals, but he wants to win.

“Aren’t you like… supposed to tell me about the number of weeks or months he is?” he grins, cocking an amused eyebrow at his colleague, “You know, like parents do with their toddlers, and no one really understands why~”

The answer is immediate; warmth seeps out of Nanami’s eyes, and his ever-so-expressive brows furrow. Geto isn’t sure he’s ever seen such a perfect expression of sheer judgement, and yet Nanami’s emotions are always minimalistic. That fact alone is what enhances every little twitch on his face and turns his wary looks into textbook cases of emotional communication. It suits him.

“No, that stops at two years of age, usually, and there’s a very scientific reason for it,” Nanami bluntly states, “Have you ever seen a two-weeks old and a five-weeks old side by side?” 

There’s genuine concern in his tone, laced with so much condescension Geto cannot help his laugh. He shakes his head and leans back in his chair; a quick glance at Nanami tells him his colleague is still very much confused by the absolute stupidity of his question. He simply has to defend himself.

“Right, sorry,” he sighs, “I’m not really good at jokes.”

Nanami’s brows knit up in a mix of concern and turmoil, but he nods. He wrings his hands together on the table, and Geto watches with amusement as he looks down at them with a solemn expression.

“That’s alright, I’ve been told I am not either.”

Silence, again. Geto glares at him with wide eyes, and tilts his head to the side. Nanami remains placid, watching him in return with a calm gaze and not even the sketch of a smile. A grin tugs at the corner of Geto’s lips, and he hesitates.

“Was that… was that a joke?”

Nanami’s brows furrow, “Rather a fact.”

“No no, you were making a joke. It’s just…” Suguru thinks for a second; he has to be careful with the way he phrases his next idea, and his hands move around as he tries to diminish the potential insult and carve it into an observative comment, “You never look like you are making a joke.”

A smile, for example, would go a long way in making Nanami seem more amenable - and in bringing Geto his long-awaited victory. His colleague, however, simply frowns.

“Isn’t the whole point of a joke to somewhat surprise people? If I give away too many signs, they’ll anticipate the second degree.”

Geto chuckles and cocks a playful eyebrow at him, “Some might argue those signs are what ensure jokes do not come off as blunt comments.”

At last, Nanami seems to think for a second. Geto doesn’t know how he manages to keep such a straight face when he has been grinning like a fool for the past five minutes. Behind them, the kettle starts sizzling, and Nanami’s eyes lift up. Geto’s convinced he’s looking for an escape route, and when he stands up he has half a mind to tease him some more.

Yet Nanami lets out a sigh as he pushes the chair under the table, and their eyes meet.

“Well,” A playful smile tugs at his lips, “ I’ve been told I am blunt.”

There’s a second there, one that lingers alongside Nanami’s gaze as he moves past him. A second during which Nanami’s discreet smile is all Geto can see. It reaches his eyes, softens his entire face - and then it’s gone, behind his back, and Geto is left so dumbfounded and breathless he cannot turn around. He can hardly put a word on it, can hardly process it. Nanami’s in the kitchen right behind him - and Nanami is smiling.

But by the time his mind comes back to him, his colleague is back, pouring a golden liquid into a mug and placing it in front of him. Geto checks, but the smile is well and truly gone; only Nanami’s calm expression remains, soft enough to tell that he is comfortable. That’s all he needs, although it’s not the victory he thought it’d be. It’s an entire army, defeated on the field of glory, and bowing to a single man’s smile. It’s a blow he didn’t know he craved. 

Geto shakes his head.

“Thank you, for this,” he clears his throat, and holds the warm cup with both hands; it’s hot, “I won’t overstay my welcome, I promise. You probably must rest…”

“It’s alright,” Nanami answers without looking at him, “I’m not sick.”

He pours his own drink slowly, and shrugs as he puts the kettle back on a coaster, “Or rather, I’m not sick the way you probably think I am.” 

Geto frowns at that, but Nanami is generous with his glances, and looks over at him with soft eyes and another entrusted secret, “I’ve been diagnosed with a depressive disorder a few months ago. Most of my sick days are… resting days, I’d say.”

Another confession, just short of affectionate trust. Nanami’s moments of vulnerability always remain within the bonds of what is acceptable for a first meeting, for a conversation between strangers who want to be more. Perhaps Geto is overthinking it all, but he genuinely feels that Nanami’s trial is a mutual threshold for them to get to know each other. He believes Nanami is curious too, and wants to see if they can mend what never was, shape it into something cordial if not warm. Geto truly hopes it can be warm.

His heart softens a little when Nanami mentions his diagnosis, and he doesn’t want to take too much time to process it. Nanami sits in front of him again, hanging to his lips for a response that will make or break their burgeoning relationship once more. Geto smiles and nods. 

“I see,” and he does. He’s an anxious man by nature, and has always been familiar with the fluctuations of his own mental health. It’s heartwarming, he finds, to be entrusted with Nanami’s reality without the weight of expectations and big revelations. They’re laying their cards down on the table to sort and organise, with ease and without shame, and with every gage of trust Nanami gives him, Geto finds he’s never been happier to be so stubborn, “I’m glad Gojo is giving you that time off, then.”

“It was one of my conditions for joining the firm,” Nanami nods, wrapping his hands around his own mug, “I’d opened a bakery a few years ago, but after my diagnosis, the work and wage became too inconsistent to provide for Yuuji. I contacted Gojo about it, and we figured something out.”

A bakery. Geto can very much see him as a baker, somehow. Despite the sneers and the blunt expressions, it’s all very fitting for such a professional, dedicated man. 

The thought makes him smile, a little bittersweet to hear the dream has ended, but he knows to be polite. Perhaps the whole task of getting to know someone lies in self-awareness, in understanding when and where one must push, and when and where one must wait. If Geto plays his cards right, that’s a conversation they can have later.

“That’s… very generous of him,” he confesses, before a curious, maddening idea bursts into his mind and steals every other thought away. He blinks, and gives Nanami a probing glance and an amused smile, “Did you and him ever…?”

His question has for immediate effect to make Nanami’s brows furrow, which Geto had expected - and hoped for. He grins wider when realisation sets onto his face, blending into a wide variety of distinct emotions on his lips and eyes. His gaze turns wide with shock, and his jaw hangs open; Nanami straightens up, frowning harder than he’s ever seen him do. The very sight has Geto chuckling with concern; he looks so horrified, so baffled, so… animated, he’d say.

“Wha- no!” His eyes widen even more, and Geto’s brows knit up with amused patience, “God no! No, he- absolutely not!”

Geto immediately lifts his hands in the air, a bubbling laughter rising in his chest, “I’m not judging!”

“Him?” Nanami continues, averting his eyes in racing, overthinking distress, “He’s- no! God, never. He’s absolutely not my type. He’s- no.”

His emotions seem to get the better of him, and he angrily brings his cup of tea to his lips. Geto chuckles, still, and watches with absolute wonder as he manages to sip on the still boiling hot drink. The observation calms him down - if only because it shocks him greatly - and his eyes fall onto Nanami’s face again. He’s gazing away, his brows continuously furrowing as he seems to battle with Geto’s accusations. 

A few seconds pass before he realises Suguru is watching him, and their eyes lock again. There’s hesitance in Nanami’s gaze, something sheepish and patient, but he doesn’t look away. It’s impressive, truly, how bold this man can be. It seems like he never backs down from a challenge, like he’s never too insecure to hold someone’s gaze, no matter how vulnerable he’s being. He’s brave, Geto thinks, and his heart finds peace in knowing he’s somewhat worthy enough to receive his undivided attention. 

Perhaps it’s his turn to be a little braver.

“Hey, Nanami,” he begins, “Tell me something,” Two hazel eyes watch him, calm and patient. Geto’s gaze hides away into his mug for a cowardly second, and he runs a thumb along the edge before looking back at him, “Why are you opening up now?”

Nanami waits, and forces Geto to wait alongside him. There are sketches of ideas in Suguru’s mind, but he wants to be entirely certain.

Nanami raises his mug after a few moments, and takes a quiet sip. Everything is voluntary, everything goes its course. With Nanami, time fills up the space it is due, and leaves Geto to his own self-control. He knows now not to panic, not to overthink; Nanami will answer when it feels right - and they do, after all, have all the time they want to give each other.

“Well,” Nanami lowers the mug, “We are not at work, are we?”

Geto grins, a little defiant, “But I’m still your boss. This is a work relationship, isn’t it?”

Nanami nods.

“Yes, and yet you’ve long since proven you wish to be more than that, haven’t you?”

Geto’s heart stops beating. It’s cruel, now, how Nanami’s hazel eyes are unreadable when he’d thought he’d figured out a way to understand him beyond words. His own voice is but a breath when he smiles.

“More than that?”

Nanami takes a deliberate sip, and Geto’s eyes linger on his lips.

“Friends,” he says.

“Friends.” 

Their eyes meet again. There’s a cat against his leg, but it is warm and doesn’t linger. Geto only knows to nod, “Yeah, I’d like to be friends with you.” 

He exhales, and a soft smile grows on his lips when Nanami takes another sip of his hot drink, “But what made you change your mind?”

“I haven’t. I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

“But why?”

Another sip, long and heavy. Geto’s throat is dry, but his tea is scalding hot still. He cannot believe Nanami’s still drinking, cannot believe the heat spares him. The steam alone tickles his face and leaves his cheeks a shade redder. 

Nanami looks back at him. Hazel eyes lock with his, before trailing down to his tight neck, his slowly raising chest, and his hands, at last. They linger there, and move up again, intentional and pointed. He holds the mug up to his lips.

“I’m feeling generous.”

He drinks.

“How generous?”

“Appropriately so.”

“That’s oxymoronic,” Geto grins and picks up his cup; it’s too hot, but it keeps his own blood boiling, “Let us try to be friends then.”

Nanami’s gaze follows his hands as Geto leans back into his chair. He tilts his head up, and a discreet smile grows on his lips. Another victory.

“Try? Do you expect failure?”

Geto grins and gives him a solemn nod, “I do.”

“How disappointing,” Nanami answers, “I was looking forward to a redemptive relationship.” 

He takes another sip of tea and glances back at him, “Let’s save ourselves some time and agree not to be friends then.”

Geto’s skin reels, and he finally forces himself to drink; the liquid burns through his parched throat but imbues his body with sizzling excitement. 

“That’s quite the shortcut,” he comments, and Nanami shrugs.

“It’s efficient, is it not?”

“It certainly is.”

Geto smiles and puts the mug back on the table. He wraps an arm around the backrest of his chair, and gazes over to Nanami’s attentive eyes, “Back to square one then.”

He nods.

“I suppose so.” 

There’s another pause that lingers during which their eyes lock and don’t let go. Geto’s heart tightens in his chest, and he’s almost out of breath by the time Nanami looks away. He watches in quiet awe as his colleague brings the cup to his lips, gaze dipped into the warm liquid as he continues.

“Say,” he begins, “I think Gojo would understand if I took another sick day tomorrow.”

A shiver runs up Geto’s spine, and he straightens up alongside it - stiffens, too.

“Another sick day?” 

His voice is the remnant of a breath, and it catches Nanami’s gaze above the mug.

“I’d drop Yuuji off at daycare, of course. I don’t want him to miss two days in a row.”

There are more words in the glance they share than they could ever find to speak. The warmth of the tea cup spreads through Geto’s entire body, and leaves his mouth dry and bothered.

“I see.”

Nanami sips through a long, deliberate second, and his lips catch on the edge of the mug as he finishes his drink. Geto watches him; he puts the cup back on the table, and lets out a warm, soft exhale. The hazy heat of the steam has tainted his eyes and left his lips red.

“How long is your lunch break?”

Geto’s hands squeeze around the ceramic.

“Long enough.”