Smooth jazz rolls over him as he enters the establishment. Servers in buttoned silk stroll around carrying wine glasses, platters of seafood, and decadent desserts. He ignores them and makes his way past the seated tables to the end of the bar top. It is a slow Tuesday night. He finds himself alone.

The bartender eyes Dazai as he settles on a barstool.

“The usual?”

“Please.”

The bartender nods and turns to pull a dimpled glass bottle off the shelves behind him. Dark liquid swishes as he pours it out into a frosty glass. He slides the drink to Dazai.

“[Y/N] is on break.”

“Are you going to kick me out?” Dazai asks.

The other man shakes his head. “No. Not until I’m asked to.”

Dazai smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I see.”

The conversation ends as the bartender excuses himself to work on other orders, leaving Dazai to wait in silence. He is about halfway done with his drink when you emerge from the back of the bar. You freeze in place as your eyes meet his. Dazai smiles again, but with sincerity this time.

“Sweetheart.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I shouldn’t be a lot of things,” he replies bemusedly.

Your boss glances between you two before sighing and waving a hand in dismissal.

“Go. We’re on last call anyway. Take an early night.”

You start. “What? No, I can—”

“You heard the man.”

Before you can process anything, Dazai sweeps you up into his arms and carries you outside, much to your embarrassed, irritated protests. He makes it about a block and a half before your flailing becomes too much and he sets you down so as not to risk hurting you.

“Are you serious?!” Your voice echoes down the empty street. It’s well past normal operational hours. There’s not a soul in sight, save for you and the man before you who's trying not to laugh at your indignation. His attitude only manages to irritate you further but you can tell that’s what he wants—to rile you up.

You turn to leave without another word. You refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“Hold on, wait.” Dazai gently grabs your arm to stop you. “Please.”

“And why should I?”

He smiles again. It’s sadder this time. “I just want to talk to you.”

“And I asked for space.”

“Space is wasted between us,” he whispers. It’s almost like he’s trying to convince himself.

“Dazai…”

He squeezes his eyes shut, savoring the way his name sounds in your tone. You are so gentle with every part of him, it makes him ache to return to a time where this softness came from a place of affection and not resignation.

“I messed up.”

You sigh, tired of hearing the same thing over and over again.

“More than just messed up. You showed me exactly why we shouldn’t be together.”

He steps closer to you. You hate yourself for staying in place. His gaze trails the plane of your face, marking its depths and dimensions to envision for later.

“It doesn’t mean we can’t. I made a mess of things. I know that. Let me prove that I can fix it. Let me make it up to you,” he urges.

You shake your head. “How? You never trusted me, Dazai. You never will. It’s like the second I see a crack in the wall, another comes up in its place, taller and stronger than the one before. I can’t be with someone who hides their entire life from me.”

He looks away for a moment, conflicted. You continue.

“And you know the worst part? You don’t even know the actual reason I left. You think it’s because of that girl—that I was jealous. I don’t care about her. I trusted you enough to know that you wouldn’t betray me like that. You know what it was?” You pause. He stays silent. You feel your heart in the pit of your stomach. “It was the fact that I had to find out from someone else that you almost died that day. That mission—with her—you think I wouldn’t have found out? That my partner, the man I share my life with, was barely holding on?”

“[Y/N]…” He reaches for you at the sight of your tears.

“No!” You rip yourself from his touch. “I had to sit in our house—our home—alone, while I awaited the news from a complete stranger, of whether the man I loved was dead or alive. She wouldn’t even tell me where you were. Do you know how utterly helpless I felt? I thought I was losing my mind.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And then…” You’re shaking. You’re unsure if it’s due to anger or heartbreak. Both likely. “They told me you were the reason why. You told them to keep me in the dark. You told them to not say anything.”

He flinches. He has the nerve to look regretful.

“I wanted to protect you.”

“That isn't protecting me!”

“I see that now.” Dazai holds out his hands in a placating gesture.

“You don’t.”

“Please.” He’s begging now, his careful mask of control slipping.

“I can’t live like that,” you whisper, voice shaky. “I will never understand you. And that is why I will never have you.”

“I will give myself to you.”

“But not fully.”

Those words hang between you two like an iron curtain, dreadful and harsh. The unbearable weight of it sinks into you and makes your chest ache.

Dazai’s jaw clenches in frustration. “I will do… whatever it takes—”

“No,” you interrupt him. The lump in your throat makes it hard to speak, but you work your words out nonetheless. “You don’t get unlimited chances. You can’t.”

“Just once more.”

He approaches you slowly. The determination on his face breaks your heart. You can’t afford one more chance—it’ll ruin you. Dazai won’t accept it though. He kneels down and gently encloses your trembling hands with his warm ones. You don’t move. You don’t dare to breathe. His breath brushes across your knuckles as he speaks again. This time in a whisper—his final plea.

“As wicked and carnaged I am—and it’s quite a lot—I feel like I can be good when I’m with you. Like I am good. I hide that side of myself—that life—because I’m scared it will somehow taint you, and that possibility is more terrifying than anything it has ever done to me. I will do better. I vow it. I just need you to let me.”

His eyes are glassy—much like your own. You can almost hear your heart stuttering in your chest, screaming for reprieve.

“You’ve always had such pretty words for me.” You pull your hands from his. They immediately go cold without his touch. “It’s a pity they’re still only just words. Please don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

Dazai’s face goes pale and he’s almost shaking as he gets up. The sight hurts. You turn without another word.

“[Y/N].”

You ignore him.

He calls your name again, more desperate this time. You keep walking. You fear that if you stop you’ll give into him just like you always have.

“This can’t end like this.”

He relives his past every day. Memories of ancient monsters play in his mind in an endless loop. Scenes of sacrifice and loss are seared into the fabric of his memory as he recalls the battles and bygones. Through it all, your image is the one thing that stays constant. Grounding. 

Nanami’s chest tightens. It’s been far too long. He may be a patient man, but he is not an infallible one. He misses you. He has missed you for almost three centuries now. He won’t stop searching—if you are a part of this world, he will find you. 

An alarm goes off, signaling the start to his day. The sun hangs low in the horizon, but the sky is already a deep burnt orange. The early morning colours blanket Nanami’s apartment as he readies himself for work. 

His life as a jujutsu sorcerer has long passed; the world is no longer aware of those bygone powers and the evils that accompanied them. For his second life, Nanami went back to what he knew—he had worked as a salary man. The third, a professor. He liked that job. It fulfilled something in him, even if most of the world still felt empty.  

This time, he finds himself a writer. It seems he can never stick to one role for too long.  

Despite all those jobs, his sorcerer days still left an indelible mark on his heart. The world has moved on from the likes of curses and magic, and for the most part, so has he. Nanami can barely recall the feel of that power—the sort of strength that used to warm his veins and strike at his core. But sometimes, in the quietest pockets of the day, when the silence becomes unbearable and the need for more comes crashing through, he yearns for that first life. His real life. 

As much as he wishes otherwise, everything after his first life as a sorcerer has felt fake. It feels like he’s watching life pass by on a tape recorder, over and over, as he stays on standby. The translucence of it is disorienting and isolating. Nanami wonders if it’ll all clear up once he finds you. 

He begins to get ready for his day. Shower. Breakfast. Check emails. As always, his publisher’s messages flood his inbox, as do text notifications from Gojo and the kids. One of them catches his eye. 

JUJUTSU REUNION!!

He clicks on it and sighs at the chat thread. It seems he’ll have plans after work today. 

Nanami drains the last of his coffee before grabbing his bag and heading out into the busy streets of Tokyo. To his credit, Nanami did try living elsewhere in the past; for a while, he made his way out to the sleepy towns of Western Canada, then at some point settled in the bustling metropolis of London, England. Nanami passed through these cities—and many more—like a fleeting ghost. And no matter what, he always ends up back where it all began—in the beating heart of Japan.

The day passes by quickly. The office is practically empty on the weekend; Sundays tend to be slow. Everyone has left for the day by the time Nanami finishes up his work. He briefly glances at the time; the clock shows 9:24pm. A late night once again. He glances out the large floor-to-ceiling window panes that make up the entirety of his eastern wall—the sun is long gone, but the city still glows. 

Knowing he’ll be late, Nanami shoots a quick message to the group before packing up his work. It’ll be a small gathering. Gojo will be there, of course. The kids will too. Nanami smiles at that thought. They’ve lived just as many lives as he has. They’re not exactly kids anymore. But deep down, he knows that doesn’t matter. Despite how much time has passed and how much they grow and mature, they’ll always be kids to him. They’ll always be his responsibility—his family to protect. 

Nanami isn’t one to be overtly sentimental about things, but he is eternally grateful that they were able to find each other again. He only wishes he could say the same for you. 

He checks his watch as he briskly strides down the worn pavement. It’s getting late. The sky is clear and littered with stars, and the spring temperature is mild. It takes another ten minutes before he arrives at his destination: a cozy, late night cafe. The spot is tucked away in the back of an alleyway. The only thing indicating its existence is a small wooden sign and a warm glow emanating from the front entryway. 

Nanami makes his way inside and is immediately met with the comforting smell of baked goods and fresh flowers. 

“Nanami! Over here!” Yuji Itadori waves from a corner booth on the left side of the room. He’s sandwiched between Nobara and Megumi on one side of the table. Both of them greet Nanami as he nears the group. Gojo and Shoko occupy the other side; the latter is next to the window. Nanami takes the empty spot beside Gojo. 

Immediately he’s wrapped in a crushing embrace. 

“Nanami! It’s been far too long!”

Gojo’s enthusiasm is already exhausting, but Nanami finds himself smiling nonetheless. 

“Junpei couldn’t make it?”

Megumi shakes his head. “He’s stuck at the library studying for an exam.”

Nanami nods. “That’s understandable. After all, my work took longer than I thought as well.”

“It’s good to see you regardless. How’s the research going?” 

Shoko’s subtlety is a bit too delicate because Yuji pulls a confused expression. 

“Research? What research? I thought you were in the finishing stages of your book?”

Nobara flicks his ear and hisses: “Shut up, moron! Can’t you read the room?”

“Idiot,” Megumi mumbles. 

Gojo just smiles sympathetically as the kids bicker. Shoko sighs and gives Nanami an apologetic shrug. 

“Sorry. I was just…”

“It’s alright,” Nanami reassures her. He exhales. “But I do wish I could give you happier news. I’ve had no such luck.”

“You can’t give up!” Yuji urges. 

“And neither will we,” Megumi says. 

Every lifetime, the group has found their way back to each other. Every lifetime, they’ve searched endlessly for you. Every lifetime, they’ve failed. 

“I know. Thank you.”

They chat a bit longer and the conversation smoothly moves along to other random topics. After the food and drinks arrive, Nanami excuses himself to the washroom. He’s on his way back when Yuji’s voice stops him in his tracks. He pauses behind a side wall and listens quietly to the hushed conversation. 

“What if… what if [Y/N] does remember? And there’s a reason why we haven’t been able to find—”

Nobara furiously interrupts her friend. “Are you seriously suggesting that?”

“I’m just saying! Everyone else remembers. Maybe we have to consider [Y/N] might not want to see us. It’s not like we all left on the best terms.”

“Itadori! Enough!”

Gojo’s voice rings out. “Now, now, kids—”

“We’re not kids!”

“You are to us,” Shoko replies. 

“We’ve lived hundreds of years.”

“And yet, not much has changed,” Nanami interrupts. 

Everyone’s face pales at his return. 

“I’m sorry, Nanami. I didn’t mean…” Itadori falters, guilt creeping up on him. 

“It’s alright, Yuji.” Nanami smiles gently and gives his shoulder a reassuring pat. “I appreciate your honesty. You’re right. That is a possibility.”

“Don’t listen to him! He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Nobara protests. 

“She’s right, you know. There’s no way [Y/N] wouldn’t look for you,” Megumi adds. 

“I appreciate it.”

Gojo turns to Nanami. “Listen. There’s a gala next week. Lots of famous faces. You should come.”

“That’s not really my sort of crowd.”

“Oh come on, it’ll be fun. There’s quite a few people who’d like to meet you. Some authors. Researchers.” His next words are softer. “Some of them may know something.”

“Again, I appreciate the offer but—”

“Nanami, I think you should go.” 

They all look up at Shoko in slight surprise. 

“Really?” Gojo tries to cover his shock. “I mean, yes! Exactly. She’s right.”

“You too, Shoko?”

She shrugs. “It can’t hurt.”

It can, actually. It can hurt quite a lot—to give him a sense of hope that will inevitably be ripped away from him. Nanami has faced these false promises time and time again, only to be disappointed at the end of it all. He isn’t sure how much more he can survive. 

Gojo must sense his anxiety. “Please just think about it? I don’t need a solid answer right now.”

With a sigh, Nanami relents. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

“This was a mistake.” 

Nanami tugs at his tie. It’s too tight. Suffocating. 

Gojo barks out a short laugh. “It’ll be fine. We’ll mingle. Have a few drinks. Eat some passed hors d’oeuvres. It’ll be a blast.”

“You and I have very different definitions of fun.”

“Unlimited flutes of disgustingly expensive champagne isn’t fun?”

Nanami gives him a flat look. “No.”

“Hmph. How boring.”

“Let’s just go.”

Their car pulls up to the front entrance of a luxurious hotel. The impressive building is constructed of marble and steel—a mix-match of high-tech and classic design that goes strangely well together. They exit the vehicle and it speeds away, leaving them on the hotel steps. 

Gojo adjusts a snagged cuff link. “Are you ready?”

“To be thrown to the wolves? I suppose.”

The white-haired man claps Nanami on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit, my friend. Onwards!”

They make their way through halls of opulence before ending up in a massive foyer. A footman takes their coats and guides them to a decorated ballroom. Calling the place large would be an incredible understatement—the space is the size of a football field and three stories tall. The top floor is littered with rows of gold-rimmed galleries. The second floor is a spacious mezzanine that overlooks the main floor. It wraps around the entirety of the venue and is accessible by two large marble staircases located on opposing ends of the room. There are thousands of guests in attendance, if not more. 

Gojo leans over and mutters: “Drink?”

“Immediately.”

Gojo disappears to find the bar without a second's hesitation. Nanami waits at a small cocktail table near the back. People in all sorts of formal dress mill around. Some are talking in small groups, while others peruse the food options. There are a decent handful of dancers out on the main floor, waltzing to the melodies produced by a live orchestra. 

He taps the countertop, impatient. Thankfully, Gojo shows up moments later, two glasses of whiskeys in hand. 

Nanami takes the drink gratefully. They clink their glasses in cheers and take a sip at the dark liquid. Nanami glances across the crowd once more, and something catches his eye. Something… familiar. He wonders…

The person turns. 

In a state of shock, he drops his glass and it shatters on the floor. 

Gojo startles. “What the hell?”

Nanami doesn’t reply. He’s frozen in place. Gojo follows Nanami’s line of sight. What he sees makes his eyes widen in shock. 

There you are. Beautiful. Shining. The center of the world—the focal point of all Nanami knows. 

“That’s… no way.” Gojo’s jaw drops. He turns to his friend, but comes face to face with empty space instead. 

Nanami is running. 

“Wait!”

Nanami doesn’t hear Gojo calling after him. 

He doesn’t see anything or anyone else but you. The only sensations he’s aware of are the thundering beats of his heart and your image unfaltering in the near distance. You’re so close.  Close enough to speak to. Close enough to reach. Close enough to be real. 

He slows down as he approaches you. There’s a million things he wants to ask. How are you here? What has happened all these years? Do you still love him?

All he can do is weakly muster out your name. “[Y/N].”

Nanami has spent lifetimes searching for you. He wonders if you will remember him in this one. It would be cruel of the universe to make you forget. 

You turn around to face the man. “Um. Hello?” 

The expression on your face is enough to devastate him. There’s not an ounce of recognition in your eyes. It seems the universe has never been short of cruelty. 

“Hi!” Gojo catches up to Nanami and holds a hand out for you to shake. “Satoru. It’s a pleasure.”

“Likewise.” You eye the blonde with confusion. “I think.”

“This is my friend, Nanami Kento. He’s a well-known—”

“Author,” you interrupt. You turn to the star struck man and try to ignore his strange behaviour. “I follow your work closely, Mr. Nanami. I’m a big fan of your writing.”

“Kento, please.” Nanami abruptly recovers from his distress. He pushes down the lump in his throat and offers you a professional smile, drawing a line he desperately wants to cross. “I’m honoured.”

“Alright. Kento. I’m [Y/N]. Although it seems you both already knew that.”

“My sincerest apologies. You reminded me of someone I knew long ago. I hope I didn’t startle you,” he replies smoothly. 

You quirk a brow in disbelief. “And this person you knew… has the exact same name as me?”

“Funny coincidence, isn’t it?” Gojo laughs, as if emphasizing the absurdity of it all. 

“Yes. Coincidence,” you reply, still clearly unconvinced. 

Gojo ignores that and rambles on. “What is it you do, [Y/N]?”

“I’m also a writer. My main focus is on speculative fiction.”

Nanami looks at you in surprise. How has he never heard of you? He’s well versed in the literary landscape. 

As if you read his mind, you add: “I use a pseudonym and keep my identity fairly well hidden. I don’t really enjoy the spotlight, but my publisher insisted I attend this gala tonight.” You wave your hand, gesturing to your left. “He’s probably at the bar over there drinking himself into the floor.”

Nanami chuckles at that and Gojo grins, delighted to see his friend finally loosen up. He’s also incredibly happy to see you again after so many years. He can’t even imagine what Nanami must be feeling right now.

“Well, gentlemen. It was lovely to meet you, but I should find my publisher and get us both home.” You set your glass of wine aside and turn to Nanami. “I hope you’re able to see your friend soon.”

As you turn to leave, you feel a warm hand wrap around your wrist. The touch is gentle but it sends shocks through your nervous system. You whip around, surprised at the action. Nanami looks just as taken aback as you do. 

“Sorry about that.” He lets go but doesn’t seem very regretful at all. “Before you leave, could I get your number? I’d like to talk shop sometime, if you’re okay with that.”

You glance at your wrist. “Touchy, aren’t you?” There’s no real malice in your tone. 

“Not really,” Gojo pipes up. 

Nanami’s eyes widen slightly in alarm, and he rushes to apologize and explain.

“I’m sorry, you were leaving and I didn’t want to miss the chance to—I promise it won’t happen again. I—”

You cut him off with a raised palm. The poor guy is so flustered you're having a hard time trying to stifle your laugh. His careful mask of stoicism crumbled away rather quickly. 

“It’s okay. I’d be happy to give you my number.” You reach your hand out and he dutifully passes you his phone. You put your number in and hand the device back. “Let’s set up a time soon, yeah?”

“Yeah. Let’s do that.”

“I’ll see you around, Kento.”

As Nanami watches you walk away, Gojo leans over and smirks. “Hate to say it but… told you so.”

Nanami turns to his friend, expression serious. “For once, I’m glad I listened to you.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Even soulmates lose their way sometimes. 

You stare at the sentence inked on the page. They’re the last words of the novel, and an inconclusive end to a bewildering story. The plot is inspired. Romantic, even. The problem you have with it does not lie in the narrative or writing. Your gripe is with the characters—or rather—just the one character. The protagonist. You set the book aside, still disturbed and on edge from what you just read. 

The cafe you’re sitting in is quiet during its closing hours. Rain gently pitters against the awning outside and drips down the glass walls. It’s dark out but the streets are as busy as ever; cars honk and flash in the impatient streams of glowing traffic. 

Should you call him? Would it even amount to anything? You could just be looking too far into things. After all, there are millions of characters out in the world. There’s bound to be one like you—one that resonates so deeply that…

There’s something wrong. You can’t escape this feeling of dread—like you’re missing something utterly significant. 

You grab your phone and hastily dial a number. It rings only once before the receiver picks up. 

“Hello?” Nanami answers in a low rumble; he must be tired. 

“Hi. When can you meet?”

A brief pause. “I’m free right now.”

“Where are you?”

“Home,” he answers. His next words are full of concern. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” you pause. “There’s just something I’d like to discuss. Can I come over?”

“Yes.” The answer is so instant it catches you off guard. You recover momentarily. 

“Address?”

“I’ll text it to you. The entry code too.”

The click of the receiver rings in your ears as the call disconnects. With haste, you drain what’s left of your drink and wish the barista a good night before heading out into the pouring rain. 

Silently, you curse the weather and quickly hail a passing cab, eager to get to your destination. 

The apartment is not far from the cafe, but not close enough to be easily accessible. It takes about twenty minutes to arrive. Nanami Kento lives in a modern building about thirty stories high on the outskirts of the city. His unit is in the middle section, height wise, on the 17th floor. The key code he sends you is a string of four numbers. Familiar ones. You ignore the strangeness of it all and make your way up to his unit. 

You steel yourself at his door, breathing deeply as you bring your hand up to knock. Your nerves are shot to hell and you have half a mind to turn around and pretend you never called him, but doing so would leave you with far more questions than answers, and being left in the dark never sits well with you. This man, full of enigma, has the answers you seek. You know it. You won’t let him keep them from you. 

It only takes about two seconds before the door swings open, revealing Nanami. 

His blond hair is darker than usual and still dripping from the shower. He’s hastily dressed in a forest green sweater and loose cotton pants. It’s a casual outfit, but one that suits him exceedingly well. A pair of reading glasses sits on the bridge of his nose, reflecting his sunken gaze and dark eye bags. 

“If this is a bad time, I can come back another day,” you offer. 

He shakes his head and moves aside to let you pass. 

“No need. Come on in.”

You hesitate. “Are you sure? I know it’s late…” You take a quick glance at your watch. 11:48pm. 

“I’ll be awake regardless.” He offers you a small smile. “With you here, it’d be a much more pleasant experience. I assure you.”

“…Alright.”

You’re still apprehensive but his words convince you to follow him to the living room. The space is clean but comforting. Shelves of books line the walls in organized patterns, and the area is decorated with a variety of knick-knacks. You spot a globe, a wooden chess set, and even an old fashioned typewriter as he brings you through the apartment. The unit itself is impressive—a testament to Nanami’s success—but its size doesn’t take away from its coziness. The whole place is aglow with warm light that falls on top of the earthy tones which make up the interior. It feels like home. 

“Please, have a seat.” Nanami gestures to a comfortable looking armchair facing the couch. “Would you like anything? Water? Tea?”

You take a seat. “No, thank you. I’d prefer to just get into it, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course.” He takes a seat across from you. “It sounded urgent on the phone. What can I help you with?”

“This might sound crazy.”

He doesn’t even blink. “Try me.”

“I…” You look down, unsure how to approach the topic. You decide that being straightforward is probably your best bet. 

“We’ve never met, right?”

“That’s correct.”

You glance back up at him. “Then how do you know everything about me?”

Nanami blinks. “Sorry?” You’ve caught him off guard. 

You pull a book out from your bag. It’s the same one you were reading a few hours earlier. You flip the cover page over to reveal the author's dedication. 

To eternity,

I have been both blessed and cursed with a world before you, a world with you, and too many after. 

Nanami turns pale. 

“This is yours,” you begin. You don’t mean for your tone to come out sounding accusatory but it does regardless. “The author’s name is different—you used a pseudonym—but this book is yours. You wrote this… this…” 

Nanami doesn’t immediately answer. He’s frozen to his seat, eyes glued to the book. There’s a look in his eyes that makes your heart squeeze. He looks unbearably sad. 

“The main character…” you swallow. “Is exactly like me. Our preferences, our physicalities, our lives… we are identical. This isn’t just a coincidence, is it?”

Nanami finally manages to rip his gaze away from the book. He looks at you instead. The sadness hasn’t left him—in fact, it seems to have deepened. 

All he says is: “It’s a complicated situation.”

“Then uncomplicate it.”

At that, he sighs. “How did you find this book?”

“What?”

“The book. Where did you find it?”

“Where most books are found, Nanami. In a bookstore. Tucked onto a shelf.”

He shakes his head. “That’s impossible.”

“What would I gain from lying to you? Seriously, this–”

“[Y/N], this book was never published,” he interrupts. You stop short. “It was never put to print nor did it even go through editing. It had no cover or title. It was merely a draft buried under files and dust. It doesn’t exist.”

“But…” you look down at the book in your hands. The glossy cover glitters underneath your touch. 

“What is happening?” you whisper—more to yourself than anything. 

Nanami hasn’t taken his eyes off of you since he first opened the door. His gaze wanders, but only across the planes of your face, never straying far from your visage. 

He never meant for the novel to be seen by anyone, much less you. It was meant to be a commemoration of sorts; a love letter to your memory. He may not have been able to find you again, but he could immortalize you in poetry and language. He could take your life to pen and paper, and ensure your tangibility outside of his own recollection of you—as it is one that fades with each turn of the clock. But with you here, maybe… just maybe…

“You’re right. In this life, we never met.” Nanami rubs the back of his neck as he tries to gather the courage to face a version of you that’s little more than a stranger. 

“Then why…?”

“I’m the one who's going to sound crazy,” He chuckles. There’s no humor to it. 

“Try me.”

That gets him to crack a small smile. He sits silent for a moment longer, gathering his racing thoughts. 

“You and I have shared a life before this one.”

You just stare, confused. Nanami continues through your silence. 

“It was many, many years ago. Decades past. It was a completely different world—one where monsters roamed free. We met during the Jujutsu period during a time of strife and bloodshed. It was not an easy life to lead… but it was ours.”

“The Jujutsu period?”

Nanami nods. 

“That must have been hundreds of years ago…”

“I know it’s hard to believe—impossible even—but it’s the truth,” he says quietly. 

You don’t look at him as you try to process his words. He doesn’t push you. Instead, he just watches quietly, eyes soft and sorrowful. 

The fireplace crackles next to you and all of a sudden it is too warm in the room. Too warm, too cloying, too… much. 

“You sound insane. You know that, right?” You finally turn your gaze to Nanami. 

“Believe me, sometimes I feel like I am insane.”

“Is that so?”

He nods. “Yes. To be missing a part of your soul is much like succumbing to madness.”

His bluntness takes you aback. You have never known such intensity before. The man in front of you is a stranger. You should, by all logical means, be running for the hills. But you seek comfort in his words—and you find it in his presence. As illogical as it may be, you believe him. So you tell him exactly that. 

At your response, Nanami shuts his eyes for a moment. He exhales as relief crashes into him so violently he feels it in his bones. 

“You have no idea what that means to me.”

“I wish I did. I wish I remembered. How long has it been?” 

“Much too long. Lifetimes,” he answers quietly. 

Your chest squeezes. “Well, I must have loved you very much.”

“I’d like to think so.”

“I can believe that.”

“Can I ask why?”

You let out a deep breath. “Because I trusted you enough to share so much of myself with you. You knew me deeply—more than some know themselves.”

He smiles softly. “It was the greatest privilege of my life—to be able to know you.”

His words cut you deep; you didn’t realize you could yearn so deeply for a life you don’t remember. 

“Where do we go from here?” You ask.

He leans forward, eyes never straying from your own. 

“We start over. No pressure, no stress,” he hesitates. “If that is what you want, of course.”

You nod. “Yes. I can work with that. A fresh start.”

Nanami only smiles again. He has waited centuries. A few months—even years—now is nothing compared to the hurt he endured over centuries without you. He will wait as long as you need—as long as it takes for you to come back to him.