but soon after his demeanor flared up to harsh sentences, intentions full of cruelty, he spat the brutal words against your face with a stoic expression. he furrowed his brows and with the dim lightning ceasing on his face, creating bold shadows, he looked rather, intimidating to you. a face he had never wore before, not to you, maybe someone else, yes, someone on the street who bumped into him, someone from work who messed his work up, someone random through his day, maybe, but not to you. never to you.

yet now, it laid before you. that figure you weren’t familiar with. that man with a ruthless face you didn’t recognize.

“and you tire yourself so carelessly like a clumsy toddler, not eating-“ you paused where you stood, now almost identifying the pattern of his words which contained his own routines. you thought to yourself again, but not once you’ve mentioned not eating nor not taking a break, instead, those were things you confronted him with before. although you did it with rather kind words. not making him feel small and incapable.

you tensed your shoulders. he lashed out with stormy accusations, and even though those were the things he reckoned you committed solely because of his own record, you knew that, the things that he were projecting onto you, the actual things that were troubling him about himself, but it still burned where it landed.

his distasteful words framed you.

and he kept on going. nonstop.

your eyes started burning with an undying sensation and you could feel the wetness building up on the corners of your eyes.

he sighed out another thing he so graciously forgot to mention. you couldn’t hold the tears back anymore.

tears collided in your face, rolling after each other, your face swollen and flushed with frustration. along with every word of his, another tear slid through from your eyes. you tried holding them back, hell, you’ve been trying since he started talking, but he did not give you the time to breathe, to collect yourself and for hurt to fade away from your heart.

he didn’t realize at first.

your tears fell from your face, right before his feet, the rug darkening with wetness. your vision blurred once more tears came in and you lowered your gaze so that he wouldn’t notice your wet face glistening under the lightning.

you did it out of defense, not out of shame.

he was the one to feel the shame.

he saw how your shoulders trembled first, and how you couldn’t look him in the eye. his mind was clouded with his own resentment against himself. once he saw your wavering figure, he paused, his mind suddenly clear, and eyes widening with fright.

he raised his hands to seize your shoulders, then stopped midway and spotted the wet spots on the rug, so vividly visible and dark beneath the flares shadowing them from the fireplace.

his manner’s weight suddenly crushed down on him, and his shoulders shivered.

“my love,” he whispered out.

he was petrified.

he was petrified with his own behavior. with his own words he uttered to the woman he loved, the tone he wore to her, to the one he promised to cherish.

the fireplace cracked with a fierce sound. its dim lightning fell upon his broad figure, now shaking, trembling beneath regret and fright, his mind cloudy with all the words that came out of his very own mouth. dry as a desert, burned with shame, his mouth, and he pressed his palm against the warm wall for a support.

“please,” he breathed out, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything after.

you raised your hands to wipe the tears away. he stood there in silence.

you sniffed quietly with your swollen and flushed nose. tears slowed down slightly. your gaze stayed on the floor.

then you heard a rustle. a rustle so defeated and painted with sorrow. and a sob, so frail almost absent. shortly after you saw it, without even having to raise your head.

he collapsed onto the floor with his knees supporting him.

the broad man who embraced you through every misfortune, who protected you like an oath, who stood secure for you, now crumbled before you with regret. all vulnerable and bare. his tears glimmered on his face with an orange tone, reflecting the flares still alive in the dim lightning of the room.

a soft rain started outside.

“my love, i’m so, so sorry, i don’t know why did i-“ he sobbed once more, his head between his palms, his knees crushing the soft rug.

you shook your head, not being able to utter anything.

“i’m so sorry, i terribly regret everything i’ve said to you. i projected my own distress for myself, and for a moment, i couldn’t bear the thought of you tiring yourself in such extent as i’ve done before,” his voice trembled, and the rain fastened. “i was frightened with the thought of you, bearing what i had, i got bewitched by my own past when i should’ve been there for your present problems,”

the tears started falling down on your face again, and you just stood there, listening to him opening his worries to you, bare and broad and frail in a sense you’ve never seen in him before.

“i got much too carried away in such expense i couldn’t realize—“ he stopped his sentence midway, to press one of his palms upon his mouth, covering it, tears going over his hand and glistening over the knuckles. you felt a squeeze in your heart at his crumbled state.

“and to your sweet face, i said such horrible things, i’m so, so sorry my dear, my love, and as undeserving as i am for your forgiveness, please, let me make it alright, with time, not suddenly— let me protect what we have with time.” he pleaded and lowered his hands, gripping the rug roughly.

you took a step to his figure and saw it more clearly how his expression was shattered defeatedly.

nanami had always been gentle with you. the man before you, minutes ago, felt as if he was a stranger crawled into his skin, displeasure seeping into his veins. you weren’t sure how to respond to him, to his honesty, for it would mean you acknowledging his behavior.

but you took a deep breath, also burning to talk to him, to make him understand you grander. to get it out of your chest. to not carry it within you for the next morning, and letting him carry it instead.

so you opened your mouth with uncertainty.

“you’ve hurt me,” you breathed out.

“you’ve hurt me, and i see where you’re coming from, truly, i do, but what frightened me is, kento— it’s that you weren’t able to stop. and i shouldn’t be even half as understanding as i am, and i shouldn’t be put in a position where i should force myself to see your perspective because you’ve hurt me unintentionally.”

“but i love you. and i know you. and i also, need time and closure.” you said, your shoulders still tense, body aching.

“i’ll work on myself so that you won’t go through something like this ever again,”

once you were close to him enough for him to see your feet with his gaze lowered, he gently grabbed your ankles, and breathed there for a second, yearning for your permission. for you to not seek his absence, for you to accept him. for you to allow him to repent of his faults.

getting the permission from your silent form, he lowered his head, his dewy lips, all wet from his tears, met with your ankles delicately. he pressed a faint kiss upon your ankle, his touch still fragile where it rested against your warm skin.

he inhaled, with all the weight against him, he seemed so small, the grand man you know, defeated beneath your feet, crying against it. he stayed there for a moment, kissing your ankle, the top of your foot, his tears striding down from your skin.

“kento,” you whispered, and hearing your whisper he pressed one last kiss, his hand leaving you for him to rise on his feet.

his hands instantly found your waist, sitting there and wavering slightly but warm and secure and familiar. you smiled at him, face glistening with tears and heart still broken, but embraced with his presence. not alone. never alone.

“i’m so sorry, so sorry i’ve caused you something i’ve swore to never put you through,” he said, pressing another kiss upon your shoulder, leaving traces of wetness there.

“give me the chance to prove myself, to you, please.”

he traced his hand adoringly through your hair, took one strand and brought it to his nose with shivering hands, inhaling it, the other hand still sitting securely on your waist.

“i could never breathe without you,” he whispered, “i love you, and i could never live without you, nothing would ever mean a thing without you,”

“kento…” he stroked your sides, his warmness tracing your heart, his voice caressing your mind, and you melted with his heat, all the weariness the day has brought you now crushed against him, crawling out of your body into his embrace.

“can i carry you to bed?” he asked for your permission again, still unsure of his movements. you just nodded out of tiredness, still not hugging him or returning his gestures, way too hurt for it.

“i’ll give you space tonight, would you want that?” trying not to push too far, he said while his hands moved down, under your knees to lift you.

you nodded once more. you weren’t quite sure if you could handle his presence beside you all through the night, even though you usually adored it, it didn’t feel right, not tonight.

he kissed your temple and whispered a silent ‘of course, my love,’ and going up the stairs, he kept whispering how sorry he was. when you arrived in bedroom, he tucked you in gently. with the same gentleness you knew. then he left silently, with the same calmness he entered with, closing the door with a silent click.

you rolled in the soft bed, and thinking he left, also getting ready for sleep in the guest room, closed your aching eyes, face still swollen from all the crying.

he crouched down behind the door. he knew, from the moment he saw the tears on your face, that he would spend the night behind the door, listening to your breaths.

and he did that.

in the morning after, sun shining throughly, when you woke up with fresh flowers, more colorful than usual, the same morning coffee he brewed for you every morning, today with extra care, your favorite breakfast which he brought to bed, something he was fiercely against, you already knew that, nanami was indeed, a man of his word.

you don’t pull away from him right away, mostly because you can’t quite move. your arms are still around him, your cheek still resting against his chest, but every thought in your head has gone completely still.

you hadn’t expect it. not like that.

you knew the relationship was serious. you knew he cared about you—nanami wasn’t the kind of person to spends his time carelessly after all. but hearing the words out loud feels like he had just placed something very fragile and important directly in your hands.

and suddenly you’re terrified of dropping it.

you really weren’t prepared to take it in the first place.

you slowly pull back from the hug, looking up at him.

nanami’s expression is calm, but there’s something more vulnerable there than usual. something quiet and sincere that makes your chest tighten.

he’s waiting. not visibly impatient or anxious. just waiting. and the words are sitting right there in your throat.

i love you too.

they’re true. you know they’re true the second you heard what he said. but instead of coming out, they get stuck somewhere behind your ribs.

your mouth opens and nothing happens.

the silence stretches.

the longer it lasts, the harder it becomes to break. heat creeps up your neck as you realize you’ve been staring at him for too long.

so you do the worst possible thing.

you smile.

not even a real smile. it’s one of those small, awkward ones you make when you don’t know what else to do.

something in his eyes changes slightly.

he doesn’t ask why you didn’t say it back or look offended or embarrassed. after a moment he just lifts a hand and brushes his thumb lightly over your cheek.

“get some rest,” he says quietly.

then he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead and lets you go.

you stand there for a second after he walks away, staring at the empty hallway and feeling like the worse person on the whole fucking planet.

but the moment passes, and you convince yourself it’s fine.

some people take longer to say things like that. he didn’t seem to mad anyway. nanami was patient.

he’d understand.

but you don’t know if you could’ve say it back, even if you were prepared.

—

weeks pass.

your relationship doesn’t change.

nanami still holds your hand when you walk together. he still makes sure you eat when you’re stressed, still listens with that quiet attentiveness that always makes you feel seen.

but he never says it again.

not once.

and somehow that makes it harder to bring it up yourself. so they stay locked inside your chest.

until the night he says it again.

you’re both already in your bed—he’s staying the night because it was too late for him to go home and you wouldn’t let him. the lights are off and the room is dim except for the faint glow of the streetlights outside the window. nanami is lying on his back beside you, one arm tucked under the pillow while you’re turned toward him, curled against his side.

the conversation has slowed into that sleepy kind of quiet people fall into when they’re about to drift off.

you’re tracing absent circles against the fabric of his shirt, listening to the slow rhythm of his breathing.

after a while, nanami shifts slightly and turns his head toward you. his hand finds yours in the dark, fingers threading together loosely.

“are you asleep?” he asks quietly.

“nope.”

there’s a short pause. then he squeezes your hand once.

“i love you.”

the words are softer this time, almost sleepy. but they’re just as clear as they were the first time.

your chest tightens instantly because you know what it feels like when he says it, and the weight of not answering the first time crashes back all at once.

your heart starts beating faster. this is your chance.

say it.

just say it.

i love you too.

the words sit there again, waiting.

nanami is quiet beside you, not moving, not pushing. just waiting. the silence grows.

one second.

two.

three.

you open your mouth in the dark.

and once again nothing comes out. panic rises in your chest, hot and sharp. now the moment feels even bigger than before. if you say it now, will it sound forced? like you’re only answering because he said it first? what if you stumble over the words? what if it comes out wrong?

your throat closes. your mind goes blank.

so instead you squeeze his hand lightly.

a small, helpless gesture that doesn’t actually say anything at all.

nanami exhales slowly beside you. he’s not visibly frustrated. just… quiet.

that makes it worse.

after a moment he shifts closer, his arm sliding around your waist and pulling you gently against him.

“goodnight,” he murmurs.

and that’s it.

within minutes his breathing evens out, slow and steady as sleep takes him. you can feel the weight of his arm resting comfortably over you, warm and familiar.

but your own eyes stay wide open in the dark.

your chest feels tight, your stomach twisting with a dull kind of shame that won’t go away.

because you do love him.

you love the quiet steadiness of him, the way he shows up for you without needing to be asked, the way he listens like every word you say matters. the way he truly sees you.

the words sit in your throat now, painfully clear.

i love you.

you only mouth the words soundlessly into the dark, lips barely moving. nanami shifts slightly in his sleep beside you, breathing deep and peaceful.

he’s already asleep.

and you lie there staring at the ceiling for hours, replaying the moment over and over in your mind, wishing you had just said it when it mattered.

my first hurt with no comfort fic, kinda nervy.

sobbed while writing this btw so i have to share the suffering haha… BUT BEFORE YOU ATTACK ME i currently have a longer fic in my drafts titled “3 times you couldn’t say i love you and the 1 time you finally do”!!! so yay!! i swear i’m not this evil

“Hey” you breathe, stepping up behind him as he stands at the door. You slide your arms around his waist and press yourself close. Your palm spreads across his abdomen, his skin warm through fabric, familiar and missed. 

You feel it instantly, the way his body stiffens, muscle going rigid beneath your touch. A hitch in his breath, a small warning. His fingers twitch, itching to pry you off.

You pretend not to notice.

You lean in anyway.

“You think you could come home at lunch?” you murmur, voice dipped playfully low, trying to inflect it with as much obvious desire as you could. “I need a little… self-care.”

You feel his breath change before he speaks.

“No. That’s not possible.”

Curt and flat, like you expected. 

He peels your arms away like they burn, steps out of your hold without looking back. The space he leaves between you feels cold. He bends to pull on his shoes, laces them with neat, practiced precision, the same way he does everything. Controlled and methodical.

You stare at his broad back. At the way the muscle shifts beneath the sky-blue shirt he favours. The sword holster already strapped in place. A horrible reminder of everything that took him from you, and what brought him back wrong.

“Please, Kento—” you start softly, reaching out, fingers barely grazing his shoulder before he shrugs you off.

The rejection hurts more than you expect it to.  

“I’m busy.”

He stands, reaches for his tan suit jacket and slips it on, one arm, then the other. And then, like he hasn’t just pushed you away, like he hasn’t fractured something delicate in your chest, he turns, presses a brief, chaste kiss to your cheek.

You don’t react. You just watch him walk out the door without another word.

He’s been like this since he came home. Since the bandages came off.

Before that, before he could see himself clearly, he let you care for him. Let you sit close, touch him. He watched you quietly while you changed his wrappings, while you smoothed creams and lotions into puckered skin with slow, careful hands.

Then something snapped. A switch was flipped, clean and final.

He no longer holds you when he sleeps. Turns his back instead, a blank wall of cool distance. Even when you curl up behind him, content to be the big spoon, breathing him in, he finds an excuse to leave the bed. The bathroom. The kitchen. Anywhere but stay with you.

He doesn’t reach for you anymore.

No gentle love-making against the counter. No lazy mornings tangled in sheets together. No lingering touches, no heat, no hunger.

Everything…just gone.

You’d tried not to let it bother you, tried to tell yourself that you had to wait, that he’d been through something life changing, something that had left him with injuries, mental and physical, that you couldn’t even begin to understand. But the detachment, the complete lack of intimacy, watching him drift away and become a stranger was unbearable. 

You’d gotten your husband back, but only in the flesh, not in soul. 

…

By midday, your thoughts are spiralling, a self destructive loop you can’t escape. The house is too quiet. No footsteps. No breathing that isn’t your own. The silence presses in, makes everything louder.

You lift your phone. Your finger hovers over his name in your contacts.

You want to hear his voice. You need it. Need him to say it, to reassure you that everything is fine, that this morning meant nothing, that he still loves you. That you haven’t already lost him.

But the memory of his cool rejection stops you. The way he’d pulled away. The flatness in his usually warm voice.

Your hand trembles.

You scroll lower instead, thumb tapping Shoko’s name before you can overthink it. It rings once. Twice. Then her voice filters through the speaker, soft, breathy, echoing slightly.

“Shoko here.”

You can hear the chaos around her. Metal clattering. A wheeled tray squealing across tile before crashing to a halt. You’re on speaker, of course you are. You can just picture her phone propped somewhere unholy while she peers into some poor soul opened up upon her table.

“Hey… it’s me” you say quietly. The words feel intrusive the second they leave your mouth. Embarrassment curls tight in your chest. You shouldn’t be calling her with this. “Um…never mind, pretend I didn’t call. Sorry for bother—”

“I’m not busy” she interrupts gently. “Talk. I can tell something’s wrong.”

A sickening crack sounds through the phone, followed by a wet, visceral squelch.

“It’s Nanami” you say softly. Your free hand hooks around the nape of your neck, fingers pinching skin hard enough to ground you. To keep your voice steady.

“Is he injured?”

Of course that’s where her mind goes. She was the one who stitched him back together. Who scraped him and Gojo off the battlefield and made them whole again.

“Not physically.” You pace the room, nails worrying at your skin, a nervous habit you can’t seem to stop.

The sounds on her end cease abruptly. Latex snaps. Footstep louder as she nears the receiver, her hand closing around the phone, and suddenly her voice is closer. Focused.

“What’s going on?”

“He’s… distant.” The word feels inadequate. You struggle to hold yourself together, throat tightening. “He doesn’t… touch me anymore.”

She exhales slowly. Weary. “Well. He’s been through a big… change.”

“I know—” You rush the words, afraid she thinks you’re selfish. “I understand that. I just…I don’t understand why he’s distant with me. I was there through it all. Through all the treatment. And I’d never see him as anything other than perfect—” Your voice falters, breathless, embarrassment bleeding in through the cracks.

She laughs softly, just a gentle puff of air. “I know you were. You were very brave.” A pause. “I think you just need to give him more time. I’m sure he still loves you. He’s just… tender right now.”

“I miss him.” The words shake as they leave you. Tears burn behind your eyes, gathering fast. Your throat burns, constricting as you try to swallow. “I feel like I’m losing him”.

“Tell him that” she says gently. “I’m sure he’s not doing this intentionally. As long as he knows you’re still there, that you still love him, that you still need him, body and soul, it should help.”

You nod even though she can’t see you. Tears spill over, slipping across your cheeks and down over your lips, seeping into the corners of your mouth. You sniff, wiping your face with the back of your hand.

Her voice softens further. “Don’t cry. He’d hate to know he’s causing you this much pain.”

“I’m so lonely” you gasp. Your knees give out and you slump onto the couch, sinking back into the cushions. The tears come freely now. “I miss him so, so much.”

She stays with you. Listens. Lets you cry for fifteen long minutes, offering soft reassurance, quiet advice, gentle encouragement, until there’s nothing left in you but exhaustion and salt-stung skin.

The house is still quiet, but at least you’re not alone in it anymore.

… 

You find the rum shoved into the back of a cupboard, dust clinging to it’s glass shoulders. You crack it open, bring it to your nose. Sharp and sweet, like forbidden caramel. You hesitate only a second before deciding it shouldn’t hurt.

You make yourself a rum and coke. Then another. The pours are heavy, more rum than mixer, barely diluted. You sit at the kitchen table and nurse it, watching condensation bead and slide down the glass. Ice chimes softly each time you lift it. Your thoughts buzz, a low hum under your skin. The tightness in your shoulders loosens. Your body softens before your heart can catch up.

He comes home the way he always does. Quiet, and careful. Like he’s afraid to disturb you no matter what you’re doing.

Now, you wonder if it’s something else entirely.

If it’s avoidance.

Avoiding you, your eyes, your questions. Your hands.

You take another long swallow, the thought burning through you like acid.

“Kento” you hum when he steps into the kitchen. He pauses, surprise flickering across his face when he spots you sitting there in near darkness. “Welcome home.”

His voice is cool, detached. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

His hazel eyes flick to the bottle. Then to the glass in your hand.

“Because…” you wave vaguely. “Atmosphere.”

He flicks on the light without acknowledging you. You wince as it floods the room, stinging your eyes. He moves in immediately, takes the bottle from the table despite your protest and pours the rest down the sink. You watch it disappear. He rinses your glass quickly and sets it on the drying rack.

Clean, quick, and final.

He turns, hands gripping the counter, lower back braced against the hard edge. “What are you doing?”

You scoff and stand, the world tilts. You plant a palm flat on the table, waiting for the room to stop swaying. When there’s only one of him again, you move toward him, unsteady, hands landing on his waist, twitching against the warm muscle.

“Oh…” you breathe, melting into him. “I missed you.”

You nuzzle your face into his chest like a cat seeking warmth, breathing him in. “You smell good, I missed you so much”

“And drinking helped for what reason?”

“Self-medicating” you laugh softly.

This is the closest he’s let you get in days. You’re drunk on the sensation alone, your cheek rubbing against his chest, his heat soaking into you. “Nanami” you breathe, saying his name over and over, helpless to stop yourself.

“Stop that” he grunts, hands closing around your arms. He pulls you back. “You’re drunk.”

“Oh, Nanami, please” you whimper.

You rise onto your toes and kiss him, sloppy and uncoordinated. His lips are stiff beneath yours, permitting, but not returning the action. You mouth at him desperately, teeth catching his lip, hands clawing at his neck, trying to pull him closer.

He doesn’t move, stood like a stone wall. 

His hazel eyes look at you like he doesn’t know you.

You don’t notice. You can’t. Want roars too loud. Your fingers fumble with his buttons, lips leaving his mouth only so you can see what you’re doing. You reach the fifth button before he catches both your wrists in one hand and stops you cold.

“Stop. I’m not in the mood.”

You do, for a second. You stare down at where his grip holds you, your drunk, touch-starved mind screaming at you to keep going. You surge forward again, mouth crashing back onto his, teeth nipping at his lip in your clumsiness.

“I said stop”. He snaps the words and shoves you away

The sudden force, combined with your unsteady footing, sends you stumbling back. Your hip collides with the corner of the table. Pain flares white-hot before you come to a stop, braced against it.

For a moment there’s only silence.

You freeze, hands splayed on the table. The shock sobers you in an instant.

His hands lift, hovering, reaching for you. Then his gaze flicks to his own hand, the scarred one, the webbing along his skin, and whatever he sees there makes him pull back. His arms drop to his sides.

“I’m sorry” he says. Exhausted. Worn thin. “I shouldn’t have—”

“No. I’m sorry.” The humiliation burns, a feeling you never thought he’d make you feel “I shouldn’t have… jumped you like that.”

You shake your head, push hair back from your face, fighting to stay composed. Fighting not to cry again. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” You can’t look at him. You can’t stand the weight of his eyes on you. You turn away, hiding the tears, the bitten, bloodied lip, the shame burning across your face. “Don’t worry.”

An awkward silence fills the air, you have the desperate urge to hide.

“I’m going to shower” he murmurs.

He slips past you, pausing just long enough to press a kiss to your temple. You flinch. Not fully, but enough. Your shoulders curl inward, your head drops, hair falling like a curtain between you and him.

And once again, he’s gone, slipping into the bathroom, the soft click resonating round the kitchen.

You stand there for a moment, unmoving. Your heart pulses hard in your chest, uneven, like it’s lost its footing. It feels as though the bottom has fallen out of you entirely. You don’t know what to do with your hands, with your body. 

The taste of rum lingers on your tongue, and thankfully, the alcohol blunts the worst of it. 

Just enough.

You know tomorrow will be different. Morning will strip you bare. You’ll feel it all at once.

You turn on the faucet, cold water rushing loud in the quiet room. You splash it over your face, gasp at the chill, cup your hands to sip some slowly. Then you shut it off and lean over the sink, elbows locked, water dripping from the tip of your nose.

You stare down at the plug hole.

Your thoughts twist together, a tangled mess of shame, confusion and longing, too knotted to separate. 

Later, when he’s showered and slipped into bed, when the usual kiss to your cheek never comes, you stand in the doorway. 

Hovering. Caught on the precipice of a decision that feels far too heavy and final.

You could cross the room. Crawl in beside him. Reach out and press your fingers to his warm back, just to be sure he’s still there.

But you can’t.

You can’t take the expanse of his back turned to you. The way his wheat-coloured hair fans across the pillow. The way his body goes rigid whenever you get too close.

So you turn away.

You tuck your nightgown tighter around yourself, chasing warmth that won’t come. You choose the couch instead. Curl onto your side beneath a blanket pulled from the linen closet, staring at the walls washed dark blue by the night.

The distance between you and him has never felt so vast. A chasm you keep reaching across, only to be pushed back every single time.

And you don’t know how many more times you can survive the fall.

…

Your decision comes the way most of them do.

Not dramatic.

Not loud.

Just blank. Heavy. Settled into your bones like something inevitable.

You tried.

You kept reaching for him, again and again. Small, careful touches. Fingers brushing his hand. Quiet reminders that you loved him. That you were still here. Waiting, hoping he’d take your hand, pull you in, hold you like he used to.

He didn’t.

He left you alone.

You’d wanted the weekend. Something simple. The beach, maybe. Salty air and blazing sunshine. Time to remember each other. You touched his hand when you suggested it.

He flinched. Actually flinched.

Mumbled something about work. About being called in. Wouldn’t meet your eyes. Then, later that afternoon, Gojo called, cheerful and oblivious, asking for Nanami.

That’s when it hit you.

He hadn’t been called away. He’d chosen to leave. To avoid you.

He was gone, and you were clinging to what was left behind. A shell. A familiar shape, but empty inside.

You didn’t confront him. There was no point. It felt like shutters slamming closed around your heart, an act of self-preservation more than cruelty. You couldn’t survive being gutted like this anymore.

So you chose to leave.

Being alone was better than being with someone who made you feel lonely.

The door opens softly. Like always. Shoes scuff as he toes them off. Keys clink into the bowl by the door. The whisper of fabric as he loosens his tie. Normal sounds on a normal evening.

You steel yourself.

These are the words you’ve only ever heard in your nightmares.

He senses it immediately, that there’s something wrong. Maybe it’s your face. The way your shoulders are set. The manila envelope on the table, stark and out of place.

“Y/N.”

It’s the first time he’s said your name in a while. It sounds strange from his lips now. 

You swallow. Trying to pick your words carefully, everything you’d rehearsed vanishes. “I… I’m leaving.”

“Where are you going?”

“No.” Your voice shakes. “Kento, I’m leaving… you.” The words nearly choke you. Your gaze drops to your knees. “I want a divorce.”

The silence that follows is thick. Heavy. Neither of you move. You wonder if this is it, if he’ll just nod, go to another room, sign the papers like it’s a task and be done with you.

“What— I don’t understand.” He steps forward, breathless, then stops short of you. “Why would you— I don’t want this— no, you can’t—”

“I don’t understand either” you whisper. Somehow, your voice holds. “I don’t know how we got here. I’ve tried, Nanami.”

He winces at the name. At the distance you’ve put between you.

“I feel alone” you continue, the words finally spilling. “All the time. I reach for you. I try to kiss you. To touch you. I’ve thrown myself at you like some—some common whore.” Your hands clench, nails biting into your palms to keep the tears back. “And you push me away. Every time. You don’t even look at me anymore.” Your breath stutters. “When was the last time we fucked?”

He looks wrecked. Jaw tight. Hazel eyes wavering. He shakes his head, like he’s holding himself back from saying something worse.

“You don’t get it” he says finally.

“What don’t I get?” Your voice rises despite you. Tears blur everything. “I can’t live with this distance. I miss the love we used to share. I miss being wanted by you.” Your voice breaks completely. “But more than anything…I miss you, so much…it feels like I’m dying”

He goes still. Confusion drains into despair. He moves closer, his eyes redden with every breath.

“When I first saw myself in the mirror after treatment…” His voice is rough. Unsteady. “All I could think was how you’d regret this. Regret me… surviving.” He swallows hard. “I didn’t want to see it in your eyes. I thought it was better if I pushed you away instead.”

He looks at you then. Really looks at you. Tears cling to his lashes.

“I mean…look at me.” His brows tremble, folding in pain. “Who would want this?” A broken laugh. “Actually, maybe it is better if you leave. Find someone else. Stop wasting your life on someone already broken.”

Something inside you ruptures.

It feels like you’re bleeding internally, waves of emotion ripping at your soul. Sobs tear out of you, violent and uncontrollable. Your head throbs. Burns. Everything hurts, like he’s taken a blade and split you open from throat to stomach.

You realise you’re wailing.

Your hands claw at your face, covering your mouth as the sound pours out of you.

He tries to stop you, grabs your wrists, tries to still you, but you thrash, the agony too big to contain.

“Why?” you scream. “How could you think that of me?”

“Y/N” he gasps, fighting to hold you, finally pulling you hard against his chest. Holding you there. Anchoring you. “Stop”

“I love you” you sob, fists knotted in his shirt. “I’ve never loved anyone but you. Nothing…nothing will ever change that.”

“You loved who I used to be” he whispers, his voice breaking as it brushes the crown of your head.

“No.” The word snaps out of you, sharp and sudden. You shove him back, hands pushing hard at his chest. “Don’t. You don’t get to say that.”

Your breath comes fast, jagged, lungs burning as you force the words out. “When I saw you on that table, I thought I was going to die. I just wanted you back.” Your voice cracks but you don’t stop. “I’ve never wanted anything more in my life. And then you woke up, and I swore I would make sure you knew, every moment of every day, that I love you.”

“Y/N” he exhales, helpless, as you struggle through tears, hyperventilating around every syllable.

“No” you cut in again. “Stop talking. Just listen for a second”

You grab his hand, the one latticed in scars, he instinctively tries to pull away but you refuse to let him. Your grip tightens until he finally gives up.

“I adore these scars” you say fiercely. “Every day I look at them and thank the heavens because they are what brought you back to me. You survived. You’re here.” Your thumb presses into his palm, grounding him. “You came home. To me. To your family.”

His breath stutters. A single tear slips free, tracking slowly down his cheek, catching in the uneven scar tissue before falling.

“You’re beautiful” you whisper. “You survived. I love every last inch of you.”

You lift your hand, hesitate, just for a heartbeat, before pressing your palm to his cheek.

He doesn’t pull away.

The skin beneath your fingers is soft. Textured. Rippled and puckered. But real. Your chest aches as your heart swells, the sensation of him, alive, warm, here, feeling impossibly precious beneath your touch.

“Please” you breathe. “Kento. I love you.”

“I love you too” he gasps.

He surges forward suddenly, arms wrapping around you with desperate force, pulling you flush against him. Your face presses into the scarred side of his throat, breath catching against warm skin.

“Please don’t leave me…” he chokes. “I don’t want a divorce—”

“I don’t want one either” you whisper, lips brushing his scarred flesh. “I thought I had no other option. I love you, and the pain of watching you fall out of love with me hurt too much.”

“I never did” he breathes fiercely, holding you tighter. “I never stopped loving you.”

This was just a random dream for my delusional brain which refuses to acknowledge Nanami's death! IT DIDN'T HAPPEN!

Please don't steal, reproduce, feed into AI, or repost without my consent.

dad!nanami who stood behind you as you stared at yourself in the mirror, fists clenched on the granite counter, the same one you had sat and hummed and shaved his face every morning.

dad!nanami who had no doubt that you were thinking of this as you splashed your face with cold water, eyes dim. he watched you do your makeup---the same way you had since he met you.

dad!nanami who knew this was an intimate moment, even if you didn't know he was there. even if you didn't know he was still watching over you and his son. even if you would never know.

dad!nanami who admired how pretty you looked in that black dress you saved just for special occasions. a shame this was the first time you were going to wear it.

dad!nanami who didn't expect you to start talking. "do you remember? me sitting here and staring while you brushed your teeth? you always thought i was creepy for it."

dad!nanami who recalled that he did say it was creepy. he also wanted nothing more than to scream that just one more moment with your eyes fixed on him would be his salvation.

dad!nanami who kept his eyes on you as you chuckled, tracing a finger along the edge of the granite. "your skin was always so soft after you shaved. i liked kissing your cheek. it wasn't prickly anymore."

dad!nanami who trailed your gaze to the lone razer in the cup. bright pink. his gray one would usually be right next to it, but instead... instead? he stood by while you crumpled to your knees and choked on sobs that couldn't leave your throat and blinked past tears that welled in your eyes and never dripped past your mascara.

dad!nanami who recognized the patter of little feet before a small voice called out through the door. "mama? uncle gojo wanna talk to you. can i open the door?"

dad!nanami who waited as the boy was silent for a few moments, before creaking the door open and peeking his head around the corner. "mama? why are you sad?"

dad!nanami who wanted to take you both into his arms like the world was ending. instead, he let his son take care of that by wrapping his tiny arms around your neck and petting your hair.

dad!nanami who heard his son whispering the same things he'd whisper to you when you were tired and the days were long. "it's okay, mama, breathe, you're okay, i'm right here."

dad!nanami who didn't know how he was blessed with a son who knew words and just how to use them. it always brought tears to his eyes, ones he refused to wipe away.

dad!nanami who didn't know how this worked. his thoughts were always fixated on you, following you into the car and somehow trailing you to the funeral home.

dad!nanami who never quite liked the color black. it brought doom, just like the darkness he saw before the life was blown to bits before his eyes. he thinks the only reason he can do this is because his last thoughts were of you and his son.

dad!nanami who knew that gojo would take over. be the father that his son deserved. and a small, selfish part of him hoped that you would never move on, that you would always be his.

dad!nanami who knew that was a stupid thought. even if he was always going to be yours, you would probably move on. probably find someone else. maybe you would marry gojo and make it---

dad!nanami who felt tiny eyes on him. was he... was his son looking at him? no, children's eyes wander. he was probably staring at--- "papa... you made mama cry. that's not nice."

dad!nanami who blinked, opening his mouth. no sound came out. he couldn't find the words, anyways. "you always make mama so happy... why is she sad? papa?"

dad!nanami whose heart broke once again when you took your son's hand into yours, voice cracking as you gently explained, "we have to say goodbye to papa, remember, baby? that's why we're here."

dad!nanami who caught the tightening of his son's fingers around your hands. "why did he leave us?" "... he was doing a really, really good thing. he was protecting a lot of people."

dad!nanami who wanted to cry and rip his own eyes out at the way his son frowned back at him. "but who will protect us?" it was supposed be him, forever. him dressing his son up in that suit.

instead, his son wore that sacred suit to his funeral.

a/n: i saw a video on tiktok and it was so sad i actually wanted to cry so bad and i just knew that this would break my heart so thanks y'all get to die inside now too.. kinda reflective off how i felt when my uncle died.