Work Text:
working late tonite, don't wait up for me :p
Nanami reads the message with the same apathetic acceptance as always. He knows Gojo isn't working late, and seeing as he’s stopped trying to come up with new excuses, always falling back on the same old overtime card, Gojo probably knows his secret has already been discovered.
Not that it matters. Nanami has no real intention of confronting him, he sees nothing he could gain from doing so. If anything, he’d just have to deal with his life falling apart.
He knows one day Gojo will eventually confess it all and break off their relationship. But he's content to wait.
Though, every time this happens, and Nanami is forced to return to an empty home and sleep alone in a cold bed, he's worn down more and more.
It's that message that finally changes things. That same message, one just like countless others he’d received over the year or so this has been going on.
If Gojo is allowed to spend his nights with someone else, then why can't Nanami?
•
The bar Nanami finds himself in is warm and relatively quiet. It isn't too busy, mainly salarymen who’ve been worked beyond their wits. He fits right in with that crowd.
He's nursing a drink, successfully avoiding any conscious thought about the shambles of his failing relationship, when someone approaches him.
“Hey, need some company?”
Nanami looks over to see a man, fairly younger than himself, smiling and watching expectantly. When he doesn't answer—partially because he's taken off guard, but mostly because he does want company, but doesn't know how to accept it—the man speaks again.
“I noticed you were also here alone, so I was wondering if you came here to meet someone,” He explains.
“Something… like that," Nanami says, abnormally stiff.
“Cool. So, can I join you?”
“If you'd like.”
Beaming, the man claims the seat beside him. Right away he flags down the bartender and places an order for himself. He looks to Nanami and asks if he can buy him a drink—Nanami lifts his half-finished glass, wordlessly turning him down.
He doesn't seem offended, happily sipping on his own drink when it arrives.
"So, Mr. Serious, you got a name?"
Nanami sighs, "No, not really."
The man laughs like he just heard a really good joke, completely unbothered by how standoffish Nanami is being.
"That's fine, I don't need to know your name for me to be intrigued."
"Is that right?"
•
Yeah, apparently that is exactly right—because despite Nanami's blatantly cold demeanor, the bright-eyed young man refuses to let up. He talks Nanami's ear off like crazy and eventually gets to buy him a drink.
When the night is finally coming to an end, the bartender shooing out all of the stragglers, they're left out in the crisp autumn air.
"Wanna come to my place? It's close," The man suggests, twirling his house key around his index finger.
Nanami's mind wanders back to Gojo for a moment, then he says, "Sure."
The time between arriving at the apartment, getting inside and somehow winding up in the man's bed is all a blur. Everything is foggy and he isn't even drunk, just so dissociated from his own actions that he doesn't really snap back into his body until he's stripped out of his clothes and looming over the unnamed man.
He's watching the cute brunette finger himself open, chest rising and falling rapidly, whimpering like it's too much already.
He's cute. Adorable, really. Nanami wants to kiss him, wants to touch him—anything to keep his guilty conscience busy, to ward off the emotions knocking at the back of his skull.
This is okay, this is fine. If he can do it, so can I, Nanami thinks. He repeats it over and over like it will somehow convince himself if he thinks about it hard enough.
He startles away from his mantra when a hand comes to caress his face; so gentle, a look of concern meeting his own.
"Hey, are you okay?" The man asks, "We don't have to—"
"No, no—I want to."
"Okay," He nods slightly, "Well, I'm ready. You put that condom on, right?"
Did he? Nanami has to glance down at himself to check, and yeah, at some point he must've put one on. He doesn't remember when, or even doing it in the first place.
"Yeah," He answers, hands working on instinct to hold the man's legs out of the way as he presses inside. It's a tight fit, the heat of his body consuming Nanami whole.
"Go slow," The man says, breathy, as his arms wind around Nanami's shoulders.
Nanami does just that—thrusting slow and deep, intentional. He probably shouldn't, but he holds eye contact with the handsome stranger below him. Nanami watches as a little crease appears between his brows when he angles his hips and rubs right against that sensitive spot inside.
The young man flinches slightly when Nanami leans down and kisses him—slow, just like the pace of his hips. He tastes like sweet liquor and innocence; it makes Nanami feel dirty for dragging him into his corruption.
Unknowing of Nanami's inner turmoil, the man weaves a hand into his hair, pressing his fingertips into his scalp, massaging encouragingly. Nanami steals all the sounds straight from his mouth; the angelic, breathy moans and the high, needy whimpers.
It's all painfully intimate, probably too much so for a one night stand, but it's what Nanami needs. He can't even remember a time he had sex—no, made love with Gojo like this.
His chests aches dearly when the man locks his legs around Nanami's waist and pulls him in, closer, skin pressed against skin. No inch of themselves not touching.
Nanami wants to cry, or curse his life.
"Mngh—can you—can you please call me by my name? It's Haibara."
That guilt he's been trying desperately to ignore doubles instantly. Maybe it would've been okay if they stayed nameless strangers, destined to share one night and never meet again.
"Haibara…" He tries it out, rolling the syllables on his tongue. "Then, it's only fair if you know mine as well. It's Nana—" He cuts himself off; it isn't right, it's too impersonal, and given the gravity of the situation, he'd rather not be referred to by his surname. "Call me Kento."
Haibara chuckles quietly, "We're sharing first names, too? Then I guess you better call me Yu."
"That name suits you," Nanami says, unthinkingly, before he captures his lips once more. His hands slide up, one forearm pressed to the bed for stability, the other hand beneath Haibara's head, cradling affectionately.
When they part, Nanami latches onto his jaw, pressing open mouthed kisses down the expanse of his throat. His cologne is subtle, but it's intoxicating, and paired with the faint taste of sweat—Nanami feels addicted. His head swims, but he feels so present in his body, more than he has in so long.
"Kento," Haibara purrs his name; it sounds like honey and sugar in his voice. It's thrilling and unfamiliar in a way that feels like déjà vu, like returning to something once so dear to him. "Do you fuck everyone like this?"
"Like what?"
"Like you're in love."
Oh. Huh. Is it really coming across like that? Those words are a little sobering, a stinging reminder in his chest.
"No," He answers.
Haibara murmurs half a question, something along the lines of, "So, I'm special?" Nanami hardly hears it, and smothers the remnants of the words with another far too heartfelt kiss.
The transition between simply enjoying each others bodies, basking in the languid pleasure to hurried, shared breaths and urgent touches is sudden as they both teeter closer and closer to release. Haibara's fingers dig into the muscle of Nanami's back, leaving behind angry red lines that he's sure to feel in the morning. Nanami welcomes it, welcomes everything Haibara graces him with. The desperation in his moans and pleads, the utter bliss in his expression. Nanami files away every detail, silently hoping there might come a time where the memory won't be so miserable to recall.
Haibara fists his cock frantically between their sweat-slickened bodies, back arching, muscles tensing as he cums, splattering across his stomach. His hole pulses and clenches so tight; Nanami's head drops to the younger man's shoulder as he empties into the condom, muffling a groan into salty skin.
After a moment of recovery spent panting like dogs and exchanging lazy kisses, they pry away from each other. Nanami discards the condom into the nearest trashcan before quickly returning to the comfort of the lovely strangers bed.
Haibara leans into his chest, his voice content as he murmurs, "We should do this again sometime."
Nanami doesn't think, simply answers, "We should."
Long after Haibara has fallen asleep, Nanami lays awake, his eyes following imaginary shapes and shadows that dance across the ceiling. His heart refuses to settle, rattling in his ribcage like a frightened, injured bird. Dread sinks into his belly like hot oil, pooling in all the places he can't reach.
He prays for night to never come again, hoping if the sun never rises, he won't have to face his misdoings.
•
Nanami wakes early, even without the droning of his alarm—to think of it, he doesn't remember turning it off in his phone, but the previous night was little more than a blur of colorful events and mistakes. Outside, the sky is just barely beginning to show some color, warm light filtering in through the single window in Haibara's bedroom.
Next to him, Haibara sleeps soundly. His hair is a mess of chestnut brown, a little line of drool leaking down his chin, face soft and content. He really is adorable.
It's so strange, having a warm body beside him in the morning. It's become a foreign concept.
Nanami is careful not to wake him when he shifts to sit on the edge of the bed. The weight of his actions hit all at once. The plethora of emotions he refuses to address make themselves very known. Regret for stooping so low, anger with himself and with Gojo, and sadness like no other. Most of all, he's upset none of it was real. He can fuck a stranger like they're lovers, but that doesn't make it true.
In the end, all he is, is another cheater.
He could easily sit there for hours and battle with himself, but he decides to save that for when he's home again.
Reaching down to the pile of discarded clothes, he fishes through his pockets until he finds his phone.
Several missed calls and a litany of messages.
where u at? im home
did u get drunk at shoko's again?
ok so no, i just called her and ur not there soooo where r u :/
nanami
u ignoring me or smth?
soooo annoying answer my calls
whatever, hope ur not dead somewhere
pick up some milk on ur way home
He scoffs, snatching his clothes from the floor and dressing himself.
Haibara rouses from his rest in the midst of it, rubbing his eyes as he asks, "You're leaving already?" He sits up, yawning.
Nanami struggles to face him, fumbling with his words, "Yes, I have to go."
"Don't tell me you've got someone waiting for you at home," Haibara says, his tone a clear indication that he's joking. When Nanami doesn't deny it, his little smile falls. "Wait, really?" He sounds betrayed.
Nanami feels like shit, mentally scrambling for some sort of explanation or excuse, but comes up empty-handed.
"It's complicated," He ends up saying.
"Sounds like it," Haibara says, having none of it, his expression hardened. "You can see yourself out."
Nanami can't blame him for the shift—but he really wishes he could. Wishes he had someone to blame besides himself.
The early morning air does very little to calm his pulse, erratic and unstable from dealing with the situation he put himself in.
Whereas normally he'd never be caught dead looking disheveled in public, now he has no will to care about it. When he catches a judgemental look from the girl working at the convenience store, he hardly even notices. He walks home with milk in hand; clothes rumpled and hair tousled, barely tamed by his fingers.
Gojo is still asleep when he gets home. A fresh hickey peeks out from the hem of his loose collar, his clavicle exposed.
For once, Nanami doesn't care.
He climbs in beside his partner—yesterday's work clothes and all—and holds him from behind. When he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend everything is okay.