“nanami?” you tilt your head, holding onto a yawn as you figure out why you’ve just opened the door to nanami kento, on your doorstep, at two in the morning.
his normal prim and proper suit is tattered, his blade still wet from blood gripped in his right hand, and there are splatters of a dark red staining the outskirts of his face.
you share the same job as him, and you know more than anyone how violent it is to be a jujutsu sorcerer, but still — you’re worried.
you blink, “nanami, oh my god, what the hell happened?”
and instead of replying, nanami drops his weapon to the ground, his chest rising as he takes a deep breath, and his glasses are off so he’s pretty sure you can see how red and bloodshot his eyes are right now.
he knows it’s probably weird of him to be here on your doorstep, especially at 2 am and covered in blood, but he had just gotten back from a very difficult mission, and he really only just wanted to see you.
there were so many times he wanted to kiss you, but he didn’t, he kept thinking it wasn’t the right time or the right place or the right situation.
gojo would often mock him on it considering that he’s already taken you out on three dates now and has yet to kiss you.
but he wanted to make sure that when he kissed you, he would do it right, and he would do it sincerely since, well — you were the only person he ever wanted to kiss.
but after a gruesome mission, a tiring day, and a suit covered in blood, nanami decided that there was just no right way of doing it.
he almost died today, and the only thing he could think about was the fact that he hadn’t had the chance of kissing you yet.
he’s tired, wounded, and honestly, he should’ve went to shoko to get his injuries treated before coming to you — but as he stands here, blood slightly grazing his cheek, he knew that he would always come to you first.
“hey, what happened?” your voice pulls him back out of his trance, concern coating the edges of it, and he blinks to see you standing before him again.
your eyebrows are knitted in confusion and worry, and he knows it’s not your first time seeing him in such a bloodied state, but he also knows you wouldn’t want to see him like this again.
“sorry.” he tells you, his lips pursing.
and you tilt your head, “about what? do you want to come inside—”
and he doesn’t let you finish.
nanami kento, with his heart almost beating out of his chest, his body sore and wounded, takes a step closer to you.
he hesitates, and then he doesn’t.
his hand is on your cheek, the other on the back of your head, and before you could say anything — before you could even register what he’s doing — he pulls you in.
his glasses are off and for the first two seconds of his lips on yours, you don’t close your eyes, and you just about see how his are shut tight.
you’ve always wanted to kiss him, you just never did, and now when he’s the one kissing you, you’re frozen on the spot.
nanami’s hold on your face isn’t harsh, but you feel the nervousness falling from his touch, and you close your eyes and finally ease into him.
he feels… nervous.
his lips don’t really move, almost like he’s afraid of doing anything else than pressing them firmly against yours, but he holds you so closely, that it feels so captivating.
nanami pulls away, his ears red, and his hands gently falling from your face.
he takes a deep breath, taking a step back, and you stare at him as you blink.
“right.” he tells you, his voice almost weak, and he makes a poor action to fix his tie, and you laugh lightly at that since with the state of everything else in his messy and bloody suit, there was no point in fixing his tie.
he gives you a nod, “okay.”
and you’re just still standing before him, face flushed, and unsure of what to say.
nanami gives you a polite smile, but you don’t fail to see the way there’s pink dancing on the outskirts of his cheeks.
he nods, “i’ll see you tomorrow.”
I don’t have many infos on Luke, so bear with me, but I was thinking about a different lane, where his infection is known by you, but it’s way earlier.
Luke has always stuck by your side. In kindergarten, when you both were only two little children playing in the sandpit, elementary school, through middle school, tweenage angst and beyond. He was your best friend, your high school sweetheart. But he was diagnosed soon enough, everyday now only a mere countdown, while he thanked the universe for sparing him.
So you make it your goal to live out together everything while you still can. You go stargazing in unholy cursed hours, skipping rocks and baking sweets. Gentle padding in the rain and dressing up in thrift stores. All until he slowly cannot last the length of your usual walks, needing breaks to rest his aching and quite gingerly tells you to maybe just return home to cuddle instead. Seeing his weakening state you two adapt to his new conditions, walks are shortened, dates are indoors and the joy only grew with each memory made.
Young and full of love you share the moments like normal teenagers would, chuckles and giggles resonating with the joyous smitten looks.
And when his condition worsened and you merely spent your time in his hospital room, you show up dressed in pretty attire, asking him for a dance in exchange of the prom everyone else usually attended. And so you danced away the night in tight embraces, basking in each other’s presence and enjoying the time you have left together.