#Shiori is black coded btw

[shiorishiorishiori]

6:01 PM

Pairing ⇿ Nanami Kento x OC

Summary ⇿ Nakahari Shiori's life is a balancing act between keeping the Kamo clan off her back and living a semi-normal life as a nurse at Tokyo Jujutsu High. When her stoic co-worker and friend, Nanami Kento, calls for help after a dangerous encounter with a special grade curse spirit, their friendship grows into something outside of their control. As they navigate a life dedicated to protecting humanity, their connection deepens, and the lines of their easy-going friendship blur. Will their newfound feelings survive the dangers that lurk in the shadows?

Tags/Warnings ⇿ Romance, Smut, Canon Divergence AU, Eventual Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, Soft Nanami Kento, Fluff, Angst, Cursing

Genre ⇿ Friends to Lovers, Nanami x OC

Word Count ⇿ 3.5K words/42.2K words

Chapter One: Little Bit

The setting sun cast a cool glow on Ginza, dappling the sidewalk with the shadows of strolling shoppers and rustling fall leaves. Nakahari Shiori wandered among the vibrant display windows, humming along to the conflicting soundtrack of her bank account screaming for mercy and her wardrobe begging for new additions. 

Sunglasses, shoes, and skirts whispered her name through the glass, and maybe, just maybe she’d finally ball out on the designer bag that finally graced the Japanese market. Sure, jet-setting to New York City or Milan for fashion conquests was all well and good, but her current gig as the resident nurse of Tokyo Jujutsu High had a nasty habit of keeping her firmly planted on Japanese soil. Principal Yaga and the higher-ups preferred Shiori to tend to scraped knees and teenage angst, rather than indulge in her dreams of rubbing elbows with designers at runway shows, and her lack of vacation days proved it. 

So maybe this once, she could indulge. After all, exorcising curses wasn't exactly a low-stress job, and retail therapy was practically a medical necessity in her line of work.

Just as Shiori's self-justification for another shopping spree reached its peak, her phone buzzed, cutting through her thoughts. Groaning, she juggled the overflowing shopping bags draped in her arms. Was it Shoko again, calling with another favor from the morgue? Her workday was long done, and the last thing she needed was more unexpected duties. 

But it wasn’t Shoko’s name that flashed on the screen. Instead, it was the face of the blonde sorcerer whose definition of “fun” was deciphering financial trends in the newspaper’s stock market pages.

A smile, genuine and unguarded, bloomed on Shiori's lips as she answered the call. “Nanami! What’s up? You don’t usually call—” 

The voice on the other line wasn't the usual melodic lilt of Nanami Kento, but a grating rasp like sandpaper against bone.

"Shiori," Nanami choked out, each syllable scraping against her eardrums. “Where… are you right now?” 

Shiori whipped her head around, scanning the bustling street for some landmark, any clue. Panic tightened her throat, squeezing out the playful greeting that had died on her lips. "I'm… in Ginza," she sputtered out, "but forget that—are you okay?"

“I fought a curse spirit and I’m injured. I need your assistance… Please.” 

Something sharp and cold twisted in Shiori's stomach. Nanami, the lone wolf who'd sooner eat his own cursed tool than ask for help, was begging? What alternative reality had she found herself in?

“I’m not dying, if that’s what you’re thinking.” 

Yeah, right. 

Shiori's casual stroll came to a screeching halt, replaced by a mad dash towards her car. She didn’t care about the dropped bags and judging stares she received from bewildered pedestrians on the packed sidewalks. Politeness was the last thing on her mind when lives were on the line, especially lives as stubborn as Nanami’s. He wouldn’t call for help unless he was hanging by a thread thinner than his chances of finding a decent date. 

“That’s definitely what someone who’s going to die would say, Nanami! Fuck—I’m on my way!” 

Meanwhile, Nanami steadied himself against the cold porcelain sink in the bathroom where he sought refuge. His encounter with an unregistered special grade curse spirit hadn’t gone favorably... He winced as he pressed another balled up towel against his leaking wound. 

Sweat beaded his forehead, face pale with exhaustion, but he caught the corners of his mouth tugging in the mirror’s reflection. “I haven’t even sent you the location yet…” He half expected her to explode in a flurry of curse words and panic, but Shiori rarely operated in the way he expected. “I’m sending it over now.”

She launched her bags into the backseat and cranked the engine. The text landed on her phone as she peeled into traffic, tires screeching their protest. “Just hold on for me, please!”

*---* 

  The address blurred past Shiori in a frenzy of flashing signs and honking horns. She couldn't help but imagine Gojo's admiration of her driving finesse, while Nanami’s scowl would have melted the asphalt, but right now, her heart echoed the pounding of the engine. Every traffic light felt like an eternity, every stop sign an insult. 

Reaching the destination, she abandoned the car without a care for parking etiquette. She sprinted into the quiet street that offered no signs of the epic clash her imagination conjured up: no cratered pavement, no fallen debris. But, wisps of Nanami’s curse energy brushed against her senses. Unease gnawed at her, but she followed the trace, her instincts drawing her towards a secluded side entrance. 

The unmistakable tang of iron hit her nostrils when she pushed into the office building. The trail, faint but unmistakable, led like a crimson arrow to the men's restroom door. Without hesitation, she flung it open, bracing for the aftermath.

“Nanami!” 

The cry tore from Shiori's throat, an unchecked mix of fear and relief that echoed in the small bathroom. Nanami’s body sagged against the sink, his blue shirt dyed in crimson blotches. The unbuttoned shirt was a direct view into the wound that marred his torso. Bloodstained and ragged, it stood out against his pale skin, a jarring contrast to his normally meticulous appearance. His once pristine suit jacket laid crumpled on the counter, a casualty of the fight, and his silk tie hung loosely around his neck. 

Shiori rushed to his side. “Please, let me help,” she said, her voice tight with concern, her hands already moving to apply pressure to the wound. “God, there’s so much blood—what happened?” 

He winced at her touch, but explained in a raspy voice: “Just a nasty encounter with a special grade. It tried to… reshape my soul.” 

Her brows slanted in justifiable confusion. “Reshape your soul? What does that mean?” 

"I'm not entirely sure myself. I need to gather more intel… Just know that I won’t be caught off guard again.” 

Shiori pursed her lips, sighing before forcing a smile. "Well, shout-outs to you for surviving the fight with your soul intact," she quipped, gingerly peeling back the makeshift bandage. The wound beneath was a gash, wide as her hand and deep enough to cause serious harm. "Good thing too, because if you die, who would suffer the brunt of Gojo’s bullying? I can’t handle that kind of torture on my own.” She smiled up at the blonde, already anticipating the trademark Nanami eye-roll.

As expected, his eyes darted upwards in a flick of annoyance before giving in to a begrudging roll. "Whatever,” he grumbled. She grinned, victorious. “Do you think you can stop the bleeding?” 

"Always," she replied, her smile softened. “Brace yourself though, it’ll hurt… Let me know if it’s too much.” 

The heat of Shiori's curse energy surged around the wound. He watched her through half-lidded eyes, mesmerized by the way her fingers danced across the raw flesh with delicate precision. The pain receded, replaced by a strange warmth that spread beyond the wound's edges. He couldn't help but wonder if it was just the healing, or if something more seeped through her touch. It felt...comforting, almost intimate. 

The wayward thought vanished from his mind as quickly as it rudely entered, chased away by the sting of reality. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, craving solace from an attractive woman's touch? Years had passed since he'd known the simple comfort of companionship, unburdened by the weight of the sorcerer world. 

He chalked it up to blood loss, a trick of the mind. He couldn't afford to jeopardize their decade-long friendship with fleeting thoughts and messy emotions. It was against his principles to mix personal emotions with the workplace… But, a small, persistent voice echoed in the quiet corners of his mind, whispering about Shiori.

The memory of their first meeting still burned sharp in his mind. He could picture her arrival at the shared classroom with Haibara, wearing her confidence like a second skin. Her bronze skin seemed to glow in the light, her black curly hair bounced with every step, and her smile had the power to melt the coldest winters. He couldn't deny that he had an affinity for girls with easy smiles like hers. And as he got to know her, he found comfort in that smile during dark times. 

Their lives were tough, but there were many happy moments in spite of all the bad. Many of those moments would be incomplete without Shiori. From celebrating their small victories over convenience store bread as teenagers to enjoying a night out with a pint (or seven) at a bar as adults, she possessed the ability to make him feel understood in a world that couldn’t care less. Her passion for nurturing young sorcerers shone brightly, and despite himself, he occasionally (only occasionally) found her corny jokes amusing.

Nanami had always been a man of rigid self-control, but being around Shiori like this was… uncomfortable. There were too many moments he caught himself stealing glances at her. He couldn’t help but admire the graceful dip of her neck, sparking the desire to trace the space between her shoulders with his fingers. Her lips, with their natural pout, and the way they moved could spin him into a trance. Even her work attire, somehow emphasizing her figure, became a distraction. Silencing the insistent voice begging for more than friendship was an exhausting battle.

“There!” Shiori beamed, her smile blooming like a sunflower as she surveyed her handiwork. The wound on Nanami's torso, once a jagged tear that ripped his skin, was now a crimson line, edges sealed with intricate patterns only she could weave. The Kamo clan’s blood manipulation technique, a rarity that appeared once every few generations, allowed her to coax the life force back into its rightful place. Years of training and countless battles honed her skill of easing pain and stitching torn flesh together with the invisible thread of her technique. 

"Thank you, Shiori," he praised, his gaze lingering on her face longer than necessary.

Shiori fumbled over her words. “A-ah, it’s nothing, Nanami. You would do the same for me,” she managed, eyes locking with his brown ones. He nodded in agreement. An unspoken understanding and a strong bond had developed between them over the years, having been former classmates and now co-workers. “Also, don’t thank me, yet. The bleeding is stopped, but I’m not done. We should still dress the wound to prevent infection.”

She reached into her bag, pulling out gauze and bandages. Nanami reached out to take them from her, insisting, "I’ll finish it from here,” with his usual deep voice, nowhere near as strained as it was moments prior. 

“No. I’ll do it.”

“I’m capable of dressing my own wounds—”

“You didn’t call me here to do a half-ass job." Taking a deep breath, she forced her voice into the firm, no-nonsense tone that often met with grudging obedience from her students. "You’re getting the entire experience.” 

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, a rare indulgence. “You're a stubborn one, aren't you?”

The playful jab made her cheeks warm. "Learned from the best," she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Her fingers, usually steady with years of practice, trembled as she worked, acutely aware of his eyes fixed on her. As she moved across his skin, she could feel the faint, rhythmic pulse of his blood beneath the surface, a reminder of her curse technique. The realization that she could control the very essence of life within his veins, something so inherently intimate, sent a thrill of anxiety coursing through her. 

Touching Nanami was already nerve-wracking under normal circumstances. And, now the added pressure only made her more aware of the feelings he brought out of her. His skin felt warm to the touch, radiating a comforting heat that made her stomach flutter. His skin was soft, contrasting with the firm, athletic build that lay beneath. As she skillfully wound the bandage, the realization struck her like a bolt of lightning. She had noticed the results of his recent dedication at the gym, but the idea that she could now feel those results under her fingertips stirred something in her core. 

Nanami's heavy gaze branded her skin. Every brush of her fingers against his skin sent a tremor through her, her touch lingering a fraction longer than professionalism demanded. “All done…” She announced, her voice betraying her confidence as she put some much needed space between herself and the blonde sorcerer. 

She needed a moment to regain clarity in the midst of her conflicting emotions. After all, Nanami was just a friend, and she couldn't afford to indulge in fantasies about the same guy who once pretended he hadn’t been crying to MCR songs in high school. 

Nanami pushed himself off the sink, eyes scanning the bandaged wound in the mirror. "You did a good job."

Nanami wasn’t a man of many compliments, so she relished in the rarity. Still bashful, still trying to regain her composure, she defaulted to humor to save her skin. "I'm a saint, I know. There’s no need to thank me." 

"Saints still deserve recognition," he countered, his tone carrying the warmth that filled her mind with confusing thoughts. "Is there anything I can do for you in return?"

"Not a thing! I did this out of the kindness of my heart, Nanami. Unless…" she drawled, a teasing glint in her eyes. "... that dinner you mentioned a few weeks back is still on the table?"

"Ah, I see. You're looking for a free meal."

She batted her eyelashes, mock innocence radiating from her. "Me? Never! But since I rushed over here, in record time I might add, to offer you my services, and considering the nearby shops are likely closed by now..." she trailed off, catching his gaze. “I’m free to have a nice dinner with my favorite colleague.” 

Nanami rolled his eyes, a ghost of a smile betraying his amusement. The awkward tension seemed to melt away, replaced by their familiar banter. "How convenient."

"Conveniently delicious, you mean," Shiori countered, eyes still twinkling. "There's this new sushi place nearby I've been dying to try! I’ve heard great things about their food and their sake selection. Unless, of course, you’re craving something else?” 

Nanami contemplated her question while wiping his blood from the counter. “No, sushi sounds nice. I trust your opinion—” Shiori’s exaggerated grasp cut him off, her hand flying to her chest to clutch an imaginary set of pearls. 

“Is that three compliments in one night, Nanami? I may need to start saving you more often if this is the reward!”

He stared at her through slanted eyes before exiting the bathroom, seeing no issue with leaving her behind for her 'jokes'. “You better watch out, you’re turning into Gojo.”

She giggled into her palm, falling in step. “Oh God, ok, I’ll be more careful. I don’t think the world can handle two of those.” 

*---*

Shiori waited patiently as Nanami emerged from his office, a fresh shirt replacing the bloodstained one. He walked towards her, a determined set to his jaw that softened slightly as his eyes met hers. Without a word, he held up his car keys.

“You’re the chauffeur tonight?”

“I have to make sure that my colleague gets home safely.”

Nanami's insistence on driving snagged Shiori's attention as they made their way to the restaurant. Was it a typical-Nanami chivalrous act, or was there something more brewing beneath the surface? Curiosity tickled the edges of her mind. 

“Do you do this for all of your dates, Nanamin?” Shiori teased. He held out her chair when they arrived at the restaurant, waiting for her to settle in. Not only that, he made it his job to open every door they greeted on their way inside.

Nanami smoothly tucked her chair in before taking his own seat, his usual stoic demeanor undisturbed. “Only for the exceptional ones.” 

“I should feel honored, then.” 

“You should.”

Shiori’s cheeks flushed. Her mind lit up with too many unanswered questions: Was the sake she hadn’t even ordered yet, already messing with her mind? Did he have any idea how easily he flustered her? And why did he choose such a distant seat away from her? 

She blinked. 

What the hell was she going on about? 

She lassoed her wild thoughts back to calmer territory, burying her nose in the menu as a distraction. “What do you think about starting this ‘not-a-date’ with a bottle of sake?” 

Nanami lowered his menu and glanced at her from across the table. “Heading right into it?” 

“Absolutely! Besides, you look like you could use a drink.” Nanami sighed in agreement. Their ‘not-a-date’ outings always turned boozy, and there was no reason to break their streak tonight. 

Yet, despite being off the clock, his thoughts clung to his work responsibilities. There was a high likelihood that the special grade curse spirit he encountered survived the cave-in. Tracking it down again would be an absolute pain in the ass, especially with its ability to completely disfigure its victims. He made a mental note to set up a meeting with Yaga to debrief on his findings… and failures.

“Let’s do it.” He conceded, pushing the work thoughts out of the window of his mind. 

Anticipation bloomed on Shiori’s face when the waiter scribbled down their lengthy order and returned with a flourish of colorful dishes. Just as Nanami’s hands graced his chopsticks, a playful tap bounced his hand away. 

“Traditions still matter, Nanami!” She teased, a grin dancing on her lips. 

“Of course, of course,” he echoed with a head shake. “How could I forget?” 

She whipped her phone out, the camera hungry to capture their feast from every angle. Click, click, click. Every picture perfect plate was added to their ever-growing album of ‘not-a-date’ food adventures. Their collection had grown with snapshots from bakery runs, Nanami's culinary creations, and visits to new restaurants over the years.

“Now you can eat,” she commanded, a playful glint in her eyes. She couldn’t miss Nanami’s signature eye roll before indulging in the nigiri. 

“The camera shouldn’t eat first, Shiori. It’s a bad habit.” 

“How else are we going to remember what we like about this place if we don’t have photographic proof?” 

“By simply enjoying the food."

Her giggles filled the table, the sound warm and bubbly. “Says the guy who took over a thousand pictures of his grilled fish the other day.” 

“That was different,” he cleared his throat, trying to swallow down a contagious chuckle. “I made that myself—It was special.” 

“Well…” She trailed off, hoping to steady the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. “This is special to me, too.” Her whisper was drowned out by the restaurant’s lively hum, but Nanami caught the tail end of her shy smile. 

No, it must have been a trick of the light.

The remainder of the evening melted with good food and even greater sake as they exchanged stories about their day. Amidst clinking glasses and laughter, their conversation danced through the day's events. Nanami delved into mentoring Itadori Yuji, Sukuna's vessel. The King of Curses' appearance caused a great shift in the sorcerer world and its full effects were still to be seen, but despite the challenges, Nanami spoke warmly of the young man.

Shiori, in turn, painted a vibrant picture of her day: researching the disfigured corpses that flooded the morgue, prepping for the Sister School Goodwill event, and indulging in some retail therapy in Ginza. 

As the night wound down, Nanami escorted Shiori to her doorstep. “Thank you again for helping me, Shiori.” 

“Hey,” she playfully nudged him in the arm. “You’ve got to stop thanking me! This praise is going straight to my head.”

“You’re right. We wouldn’t want your head to get any bigger.” 

Shiori’s laughter filled the air as they stood on her porch. “God, you can be so rude, Na-na-min.” She slurred, drawing out each syllable on her lips as she locked onto his dark eyes under the dim lights. 

He could feel his eyes retreating to the back of his skull. “You and Gojo with that stupid name. I already let you off the hook once tonight.” 

Blaming the liquid courage coursing through her blood stream, Shiori leaned in closer and with a low, teasing tone, and asked: “What would you like me to call you?” 

Nanami’s resolve was called into question for the umpteenth time for the night. 

She was so close that Nanami could feel the heat radiating from her small frame, mingling with the lavender scent of her perfume. He immediately focused on her lips, fighting the sweet temptation of what could be on the other side of all this flirtation and into something more intimate. Something worthwhile.

When he finally found his voice, it was barely a whisper. “Kento.” 

He had every intention to sound more confident, but his heart was racing in his chest. The small voice that pined for Shiori was dominating his mind with visions of her sprawled on his bed, calling out his name while he tasted every square inch of her. 

“Thank you for dinner...” She pulled away, inserting her keys into the front door as their night came to an end. “Kento."

Nanami could only nod, his mind still clouded with the enticing visions of what could be. As Shiori disappeared into her home, he whispered, "Good night, Shiori," knowing that they were inching deeper into dangerous territory. 

With every passing touch, with every stolen look, they were venturing further into the abyss that threatened to upend the delicate balance of their friendship.