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mononijikayu · 1 year ago

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malmö i mitt hjärta ━ nanami kento.

But amid the sterile bleakness, a beacon awaited. Someone was there for him, a comforting presence that contradicted the harsh realities of the hospital room. The warmth of her memory, a stark contrast to the clinical surroundings, lingered in his mind like a gentle embrace. As his senses gradually acclimated to the reality surrounding him, he became aware of the cool caress of pristine white sheets against his skin. The distant symphony of medical equipment, each beep and hum, served as a poignant testament to his unexpected survival. Yes, he was alive.

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Canon Convergence;

WARNING/s: Gen, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Husband and Wife, Friendship, Husband! Nanami, Reader! Wife, Fluff, Drama, Comfort, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fix-It, Humor, Domesticity, Family Life, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Idiots In Love, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Pining, Nanami Being A Great Husband;

WORDS: 5k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: kinda perfect to put this out, considering i was fuming last night that mei mei was in malaysia and not nanami. GEGE WHEN I CATCH YOU GEGE??? im not sure if i'll write more about nanami and his wife, but im thinking on it. if you have any thing you wanna see from their life, just come on and tell me as suggestions!!!

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HE DID NOT REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED AFTER THE BURST OF WHITE LIGHT ECHOED ALL AROUND HIM. Nanami Kento found himself in a disorienting haze, the aftermath of the blinding white light that had enveloped him. The memories of what had transpired were elusive, slipping away like grains of sand in the wind. Bleeding and broken, he stood amidst the chaos, wearied not only by the physical toll but also by the relentless violence that surrounded him.

Shibuya had proven to be a formidable battleground, surpassing even the expectations set by reports. Nanami, however, hadn't anticipated the extent of the exhaustion he would feel. The weariness ran deep, etched in the scarlet lines that adorned his wounded flesh, almost resembling weary tears.

As he stood at the precipice of what seemed like the end, he could envision the face of Yu Haibara, a nostalgic smile etched across the features of his youth. There he stood, eyeing Nanami with all the kindness he doesn't deserve. It was as if Death itself was extending an invitation to the solace Nanami had long sought, a respite from the unending cycle of struggle that seemed inescapable.

Yet before he knew it, it was as though he was never there.

Haibara smiled, standing before Mikoto Nobuhiko.

Nanami realized that they switched positions. From where he stood before, he could catch the glimpse of Nobuhiko's orbs glisten in crystal tears. He tried to scream, he remembers he could. But Itadori Yuuji did it for the both of them, crying out Nobuhiko's name.

He didn't know if he cried or not.

He doesn't remember that much.

But he knew that the blue summer ended forever.

Nanami Kento had lost himself in fleeting delusions.

In those fleeting moments, Nanami's mind drifted to the simple joys that made life worth living. The vivid beauty of a Malaysian morning, the tropical sun's warmth on his skin, the gentle winds accompanying moments of quiet reading against a backdrop of serene resignation, and the comforting aroma of green tea in the familiarity of his home.

The mental images continued to unfold, walking hand in hand with a cherished person, the resonance of their rings echoing like a soft bell, proclaiming a love that belonged exclusively to them. Her gaze, filled with the profound echoes of a love uniquely theirs, lingered in his mind as he faced Death head-on.

Her face, where her warm smile was tender for him.

The scarlet sunset etched all over her cheeks.

The bright beam of love in those eyes for him.

He held on to life, wanting to see her again.

As the intense beam of light faded, Nanami Kento found himself grappling with the harsh reality of his surroundings. The once vibrant scenes of his memories were replaced by sterile white ceilings, devoid of the vitality he had just envisioned. His lips, now forming a flat line, mirrored his uncertainty about this unexpected twist of fate. The struggle to open his eyes wide was matched by the greater challenge of drawing breath into his lungs. Amidst the confusion, he became aware of the narrow hitches of breath escaping his lips.

As he took in the scene around him, the echoes of a flatline transitioned into the sound of morning air filling his lungs. The pain was a harsh reminder of his corporeal existence, yet the sensation of life coursing through him was undeniable. Nanami Kento found himself grappling with the juxtaposition of life and near death, a survivor in a world that seemed to have momentarily abandoned its tumultuous chaos.

The sterile hospital room resonated with the cold hum of fluorescent lights, casting a clinical glow upon the barren walls. For Nanami, it was a realm he despised, a place where discomfort and unease mingled. Despite the years spent in the ebb and flow of blood and flesh, the hospital environment remained foreign, an unwelcome terrain that clawed at the edges of his resolve.

It wasn't just the sights; it was the acrid scent that permeated the air, triggering memories of a bygone youth marked by echoes of profound loss. The antiseptic aroma, a nauseating reminder of vulnerability, threatened to unravel him. Yet, confined to his bed, there was no escape. Nanami Kento found himself ensnared in a place he had vowed never to return.

As his senses gradually acclimated to the reality surrounding him, he became aware of the cool caress of pristine white sheets against his skin. The distant symphony of medical equipment, each beep and hum, served as a poignant testament to his unexpected survival. Yes, he was alive.

And in that pulsating moment between life and the sterile ambiance, he found solace in the idea of returning to her. The prospect of reuniting with the vivid tapestry of their lives painted itself in his mind. Another day, another chance to age gracefully in the cocoon of her love, a promise that whispered of a tomorrow adorned with shared laughter, quiet moments, and the unspoken embrace of a love that had weathered the storm.

Nanami Kento, in that fragile instance of survival, embraced the prospect of living another day—a chance to return to the arms of the one who made life's battles worthwhile.

“Oh, you’re awake.” The words cut through the clinical ambiance, a lifeline tethering him to the present. The voice, though familiar, held a depth of mystery, and he turned his head to find those unmistakable purple orbs. There she stood, a reassuring figure, her presence a balm to his disoriented senses. “It’s quite a miracle that you’re alive, Mr. Seven — Three.”

Nanami, ever the stoic one, couldn't help but release a sound that resembled a snort. His senpai, Gojo Genmei, had picked up some of his husband's bravado over the years. In that moment, he found solace in the warmth of her company, even in the face of his physical discomfort.

“How can it be a miracle when it was obvious you manipulated my survival, Genmei–san?”

A hearty laugh escaped Gojo Genmei as she moved away from the wall, pulling a chair with her as she settled down. “You didn’t have to say it like that, Kento–kun!”

Kento, now adjusting himself on the medical bed with a laborious effort, retorted, “You’re too much like Gojo–san. It’s giving me a headache.”

“Hm, you’re still you, alright.”

He raised a questioning brow. “What do you mean by that?”

Genmei's laughter echoed in the sterile room, a melody that cut through the clinical atmosphere. As she leaned forward, a mischievous glint sparkled in her eyes. “I mean, even on the brink of death, you're still as grumpy as ever, Kento–kun. That's how I know you're okay.”

The younger sorcerer let out a wistful sigh, his breath carrying the weight of fleeting moments and unspoken echoes. "Facing death doesn’t change me much, I suppose. I’m just... alive. I'm well enough, I can say."

“A fact I’m sure your wife will be happy about,” Genmei remarked, crossing her legs as she leaned back, the air thick with unspoken understanding. "I think any wife would be, I think."

“Hm,” he nodded in agreement, a subtle smile playing on his lips. The prospect of returning home, of going to Malaysia with his wife, lingered in his thoughts like a delicate melody. It was enough, he believed. Enough to live for, to savor in the quiet richness of shared moments. “I suppose I owe you my life.”

“You owe me nothing,” she dismissed his gratitude with a wave, a tender smile softening the contours of her face. In her warm eyes, there was a somber tenderness, an acknowledgment of the unspoken complexities that lingered between them. “Someone has to have their happy ending first. Nobu thought so too, don't you think?"

In the pause that followed, a heavy silence hung in the air, pregnant with the weight of unspoken truths. Nanami's memories of his dearest friend passed through him in the silence. It was as though those three years of youth never happened. As though they were his day dreams in his one summer day. He was the only one left, he's still breathing. Yu would forever be seventeen, as will Nobuhiko stay twenty - seven.

Genmei - senpai meant every word she uttered, a sentiment that resonated even as she wished it didn't. Perhaps if Nobuhiko would be here too, he'd say the same thing. Both of them were the same like that, almost like mother and son.

His senpai was happy for him, she always has been. She had always supported his decisions and his actions. Just as Nobuhiko did. Nanami was certain he's only alive because she knew what Nobuhiko would do for him. It was because of her that he's still alive. And yet he knew deep down, she was jealous. His senpai after all was not the god people saw her to be. She too felt humanity make her a hypocrite.

Beneath the veneer of Gojo Genmei's righteousness and kindness lay a selfish desire, a longing to cling to life just as fiercely as Nanami clung to his reasons for existence.

As much as she had risked everything for the peace of the Jujutsu and Human world, a poignant selfishness whispered in her heart. She clung to Gojo Satoru, she clung to the memory left by Nobuhiko over and over again. He could see it in her lilac eyes. She was yearning for the day when she could live without the constraints of this absence, this hole inside of her. This emptiness. She looked forward to the day when she would be free of torment.

That Nanami knew too well. And in the same breath, Nanami knew, as did she, that such freedom to her desires was not imminent. The person she held dearest, the god she worshiped, remained sealed away, and no one yet held the key to his release. This truth, unbeknownst to Nanami, lingered in the shadows of their shared existence.

"I hate how self-righteous you are," he finally uttered, a playful accusation laced with a deeper understanding of the intricacies of their intertwined fates.

In that moment, amid the fragility of survival and the weight of unsaid words, Gojo Genmei embraced the role of the patient observer, waiting for her turn to taste the sweetness of a life unburdened by the shackles of uncertainty. Genmei laughed. Nanami, in his silent acknowledgment, found solace in her kindred happiness.

“It sickens me, Genmei–san. At least be mad at me for what happened."

“Let me indulge in this mood.” She bit her cheek, her purple eyes narrowing at him. “It’s all that keeps me afloat.”

"Really...."

She smiles at him. "Why should we blame you, though? Love is a curse, but its worth dying for. So don't curse Nobuhiko like that. Besides, I doubt you wouldn't say the same thing, Mr. Seven – Three."

His lips pursed in a flat line.

He hated that she was right.

She's become more like Gojo Satoru.

“How many days have passed?” Nanami questioned her, changing the topic.

“Just a few days,” She informed him diligently, crossing her legs in the other direction. “You’ve healed quicker than Todo, I have to say. I’m impressed. With your wounds, it was expected that it would take even longer."

His mind moved towards the young ones, once she mentioned the third-year protege of Kyoto High. He moved to open his mouth, wanting to express the many worries that plagued his head at the thought of the young ones. Genmei stopped him, smiling. “You shouldn’t worry about the young ones, Kento–kun. They’re healthy, for the most part. Megumi and Yuuji are doing what they can do find the answers we need. Just trust them for now. Rest your restless heart, Kento-kun.”

Kento did not think her answer sufficed; there was too much hidden in the words said. But he knew he would not argue with her about the matter. At least not today. There would be more days to catch up, to ask his many questions.

His mind was still a blur; he still needed rest. This is enough, for now. He didn't want to carry the heavy load of all of it just yet. Nobuhiko was enough. Knowing the kids were safe. All he wanted right now, he supposed, was to see his wife. He did not want to be here. He wanted to go home. He wanted to be in his beloved's arms once again.

“You’re quite the fighter, though,” Genmei's light sandy hair shone against the beaming sun. “You responded well to the treatments, Kento–kun. It’s incredibly determined.”

He looked at his damaged arm. “Well, I can see that, seeing I’m somewhat still whole.”

“Hm, Your wife insisted,” Genmei responded to him, causing him to perk up at the mention of his wife. “She protested, how you can live with burns and scars, but not without your arm and hand. You need it, she told them. Cause you would never leave your job here. She knows that much.”

“She knows me too well, then.”

“And I know you just as well,” Genmei said, standing up as hands moved towards the inner confines of her kimono and revealing papers. She lays it before him, he looks at her suspiciously. He takes it, mustering all his strength to read it. “You need a break, Kento-kun.”

He frowns deeply, dropping the paper. His eye arrows at her with all the emotions that drowned him in turmoil. "You forced them to put me on a break? Now, when am I most needed?”

“You aren’t well just yet,” She says, her lips tightly pressed in a line. “And not for a long time, Kento-kun. You need to rest.”

“I can’t just leave now. Genmei–senpai, you just can’t—”

She shakes her head at him. He could see her eyes become fonder. He has not called her 'senpai' in a long time. “Kento–kun, you are of use to us when you’re well. You can only be well when you rest. I cannot have you risking your life like that again, Kento–kun. You are more valuable to all of us, to your wife, alive. So please, don’t fight us on this.”

For a moment, he couldn’t stare at her in the eyes. He felt like that child again, that child hiding his face, hiding the way every inch of it contorted in grief and sorrow. Hiding the way his one good eye echoed the tears that neared his face. He felt so defenseless, so raw, so open to the world that wouldn’t understand the bareness of him. She looks at him, almost guilty. But Kento knew that in her heart, she knew this was the right thing to do.

She didn’t want to see him dead. She told him then that she was glad he was not dead. How blunt she was then, telling him how glad she was that he was not Haibara. The glee she found in her heart when he told her that he would be leaving the Jujutsu world behind and starting anew. Inside her heart, Kento was a younger brother. And perhaps, it was much better for her to be hated by him, than to see him robbed from her by the cruelty of their lives.

Genmei watched him, an unspoken understanding passing between them. She walked over to the window, gazing at the city beyond as the fading sunlight painted the sky in hues of orange and pink. "Your wife," she began, her voice softer now, carrying the weight of shared burdens, "She loves you deeply, Kento–kun. She fought for you to have this break because she wants you to be whole, to be with her."

Nanami's gaze remained fixed on the papers before him, the weight of his wife's love and Genmei's concern settling in his chest. He knew the truth in those words, the depth of the sacrifice she had made for him.

"You need to rest, not just for yourself but for her too. You've been fighting for others for so long; it's time to let others fight for you," Genmei continued her eyes still on the echo of the city's skyline, now bathed in the soft glow of twilight. "Please, Kento-kun. Leave it to us. Enjoy your life for a bit."

He sighed, a mixture of resignation and gratitude. "I'll take the break," he finally conceded, realizing the truth in her words. "Just this once."

Genmei turned to face him, a small smile playing on her lips. "Good. You deserve it, Kento–kun. And when you're ready, we'll be here, waiting for you."

As she left the room, the door clicking softly behind her, Nanami's thoughts turned to the papers on the bed. They were a ticket to rest, a journey into the unfamiliar territory of self-care and healing. The room, once a battleground of conflicting emotions, now held the promise of renewal.

With a weary yet determined sigh, Nanami Kento allowed himself to succumb to the quiet solitude of rest, knowing that beyond the confines of the hospital walls, a world awaited where the echoes of Shibuya would gradually fade, and the whispers of a new beginning would take root.

AND SO, HE SAT THERE FOR A WHILE STARING AT THE CLOUDS PASS BY. The sterile hospital room, a cold oasis of white, seemed to echo with the whispered words of Gojo Genmei as she left. Nanami Kento left alone in the quiet aftermath of their conversation, found himself wrestling with an unsatisfied restlessness. The very notion of being told to rest felt like a cage, confining him in a realm of inactivity that clashed with the echoes of Shibuya still reverberating in his mind.

He shifted uncomfortably on the hospital bed, the crisp white sheets clinging to the contours of his tired form. The room, bathed in the sterile glow of fluorescent lights, felt oppressive. Nanami's gaze wandered to the window, where the outside world beckoned, tantalizingly close yet out of reach.

The very air seemed to carry the weight of unspoken promises, of a life beyond hospital walls. Kento had called for food to be brought to his room, now that he was awake. He’s quite weary, much to the conversation in itself. The medicines he was forced to take into his body made it even worse. But he needed to sustain himself, he needed to make a moderate effort at least.

‘How am I supposed to return to normal if I don’t push myself to?’ He scolds himself in the quiet of his somber room. ‘I have to do it, I have to do it.’

Just as the specter of discontent began to settle, a soft voice invaded the sterile silence in his head. The words of parting dwelled in his mind like a broken record.

‘Enjoy Malaysia, Kento–kun. The trip will make you strong, I’m sure, hm? Just take all the time you need! Bring a souvenir, Satoru would adore it by the time he sees it!'

The voice of Gojo Genmei had always made a mark whenever she spoke, her presence a fleeting memory that lingered in the room. She had left, but her words hovered in the air like a gentle melody, a reminder of the promises yet to unfold. She had reassured him that all would be well. He had to put his faith in her, in all his comrades. In Gojo Satoru. He had to think that they’d do well.

That they can carry on while he is gone. He did his best, to collect himself but he could not help it, feel the things he did. Nanami, still restless, couldn't help but dwell on the words. He couldn’t deny that she made a good point. He agrees with her. His life as a sorcerer was always bound to be short, bound to danger. He had to make the best of it. He needs to make it all worth it. Now more than ever.

Time passed in measured increments, the rhythm of the hospital machinery punctuating the silence. It was in this liminal space that the door creaked open, allowing a sliver of anticipation to seep in. The food was finally brought by the nurse. The nurse was an elderly woman, and she seemed to fawn over him as though he was a child. She told him to press the button by his bed if he needed anything or if he wanted more food. Nanami Kento was certainly overwhelmed by her energy, he had used all his energy talking to Genmei before.

But he merely nodded his head and thanked her for her help and the meal. Nanami didn’t find the taste to his liking, and in all honesty, he’s never liked the food at hospital canteens either. But he was not one to turn down food when he needed it. He’s not ungrateful. And so he ate and he ate, listening to the music on the radio, the disco jockey announcing the next song. It was his favorite by far, Saboten Record, by his favorite band Fujifabric.

It had been quite a while since Kento had heard the song. The last time he did was when he and his wife danced to it in the narrow space of their kitchen, laughing as they spun playfully against the beckoning edges of mahogany counters and marble tops. The night had been a spectacle, a happier time which gave him strength. For a moment he started to hum, the fondness of his heart following along to the echo of the rhythm.

Then, just as she had entered into his life, his dearly beloved wife, a vision of quiet strength and warmth, entered the room with all the vibrant color and exquisite wonder that she had brought with her.

Her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Nanami, awake and grappling with the confines of the hospital bed. Her eyes were red, one could expect that from the tears she must have cried from worry. The room seemed to brighten like it was spring all over again as her gaze locked onto him, and in that instant, the stark walls became a canvas for the emotions playing out before her. Life made sense again, purpose existed again. The meaning of life blossomed in front of him, still from shock.

"Kento!" Her voice, a symphony of relief and joy, carried across the room. Tears glistened in her eyes, mirroring the overwhelming surge of emotions. She rushed to his side, the clatter of her footsteps echoing in the otherwise hushed room.

Nanami Kento, in turn, watched her approach, a myriad of emotions flickering in his eyes. Her presence was a balm, a reminder that he had weathered the storm and emerged on the other side. As she reached his bedside, the floodgates of her emotions opened, and tears streamed down her cheeks. She was still in the cycle of disbelief, the realm of joyous hope stuck in the motion of where her happiness began.

She kisses his scars, his burnt fingers, and hands. She could touch him, she could hold him. He was here. He was breathing, living. He was with her. She embraced him as though he would disappear if she didn’t hold onto him as tightly as she could. Not even the bundle of tears flowing from her face could stop her.

She was grateful, to any god out there, to anyone who listened to her prayers, that she had him in her arms. She had her love, the love that was made out of the wonder of this man, return to her. Alive and well, warm with everything that encompasses the beauty of life.

"I'm so happy you're alive," she whispered, her voice choked with a mix of gratitude and disbelief. All the love in her words, in her tone, brought him back to life. “You came back, you returned to me.”

He reached out to touch her cheek, his fingers gentle against the warmth of her skin. "I'm alright," he assured her, his voice a soothing murmur. "I'll never leave. I promised that to you, didn’t I, min skat?”

She leaned into his touch, her tears mingling with the warmth of his palm. "We're going to Malaysia, Kento. Together. I’m never letting you go, mit hjerte. You promised me. We’re going to live happily, Kento."

A soft smile played on his lips, a promise reflected in the depths of his gaze. "Yes, we will. I promised you, min skat. We’ll be together until we’re old and grey.”

The hospital room, once a sterile chamber of uncertainty, seemed to undergo a miraculous metamorphosis as Nanami Kento's beloved wife entered. The harsh, clinical glow of fluorescent lights softened, casting a warm, golden hue that embraced the room's confines. The air, once stagnant with the scent of antiseptic, now carried the subtle fragrance of hope and revival.

Nanami, despite his weariness, felt a surge of vitality as his wife crossed the threshold. The room itself seemed to respond, shedding its clinical demeanor in favor of a gentler, more welcoming ambiance. The crisp white sheets on the hospital bed, though still meticulously arranged, appeared softer, and inviting. They cradled him with a newfound tenderness as if conspiring with the universe to provide solace to a weary soul.

As she approached, the echo of her footsteps against the linoleum floor resonated like a reassuring heartbeat, harmonizing with the subdued hum of medical equipment. The door creaked open and closed, a gentle symphony, orchestrating the entrance of love into a space that had witnessed pain and healing in equal measure.

Her eyes, shimmering with tears yet ablaze with an unmistakable joy, met his with an intensity that breathed life into the room. The stark walls, once indifferent observers, became witnesses to the sacred dance of their reunion. The very essence of their connection infused the air, transforming the room into a haven where the boundaries of time and space seemed to blur.

In that quiet moment, their words became more than utterances; they were a melody, a soft cadence that reverberated with the depth of shared vows. The room, once void of emotion, now pulsed with the palpable warmth of love rediscovered. Dialogues danced between them like ethereal waltzes, each word a step in a choreography of reassurances and promises that only they could understand.

The hospital bed, a utilitarian piece of furniture, became a sanctuary where the contours of their bodies aligned with a perfect, unspoken understanding. The sheets, once merely functional, cradled them in an embrace that transcended the physical, a cocoon of shared experiences and the promise of a future yet to unfold.

As she leaned in, her lips pressed against the scars and burns on his fingers and hands, the room held its breath, as if granting this tender moment the reverence it deserved. She enveloped him in an embrace that felt like a gentle breeze, carrying away the residual echoes of pain and fear. The atmosphere crackled with the electricity of their shared relief, the acknowledgment that they had weathered the storm together.

Her whispered words, "I'm so happy you're alive," painted the room in hues of gratitude and disbelief. Each syllable, a brushstroke, adorned the walls with the colors of love's rekindled flame. The hospital room, once a backdrop to uncertainty, now stood as a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the enduring power of connection.

Nanami, in response, extended his hand to gently cup her tear-streaked cheek. His touch, a caress against the canvas of her skin, carried a promise.

"I'm alright," he assured her, his voice a soothing murmur that resonated with the strength of shared trials. "I'll never leave. I promised that to you, didn’t I, min skat?”

In this delicate exchange, the room bore witness to a pledge that transcended the physical confines of its walls. The hospital, once a realm of sterile uncertainties, had now become a sanctuary where the beauty of life's fragile yet enduring moments unfolded, leaving an indelible imprint on the very fabric of their shared existence.

"I was so scared, Kento. When they told me what happened..." Her voice trembled, a delicate timbre of vulnerability, the remnants of fear still haunting her.

It made his heart ache, a heavy throb echoing through his chest, as he watched the flickering emotions dance in the depths of her eyes. She suffered because of him, and the weight of that realization settled in his soul like a stone. But she understood, as she always did. She understood the essence of him, the intricate dance between duty and the echo of his existence.

The Jujutsu world was as much him as it was the reflection of him, a reality he couldn't fully escape. Yet, despite the peril that clung to his every step, she embraced him. She embraced his flaws, his scars, and the unspoken challenges that defined his very being.

“I’m glad that you’re here with me, Kento.”

He squeezed her hand, fingers intertwining in a silent communion of shared strength. The touch was a testament to the unspoken bond, a lifeline tethering them to the realm of the living. "I'm here now. We're here."

Her laughter, a delicate melody, bubbled forth like a spring of relief. Each note carried the weight of a thousand worries released, a cascade of sound that filled the room with an ethereal lightness. "This is enough, being with you. I could ask for nothing more. But this moment. You and me. Here."

He chuckled, the resonance vibrating through the air, a deep and comforting sound that echoed in the corners of the room. "It's more than enough for me too."

She enveloped him in her arms, a tender sanctuary where love and survival intertwined in an intricate dance. The hospital bed, once a sterile canvas of clinical white, transformed into a haven where the essence of their shared existence blossomed. Their whispered promises exchanged in the quiet sanctuary of their moments painted the room in hues of contentment.

Each word was a stroke of color, a brush dipped in the palette of their love, transforming the backdrop of sterile walls and clinical lights into a canvas adorned with the vibrant tapestry of life rekindled.

As she nestled into the curve of his embrace, Nanami whispered, his voice a soft breeze in the tranquil space, "You are in my heart, only you."

A joyous smile glistened to him. “You are too, Kento. You are my heart. My everything.”

Her eyes, still glistening with tears, met his, and in that shared gaze, they found the promise of a tomorrow unfurling before them. The hospital room, now adorned with the intricate details of their intertwined love, became a sanctuary where time seemed to stand still, embracing the beauty of life's fragile yet enduring moments.

The soft glow of the hospital lights filtered through sheer curtains, casting a warm hue that painted the room in a gentle embrace. The air, once laden with the sterile scent of antiseptic, now carried the fragrance of their shared history—the familiar scent of her perfume, the subtle notes of his cologne lingering in the air. The crisp white sheets, once clinical and unwelcoming, cradled them in a cocoon of comfort, a haven woven from threads of shared laughter and whispered confessions.

The shadows of fear and uncertainty, cast by the specter of Shibuya, faded into the background, eclipsed by the radiance of their shared love. Each heartbeat, a testament to survival and resilience, echoed in the room like a melody composed by the hands of fate. The hospital machinery, once an intrusive symphony of beeps and hums, now harmonized with the rhythm of their shared breaths, orchestrating a quiet lullaby of solace.

Nanami's scars, etched like battle-worn poetry on his skin, told a tale of survival and strength. His fingers, once battered and bruised, now intertwined with hers, creating a tapestry of connection that spoke of enduring love. The room held the echoes of their laughter, the whispered promises exchanged in the silent moments when the world outside seemed to disappear.

Their intertwined fingers traced patterns on the crisp sheets, creating a visual symphony of connection. His touch, a gentle caress against her tear-stained cheek, carried the weight of unspoken assurances. Her tears, now mingling with the warmth of his palm, became droplets of gratitude that painted the canvas of their shared existence.

As they leaned into each other's embrace, the hospital bed transformed into a sacred space where love and survival intertwined. The room, once a sterile chamber of uncertainty, now blossomed into a sanctuary of renewal and hope. The delicate dance of their shared gazes painted the walls with the colors of understanding, where unspoken words wove a narrative of connection stronger than any adversity.

The cadence of their breaths, synchronized in the quiet sanctuary, became a hymn of gratitude for the fragile yet enduring moments life had bestowed upon them. The outside world, with its chaos and uncertainties, seemed distant, held at bay by the sanctuary they had created within the hospital room. It was a haven where time, for that moment, ceased to be a relentless force and instead became a gentle companion, allowing them to savor the exquisite beauty of being together.

In that room, the resilience of the human spirit was not merely an abstract concept but a tangible force, pulsating through the air with each shared heartbeat. Their whispered promises, delicate yet profound, lingered in the spaces between them, creating an ethereal connection that surpassed the confines of the hospital walls.

And so, in the quiet embrace of their intertwined love, the hospital room became a canvas where the intricacies of life's tapestry unfolded. The fragility of existence, highlighted by the shadow left behind by the horrors of Shibuya, found solace in the enduring strength of their shared promise—a promise to weather the storms, celebrate the joys, and traverse the unpredictable terrain of life hand in hand.

facts about nanami's relationships: genmei is the person nanami trusts the most, to the point that she knew everything about his life after he left jujutsu high. they met up often to talk about how life was shit while drinking. nobuhiko and nanami were polar opposites when they met. nobuhiko was like suguru and nanami was more like satoru in terms of beliefs. but even more opposite in personality as nobuhiko is more like satoru there and nanami is more like suguru. the person that mediated between each fight was haibara. the first person nanami introduced to his wife was genmei, and they got along pretty fast. the second was nobuhiko, just after nanami and his wife got together when he got back to jujutsu. genmei and nanami have a food blog together, where they document their favorite foods across missions. since they share a similar food palate, that's how they know what to eat when they're near by. genmei, nobuhiko and nanami visit haibara often, together and separately. they often gather to drink beside haibara's grave on his birthday and death day. genmei and satoru were the two witnesses at nanami and his wife's wedding. because satoru was the one who made the process speedy, he's been irritating nanami about naming his first born after gojo satoru. nanami's wife said she'd consider it. nanami refuses.

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