Work Text:
Nanami Kento is a ritualistic man.
From the moment Kento was at the age where his cognitive machine started operating, his dear old grandmother had drilled into that tiny brain of his the importance of having a routine life. And baby Kento was a child who absolutely adored his grandmother who gave the warmest hugs, slipped some money into his pudgy little hands whenever she visited, and constantly praised Kento for his achievements, big or small. So, naturally, his brain absorbed her moto, Routines Are A Way of Life , like a sponge would to water.
His grandmother taught him that one must sleep at exactly eight o’clock sharp and awake from their slumber at five in the morning.
Predictably, it was quite a challenge for Kento was barely six years old at the time. However, because loved his grandmother and always wanted to prove his worth to her, he worked day and night, weeks and months, until he developed his own routine that he followed to a T.
Those routines followed him through the years.
Currently, like clockwork, Nanami Kento’s eyes prey open when the digital clock on the bedside table blinks five o’clock sharp in neon green. Not a minute late and not a minute early.
His morning rituals consist of Kento performing his morning stretches that last fifteen minutes. Afterwards, he hops into the shower, welcoming the bitter cold droplets that trample on his smooth skin. When that’s all done, he dresses, then styles his hair into his preferred style that he had perfect immediately after dropping out from Tokyo Metropolitan and switching to a civilian high school.
Despite Nanami Kento religiously following his routine, there are days where he breaks them.
Humans are flawed creatures and Kento is not to be excused from such a fact.
Usually, Kento would prepare his own breakfast and lunch at home before work. Thanks to the fact that he wakes up quite early, he has all the time to prepare elaborate and delicious meals and still attend work with twenty minutes to spare.
However, there’s an unknown power that has made its presence from time to time — like the one that convinced him to grow out his hair to resemble those rock singers he fancied in his youth — telling him that today is a perfect day to eat his breakfast at his favorite bakery and purchase something for lunch to eat at the school.
That voice in his head that beat him into submission to stray from his routine is right.
The weather is just right in Kento’s humble opinion.
The sun is hiding behind thick, white, fluffy clouds. Shyly peeking when she’s in the mood. There’s a slight breeze that caresses Kento’s sharp cheekbone not dissimilarly to how his ex-girlfriend from his corporate days had done.
It’s the type of weather that has Kento donning on his favorite beige turtleneck sweater with dark brown dress pants, showing off his model worthy physique.
Walking down the streets, Kento is surrounded by calmness at the lack of people around him. Maybe a group here, some businessmen that he isn’t jealous of there, but overall, it’s a bit deserted.
His favorite bakery is a quaint little establishment that barely houses three two person tables yet somehow has enough room for the innumerable plants scattered about. It’s tight, drowning its customers in claustrophobia but they sell the best pâtisseries ever.
The bell lets off a small chime when Kento pushes the yellow door open. His nose is immediately invaded by the mouth watering scent of vanilla and cinnamon. He can see the back of the head of the owner, who is also the baker, scurrying about behind the counter as takes a seat closest to the window separating him from the baking station.
“Good morning!”
Jenna is an Arab woman who moved to Japan about five years ago after graduating from a culinary school in France. Her love of baking mixed with the Japanese loving anything French related allowed her to open her own bakery and thrive in the country. Despite not being famous like other establishments, La Petite Boulangerie welcomes enough customers to keep afloat.
And, honestly, Kento doesn't want more people to discover this hidden gem. The one thing he despises other than working over time is crowded places.
Kento watches her 5 '1 frame move about, her dark hair cut into an adorable French bob swaying about with the movements, until she is standing in front of the register, smiling at her first dine in customer of the day.
“The usual?” Her teeth aren’t white but they aren’t yellow. They are a balance of both, and would've been white if they hadn’t been stained by the coffee she consumes.
“No.” Kento shakes his head, that unknown power making its presence once more. “I’ll have the day’s special.”
The day’s special is something decided by Jenna’s mood for the day. Sometimes, she’ll bake the most refreshing mango mousse to grace your tongue. Other times, when she is daring enough to venture out of French desserts, she’ll bake you the best apple pies you’ve ever had in your life, making you crawl back for more.
“You’re in luck! I was just about to make a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls.”
Somewhere along his frequent visits throughout the years, Kento had somehow managed to develop a tiny crush on Jenna that grew larger by each visit until it threatened to burst through his chest. His heart skipping three beats as if he is some high school girl is a sufficient form of evidence. That’s why he is returning Jenna’s smile, albeit much smaller.
“I’d like that very much.” Comes Kento’s light voice, matching the ambiance of the bakery.
“You got it!”
What makes La Petite Boulangerie stand out from other local bakeries isn’t just the affordable prices, but the way Jenna pours her heart and soul into her food. Her passion burns hotter than the stove she uses for her masterpieces.
Caught in a spell, Kento’s eyes follow Jenna’s movements as she begins the first step of making a perfectly, mouth watering cinnamon roll.
The silence that accompanies them doesn't bother the two occupants as Jenna mixes her dry ingredients. Rather, it is something they both enjoy. Jenna, to help her concentrate on her work. Kento, to have a peace of mind.
It doesn’t take too long for the modest room to start smelling of yeast, its aroma making Kento inhale deeply, eyes closing shut, as his mind drifts away. He starts to imagine what life would be like if he is welcomed by such a heavenly fragrance every day.
Kento can smell lemon zest when he returns home from a grueling day of exorcising curses to find a freshly baked lemon cake resting on his expensive marble kitchen island, waiting for him like a lover patiently waiting to be devoured.
Or how he is embraced by the warmth of brioche every winter morning. Clinging onto him, prevent him from stepping out the door to make his way to work.
But that unknown power is greedy. It tells him that those things aren’t enough. Instructs Kento to dream bigger and he quickly conjures up an image of Jenna baking those desserts he loves so much.
Jenna waiting for him on their bed when he returns from work with half-lidded eyes, begging to be devoured.
Of Jenna being the one clinging onto him every morning, playfully pulling him back into bed for another round, or five.
Perhaps it is the vivaciousness of his imaginations or the comforting smell of cinnamon that has Kento blinking back to reality.
Brown irises roll to the left to where Jenna is pulling out the tray of freshly baked cinnamon rolls.
His eyes are unseeing as she drizzles the icing, humming a soft melody he doesn’t recognize.
The unknown force is cruel, subjecting Kento to such fantasies he is more than well aware of the impossibility of achieving such a dream.
Nanami Kento is a sorcerer.
An occupation that doesn't just pose a threat to his own life but also the lives of others. And Kento would be damned if he were to bring Jenna into his dangerous life only to helplessly watch as curses, the kind he is too weak to eliminate, take the love of his life away from him.
His round shades hide his widened as he looks into Jenna’s smiling eyes as she serves his breakfast, along with his favorite drink, black coffee.
Should Jenna remove his glasses, she would see the fear trembling behind them.
A fear of not only losing Jenna, but also knowing that there will be a day where Nanami Kento will never see Jenna ever again. Will never set foot into La Petite Boulangerie. Nor will he have the opportunity to watch her as she bakes, undying love adoring her face.
That shocking discovery that has Kento’s hands trembling at the dismay, has him blurt out, “I need to make a phone call.”
When Gojo Satoru had heard of Kento’s second retirement, he rolled his eyes to the back of his skull and scoffed heavily.
The first time Kento had done it, Satoru understood.
Haibara had died.
Suguru, although barely being friends with the blond, had defected.
And with Shoko carelessly chasing after her medical degree, Satoru knew why Kento had turned his back on them.
Were he not the strongest, a slave to his emotions, Gojo Satoru would’ve done the same thing.
The life they live is just too demanding.
But Gojo Satoru is the strongest and the only one honored between heaven and earth.
Yet for Nanami Kento to resign once more, a month after Suguru’s death no less, Satoru isn’t as forgiving.
Satoru, in all of his glory, went to Kento’s apartment to drag him back into their world, kicking and screaming.
Imagine the shock, however, when he discovered that Kento had moved out from his apartment and had changed his phone number. Something Satoru learned when he tried to call his kohai.
Ever the persistent man, Gojo Satoru searched high and low for Kento. A year later, he found the blond down south. Somewhere close but also secluded enough to not pay attention to.
“Nanami.” Satoru greets. Both voice and expression are void of any emotion.
Kento doesn’t react negatively; his eyes don’t widen like they do in the many anime that Satoru still watches. He doesn’t swear under his breath at being found. Simply, Kento walks past him as if Satoru doesn't exist.
“You need to come back.”
Not a single reaction from Kento. Not even the usual sigh of annoyance.
But Satoru won’t back down without a fight.
“We’re in a critical situation.” Satoru starts, voice ever so serious. Despite its rarity, Kento doesn’t stop.
“We’re needed at Shibuya and-”
Finally, Kento says, “ You’re needed at Shibuya.”
Satoru greets his teeth. “You’re being stubborn!”
This time, Kento stops walking to turn to face Satoru.
“Forgive me for valuing my life for once.”
“Don’t do this to me, not you.”
The word too is left unsaid.
Gojo Satoru is a terribly lonely person who attaches himself to anyone he deems worthy. An open secret that everyone acknowledges except the honored one.
“I’m happy now.”
What feels like an eternity is actually a few seconds when those words left Kento’s lips. Though, it’s the softness around his eyes, accentuating the tiny wrinkles, that forces Satoru to take a sharp breath.
“I don’t want to lose that happiness. Not anymore.” He thinks of Jenna, the woman who taught him how to laugh freely. The one who showed him the true beauty of being alive . The woman he wants to start a family and grow old with.
“And if that makes me selfish,” What happens next has Satoru’s jaw dropping. Kento’s eyes turn into tiny crescents as a bright smile, rivaling the effervescent glow of the moon as a smile appears on Kento’s handsome face, making him appear youthful, “Then I’m one selfish bastard.”