Chapter Text
Nanako was eight when it first happened.
It had been three years since Getou-sama pulled her and Mimiko out of the murky, rusting metal of the cage, out through the unmoving rows of bodies drenched with blood carved from the villagers, and back to where he’s rented out a hotel for them to stay. He had turned on the lights of the hotel room, ran hot water for them to bathe, and tucked them in. He had smiled, then, and told them it would be all right.
It was strange, and discomforting, and Nanako was too distracted by all the beating and pain and lasting wounds to really take in anything that was happening, but all she knew was this: Getou-sama had saved them.
It had been three years since then.
In the thirty-six months that transpired, Getou-sama had acquired enough curses and enough of a following to financially support them all, buying out a local temple on the outskirts of Tokyo. Mimiko and Nanako had a room of their own. Getou-sama had a room of his own. There were new people with them now: Larue, Suda, Negi, each of them living in a different compartment in the living quarters of the temple. Everything was peaceful. Everything was accessible. They were a family born of warmth, affection and indulgence seeped into every corner of their daily life, all smiles and hugs and pats on her heads. There was nothing more Nanako could ask for.
And therefore: Nanako never had to think about Getou-sama needing anyone in that way.
_____
The first time it happened was when Hase Himari came to see them.
Sometimes, perhaps once every few weeks, a curse user would come to their temple to find Getou-sama. They’d either heard of his plans, his ambitions, or were curious enough about the Special Grade sorcerer who defected from Tokyo Jujutsu High and was now on a death sentence. They’d come from all over; from different countries even, sometimes.
Hase — as far as Nanako knew — was a renowned curse user from Yokohama, famed for having taken out seven jujutsu sorcerers during an attack against Q by herself. She was beautiful, Nanako thought. Blonde hair falling down the centre of her back, lips painted red, donned in an elegant, regal dress that fell past her knees. Out of all the women that Nanako had seen come and go in their temple, Hase was undoubtedly one of the most stunning.
And she was here, now.
Getou-sama was sitting at the front of the room on the tatami mat, with Nanako and Mimiko dutifully on his right. Hase was standing before him, a safe distance away. She had been rambling for the past half-hour about something Nanako didn’t listen to and didn’t quite care for— something about joining forces, or admiration, or some-such. It had been a lot of flattery, Nanako figured. That was fine. Getou-sama had gotten used to a lot of that stuff.
But there was something about this meeting, however, that had Nanako’s stomach feeling somewhat unsettled. There was something strange about the way Hase had been looking at Getou-sama, about the way Getou-sama’s movements had been stiller than usual; more reserved. Something odd was going on that Nanako didn’t understand— and even when she glanced over at Mimiko beside her, questioning, Mimiko had given her an equally blank shrug.
“This is a huge place for such an important man to stay in,” said Hase, taking a step forward and giving the otherwise empty room a once-over. “I can’t imagine all the space.”
Getou-sama raised an eyebrow. Nanako had seen enough of his expressions to know this wasn’t one of those amused, teasing looks he gave whenever someone had said or done something entertaining for him. This was cautious; more of a warning. “You get used to it after a while, Hase-san.”
“Do you, now,” said Hase. She took a step forward and smiled, seemingly undeterred by whatever odd expression Getou-sama was wearing. “You must be quite lonely all by yourself in this great temple.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, tilting her head in an angle that made the light overhead cast her face in a curious, strangely pretty shadow. “Please excuse me if I am overstepping a line, but I can always keep you company, Getou-san.”
Nanako stared.
She didn’t quite understand what was going on. Her heart was beating confusingly fast, thumping in a way that made her innards uncomfortably anxious. Something felt wrong about this exchange. It wasn’t only because of the weird sultry voice Hase was using, or the way Getou-sama’s eyes were now watching her like a shark…
(They had always gotten daily visits from humans. Non-shamans. Monkeys, as Getou-sama liked to call them. They’d come for help on pain relieving, on strange dreams, on any other ailments that modern medicine and holistic meditation couldn’t fix. Women, men, children, and the elderly all over would come for Getou Suguru, the man in the ceremonial monk robes who was esteemed for curing most everything. And sometimes, the women would use this tone with him— this specific tone. Sometimes, the men would, too. But Nanako figured that Getou-sama completely rejected anybody human, and the idea of any of them spending more time with him than paid for was completely ludicrous.)
Although, Hase wasn’t a non-sorcerer. Hase was a curse user.
But even then…
“Thank you for your concern, Hase-san,” said Getou-sama. He smiled at her, a chillingly pleasant, ice-cold smile. “You are indeed overstepping a line.”
Hase blinked at him.
At least, she looked like how Nanako felt. Her smile had slid right off her face, her mouth hanging open ajar in shock. She was positively gaping at him.
“Perhaps,” Getou-sama continued calmly, not even allowing her time to recover, “it is more appropriate for Mimiko to show you out.”
Nanako glanced quickly towards Mimiko, whose mouth also hung open, speechless.
“Right.” Hase cleared her throat. A pink blush had creeped its way up her cheeks, her eyes decidedly looking at anywhere but Getou-sama’s face. She bowed, curtly and deep, and her words sounded dry in her throat as she spoke. “Yes, I— I’m sorry.”
Mimiko hastily rose up to her feet. She looked to the side to exchange a quizzical, uncertain glance with Getou-sama, and awkwardly trotted over to where Hase was. Hase didn’t even spare them a farewell. She rose out of the bow, turned around, and followed Mimiko out through the door.
Getou-sama let out a quiet sigh, once the doors closed behind them. His hand came up to rest against the back of his neck.
“Getou-sama?”
His movements only paused for a moment, before they resumed scratching gently at the skin there. He turned, then, to look at Nanako— and Nanako felt a great surge of relief lifted off her chest at the sight of it, because there it was. There was the expression she was used to: the soft, warm, indulgent expression he always reserved for her and Mimiko. The fatherly smile. There were no traces, now, of that terribly icy, dismissive stare he gave Hase just minutes ago. “Hmm?”
“Is…” Nanako swallowed, pausing. Then tried again in a small voice. “Is Getou-sama lonely?”
It was his turn to stare at her.
Something passed over on his face.
Nanako liked to maintain, perhaps for her own pride, that she and Mimiko were the ones who understood Getou-sama best. That they were the ones to know him, inside and out, and love him all the same despite it. Unconditionally.
But there were moments such as this, she knew, that neither of them could possibly decipher what the emotion he was wearing was. There were years, and years, and decades, even, of his life that neither of them had memory of. There were parts of him that he hid from them. And Nanako, now at eight — even though offended that he had locked some of his secrets away, shielded them from the two people who cared for him most in the world — already sensed that it was something he never wanted to give them access to, no matter how much they’d ask.
“Of course not,” Getou-sama said softly. He reached out a hand and, as always, tenderly patted Nanako on the head. “I have you and Mimiko, don’t I?”
Nanako let out a petulant huff, and when she childishly turned away, it was to the sound of Getou-sama chuckling.