Finding Home: Nanami

As a popular niche skutuber, Nanami had carved out a lavish lifestyle for himself, eventually incorporating his beau, Israfil. However, although his custom loft, complete with a deep pool, high ceilings and doorways, a studio, a kitchen, a sunning area and a designer bedroom, was a place he spent much of his time, replicated exactly what he needed, Nanami found that he felt truly at home in the cold, salty waters of the ocean. 

It wasn’t a place he allowed himself to return to too often, otherwise he’d heed the call to dive, to swim, to torment fish and harass seabirds and, on occasion, capsize a vessel that had become too adventurous and ventured too far. 

The ocean was the home of his heart. 

Slowly, steadily, however, he found that returning to his loft with Israfil waiting for him felt a lot like taking a deep dive and discovering an unexplored nook on the ocean floor. True, their relationship was not necessarily one of romance. Often, Nanami would pester Israfil to get a reaction out of him, and depending on his mood Isra would either play along or dig his heels in. One could say that their relationship was convenient and contentious. 

However, there were the moments when Nanami didn’t feel like being a brat, and didn’t need to provoke a reaction in Isra to know that their cohabitation was mutual and desired. 

A long time ago, in a place where there were no homes, no friends, and no joy to be had, Nanami had spied Isra leading his doomed Protection. A desire to approach had been stifled by the need to survive, but he had observed for a period of time that could be considered “too long”. He’d risked discovery, but was truly fascinated by how well Isra was doing in such a terrible place, his mental state seemingly preserved far better than many of the other more “well-adjusted” Crooks Nanami had come across. 

There had been a big shaggy Crook, with bronze horns and a bronze belly, who’d wanted to provide stability and safety in a place where those words were silly wishes uttered from the gaping mouths of Crooks who became the victims of predation. Although Nanami was lucky to have been rescued by one such Crook, he knew that sticking around would have him watch the transformation of something pretty into something ugly, which was not a desired pastime. 

Besides, he wasn’t interested in pretty Crooks anyway. Perhaps, if he survived, he’d be a big old ugly Crook, if things went the way Nanami had predicted. Still, Nanami’s interest wasn’t captivated by Crooks who’d exhausted themselves and had nothing left to give. No, he enjoyed the tenacity to survive, the struggle to live. Perhaps it was his roots as an oceanic predator, but he just loved when something thrashed against fate. 

Isra was a born thrasher, the prey splashing desperately in his waters, unable to stop him nipping and darting. Every so often, the tables would turn, and Nanami would find himself at Isra’s mercy. It was nothing for Crooks who experienced banishment to simply devour one another. The difference was now they were in Skire, and Nanami had the born confidence of an accomplished hunter. Nothing shook him, not being at a perceived disadvantage in strength and size, and not being in a compromising position. He had razor sharp teeth, an impossibly strong body, and the ability to shapeshift, and all of those things he’d learned to use in much more dire circumstances. 

Well, that and perhaps he knew that Isra only played at turning the tables. The fun was in each other, and supposedly so was that feeling he’d normally only gotten in the ocean. 

Now, when he returned to his loft, he called out for Israfil, pleased to hear his return call, delighting at how he came to greet, no matter where he was or what he was doing. Some would call it love, but that was a meaningless word applied to too many things that didn’t matter. No, home was far more important to a Crook who had experienced banishment. Home was a luxury. Home was a place to rest one’s head, to store one’s things, to amass a collection of possessions and food. Home was safety. 

Not that he’d tell Isra that. Let him flounder a little. What was life without a little uncertainty to shake things up?