Chapter Text
In a rare moment of complete lucidity, Gojo Satoru began to wonder if maybe—just maybe—he had royally fucked up.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have forced Utahime to pass out in the tunnels, perhaps he shouldn’t have manhandled and acted like a complete and utter dick before that. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so goddamn impulsive; he should have just listened to what Yaga had told him earlier tonight about taking it easy with missions for a while. Instead, he had done the exact opposite and dragged Utahime into his mess.
Perhaps, if he had done anything differently, he wouldn’t currently be staring down at the wet and shivering form of his unconscious senior, debating how to best take off her clothes.
He fell to a crouch, groaning as he rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. Gods above, this was not the way he’d pictured the night going. And yet, he found no way out of the situation.
After Satoru had made Utahime fall asleep with a neat little trick he’d recently picked up, he had immediately warped them to his Tokyo apartment. As curse users, hospitals were always a place that were best avoided, and even though the jujutsu schools had their own medical facilities, he hadn’t liked the idea of leaving her there for someone else to watch over. Besides, he was positive he’d picked up more than enough from watching Shoko to know how to give someone first aid. Fortunately enough, the gash that marred Utahime’s forehead hadn’t been as serious as he’d first thought, either. He’d laid her out on his living room couch and had carefully disinfected the wound before treating it, quickly attending to her sprained ankle next. Naively, he had thought that treating her was the worst of it, but soon enough her small body had begun to tremble; first slowly then in deep, powerful shudders as her wet clothes seeped any possible warmth away from her body. Her little adventure with the curse—while entertaining to watch—had left her soaked, while his Infinity had protected him. Although it was still fairly warm this time of year, he’d lit the fireplace but it quickly became apparent that it wouldn’t do much if he didn’t get her out of the wet clothes first.
Still unconscious, Utahime shivered, so hard her teeth clanked against each other as she curled into herself, instinctively seeking heat.
Fuck it, Satoru thought as he kneeled over her, at least like this she won’t get pneumonia.
Rolling her over, he cursed as damp tendrils fell over her bandaged forehead. Carefully, he brushed it back, the midnight black strands like cool silk through his fingers as he tucked it back. Her skin was like ice and sensing his heat, she nuzzled against his palm, sighing in relief. The action left him frozen still; it was a softness he’d never seen in her, not since he’d first met her in an inter-grade training session during his first year. At the time, she’d been the picture-perfect definition of a senior, amicable and helpful to just about everyone, and the complete opposite of him. Something about her inherent kindness had compelled him to drive her bug-fuck and he’d been doing exactly that for the last five years. That genuine goodwill had withered away over time until a wall of enmity and detachment lay firmly between them. Satoru wasn’t a fool; he knew very well that Utahime tolerated his existence and proximity because of their shared job and friends, nothing more. He’d been fine with it, but seeing her asleep, with all those barriers brought down, she seemed somehow softer, gentler and something inside of him rattled at this newfound sight.
She shivered once more and, with great trepidation, Satoru ventured to the red bow of her bottoms, snapping his eyes shut as he quickly slipped the bottoms off, setting the drenched clothes to the side. He hated how the rustling of fabric and his strangely loud breathing seemed to take up every inch of the room, despite the crashing of rain against the windows panes and the crackling of logs in the fire. He tried to steady his hands as he opened the front of her top, thinking of anything but the odd quickening of his heartbeat.
An icy hand curled around his wrist and quicker than he thought possible, he was rammed against the couch with a dagger under his chin and one very angry Utahime mounted on top of him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
There were very few times in which Satoru was left speechless, but this was one of them. He gaped up at her like a fish, blinking in surprise. He wasn’t sure what shocked him most: her finally waking up and instantly throwing herself at him or the quiet fury that glowed in her amber eyes, all traces of that delicate softness from just a moment prior gone. She didn’t look like someone that had just woken up, let alone an injured person; no signs of lethargy or sluggishness in the steady hold she kept on her weapon, a hold that said that the sharpened point aimed at his jugular was no empty threat.
He swallowed. Maybe she had been serious when she said she was going to kill him. For half a second he thought of using Infinity but decided it would only make the situation worse. “This isn’t what it looks like,” he said instead, choosing to soothe her.
“So you weren’t stripping an unconscious woman naked then?”
He tried for a smile. “Well, when you put it that way anything sounds bad.”
The dagger dug in further and he hissed as it broke the skin, a small dribble of blood trickling down his throat before his reversed cursed energy knitted the skin back together again. She clearly wasn’t in the mood for jokes. “Would you have preferred I left you to freeze in your wet clothes, then? Besides, it’s not like I actually saw anything. I mean,” he paused, eyes flickering down to where she sat, her white kosode spilling halfway down her arms and barring all for him to see. Warm ivory skin covered a lean, strong frame with a scattering of thin, silvery scars crisscrossing throughout, courtesy of her years as a sorcerer. A black sports bra covered a modest-sized chest, the cold making little hardened tips stand to attention. Her matching underwear curved around smooth, shapely thighs that pressed fully against his, holding him pinned in place. It was more skin than she’d ever revealed before him and his eyes were having a difficult time looking away. He swallowed. “Until now, that is. Cute panties, by the way. I think my grandmother bought the first ones in the 1950s.”
Her brows furrowed and she followed his gaze. Squeaking at what she found, she scrambled off to the other end of the couch like the devil himself was chasing her. Folding her long legs close to her chest as she clutched her shirt to her neck and placing a throw pillow like a shield between them for extra measure. Satoru would be lying if he said she didn’t make for a tempting sight. Endlessly enchanting, with hair the color of spilled ink that framed high, delicate cheekbones, sharp upturned cognac eyes, and the softest heart-shaped mouth he’d ever seen. He’d agreed to split his earnings so easily just because of how that pert little mouth had pouted. It occasionally clouded his vision because of just how long he’d known her but he could see it tonight: Iori Utahime was a beautiful woman, and seeing her half-naked and wet on his couch was affecting him more than he’d ever thought possible.
Bloody contempt etched itself into every inch of her scowl as if she could read what he was thinking. “Pervert,” she accused.
He gestured to the damp spots that now marred his clothes, clear indications of where she’d straddled him. “Would I not be considered the accosted one in this situation?”
She glanced away, a faint flush of color forming. She was the kind that blushed all the way to her ears, he noted with delight. He chalked it up to relief that she had finally woken up.
“You made me pass out.”
He inclined his head. “I figured we could continue screaming at each other after you weren’t bleeding out of your skull.”
As if just remembering her injury, Utahime gingerly reached for her forehead. His hand shot out, catching it before she could make contact. She flinched at his suddenness, an emotion he’d never seen from her shuddering just beneath the surface and he dropped her hand like a stone, instantly backing away. “I tended to it but you shouldn’t touch it. It might get infected.”
“I knew that,” she snapped back, mask quickly falling back into place. She was good at doing that, at pretending that she hadn’t been utterly repelled by his mere proximity.
Looking away from him, she finally seemed to notice their dim surroundings, only the flickering light of the fireplace illuminating the room. “Where are we, anyway?”
“My place.” He sprang from the couch, picking up the bundle of clothing on the coffee table he’d brought out since earlier. “The hospital seemed a little risky and I figured you wouldn’t want me bringing you to Shoko. Showing up with her best friend all bloody and disheveled didn’t seem like it’d bode well for me, either.” At least, that was the excuse he’d come up with anyway. He offered the neatly folded stack to her, his other hand palm up as he gestured to the cursed dagger she still had in a vice grip. “Though I’m sure you’re proud of your exhibitionism, how ‘bout I trade you? Maybe then you’ll stop looking like a bad imitation of Rambo.”
She didn’t relinquish her weapon, eyeing him like a wet, cornered cat; all glowers, hackles practically raised. But she could barely keep her shivers suppressed and at last gave in, swapping dagger for warmth. He was surprised she didn’t try to stab him while she was at it. “Where can I change?”
“Here. I doubt you can make it anywhere on that thing.” He tucked the blade away as he nodded at her ankle. It had already been swollen like a grapefruit when he’d bandaged it up.
Which apparently didn’t stop her from trying to put weight on it as she attempted to lift herself up. She winced immediately, glaring up at him as if he’d been the one to personally throw her around like a rag doll. Well, he supposed he hadn’t exactly helped it from not happening. “Turn around,” she commanded. “And don’t you dare peek.”
He rolled his eyes but turned his back, facing the low light of the fire. “As if you have anything I haven’t seen,” he muttered.
A throw pillow smacked him square in the back of the head. “Jackass!”
Satoru cursed, rubbing his brutalized head and willed himself not to retaliate. As much as it bothered him, she had every right to be wary of him. Besides, compared to her apprehension and fear, he’d take her anger any day of the week. He could handle an outraged and screaming Utahime. Hells, he’d been handling it for the last half-decade, anger and annoyance a constant fixture of their relationship, whatever it was because it certainly wasn’t friends. But even if they weren’t exactly friends, he realized tonight that he didn’t like seeing that fear and mistrust he’d spotted before, not from her. Or worse, that raw, shocked look that had crossed her stricken expression down in the tunnels when he’d lashed out at her. Satoru grimaced as the phantom memory rose to mind. She’d hidden it quickly, there and gone in an instant but it had been enough to break through his frenzied state. He’d never lost control in front of Utahime before, never to such a degree. His instant regret didn’t mix well with his tenacious habit of never apologizing. Or feeling much guilt about...well, anything really.
“How long was I out?” she asked, the sound of clothes sliding off skin echoing after her.
“Not long.” He cleared his throat, finding it oddly stuck. “Twenty, thirty minutes max. It’s probably close to 1:00 a.m now.”
She snorted. “Done in thirty minutes, my ass. I knew that paycheck was too good to be true.”
“Well, it’s not like I did it intentionally.”
“Didn’t you? Because you certainly looked like you were enjoying yourself down there.”
He sighed. “So maybe I messed around a little. I needed to relieve a little bit of stress, that’s all.”
“You, stressed?” Her voice came out muffled as she slid the sweatshirt on. “Didn’t you have to be dragged back from some beach in Mexico last month because you were skipping so much work?”
He coughed. “I was busy immersing myself in the culture.”
“Funny, I heard the only thing you were immersing was your tongue down others throats.”
Among other places, but he decided it was best to keep that to himself. “Been keeping tabs on me? Why, I’m flattered, Utahime, I didn’t know how much you cared.”
“I wasn’t and I don’t,” she retorted, a whine of frustration following. “You wouldn’t happen to have something else to wear, would you? Perhaps within the size range of a non-giant.”
He smirked. Was she trying to insult him? How cute. “I’m afraid I’m fresh out of those but you can always go with your birthday suit if you prefer. Hell, I might even join you; I’ve heard it’s the best way to get the blood pumping.”
“That—that won’t be necessary!” she stammered, voice shrill. “I’ll just make due.”
He shrugged, lips twitching. Messing with Utahime had always been one of Satoru’s greatest pleasures and if he had it his way, he’d spend the rest of the night doing just that. “Well, if you insist. Just make sure to tell me if you change your mind. I’m more than happy to accommodate.”
Utahime muttered something particularly foul under her breath in answer. “You can turn around, I’m finished.”
“Gods, you take forever, ya kn—Pfft! What the hell is that?” Satoru cackled at the sight. More than wearing the clothes, Utahime appeared to be swimming in the sweatshirt and jogger set he’d brought out for her, the thing practically engulfing her whole. The bottoms were the worst, the ends extending comically ahead as she bent over to try and unsuccessfully free her feet. She looked like a kid who’d gotten into her parent’s closet.
She shot a daggered look in his direction and he pushed his laughter down. “Apologies,” he beseeched, still unable to keep the smile from his voice. “How are you feeling? Any pain or headaches?”
“You mean besides the one you’re currently giving me?” She shook her head. “I can sleep off the rest, nothing too serious.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. At least that was one less thing to worry over.
Utahime continued to struggle with the hem until he felt obligated to step in. “Here, let me.” He kneeled down before her, ignoring her quick protests as he gingerly lifted her leg to his lap, careful of her injuries, and began to fold the absurd excess of fabric up. He couldn’t believe he was so much larger than her. “Rather than me being a so-called giant, aren’t you just short?”
“I’m of perfectly average height,” she informed him, looking insulted he would even ask. “You’re the abnormal one, you hear me?”
“I see those injuries didn’t mellow that cantankerous personality of yours.”
She quirked a brow. “Cantankerous? What, are you like, finally expanding your vocabulary past primary school now?”
Satoru mirrored her. “What, are you like, not going to deny it then?”
She glowered. He grinned.
“I’m only irritable when it comes to you,” she mumbled, her leg jerking as his fingers grazed the sole of her foot.
He set it down, moving on to the next one. “Hmm, you really know how to make a boy feel special, you know that? To think that I’m the only one that can bring that fiery side of you out.”
Truthfully, Satoru did enjoy being one of the few that could make that serene and graceful persona she liked to portray and make it shatter into pieces. It was like watching a bomb go off every time.
She said nothing, which was unusual since he’d expected some screaming or at the very least some stern scolding. Still, he could feel the heavy weight of her gaze and he looked up to find her staring down at him in quiet contemplation. It was odd, seeing his reflection mirrored in those dark honeyed eyes with nothing more than searching curiosity; the typical animosity and loathing that seemed everpresent nowhere in sight. Somehow, it made Satoru feel more vulnerable than he’d ever felt in her presence, as if she could see down inside every corner of his being, right down to his very bones.
“What?” He looked down, inexplicably shaken, and resumed folding the hem of the sweats up. “Cat got your tongue? Or have you finally fallen for my good looks?”
“Your looks are much too pretty for my tastes,” she said with such utter nonchalance, it was obvious she hadn’t even spared it a thought. “Gojo, I have to ask: everything that happened tonight, does it have anything to do with what occurred three years ago?”
Satoru’s hands instantly stilled. “...I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Is that so?” she hummed, eyes fixed on his suspended fingers, at the tension in his shoulders. He forced himself to relax and resume the methodical motions once more and she sank back against the couch, crossing her arms over her chest.“Perhaps I was mistaken, then.”
He doubted it. Utahime didn’t make mistakes like that. Somehow, she’d been able to piece together something he hadn’t been able to even think to himself, let alone voice aloud. It was clear that she didn’t believe him but wasn’t willing to push any further. He wasn’t sure if he was touched or annoyed by her consideration. “How do you even know about that?” he asked, unable to resist.
She shrugged, nipping at her bottom lip. “Just through the grapevine.”
Shoko , he immediately deduced. Utahime was a surprisingly decent liar, but Satoru knew her tells and how much of a chatterbox their friend could be after a few drinks. But after everything had happened, he’d never spoken about it to Shoko or to anyone else for that matter. If Utahime knew anything, it was superficial at best. “And what exactly did that alcoholic grapevine tell you then?”
She looked hesitant, but only for a moment. Slowly, she began to relent the events from three years ago, when he had been a second-year at Tokyo Tech. The important mission assigned to him and that person, the young girl destined to join with Master Tengen, and then...the failure.
Satoru’s first failure and the one that had changed everything.
Three years ago, he had let Amanai Riko die. And for the years that followed, the days leading to the anniversary of her death plagued him, so much that he spent them hunting one curse after another. It was his only respite from the images that pervaded his sleep every time he grew tired enough to shut his eyes. If he closed them now, he was sure he would see that small body crumpled and bloody on the ground, surrounded by pious apparitions that sang praises of her death. To think that that had only been a catalyst for something so much worse. Just remembering made him feel that same bloodthirst again, his cursed energy crackling to be unleashed.
He couldn’t help but wonder. “Did Yaga contact you? Is that why you agreed to go with me?”
“No,” she shook her head. “I only remembered just now, but since earlier tonight, I guessed something might be...off with you. You hate working with others and you’ve never been the one to exhaust yourself on the job yet you went out of your way to make me agree, even though you looked completely worn out. What happened in the tunnels with the curse just confirmed my suspicions; you’d never waste so much time on something so weak, after all.”
It had been weak, disappointingly so. The only reason that he’d drawn it out so long was because it was better than going crazy from doing nothing. Despite how horrific his actions were to Utahime, seeing all that chaos that he felt warring within himself materialize onto something else had brought him the most peace he’d felt in days.
“Did it scare you?” Satoru asked, watching her closely. “What I did to the curse, what I still wanted to do with it?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” She took a deep breath, uncertainty wavering in her eyes. “I don’t suffer any delusions of you, Gojo. Despite that frivolous facade you like to put up, I know better than most how vicious and cruel you can be, especially to those you consider enemies. But you’re not the type to toy with something so far beneath you, especially when there’s no merit in it.”
His fingers fidgeted with the hem he’d long since finished. Somehow, her words left him feeling more befuddled than before. “I...didn’t think you’d be so calm. You seemed quite angry before.”
“Of course I was angry. I still am, for that matter.” She snatched her foot back, stopping his nitpicking. Oddly enough, he was beginning to feel like a scolded child, especially with the way he was looking up at her from his knees.“You put me in an unnecessary situation where my life was at risk. Who the hell wouldn’t be angry?”
“I—That wasn’t my intention. Yaga didn’t like how many missions I was taking and used that newfound influence he has as principal to bar me from going on anything solo. He knows how much I hate pairing up with other sorcerers, so I guess he figured I’d just bow out and take the day off.” He scratched his head, lifting his downcast eyes. “Compared to spending the whole night staring at a wall or being surrounded by all those weaselly sycophants, you didn’t seem like that bad of an alternative.”
She cocked her head, frowning. “Is that really your idea of a compliment?”
“Do you not feel complimented?”
“More insulted, actually.”
Satoru laughed and some relief that he could still talk to her like this—with such amazing and splendid ease— filled his body, warming him inside. When she’d turned away from him in the tunnels, he’d been so terrified of losing yet another person in his life, even if she did hate him. Utahime—as prickly and fragile as their relationship could be—was a constant in his life, as tenacious and everlasting as the seasons and he needed that consistency right now. Lately, it seemed like everyone was leaving. After what happened with Haibara, Nanami had turned away from anything to do with the world of sorcery as soon as he had graduated. And he couldn’t even remember the last time he had spoken with Shoko, not since she’d entered med school. As for that person...
Suddenly drained, he rested his head against her knees. Only for a moment, he told himself. Utahime tensed but didn’t make a move to push him away. “Can I tell you something?”
“…If you must.” Cold words missing their biting edge, he noted.
“Most times, it isn’t even about Riko’s death. It’s part of it, of course, but I’ve always seen it as this line of demarcation that was set when everything started going to shit. During that mission, so many things went wrong and then everything with Suguru—” His voice broke under the weight of his once best friend, the corroded syllables sticking to his tongue, rusty and oxidized after so long without saying it aloud. How long had it been since he’d mentioned him, since he’d even allowed himself to remember? “It’s how these fucking system is set up,” he cursed, vitriol loathing coating his words like frost. “It treats everyone as a means to an end, as expendable. Even those that are truly good—people like him —even they become so charred and blackened that it’s inevitable that they’ll break. He was supposed to be the good one, the one that protected the weak and all that shit. I just wish he’d— Fuck !”
His throat seized up as if he was about to choke. He was panting, he realized and he squeezed his burning eyes shut, trying to calm his frantic breathing. This was why Satoru always kept himself busy during this period of time, why he never allowed himself to stay idle for long. Exorcising curses silenced his memories and the weight they carried. After they’d failed Riko, he’d been a mess, throwing himself into mastering his powers. But when Suguru defected, when he turned his back on everything—on him —Satoru had felt more lost and alone than he’d ever thought possible. Their memories haunted him, the girl he could not save and the friend he would only see as an enemy now.
His heart squeezed, the phantom pain that always seemed to cling to him growing so much worse now that he’d pulled the stopper. Gods, it hurt . Letting himself remember, even speaking their names felt worse than he’d feared. After so long of pushing it down, that pain welled up like an ocean tide that threatened to consume him completely.
“Oh, Gojo.” Utahime’s voice—soft and sweet and so utterly befitting of her name—felt like the final push that would make him descend into an abyss he’d never wished to near. It was so pitiful, the way she said his name, that he couldn’t stand it. He wouldn’t be this weak, not in front of anyone.
He pushed away, lifting up. “I don’t need your pity, I —“
A cool hand landed on his head, stilling him. “It’s not pity, you idiot, I’m trying to console you.”
It took him a long moment to comprehend that she was trying to pat his head, the motion as stiff and arthritic as a robot. He could have laughed at how clumsy it was. And yet, he didn’t; couldn’t, really. It was the most genuine and kind thing she had ever done for him. “You suck at this. It feels like a slab of ice is rubbing against me.”
She huffed, pulling back. “Fine, you ungrateful little—H-Hey!”
“Do it like this, instead.” That final indomitable wall that told him to keep everything — everyone— out crumbled into nothing as he captured her hand and drew her in completely. So light, she fell into his lap as his arms wrapped greedily around her small frame, sandwiching her between himself and the couch, her legs dangling off either of his sides. It should have been awkward, the way they fit into each other. They’d never been close, after all, not like this; she was barely cordial on a good day and he found too much pleasure in setting her off to actually try and be civil. Still, he found himself amazed at how perfectly right it felt, reveling in the sensation of holding someone close, to feel the solid presence of another.
“He was my best friend,” he whispered. “Sometimes I hate him so much for leaving, I wish I had just been able to kill him.” It would have been better, he thought, than knowing he was the one left behind, than being the only one that seemed to remember. No one spoke of him any longer, the great taboo of their world, sorcerer turned curse user.“But I still miss him, despite everything he did, everything he has done.”
“You can hate someone with all your heart and miss them just as much, Gojo.” Her voice was a susurrus thing against him, gentle and soft as rain. “It’s not a sin to miss him, to miss how something used to be.”
He did, he realized. He missed those simple, easy moments so much that it was a visceral thing, like a hook pulling at his insides. What was worse was that Satoru couldn’t blame what Suguru had become; he understood it all too well.
“It feels wrong, remembering. But I still can’t move past it, even though it’s been years.” He laughed but it was a bitter, wretched thing. “I’m so fucking pathetic, aren’t I? To not even be able to let go of such a measly incident.”
“It wasn’t some measly incident,” Utahime spoke, her own arms wrapping experimentally around his shoulders, drawing him closer. Satoru nearly shuddered as her hands worked careful strokes against his back. It was such a cautious touch, as if she couldn’t quite get the hang of it. “He was your best friend and you got hurt. It’s okay to admit that. It’s okay to let yourself feel that loss. Some things stay with us for the entirety of our lives and it doesn’t matter how much time passes, even when the wound heals, the scar tissue will inevitably remain. Pushing it down or venting it out when it gets to be too much won’t help you. So just feel your losses, Gojo. Sometimes that’s all you can really do.”
It was strange, the way such simple words made him break, made his eyes burn. She didn’t offer absolution nor redemption; nothing she said could erase what had already happened. But he felt like after so long of muffled discordance, he had finally resurfaced. Something hot warmed his cheeks and he realized it was tears. Satoru was crying and in the arms of the woman that might hate him most in the entire world. He didn’t care. Burying himself into the safety of her body, he did just as she said and grieved, letting himself feel the immensity of what he’d lost, what he’d let be lost.
The sounds he made were ugly and distorted. His heart felt drained, his soul ragged as he let himself submerge into that pool of pain he’d been so ardently avoiding for years. And yet, Utahime was there, the only lifeline in all this grief. The feeling of having some physical tether to this world, that despite everything he wasn’t alone, made him surrender completely and he mourned until his tears were wrung dry.
He didn’t know how long he clung to her small frame, but by the time he came back to his senses, Utahime had lost that frigid coldness, heat radiating off her like a furnace. Or maybe it was him; they were so entangled with one another, he wasn’t sure where she ended and he started. He sniffled, gracelessly wiping his cheeks with the cuff of his shirt and he blithely ignored the embarrassing wet blotch that now stained her clothes. Quid pro quo, he supposed. “I can’t believe you’re being nice. Nanami isn’t going to believe me when I tell him.”
“I’m always nice,” she said drowsily, voice heavy with sleep. “You’re just a prick.”
And even though he was more exhausted and drained than he’d ever been, Satoru laughed, the sound bubbling out with a will of its own. Laughing always came so easily around Utahime. Although, to be fair, it was usually at her. “Yes, yes, you’re the nicest, angriest person in the world.”
She was still awake enough to pinch his side. “You idiot, don’t think I don’t know you’re mocking me.”
“On my honor.” He drew a little X on her back, right where her heart would be. She shivered. “I would never.”
“As if you have any honor.”
She couldn’t have been more right. Satoru didn’t give a shit about honor or honesty or any other kind of bullshit morals, not unless it was convenient to him. But just this once, he wanted to do the right thing. “Sorry about what I said earlier, by the way.”
She stiffened like a plank in his arms, all languidness gone as she pulled back. He held on a second longer than necessary, reluctant to let go, even as she settled beside him, leaning against the couch. He immediately missed the warmth from her body and did the same, shoulder brushing against hers. “If this is your idea of apologizing, then you suck at it.”
“What are you talking about? I’m Gojo Satoru, I’m great at everything.”
“Humble, too,” she said, thick with sarcasm.
He tsked. “Humility is for the weak.”
Utahime sneered, going for another pinch but he saw her coming and intercepted before she could make contact, capturing her lithe fingers in his. He traced the contours of her hand until they were completely intertwined together, relishing the heat that came from her. Maybe it was because of how frequently he kept Inifity up lately, but the sensation and heat of another person was far more alluring than he remembered. Irrational though it was, he couldn’t stop the incessant urge to physically touch her, even if it was only by the hand.“Teach me how to apologize properly then, since you’re so dissatisfied.”
“Well, first off, don’t half-ass it like you’re doing now.” She tried to tug her hand free but it was a weak attempt, no real ire fueling her. “Also, you should look someone in the eyes when you’re apologizing.”
Wasn’t he? He felt suspended in the dark amber glow of her eyes, unable to pull away. “I’m sorry,” he said, for once truly meaning it. “I was angry and I took it out on you. You didn’t deserve that.”
She bit her lip. She had a bad habit of doing that. Or maybe he just had a bad habit of staring. “Now, admit you were being a dick.”
“I was a massive dick.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. She was pleased. “Give me all the money from the mission, too. As compensation.”
“Seriously?”
“Hey, I killed the thing.”
“Fine, you greedy woman,” he sighed. “Anything else?’’
“Just one.” She smirked, practically bridling with vindication. “Call me senpai.”
Satoru laughed. “In your dreams, Utahime.”
“Brat.”She wrinkled her nose, annoyed. “You should go to sleep. You look...tired.”
He was sure she was putting it nicely. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d slept more than half an hour. “You’re staying, right?”
In response, she was already using his shoulder as her own personal pillow, eyes closing shut. “Do I even have a choice? That rain doesn’t look like it’ll let up any time soon and you look like you can barely keep your eyes open. I doubt you’d even be able to warp down the street, let alone my apartment.”
They both knew Satoru could technically use an infinite amount of cursed energy but he didn’t bother to correct her. It wasn’t just that he didn’t want to be alone tonight. More than anything, he just didn’t want her to leave.
“Utahime?”
“Hmm?”
He pulled her hand close, tucking it to his chest as he rested his head against hers. “Thank you.”
She said nothing for a long time. Her breathing had evened out into the deep, rhythmic sound of sleep. The rain still beat against the glass and the fireplace had dimmed into a low crackle. The euphony of it all melded together and he could feel his own heartbeat slowing, fatigue weighing down like gravity, pushing his eyes shut. Even now, he wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to sleep before the memories awoke him once more, but still, he didn’t fight against the lull of sleep. Even if it was only for a little while, he wanted to enjoy this small amount of peace.
As sleep began to take its hold, he thought he heard her voice. “Gojo?”
“...Yeah?” he murmured. Tired, he was so tired.
“You can come to me,” she whispered. “If it ever gets to be too much. It might not be as instantly satisfying or gratifying as what you’ve been doing, but if you ever feel like talking to someone, you can come to me.”
Too close to slumber, he could only squeeze her hand in response. Right before Satoru drifted off completely, he felt Utahime squeeze back.
>>>>…<<<<
When Satoru awoke, it was to blinding rays of sunlight spilling into the room.
Groggily, he pushed himself up, wincing from the pain of spending an entire night sleeping on the hard floor.
He stopped, frowning. An entire night? he thought in disbelief. But the sun, at its zenith, told him it was close to noon, if not later. He’d slept for well over ten hours, more than he’d slept in the last week combined.
Slowly, the memories of last night arose. He turned quickly, searching for the woman that had fallen asleep by his side and finding her spot empty and cold, telling him Utahime had left long ago, taking all traces that last night had happened with her. He could almost believe it had all been a figment of his imagination, some hallucination his exhausted mind had created to ease the burden of his grief.
Except there was a hastily written letter left on the coffee table.
I tried to wake you but you sleep like the dead. I took the liberty of using your phone and called Shoko to pick me up so if you get any threatening message from her, you only have yourself to blame. Also, I expect the full price of my labor within the week.
Cordially,
Utahime- SENPAI
P.S: I want my dagger back, too.
P.P.S: I was hungry and went through your kitchen. You’re eating habits are atrocious, by the way, all sugar, and premade food. I made a perfectly nutritious breakfast with the few things you had that weren’t completely terrible. Eat it! I mean it, Gojo!
He couldn’t help but grin at her signature. “Such a relentless woman,” he murmured, folding the letter neatly before carefully stowing it away in one of his books.
Breakfast was indeed nutritious, if not bland and boring and he was half-tempted to leave it unfinished. It was clear that she was a terrible cook, but she had made it especially for him so he ate until the plate was completely emptied. After all, his senpai had been clear with her instructions.