Work Text:
Utahime breathes a sigh of relief. Finally .
She’s finally settled down at a small cabin a family friend has lent her. She looks out the window; the trees and ground are covered in white—it snowed last night. It’s hauntingly beautiful, reminding her of soft white hair. Utahime shakes her head. No, no, no. I don’t even deserve to think of him.
She heated up some water for tea and settled on an armchair with a book, which she has been looking forward to finishing. Finally, some peace and quiet.
—
The woman stops worrying. Three days in and she has not heard from Shoko or anyone else. It seems like she really is in the clear.
She’s already finished two books from the series Nanami lent her, still having 3 more to go. She opens the book when she hears a banging on the door and jumps from her seat.
The cabin wasn’t particularly in the middle of the forest. If someone needed help, they would’ve screamed. But this—
There it goes again. The banging is incessant and aggressive.
But Utahime is a sorcerer. She would like to believe that she can at least overpower a normal human being if worse comes to worst and if she’s faced with a serial killer.
She grabs a knife before swinging the door open. “Who the f–” and she swallows the rest of the words when her eyes meet crystal blue eyes.
“Found you.”
Utahime almost closed the door on him but of course he was faster and stronger. Gojo slowly opened the door as she moved backwards, dropping the knife in surprise.
“Really, Utahime? A knife?”
One step Gojo takes forward, Utahime takes a step back and another and another. Until her legs hit the bed and she flops down. She’s cornered. She has nowhere to run.
Gojo pulls up a chair in front of her. It’s just fair that he sits down too if she is.
“Don’t make that face, Hime. I’m not a serial killer.”
He tries to lighten the mood because Gojo isn’t sure if it is fear, surprise, confusion or all three reflecting back at him from Utahime’s eyes.
“Why are you here?”
Ah. It’s frustration then.
“Because I’ve been looking for you.”
“Why?”
“You vanished out of thin air.”
Utahime looks at everywhere but him.
“Hime, we need to talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Utahime does her best to steady herself and her voice.
“What do you mean there’s nothing to talk about? You disappeared, Hime. For months.” Gojo never raises his voice at her. But Utahime thinks there’s always a first for everything.
“You’re a coward, Iori Utahime.”
She flinched.
“You ran,” he accused, eyes blazing with something Utahime hasn’t seen directed at her ever— anger and heartbreak . “You ran instead of staying and fighting for you and me. For us. ”
Utahime finally looks him in the eye, unable to hold back her frustration any longer. “Fight for what, Gojo? Us? You—
the strongest—
and me—Utahime, who’s losing her cursed technique? I wasn’t enough for you back then and I’m not enough for you now.”
Gojo’s expression darkens. Like someone turned off the burning fire in his eyes. “Not enough?”
“You would have regretted choosing me.” Utahime says quietly after a deep breath. “You– “ She swallows a lump in her throat. “You deserve someone strong who can keep up with you. Someone who can stand beside you and not be a liability. Someone—”
“Stop.” The command in his voice makes her snap her mouth shut.
“You think so little of me,“ he said quietly but laced with something dangerous. “You think so little of my feelings, of us, that you decided on your own that I would regret loving you.” He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Your cursed technique disappearing… Did you think that would change anything? Did you think that mattered to me?”
Utahime can't look at him anymore. “You’re the strongest, Satoru. You deserve the best.”
“I already have the best.”
Her breath hitches. The lump in her throat returns.
“I already have the best,” he repeats, his voice softer now, but no less intense. “And it’s Iori Utahime. It’s you. It’s always been you.”
Tears slip down her cheeks. She hates that he can do this to her. That his words, his presence, his very existence can tear down everything she had built to protect herself.
Gojo reaches out, fingers curling under her chin, tilting her face up so she has no choice but to meet his eyes.
“Say you don’t love me,” he murmurs. “Look me in the eyes and tell me, and I’ll walk away. I won’t come looking for you again.”
Her lips tremble.
But she can’t find the words in herself to say it.
She could lie to everyone else. She could lie to herself.
But she could never lie to him.
So, Utahime does the next best thing she thought of—she closes her eyes. The longer she looks at his eyes, the higher the chances of her becoming undone.
And she is already so close to breaking.
But to Gojo, her silence is answer enough.
A sob tears from her lips before she can stop it, her hands shaking. She feels Gojo shift, the air around them thick with something too much—too raw, too intense, too real.
Then, warmth.
Strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her against him. She stiffens for half a second before something inside her snaps, and she collapses into his embrace, gripping the back of his jacket like he was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.
She clings to him—desperately, helplessly, like she has been drowning for months and has finally found air.
Gojo’s grip on her tightens, his hand cradling the back of her head, his voice a whisper against her.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “I’ve always got you.”
Her body shakes with sobs, months—years—of pain and fear and love spilling out of her in waves. She has tried so hard to be strong. To be smart and do what she thought was best.
But she has been wrong.
Because this—this warmth, this feeling of finally being safe, cared for, loved—of home—is what she had been missing and wanted all along.
And she had been a fool to think she could ever live without it.
Her tears soak into his shirt, and he lets them. Lets her cry, lets her break, lets her feel. Because goddammit, she had spent so much time running, pretending, and hiding behind that sharp tongue and stubborn pride. But here—like this—she is Utahime. Not the ghost of the girl she thought she had to become.
She is his Utahime. His Hime.
And she is hurting.
Gojo rests his chin on top of her head, breathing in the faint scent of tea and books. The same scent he used to find whenever she sat too close in the car, whenever she leaned over his shoulder to correct his reports, whenever she brushed past him, pretending it didn’t mean anything.
It had always meant something.
“I hate you,” she chokes out suddenly, her voice muffled against his chest.
Gojo huffs a laugh, but it is weak. “That’s not very nice, Hime.”
She hits his shoulder—softly, weakly, like she doesn’t actually mean it. “I do. I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” he says simply, pulling back just enough to tilt her chin up, forcing her to look at him.
Her eyes are red-rimmed, her lips trembling. She looks exhausted. She looks afraid. And yet, she’s still the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.
“I do—” she tries to insist, but Gojo only shakes his head.
“You don’t hate me, Hime,” he says, voice quieter this time. “You hate yourself.”
She flinches.
And he sees it—that moment of realization, of truth settling into her bones.
She opens her mouth, then closes it again, looking away.
Gojo sighs, his hands still cradling her face. “You think I regret finding you?” His voice sounds softer now, quieter. “You think I regret choosing you?”
Utahime squeezes her eyes shut, a fresh wave of tears escaping down her cheeks.
Because yes.
Because that’s what she had been terrified of all along.
“You idiot,” Gojo murmurs, brushing his thumb across her cheek, wiping away the wetness. “I would do it all again, a thousand times over.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not—”
“You are.”
Her breath hitches.
“You are enough. You’ve always been enough.” His voice cracks, raw and real and aching. “And you don’t get to decide for me. You don’t get to take my feelings and twist them into something less.”
A sob rips from her throat.
Gojo exhales, forehead pressing against hers.
“I love you, Hime.”
She lets out a broken sound—half-sob, half-laugh—and it was so painfully human.
And finally, finally, she whispered back, “I love you too.”