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365 days.
That’s all he gets. 365 days left with her.
364 days if he doesn’t make it to Kyoto before midnight.
He had to hear it from Shoko. His phone glowing in the darkness of 9pm on an unexceptional Thursday night, a call that won’t stop buzzing in his pocket. He picks up after the fourth ring, the normal glee in his voice with just a hint of a surprise by the caller ID.
Shoko usually texts him, she doesn’t have much time to hold a conversation. Too many patients to take care of and too many hours of sleep being lost. Her voice comes with hesitation, trawling her breath as she decides how to bring up the topic on her mind. Like a drag of her cigarette, held in her chest just for a little longer than normal before breathing out the nicotine laced news.
“It’s Utahime-senpai,” is how she decides to start the conversation. Her intonation gives it away, she can even feel Gojo’s grin fading through the phone.
“What about her?” Gojo has to reply when no other words come through. “Are we deciding what to do for her birthday already?”
It’s optimism. He isn’t much of an optimist, not when he knows he can win all his fights, there’s no need for fake confidence when circumstances are guaranteed. But he holds onto the optimism, grips it a little too tightly as he waits with bated breath.
“It’s not good, Gojo.” He hates how she’s holding her breath at every sentence. The need to get answers is eating him alive and burying itself under his skin, the jury still out whether he wants the reality to hit him or not. He hopes it’s not too bad as he clenches his jaw and awaits whatever fate has been bestowed upon Utahime.
The streetlight above him flickers. The cars pass by as if nothing is happening. The moon still shines down on him like there’s something to be happy about. He wishes he were somewhere else, somewhere where he knows all the questions and solutions, somewhere where he doesn’t have to wait for time to pass him so slowly. Preferably somewhere with Utahime.
He can hear his classmate click her tongue and take a cigarette to her lips, before switching to her professional voice.
“She’s been hit by a curse. A fatal one, it’ll kill her very slowly and the pain will be extraordinary. Her organs will slowly stop working, and then over the course of 365 days, she’ll pass.” There’s a sigh, almost relieved that she is able to say it all. “At least that’s what Utahime tells me. That’s what whoever gave this to her said.”
Before Gojo can ask anything else, Shoko’s frustrations interject.
“I can’t fix it. No one can fix it.” There are tears in her voice. Tears he’s never heard from her, tears he doesn’t know how to comfort. He tries to swallow the sudden rush of information as best he can, but it stalls in his throat and keeps him from breathing. “365 days. That’s all we have with her.”
A hitch in her throat turns into a thought that rings in the air.
“Would a sudden death have been better?”
He doesn’t answer her question. He doesn’t want it lingering in his brain for too long.
He can feel it eating at him. The information has digested and he wants nothing else but to spit it all back out. He wants nothing to do with it, and yet he wants to know more. He doesn’t believe it, he doesn’t want to believe it. He wants to laugh and tell Shoko that while the joke has gone a little overboard, it is a good one overall.
The laughter comes to him. After Shoko ends the call, he’s left alone with his thoughts. He doesn’t believe it because it’s not true. A lie of sorts to rile him up. He wonders who put Shoko up to it. He wonders if the whole school is in on it. Maybe the students will play a part as well.
Maybe tomorrow he’ll wake up to a message saying ‘surprise!’, it was all a ruse. Happy April Fools at the end of the year.
But the dots have been connected. All the lines point to one conclusion. And Shoko wouldn’t cry over nothing.
Gojo’s legs are moving on their own, trying to find a way out of nowhere. It’s not until a few moments later does his brain start working again and he teleports to the nearest shinkansen station, taking the first train to Kyoto.
He finds her opening her apartment door for him.
A surprised look on her face as she holds the heavy metal open. She blinks a few times before saying his name.
“Gojo?” her pitch goes up. “What are you doing here?”
His face drops at the sight of hers. So beautiful in the moonlight. With her hair clipped back and a hairband holding her fringe, no trace of makeup left on her face and an oversized t-shirt draped over her body. The little bunny slippers is what takes the cake.
Before Utahime knows it, Gojo wraps his arms around her. Causing her to let go of the door and let it slam behind him. It feels almost like a tackle, his entire body engulfing hers and bringing her into his warmth. She’s pressed up against his body, never has she ever been so close to him. Utahime stumbles over herself, her knees giving out as she falls backwards, leaving her on her knees and the both of them on the floor.
She stutters his name in the shock of it all, but he only pulls her in closer. His head buried into her neck and his eyelashes against her skin. In the confusion she tries her best to echo his sentiment, knowing the strange expression she saw on his face means something serious is happening, and that he’s not just randomly at her door in the dead of the night. Her arms wrap around him and she gently pats his back.
She notes that he smells like a summer festival and sweet strawberry candies.
“Gojo.” She says ever so carefully. “What’s wrong?”
Something goes off in his head when he pulls back at the sound of her voice and sees her confused face. He knew it, it was all a joke. All just a cruel joke to pull at his heartstrings. A smile almost grows on his lips at the sight of her comforting him.
“You’re fine!” his face is once again full with his smile. “Was this all just your way to ask to see me? It’s a little mean Utahime, but I-”
“What are you going on about?” Utahime instantly pushes him off of her as he begins to slip off of her and he tries his best to keep his arms tightly around her waist. She pushes his face away from her as she scurries deeper into her apartment, hearing Gojo’s shoes fall to the floor before he trails behind her into the living room.
“I know you miss me, you could have just said so.” he looks down at the guest pair of slippers, a blue version of the bunny slippers Utahime is currently wearing. “Would I hold it against you for the rest of our lives? Of course I would, but I’d still come.”
“Gojo-” she tries to interrupt his sudden outburst of words, but he continues to babble his anxieties into the air.
“When Shoko called me, I’m not gonna lie I got a little worried and-”
“Ah,” he can hear her voice drop, the way her shoulders slowly fall, and her eyes cast down. Like she’s guilty of something, like a secret she’s been trying to hide has finally come to the surface. Gojo stops mid sentence, his grin still hanging from his lips, waiting for what feels like centuries for her to say something. “So Shoko told you.”
She walks towards her kitchenette, reaching for the top cupboard to pull out two tea cups. She sets them down on the counter, pouring piping hot water over the ready-to-use green tea bags she’s placed inside each glass.
His eyes go to the cup when she puts it on the table just two steps in front of him. He watches the steam rise from it, reaching the light that swings above. The words still haven’t set. Her nonchalance only allows him to ignore the truth for even longer and revel in his delusion.
“I didn’t think it would reach you so soon.” She pulls out the dining chair for herself and makes herself comfortable. Blowing at the steam from her tea, waiting for it to get to a drinkable temperature. She looks at him, almost not expecting him to sit across from her where his cup awaits him, a sorry look on her face. An expression on her face that can only be described as hopelessness. “I was hoping it wouldn’t reach you at all.”
He stands there, stunned. The words not registering in his mind just yet. The steam still rises out of his mug as Utahime takes a sip of hers.
“What?” is all he manages to say as he blinks back his confusion.
“I didn’t want people hearing about it.” She says almost casually, “I didn’t want people to-”
He’s suddenly in her face. His hand slams onto the table, which causes her to jump in her seat. She can’t look into his gaze, not with the blindfold over his eyes, and yet she knows exactly how his eyes are piercing into hers. The sudden need to look anywhere but him takes over her body, feeling too exposed under his gaze.
“Including me?” his voice does not falter. A deep guttural anger comes out of him that he can’t contain. It takes Utahime aback, a rage so strong that she rarely ever sees from her junior. “You didn’t want me to hear it?”
It’s almost disbelief. A deep betrayal lacing his voice as he leans closer into her. She can see just how hard his jaw is clenched, his brows relax into sorrow as the implications register in his mind.
Like a lost child he almost whimpers his next words, “You were just going to let yourself die and not tell me about it?”
At the sight of the confusion etched into his face, Utahime’s heart suddenly wavers. A feeling blooms in her that wants nothing more than to reach out to him. Hold his cheek in her hand and tell him that she’s sorry she didn’t reach out the moment it hit her. That she doesn’t know how to bring up the topic without feeling too selfish about herself. That she only told Shoko to see if there was a way to reverse the curse. Her brain not wanting to assume that people would care, that her disappearance would mean anything to any of her peers’ lives. Especially not his, not when he has bigger things to think about than another colleague dying at the hands of a curse.
But her tongue is faster than her miscalculations. Her ego bubbling from her chest before she can stop herself.
“I don’t need anyone to coddle me.” Utahime bites back. Getting up from her seat to stop the scrutiny coming from Gojo’s gaze. Walking towards her room to get out of his vicinity. “This is our job, this is what we signed up for. We all die one day Gojo.”
It feels like a slap in the face. That she thinks so little of her own morality. That she thinks that she can so easily be tossed aside and replaced by any other sorcerer. As if it doesn’t make him feel desperately alone in a world where he is already an outlier, as if the loss of another friend doesn’t weigh heavy on his heart. He wonders if she considers him a friend.
He grinds his teeth at the notion. Pulling at Utahime’s arm so that she faces him before spitting out words he does not mean.
“This is why you shouldn’t be going on missions alone!” He’s louder than he expects himself to be. The sound of his voice bouncing off the walls and seeping into her skin. They lie there between them, causing the air to grow heavier as every second passes.
She pauses and stares at him with disbelief gritted between her teeth. Trying to figure out how this man could have the audacity to enter her house and tell her that she’s wrong.
Their eyes never break contact.
“What are you trying to say?” She wants him to say it. That she’s weak, that it’s all her fault. That she’s going to die because she wasn’t strong enough to face the curse user on her own. That everyone is right to not promote her to grade 1. She wants him to rub it into her wounds and let it fester. “Tell me exactly what you want to say Gojo, I’d love to hear it.”
He doesn’t know what to say, letting go of his grip on her arm. She takes a step back away from him, holding onto where he had just released her as if he had left her skin burnt.
“Why are you angry with me when I’m the one that’s going to die?”
Her voice is nothing but a whisper. Sorrow he’s never heard in her voice fills his lungs, as her eyes look anywhere but at him.
“I only thought it would be better if everything was just as normal.” She confesses her worries, “If all I have is a year, I don’t want people to walk on eggshells for the rest of it.”
He realises that there’s only so much of her candour that he can handle without feeling like her words aren’t meant for him. Like he’s listening to a conversation that he hasn’t been invited to. Never has he heard her heart so vividly on display. But he wants it all, now that he has it, he’s eager for all that she wants to give him. His selfishness gets the best of him and his curiosity comes out on top. Curiosity and a tongue he cannot stop.
“Do I mean that little to you, Utahime?”
It comes out meaner than he means it to, but his low tone seems to cushion the blow.
He thinks that maybe the right question is instead why she means so much to him. Why he likes it when she clicks her tongue at his name and why he needs so desperately to be with her right now. Why his heart felt like it stopped the moment the news came from Shoko.
“Don’t do that, Gojo” he wants her to say his name over and over again, even if it’s laced with irritation. “Don’t do that when you don’t understand how everyone puts their lives on the line. Don’t pretend you understand when the concept of losing has never even crossed your mind.”
She’s not wrong. It’s not something he dwells on, a concept so foreign he needs not to waste time on it.
“Any day could be our last Gojo, we’re always ready to die.” She thinks that he needs to hear it. He needs to know that this is nothing out of the ordinary. “It’s nothing new. Don’t give meaning to something that doesn’t need it.”
Something in her eyes tells him to back down. That this is an argument he can never win, not when she’s not wrong about his views. But he won’t let her brush him off either, he isn’t about to tell her she’s right and just go back home with no guilt on his shoulders. Not when his every waking moment will now be filled with thoughts of her and nothing more.
“If you don’t think I’ll understand, then explain it to me.”
There’s a pause at the unexpected answer. She thinks he’ll defend himself, talk more about how some people are just weak and that everyone is capable of looking out for themselves.
At his words, she swallows her thoughts and questions him back.
“But will you listen?”
His hand unfolds between them as he offers his hand for her to hold. Utahime looks down at his open palm, unsure of what exactly he is up to. She looks back at his face, to find him tilting his head in hopes for her to reply earnestly.
“If I listen,” the soft smile growing on his lips offers her a warmth she didn’t know she wanted. “Will you let me be here for you, Utahime?”
There’s no such thing as a curse that can’t be undone. At least, that’s what he tries to convince himself.
“I’ll fix it,” he nods mostly to himself.
The sunlight hits his face in the morning, peering through the thick cream coloured curtains that don’t do much to block light. He’s lucky that Utahime’s sofa is comfortable, his legs hang over the armrest but that seems to be the standard for a man of his stature.
“I’ll fix it,” he repeats as he looks up to Utahime looming above him, a cup of tea in her hand ready to pass onto him. He takes it with two hands, warming his fingers frozen by the morning air.
“There’s nothing to fix.” she says as she forces him to sit up to make space for her on the off-white couch. He grabs one of her legs and places it on his lap, when she doesn’t complain he does the same to her other leg.
“I’m the strongest,” the tea burns his tongue slightly when he tries to drink it too fast, “If anyone can do it, it’s me.”
Utahime only raises her eyebrows in amusement, watching him believe his own words. She allows him to gnaw on them, hoping he finds some solace in the delusion.
“There’s nothing to fix, Gojo,” she presses on. But she’s glad the tides have changed. The anger he harboured seems to have turned into insistence and denial, something she’d take over misplaced outrage.
“You don’t know that.” he chews on his tongue at the feeling of burnt taste buds. Trying to put the coffee down on the table without disturbing Utahime’s legs on his lap.
She couldn’t answer his question from the night before. Whether or not she would be able to allow him to comfort her. The ability to let others into her heart isn’t the easiest for anyone, but to allow Satoru Gojo isn’t another game in itself.
Her brain can’t help but wonder why he’s here in the first place. Wonder if they are really close enough to have him concerned to such a degree. If she’s allowed to lean on him when she needs someone the most. It still hasn’t computed as to why he has granted her such warmth.
It’s not that she thinks him an enemy, or a stranger. They’ve always been friendly, and trust each other with the problems they share in the politics of the sorcery world. But personal matters are new to her. A foreign realm she rarely shares with others, and to have Satoru Gojo be the first to insist on her survival is a confuddling question in itself. She allows herself to contemplate whether he has always been like this. And whether it has been her that hasn’t been letting him in all along.
“How are you so calm about this?” he catches her staring at him. A quiet look on her face that he can’t quite place.
“Should I scream instead?” Utahime’s face changes in an instant, as if she has just realised his tangible being. She narrows her eyes instead of offering an eye roll.
“Maybe.” His tone takes her by surprise. The way it isn’t laced with the normal jest that is ever present in his voice. Instead it is as serious as he ever hears him, confirming a question she assumed they would both just laugh at. “It’ll make me feel better.”
“Make you feel better?” On a normal day her comment would come out as a scoff, but instead she only whispers her echo.
“To know that you’re hurting too.”
It’s the smile that really sells it. Shining his teeth at her like she’s just given him happy yet mundane news. The way it reaches his eyes but doesn’t lose an ounce of the sadness the sentence carries. Like he’s desperate for the information, to know how she’s feeling, to know that his aching chest isn’t for nothing. It causes Utahime to blink back a few times before quickly looking away, as if she was intruding on his most earnest of thoughts.
He knows it’s selfish, but he wants nothing more than for her to miss her life. Miss her friends. Miss him. An iota of her true emotions. Assuming that her utter acceptance of her fate isn’t just a front. Gojo got a peak behind the curtains yesterday, her sorrow almost slipping past her lips as they argued. He doesn’t know if wanting her to be sad is some sad masochistic tendency he’s just had locked away, or if it’s something else that’s beating on his chest.
“I’m coming by every day.” He’s not waiting for her approval. It’s a statement he will follow through on, no matter what.
“Gojo you don’t-” She’s interrupted by his hand stretching out between them, palm open to the ceiling and fingers asking for her to put something into his hand.
“Give me the key.”
“Excuse me?!”
“Give me the spare key,” he shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. ”What do you have to hide anyway-”
She doesn’t care that her couch gets soaked when she throws the remaining of her green tea at him.
Even the mailman looks nervous.
He laughs it off and rubs the back of his neck as he tries to explain that they’ve never seen an order like this.
Utahime can only put on a polite face and bow to apologise for the ruckus she might have caused so early in the morning. The mailman only laughs back, telling her that interesting deliveries such as this one is what makes his day.
Her reputation as an alcoholic is really being pushed to the point of no return.
“Do you want me to die faster?” She says to herself as she breaks open the last box set down on her living room floor, and picks up the card laid inconspicuously above the bubble wrap.
She thinks about what poor worker had to write ‘ from your most favourite and most good looking friend ’ on the generic greeting card in perfect penmanship.
It’s wine. Too much wine. Maybe a bottle for every week of the rest of her life.
The boxes eat up her space, she’s stepping over them just to get to the other side of the room. Her living room looks more like a warehouse than a home, she can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness.
She notes the time, just after ten in the morning, which means that there is a fifty-fifty chance that Gojo is already awake. Good enough for her to attempt to call him.
He picks up after the first ring.
“What is all this?” she complains, not even bothering to start with a hello or good morning. She holds up a bottle to check out the label as the phone is wedged between her ear and her shoulder.
“Whatever are you talking about?” he acts coy, putting on the stupid innocent voice he enjoys using so much.
“Where will I put all this?!”
“Since you’re calling me, you admit that I am your most favourite and most good looking friend?”
She screams his name into the phone against the sound of his laughter.
“I’ll buy you a wine fridge.” he offers as an olive branch, but she swats it out of his mouth with yet another thing to overthink about.
“And where will I put that?”
“We’ll make space.”
There’s a pause. He can imagine her now, looking around her living room and tucking her hair behind her ear as she tries to do the maths in her head. He can see her resting her face into her free hand, leaning into her palm, squishing her cheek and the edge of her pout.
He wishes he was there to see her face in real life.
“You better be coming over to move my stuff because I’m not doing it.” Gojo can hear her whiny baby voice come through, he wonders if she does it on purpose.
But he only grins at the prospect of going to Kyoto and spending a day with his senior just to move furniture. Maybe if he feigns tiredness she’ll let him spend the night.
“...so are you inviting me over, Utahime? How naughty-!”
She cuts the call off before he can continue that train of thought.
He comes by everyday. Just as he promised.
Everyday with no exceptions. Sometimes he’s at her door with a bouquet and some food, sometimes he’s out of breath and fresh from taking out a curse.
There’s always something to grin about with him. He never fails to show her his pearly whites as he enters her apartment.
He always leaves work early, always using Utahime as his excuse and not hiding any behind silly made up reasons. All the staff know at this point, that Satoru Gojo visits Utahime Iori in his free time. They all figure that the two teachers are going through a public courtship, that Gojo’s vocality on his daily Kyoto visits means that the Gojo clan is planning a wedding very soon.
But news travels faster than light in a tight knit community, and as the truth comes out, good news turns into sombre ones.
The calendar date marking Utahime-sensei’s death is now highlighted on everyone’s mind. Some pass her with a solemn smile, while others pretend like nothing is different at all. Utahime can’t decide which reaction she hates more.
But Gojo is the outlier.
Shoko’s gets a little too soft whenever she remembers just how little time her senior has left, Nanami often asks if Utahime needs help on any paperwork even when he’s ready to go home, Kusakabe always wants to buy her lunch, Ijichi always offers to drive her even to the convenient store which is only a 5 min walk away.
Gojo still throws her jabs left and right, not worrying about her screaming at him, laughing at her every blush.
It’s not that she can’t see it. The way Gojo’s eyes sometimes glaze over. The way his smile falters just a little every time she alludes to her fate. But he tries his best to hide it, cover every serious thought with a wink and a grin.
Utahime finds a comfort in him that she never thought she needed. A sort of normalcy that she craves so desperately to keep her sane.
Soon she finds herself wanting him around more and more. The mixture of everyone’s changing treatment of her and the sudden shadow of loneliness cast upon her being a much more suffocating force than she realised it would be.
So she calls him up, even on days when she knows that he’s only an hour away from arriving at her door. Let him place his hand on the small of her back to push her to the inside of the pavement when they walk, letting himself be on the side nearest to the cars. Takes a sip of his awful choice of sugary beverage whenever he offers her to try.
She allows him into her home. Make sure he brings spare clothes over. Cook him dinner when he says he’s on his way. The couch is always free for him, the spare sheet folded under the coffee table ready for him to use even when he doesn’t announce his visits.
She gives him the spare key only a month after denying him.
He holds her close on new years.
Gojo’s arm wrapped around her waist as she lifts her champagne glass in the air in celebration. He doesn’t care if she’s a little drunk, he’ll never forget the feeling of her laughing against him and relaxing into his touch.
It’s friendly. Cordial. Nothing more than a friend being a friend. And yet it absolutely is not. He wishes he could hold her into the new year and the rest of the days they have together.
The party is small, just the normal gaggle of sorcerers from the college. Nanami pouring himself yet another glass of wine, Ijichi filling up Shoko’s glass for her, Kusakabe trying to figure out the sparklers. The cold wind in the air as they shiver through the festivities on the rooftop of Gojo’s apartment.
The temptation to kiss Utahime on her forehead when it’s right there in line with his lips is so strong, he has to pretend to get some snacks and let her go for a minute just to resist the urge. In all honesty, he too is confused with his own feelings. Where the longing to spoil her and be around her every day of the week comes from, he isn’t too sure.
He thinks that maybe he’s always had a soft spot for her, that the thoughts of her are just being pushed to the forefront of his brain due to circumstances. That whatever feelings he’s always held for her must now be confronted whether he’s ready or not.
Gojo’s grip around Utahime’s waist tightens when he gets back by her side. She allows it with open arms, smiling up at him when his warm palm is once again in the dip of her waist. His fingertips move on its own accord, hovering over her in careful circular motions. He tries not to convince himself that she is indeed nudging her head into his clavicle like a cat begging for a snack.
When she looks up at him, he winks at her. She rolls his eyes.
That’s when he knows this isn’t a dream. She would have blushed and gotten giddy were it a dream.
Counting down the seconds while looking into her eyes, their voices ringing in tandem as the new year dawns. The fireworks go off and she looks up with such childlike wonder at the colours in the sky.
This time next year he’ll be without her. Another friend gone and another hole in his heart. He can’t lose her.
Gojo must have blacked out for a second there. Because his lips really do find her forehead, planting a chaste kiss onto her skin that lasts less than a second. The bright fireworks reflect back in her eyes when she looks up at him with wonder. He’s surprised it isn’t disgust or horror, but instead just a soft surprised look as she blinks back and takes in the moment.
She goes on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek, the spot turning hot as her lips peel off him. Utahime doesn’t say anything, just fully relaxing into him as she pushes her back into his chest. Nonchalantly taking his arms and wrapping them around her waist, then letting him rest his head on top of hers.
He wonders if anyone catches it. But if they did, they all pretend that it’s nothing out of the ordinary.
Her laughter is infectious.
A smile so wide he wonders where it goes when he’s around. He sees it sometimes, peaking at the edge of her lips when he says something stupid enough to make her laugh, but not enough to make her admit that it’s funny.
Utahime places the bowl of flour coated assorted seafood and vegetables in front of him. She bends forward in a rush and presents a deep bow, the formality taking Gojo aback just slightly.
“Onegaishimasu!”
She sounds like she’s asking him to go to war for her.
Which he would. He would any day of the week.
The sound of the oil bubbles between them. Utahime takes several steps back, as she unfurls from her bow. She pulls out a free cutting board from the drying rack and raises it to her face, ever so carefully peeking her head out from behind to spy the pan on hot oil.
“How can you kill curses if you’re scared of even this.” He looks ridiculous as he says it. Donning a cute, pink apron that cuts him off a little too high. His hair pulled back with a headband to keep it strays out of his face, and a pair of long cooking chopsticks in his hands.
Utahime’s eyes go narrow as she watches him laugh. Gojo tests a little piece of loose breadcrumbs, plopping it in the oil to make sure it is hot enough. It sizzles and bubbles to his liking.
“You’re just lucky since it can’t touch you,” she says with clear jealousy. Utahime yelps and raises the cutting board to cover her face when a bubble of oil pops and splatters towards Gojo, bouncing back off of him.
At Utahime’s reaction Gojo sticks his entire hand in the pot, causing the blood to drain from his senior’s face and high pitched sound to escape her mouth. Gojo only laughs as he looks from Utahime to the oil surrounding but never touching his hand, and back again at her horrified emotion.
“Allow the strong man to save you, fair maiden.” His arm stretches out to push her out of harm’s way as he begins to fry the food one by one.
They all come out beautifully golden.
Utahime holds her hair back with one hand as she takes a bite out of a large shrimp. A cute little squeak comes out of her as satisfaction hits her tongue. Her eyes squeeze with delight, her shoulders raise with the surprise of just how delicious it tastes. The smile on her lips as she looks up at her junior only seals the deal. Pure, unadulterated glee.
In the moment Gojo can’t make a joke. Maybe he should’ve poked fun at her fear of boiling oil some more. Or maybe he could’ve raved on about how he really is perfect at everything. But instead he only looks on at her, echoing the genuine smile that tickles her lips and wishing the moment would never end.
It soon becomes a common occurrence.
Cooking dinner together. Gojo trying his best to savour every moment with her. Utahime trying to enjoy the time she has with her friends.
There are days when he stays for more than one night. Days where he’ll be the one greeting her as she arrives home. Days where he’ll ask her what she wants for dinner while he lists what leftovers are still in the fridge.
Gojo doesn’t want to jinx it by questioning it. Utahime never brings it up. Suddenly she’s hanging out his freshly washed socks on her clothes line, and he’s grabbing her a new toothbrush on the way home from work after noticing how frayed the bristles of hers had become the very same morning.
Falling into domestic bliss that neither of them had planned, and yet it comes so naturally to them both.
“ Tadaima ” he would say as he opens the door with his very own set of keys. Placing them in the bowl where their keychains entangle into each other.
“ Okaeri .” she would say as her head pops out of a room. A smile so wide, Gojo almost forgets all his worries. Like she wants him to be here. Like she’s expecting him. Like she’s happy that he’s coming home to her.
Utahime is unsure how they got here.
Gojo has been planning it for a while.
Now that it’s spring and he fears that there will be less of a reason for her to cuddle up against him with the weather turning warmer. He doesn’t even know if she’s been doing it consciously or she truly just craves the warmth.
So he takes the risk. They sit on the couch enjoying whatever TV show Utahime wants to watch, her head turning to look at him when he calls out her name, he leans in quick enough for the shock to settle only after his lips are no longer on hers.
His hand so gentle against her cheek as he leads her towards his own lips. Finally capturing the taste of her and convincing her of his affections. She tastes like rediscovering an old favourite song one has forgotten about for years.
She whispers his name when they part. As if to ask him if this is really what he wants. As if he hasn’t thought about this for the past decade.
“Stop me if you don’t want this.” The sound of his voice wavering, almost as if scared that she’ll reject him.
But her eyes flutter close as he goes in for a second time, her lips parting as if to welcome him in. She starts to take the lead as her tongue grazes against his bottom lip.
His hand cradling her face almost as if to keep her in place, afraid that she’ll slip through his fingers and never return. She pushes herself into him, almost aggressively as if to tell him that she wants nothing more than to be there.
Their tongues feel soft against each other, breath panting in desperation as Utahime climbs into Gojo’s lap, and he pulls her face into his with both hands against her cheeks. Her arms wrap around his neck as they continue to transfer their fervour into each other.
They slow down, kisses into pecks, pecks into nose rubs. Gojo can’t help but smile as his eyelashes hit her skin and her head falls into the nap of his neck.
He doesn’t stop himself from wondering when he fell for her. If he’s always felt like this towards her or if they have newly bloomed. If his decade long desire to kiss her was only out of curiosity or a need to call her his. A need to be hers. A need to share every fibre of his being with her.
Gojo wants his name on her lips again.
“Can we do that again?” He dares to ask.
She only laughs as she looks up at him, her lips already reaching for him.
They’re together.
Maybe.
Gojo doesn’t know if he’s allowed to put it into words.
No one dares ask her about petty gossip when she has better things to talk about, and not enough time to spend it on her private life.
No one cares. But everyone cares. Cares that it’s Gojo.
Nanami has come up to him several times, words forming in his head but never making it out of his mouth. The ex-salaryman only manages to tell his senior not to hurt Utahime’s feelings. To which Gojo asks his junior if he really thinks that he would do that to Utahime. To which Nanami says yes without a second thought.
Shoko doesn’t pay any mind to it all. Only asking Utahime if Gojo ever does the dishes. Asking Utahime to record Gojo’s reaction to trying the 80% dark chocolate she got at the store. Asking Utahime if she’s happy.
On the rare occasion that he is asked about it, he swallows all the things he wants to say. Making sure the words boyfriend or husband don’t leave his lips, no matter how much he would love to jest and throw the words around. Instead he always tells them to ask Utahime. To which they never do.
But Utahime allows Gojo to hold her things when they leave school. Allows him to place his hand on the small of her back when leading her. Allows him to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear when others are around.
At home she hugs him from behind whenever she feels down, her sigh reverberating through his skin. She lets him kiss her and praise her, hold her close to rock her back and forth. She scrunches her nose and laughs whenever he peppers his kisses all over her face.
He ends up in her bed. Under the covers as they whisper what they’ve gotten up to that day. Her face always ending up in his chest, her leg draped around his waist. Gojo kisses her forehead before they both fall asleep, leaving her with an ‘I’ll see you tomorrow’ as she is only able to hum back in response.
Maybe it is love.
He doesn’t know yet.
And he doesn’t dare to ask her.
He takes her breast in his hand, peppering kisses between her curves to take in as much of her as possible. The sweat on her skin tastes sweet as he drags his tongue down her body and makes his mark all over her.
“Gojo,” she lets out, her chest still rising and falling as she tries to level out her breathing. “Don’t start again.”
She’s sprawled across her bed, limbs stretching against the white covers and a weak smile hanging off her lips. The duvet falling off the edge and the pillows pushed aside to where they shouldn’t be.
“Shut up.” He teases her, sucks at her skin between her thigh and her pelvis. Leaving deep purple imprints of him as a reminder. “Let me do this.”
Utahime tries to turn over but Gojo’s wide hands against her pelvis pin her down to the mattress. His left shoulder digs into her thigh, lifting it ever so slightly as he attempts to hold her up.
“I’m tired,” she mewls, eyes still hazy from the climatic daze she’s just come down from.
The sound of her voice stops him from continuing, he looks up at her from where he’s buried, sudden concern in his face as his voice turns gentle. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” she smiles, a little less than a laugh escaping her at the sight of him. “I just-”
He presses his hand against the back of her thigh, pushing back against herself to give him better access to her. A noise comes out of her that she doesn’t expect.
His tongue is warm against her as he dives back in. The mixture of her slick and his saliva coat her folds, as his hands hold her spread wide open. She can feel his eyelashes against her skin as her body moves on its own, trying to anchor herself on his nose to let it hit her clit again and again in tandem with his motions.
He holds her thighs with such desperation, like he’ll starve without her.
His breath against her warmth, making her shiver and whine his name.
He looks up at her, a grin so wide she wonders if his cheeks hurt.
Gojo carefully runs his fingernails along the back of the thigh currently thrown over his shoulder, up and down her skin, sending shivers through her body.
He wonders if he’ll remember the taste of her once she’s gone. If the smell of her skin will continue to linger on these sheets, or if his body will only crave her for the rest of his life.
Utahime’s eyes roll back as she grabs a pillow to cover her face, muffling the lewd sounds escaping her lips. But in one swift motion, Gojo pulls it away and throws it across the room, before pushing her thighs down once more.
“Don’t do that,” he says between breaths before he closes his eyes once more to savour the taste of her. “Let me hear you.”
Her face goes red, as if he wasn’t already tongue deep inside of her, lapping her up like he’s never going to enjoy her again.
But it’s all so new to her. To be so bare and exposed to someone. To let someone see every single part of her. To completely submit herself to another person.
“We’ve been at it all day,” she manages to say when he pulls away. She can’t help but think of how handsome he looks with her utterly drenched all over the lower part of his face. And he pairs it so beautifully with a teasing smile and glazed over eyes.
“It’s only been a few hours.” He’s painfully hard and red and ready, as he swipes his palm across her warmth, gathering her slick to coat his own hardness with. Before rubbing himself up and down against her, teasing her entrance and hitting her clit with his own tip.
“Don’t you want to do something else?” she whines terribly with a frown to match as he continues to tease her.
He only laughs. Laughs at the concept of anything being better than with her at this very moment. And in every moment from now on.
He introduces himself to her body again. And again. Not taking long to find a rhythm to which they both sing their pleasures to.
He worries that he’s too heavy as he presses his torso against hers. She wants nothing more than to feel the entire weight of him on top of her.
Her legs wrap around his hips to hold him close, her arms pulling him down to bury his head in her neck. Breath hot against his ear as he nibbles on her skin.
The air filled with nothing but their names bouncing off of each other.
She hopes that if anything at all, he’ll remember her like this. Completely surrendered to him, so utterly consumed by the pleasure that only he has bestowed upon her. The sound of his name from his lips and the taste of the sweat on her skin.
Utahime wonders if it’s bad, that this is how she wants him to remember her.
“You don’t have to do that, Gojo.” There’s almost a hint of annoyance in her voice as she tries to tug her hair back from Gojo’s hands. “I can ask someone else to do it.”
“I want to do it.” He pouts, “Plus I’ve watched the video.”
The youtube tutorial plays in the background as Gojo tries to figure out where to place the scissors.
He’s dramatic about it. The way Gojo is always dramatic about everything.
He pushed the furniture slightly to make space in the living room, spreading out old newspaper on the floor and placing a chair in the middle. The floor length mirror from their room gets positioned in front of the chair, giving Utahime the ability to see whatever Gojo is about to do with her hair.
It’s just a trim. Maybe a little more than a trim. But the summer was getting to her, and Gojo offered before she could even pull up her normal hair salon’s appointment schedule.
She can’t say no to him. Not when he so earnestly wants to help.
“You’re right. It doesn’t matter what it looks like anyway,” she laughs, letting her hair fall behind her. “It won’t matter much longer.”
The air is suddenly thick and Gojo’s grip on the scissor tightens ever so slightly. A lump in his throat makes itself evident as he swallows hard.
He can’t help but hate it when she brings it up. Tasting like poison on the tip of his tongue, knowing it’s there but not being able to do anything about it.
“Maybe we should leave it to the professionals after all,” he says in a whisper, not wanting her to actually hear the words fall from his mouth. But she twitches ever so slightly at his words.
“No.” She looks at him through the mirror in front of her. Her eyes are so soft as she asks him to stay. “Please.”
His hands shake as the scissors meet her hair. It’s just a straight line, just cutting off enough to not get in her way.
The strands fall to the ground. Jet black hair against his bare feet, his sound of snipping filling the air between them. He takes it slow, making sure to cut less than he needs to each time to make sure he doesn’t end up cutting too much.
He has absolutely no idea what he’s doing.
She doesn’t seem to mind.
“What if I accidentally cut your hair this short.” the scissors come near her ear as he grins at her through the mirror.
Only to have her eyes narrow back at him, “Do you want to die?”
Everyone is there the first time she topples over from coughing too hard.
In the middle of a party at her own house, where she’s hosting mostly due to her inability to go bar hopping. Gojo helps cook, Shoko brings her takoyaki machine and Nanami brings all of Utahime’s favourite drinks. They all decide to take the train so that there’s no need for Ijichi to miss out on the fun and be their designated driver. Kusakabe is fashionably late but he brings more food to make up for it.
Her body just gives up and she finds herself leaning against the kitchen counter to hold herself up. A series of coughs filling up her chest as she curls into herself.
Both Shoko and Gojo jump from their seats to rush over to her.
They call for her in tandem as their eyes go wide and drinks spill to the floor. She tries to hold them back. Telling them that she’s okay, as she holds a hand up to stop them as she attempts to pick herself back up.
But they all ignore her, Gojo swinging her arm over his shoulders and he picks her up in his arms in a bridal carry before she hits the floor.
It’s she that apologises. For putting a damper mood on the party, for stopping the festivities. She tries her best to laugh through the situation, but it’s stale and forced. No one echoes her sentiments as the room goes quiet.
Once Gojo has set her down on the couch, they all gather around her, thinking that maybe they’ve gotten too careless about it. Forgetting the existence of the fixed end.
The reality of it all hits them like a brick wall.
Everyone in this room has lost someone. They don’t know if their hearts can handle losing another.
Especially not Utahime.
Neither Shoko or Gojo can look at her. Though Gojo attempts to offer a kind smile while Utahime tries to make light of the situation, and Shoko rushes to the kitchen to get a glass of water for her senior, when they meet in the middle there’s only silence.
They only hold each other’s gaze for a second before Shoko places the glass in front of Utahime and Gojo gets up to slip into the kitchen to hide from their senior’s line of sight, and yet they could see the emotions seeping out of each other’s skin.
The pressures of failure always dig so deep into their faces.
Maybe it bloomed from their history with Geto. The way they couldn’t do anything to change his fate. Couldn’t stop their best friend from succumbing to an end they never wished for him. The failure weighs so heavy on both their backs, not a day goes by where they don’t think of things they could’ve done differently.
And now it starts all over again, only this time their hands are tied. Even as the rope cuts through their wrists, the blood that runs down their hands doesn't make a difference. No matter how much they try, there’s nothing they can do that will help Utahime. Maybe they should’ve stopped her from taking on a mission. Maybe they could’ve prevented her from getting hit by the curse. But all their maybes still account for nothing.
Shoko tries to cover her regret by starting a conversation with Utahime. Pretending that all is normal as her frustrations continue to grow and eat at her.
She’s supposed to be able to save her. That’s her job. That’s all she’s good for. And yet, she can’t even do it for her best friend. Her hands tremble at her uselessness, tucking them into the pockets of her coat as she maintains the fake smile.
In the kitchen Gojo tries to catch his breath. He leans his head against a wall as he attempts to stop his body from reacting. He’s witnessed her having a few coughing fits, weak days where she needs a little more time to get out of bed, dizzy spells where she needs to sit down for a few moments before continuing with her day, but never has she been so close to collapsing. The image of her falling to the floor now forever etched in his mind.
He’s supposed to be the strongest. The fort that's keeping the sorcery world at bay. But his mind can’t stop spiralling at his inability to keep Utahime safe. If he had to kill every last sorcerer to keep her alive, he’d do it in a heartbeat. He’d do anything for her.
He comes back into the living room with a drink in hand, pretending he just disappeared to fetch a non-alcoholic drink from the fridge. Utahime is already looking for him, she calls for him to come over and sit next to her. Their hands slipping into each other as Utahime tells everyone a story of how Gojo accidentally ate some alcoholic chocolate and was bedridden for the next day.
He can’t help but imagine it.
When they’re in bed and she has fallen into a deep sleep. He watches her chest rise and fall at a steady rhythm. She smiles gently in her sleep as he places a kiss on her forehead.
His imagination runs wild and he knows that they’re nothing but poison to him, and yet he can never stop himself from continuing the farce in his head.
Versions of him and her running around a house they can call home.
She’s heavy with another child, maybe a smile on her face when he picks her up from work, maybe a chaste kiss in public since they’ve been together for so long.
A ring on her finger with their names engraved on the inside.
A bed they get to share every night.
It’s a thought he wishes would never cross his mind. And yet, he grabs onto it with every fibre of his being.
He kisses her so sweetly.
Cradling on her cheeks as she lays her head on his lap, legs stretched out across the couch. She tries to tilt her head to look towards the TV to change the channel, but Gojo keeps her still.
“No,” he jokes, keeping her head in place with his hands. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“Let me change the channel,” she whines in jest. Laughing through her own words as she tries to be free from Gojo’s grip, failing miserably as he curls over and continues to pepper kisses all over her face.
When he finally lets go, it is her that moans, wanting him to remain where he is. She takes his hands and places them on her cheeks once more, not letting him move away.
“What would you like to eat today?” he asks as he looks down at her, memorising the lines on her face, the smile on her lips, the hair that falls on her face.
“Kamo nabe,” Utahime says after a second of thought.
Gojo’s face scrunches at the strange request. It’s not exactly something he expects her to say. It’s not exactly standard cuisine, and not something he would expect Utahime herself to crave. But the duck hot pot is perfect for the autumn weather, something thick and warm that will fill their stomachs and something they can set in the middle of the table to share between them.
“Alright,” he says very unconvincingly, scratching his head as he tries to think of places he could possibly order it from.
Utahime only laughs at his reaction.
“I’m trying to finish my bucket list.” She looks up at him with soft eyes, “I don’t think I’ve had kamo nabe in years, but I remember liking it very much.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” the puzzle still sitting in his mind.
But Utahime whips out her phone and points to a website she’s already brought up.
“There’s no need! I’ve ordered it already!” she chuckles to herself as she shows him the delivery already on the way to their place.
“What?! Who told you that you could buy food. That’s my job!” Slightly hurt that she would buy something for herself without consulting him first. He wants to spend money on her, wants to provide for her and care for her. Do whatever he can for her while he still can.
“I have my own money, thank you very much.” She sticks her tongue out as she continues to browse through her phone.
But he stops her, pushing her phone aside as his voice lowers and his tone levels out.
“I know you’re used to doing things for yourself but, Utahime,” he says her name so softly that she can’t help but gulp at the sound. “Let me do this one thing.”
His hand feels so warm against her cheek.
“Let me spoil you, Utahime. Please.”
She can’t say no to him. Not when he asks so sweetly.
“Alright.”
They move into the Tokyo school at the cusp of winter.
Somewhere where Shoko is always around to check up on Utahime. Gojo cuddles up against his senior on the small single bed they now have to return to every night.
The room is small. The typical size of the dormitory rooms.
They don’t bring much, just a luggage with Utahime’s clothes and skincare. She insists on keeping up with her 10 step routine until the end of her days, even when it’s Gojo that ends up putting it onto her skin every morning and night.
Her coughing comes and goes, but it mostly stays than not.
Still she tries to do everything herself, but Gojo is always faster than her. And when he’s busy teaching or going on missions, Shoko acts the same way. She’d be mad a few months ago, but she has no energy left to deny help.
“How are you feeling today?” Shoko asks her every morning. To which she always replies with the same basic answer of her feeling alright.
Gojo always needs to be pushed out of the room to actually go to his job, always trying to make an excuse to stay. When neither he nor Shoko are around, someone else is always hanging around nearby.
Ijichi is the one that’s most often asked to keep an eye on her. Kusakabe always comes with a card game or two. Nanami comes once in a while to share his thoughts and listen to his senior’s. Even Ino is asked to keep post when everyone is out on a mission, he tries his best to keep Utahime entertained even though they so rarely interact.
It’s laughter that fills the air of her room. She is forever thankful that her last few weeks aren’t wasted on sadness or guilt. Her friends are good enough to hide that side of themselves from her.
Every day ends with a kiss from Gojo.
A simple ‘I love you’ is shared between them.
Trying their best not to count down the days.
“Satoru.”
It’s a normal day. Just like any other. Gojo thought it would rain or snow. But instead the sun passes through the window and keeps them warm. The morning is quiet, the air crisp and cool.
Utahime’s face lights up. A grin so genuine, Gojo feels like she’s drenched in light. As if she were sunlight herself, illuminating the room to let everyone else enjoy the warmth of her.
“Thank you, for always being with me.”
There’s something in his chest. Something holding him down and pressing against him with so much pressure. It’s too heavy for him to bear, he closes his eyes in pain. Hand to where his heart lays, the force so real he feels like he might have a heart attack.
Her hand reaches out for him, their fingers intertwine the way they’ve gotten so used to over the course of the year.
“Is this all the time I’ve been given to be with you?”
She’s just been dealt a bad set of cards. That’s all that is. She wants to remind him of that, that this is their job. Death is part of it all. Death will come whether they’re ready or not. And while the set calendar doesn’t make it any easier, they should always be prepared for this.
“We’ve had more than ten years.” She tries to lighten the mood.
“Don’t leave,” he attempts to beg her, “Don’t leave me, Utahime.”
His hand is so warm, damp from the sweat from his palm.
Utahime takes his large hands in her fragile ones, taking them to her lips, pressing her dry lips against his soft skin.
“I love you.”
“Then stay.”
There’s a sharpness in his tone that Utahime ignores. She doesn’t blame him for any of the resentment he feels, she’d probably feel the same if she were in his shoes. She doesn’t know if she’d be able to hold it in for so long.
He knows that it’s not her fault. But he can’t stop himself from spilling his rage onto her. He wants to apologise but he needs her to understand how much he needs her to be with him.
He can save her. He can save her and protect her. If anyone can do it, he can.
It should be him that can undo this curse.
But no matter how much power the heavens had bestowed upon him, fate has other plans.
They get married two days before she passes.
He should’ve asked her months before, but something never allowed him to. It always felt too opportunistic. Like he’s only asking her to take his name due to circumstances and nothing else.
But it’s her that asks him.
“I want my ashes to be next to yours.” She’s nervous to ask so much from him. Wondering whether or not it’s something he wants too. “If you’d allow it.”
They submit the marriage document the very same day.
The first ring he finds is what she ends up wearing. He wishes he could get her a better one but she smiles everytime she looks at it on her finger.
Her name now ends with his.
“Utahime Gojo,” she tries it on her tongue. “It sounds weird.”
“It sounds good,” he insists
“I might need some getting used to.”
“Well you better get used to it by tomorrow.”
It’s a type of humour he’s not used to, but there’s no other way for him to cope.
“I’m sure I will.” she smiles at the thought, “Do you like it?”
“I don’t think you understand just how much I like it.”
“That’s good.” Her hand now feels empty without the ring on. “I’m glad.”
“So am I.”
He readies the family grave for her, the headstone now bearing both their names. Hers on the left as she waits for his name to be carved next to hers.
She passes peacefully. Surrounded by everyone that’s ever loved her.
But 365 days turn into many more.
He always visits her. With new stories to tell, and new gossip to share. The flowers are always fresh. A meal to share between them as he spends at least thirty minutes of his time with his wife. He always apologises if he misses a day, missions and school always getting in the way.
The ring is still heavy on his finger. A reminder of her and the little time they spent together. He wishes he could have more time, but so does everyone else.
Everyone loved her, and that’s what is most important to him.
“I love you.”
He always says when he’s about to leave her. Looking at her name carved into his family cemetery, forever a part of him. Forever tied to him. Forever his.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”