Chapter Text
Sharp notes of music pierce the air. The music is loud and incessant, instantly pulling Utahime from the peace of her slumber. Groaning, she shifts a smidge to reach for the alarm clock on her bedside table. Fingertips tap on the table's smooth surface, but never reach the button to stop the ringing.
She pulls away from the warmth wrapped around her and, despite Gojo's sleepy groans, she's able to roll closer to the alarm and finally turn off the disruptive sound. Not even a second later, she finds herself back in Gojo's embrace. The cozy warmth is enticing. Almost enough to persuade her to fall back asleep in the security of his arms.
That cannot happen.
Slowly blinking, she convinces herself to get ready. After a long moment, mustering enough energy, she throws off the covers of the bed. Delicately, she peels herself out of Gojo's arms so not to disturb him. Cool air greets her with full force and she rubs her hand over her arm before tucking the cover back under Gojo's chin. He mutters something unintelligible and presses his face into the pillow.
Stifling a yawn, she makes her way to the shower. The ensuite is spacious and sleek. Modern and luxurious in a way that she both admires and finds unnecessary. But it's not her own space, it's Gojo's, and his home is fit for the heir of a prestigious clan.
Unlike her own home, where her shower and tub are combined in a single space and the settings are humble enough to range only from hot to cold, the shower here is separate and has various buttons for several functions. Utahime steps through the shower's glass doors and sets the settings to her preference: a simple hot shower from the squared rain showerhead. Contrary to her own home, where the shower pipes groan and rumble with each use, the plumbing here is smooth and much more pleasant.
If Gojo were here he would likely attempt to use the handheld shower head, or set the vertical shower jets, or fiddle with the steam fixture. "The whole spa experience," he would say with a lopsided smile. And sometimes, she would even allow him to cajole her into indulgence.
But now, alone, she showers as she would like. Plain and simple. Much like herself.
Her shower doesn't last too long. Her products are easy to obtain, wedged in between Gojo's shampoo and conditioner as usual. They're not necessarily cheap, but they are not the expensive bottles that Gojo uses either.
After she's done, she wraps herself in one of Gojo's fluffy towels and steps onto the heated floors with an air of relaxation. It's a luxury that she can admit to liking. She prepares for her day and goes through the motions. Carefully drying her hair, meticulously moisturizing her skin, slipping on the rare pieces of jewellery she owns and thoroughly preparing for her outing.
All the while, Gojo sleeps on his stomach, face pressed into the pillows.
Keenly noting the sparse time she has left, Utahime tiptoes to the large closet. Keeping the lights off, she randomly grabs at the spare clothing in the large closet and dresses quickly. She's pulling on her outer layers - a thick wool coat, a cross-body bag and a stylish hat for the season - when she looks back to the sleeping figure on the bed.
She debates with herself, wondering if she should say something or not. If it would be worth waking him up. Deciding it would be better to just go and return, she heads to the door. It's not like Gojo would be aware of her actions. Or that he would even care. But at the last second, her feet move her to the side of the bed and she's pushing back the hair falling over his eyes.
"I'll be back," she says quietly. "Likely before you wake up."
He makes a noncommittal noise, but the corner of his lips slightly tug up. Something squeezes within her chest and she swiftly straightens. And then she's off. Bounding into the evening.
It's the time of the year when autumn and winter play a game of tug-of-war. Both pull against the rope, but today winter seemingly has a stronger grasp. As such, even though it's not quite night, darkness emerges sooner than expected. Utahime walks towards the familiar restaurant as a chilly gust of wind ruffles the collar of her coat.
Upon entering the establishment, her nose is hit with the scent of herbs and spices. The aroma is so inviting that she doesn't mind having had to walk in the cold evening. The staff quietly greet her, which she returns before finding her company for the evening in a booth at the back.
"Shoko," she smiles, when the woman stands from her seat to hug her. "New haircut? Looks different from when I last saw you."
"Oh, this?" Shoko asks, motioning to her hair. She slides back down into the booth. "I haven't changed anything. Just trimmed it a bit."
"Ah." It takes Utahime a moment longer to settle into the seat after removing her bag and outer layers. The restaurant is warmer than the outdoors, but she still finds herself rubbing her hands together in an effort to heat herself up faster.
The two of them catch up, discussing both the mundane and the new things in their lives. There's an ease that comes with talking to Shoko. The pair have been friends for almost a decade, and their friendship is built on affection and trust. Even the distance apart, with Utahime living in Kyoto and Shoko still in Tokyo, hasn't managed to change a thing between them.
According to Shoko, she's on her third attempt to quit smoking once and for all. Utahime mentions trying to advocate for mental health resources and social supports for the students. They both smile bitterly at how futile their efforts seem. Somewhere between their catch up, they order their meals and drinks.
"Gojo wants a welcoming party for Nanami," Shoko says after their server places two beer bottles and glasses on the table. She fills Utahime's glass to the brim before passing it to her.
"Not surprising," Utahime replies as she takes her own turn to fill Shoko's glass. Tilting the glass, the alcohol streams in without creating any foam. "He's been quite spirited, more so than usual, since Nanami spoke to him about returning."
Truthfully, Utahime herself shares Gojo’s sentiments about Nanami's impending return to the jujutsu world. It would be nice to welcome him back into the fold. More than anything, she thinks, it will be a good reunion amongst old friends.
"Mm, except he wants me to plan the whole thing. Lazy ass."
"Again, very unsurprising."
For all of his legendary skills and competence on the field, Gojo Satoru has always had a knack for loafing and lounging.
"Anything he's chimed in on? Specific requests?"
"Nope." Shoko shakes her head with a roll of her eyes. "Only a verbal order for the guest list. Keep it intimate. No higher ups."
For once, Utahime finds herself agreeing with one of Gojo's disrespectful tendencies. The rest of the faculty and authoritative figures in their society were quite vocal in their relief to have a talented sorcerer on the field again. A competent, skilled man who could fill in the gap and exorcise the rapidly increasing number of curses.
But for the rest of them, it wasn't relief but a buzz of happiness. To them, it wasn't just a shapeless image with a strong portfolio to throw out onto the field. It wasn't just anyone returning, it was Nanami Kento. A classmate, a kouhai - a friend .
He meant something to them, more than just another foot soldier for the higher ups to use.
As if reading her mind, Shoko raises her glass and clinks it against Utahime's. They say the perfunctory cheer and both take a sip. Utahime sighs in content as the liquid makes its way down her throat.
"So when are you planning to have the party?" Utahime asks.
"That's the thing, I wanted to make sure both you and Gojo are free in two weeks. Friday night would be nice, but we can also do a Saturday. I've cleared basically everyone else's schedule."
Utahime twists her lips at the request.
"You wanted to ask me about Gojo's schedule? Why can't you just ask him yourself?”
"Oh come off it," Shoko deadpans. "You know how he is. Between his disastrous time management skills and his affinity to be an irresponsible nuisance, it's much easier to come to you for these sorts of things."
Unable to refute that, Utahime fishes for her phone in her bag. Other than her teaching role, her own schedule is fairly open. Jujutsu sorcerers typically require flexibility for any sudden curses to exorcise. Opening her calendar app, she notes both hers and Gojo's upcoming appointments.
"Should be good for the Saturday," she says. "We have an inter-school faculty meeting that Friday which might run late."
They share a quick look before letting out a laugh. Both know that if not absent, then Gojo would be quite late to the meeting. His complete disregard for authority had only strengthened in the years. It was one of the many things Utahime and him disagreed on.
Utahime sips on her beer, relishing in the refreshment it provides. She has to be careful with her intake. Considering she's actually a lightweight, she can't go back to Gojo's in a state of drunkenness. He'd never let her live down after their heatless argument last night about her alcohol tolerance.
"So," Shoko starts after taking a swig of her own drink, "planning on meeting the clan soon?"
Confused, Utahime parrots the question.
"The Gojo clan,” Shoko explains with a furrowed brow. “You aren't meeting them yet?"
A small sense of awkwardness settles in Utahime’s stomach. Paranoid, she looks around at the other customers to confirm nobody is listening into their conversation. Absent-mindedly, her finger traces the rim of her glass. "No. Why would I?"
"Because you and Gojo have been seeing each other for about a year now?"
"Oh, that," Utahime forces out a laugh. "I told you before. It's just - a casual thing."
"Casual," Shoko snorts with disbelief. She grabs Utahime’s glass and pours more beer into it. "You both have your separate calendar apps synced to see the other's schedule."
Utahime huffs. "It's easier to coordinate meetings that way. Besides, it's only me actually using it and actually inputting both of our schedules in."
She hopes it's enough to get Shoko off her back. Despite their close friendship, her fairly recently changed liaison with Gojo Satoru is one thing Utahime prefers to keep private.
The three of them have a mutual, shared past. She remembers nights where she bared her soul to Shoko, tears of frustration prickling in her eyes as she would vent over the Gojo clan's heir's relentless mocking of her. Lunches where she swore she'd make him eat his words and show her worth.
And, instead, somehow her trajectory had twisted.
Rather than becoming a special grade sorcerer herself she'd ended up routinely sleeping with the same person who had always called her weak when they were young. Despite their improved relationship over the years, a stab of mortification managed to linger after their first kiss. For a long time she'd been too ashamed to admit even to herself that she lets the antagonistic boy who used to tug on her pigtails now tug off her clothes.
It's even more difficult to openly discuss the details with Shoko. Or any of their mutual friends. It was too - strange.
Embarrassing, even.
Over the months, Utahime’s tried to avoid the specifics of the topic. Still, she always knew Shoko had a semblance of an idea regarding their romantic interludes. The whole thing was either brushed off or briefly acknowledged. Never quite delved into, which is how Utahime prefers it.
If Shoko picks up on her reluctance, she ignores it. Reaching over, she tugs on the large sleeves of the black shirt that Utahime wears under her denim overalls. Confused, Utahime looks down.
"How about the fact that you're literally wearing his shirt right now?"
Face flaming, Utahime once again scans around to ensure none of the other restaurant patrons are eavesdropping on their conversation. Luckily, everyone else is occupied with their own discussions or food.
"It was an accident. I couldn't see in the dark!"
Shoko raises a disbelieving brow, prompting Utahime to down her glass in one go, reservations be damned. The remaining overt skepticism on Shoko's face causes Utahime to ramble into defense mode. Her grip tightens on her glass.
"We're not serious, and it would never work as a real relationship or anything. We both know that. We're just - having some fun. Blowing off some steam. As adults, we can do this without expecting anything from the other."
"Not serious?" Shoko echoes, unconvinced.
"We- We're not exclusive." Utahime tops up her glass with the leftover beer. She needs to take a sip of her drink to quell the flare of heat on her skin.
"So you're seeing other people?"
"Well," Utahime drags out the syllables, "I'm not. But, technically, I could be! And Gojo might be for all I know -"
"He's not."
"I haven't asked, you see, because it's not part of our unspoken arrangement."
And because if she asks, she's sure to get a smirk from Gojo. He would likely ask if she's developed feelings for him and then it would turn into another bout of his typical smug teasing. Would probably mock her for her inability to be casual and somehow make it into a dig about how she's too old fashioned.
Shoko holds her hands up in surrender. "Listen, I'm not here to be some sort of moral police. As an adult, you can do what you want to do."
Utahime nods. That's right, she's a woman in her thirties now. She's more than capable of making mature decisions.
"But," Shoko continues, "I think you have some blinders on. What you and Gojo actually have going on doesn't seem to match what you think is happening. Your perception and reality are not aligning. Not sure if you're being willfully ignorant or if you truly can't see it. Either way, I just don't want you to get hurt."
While she appreciates Shoko's brutal honesty, Utahime is aware of her situation. Her relationship with Gojo is formed on mutual benefit alone. The two of them have a solid past. A certain measure of trust that's not so common in the jujutsu world. It's easy to let their guards down, to strip away both their clothes and the frustrations of the day, with someone who they know wouldn't attack or betray them.
And then, there's also the matter of the two of them being in the same industry. They understand the risks, the sudden change in schedules, the mental and physical fatigue that comes from their line of work. Being with a civilian would require more hassle, deception and a sort of patience that she doesn't think she can muster at her age.
Things with Gojo - they just manage to work.
"We're both happy with how things are," Utahime finally says. "I'm not trying to shackle Gojo into some sort of official relationship, especially when there aren't any romantic feelings there in the first place. I'm aware that he's the future head of his clan and what that means regarding his responsibility to produce an heir and what not. When he needs to cross that bridge, he's welcome to do so. I'm not stupid enough to think this would be his actual choice."
She waves to her face. To the scar that slices across her cheekbones and nose. A mark of inferiority beyond her surname. Its meaning is not lost on her. She's practical and logical. Despite knowing it's a source of strength for herself, she's not naive enough to think that's what everyone else sees too.
"Beyond that, we aren't even suitable. We couldn't be one of those real couples. I'm too busy with my work and he's too absorbed in being the Strongest."
Fundamentally, Utahime and Gojo function as opposites. Too different, polar opposites. Modern and traditional. Courteous and disrespectful. Generational wealth and self-made. It wouldn't make sense.
Instead, Utahime likens them to dance partners. They fit every time they link up. Their dance is familiar and good, and the connection is undeniable. They're so in tune with the routine and rhythm that they will never miss a beat or take a step out of line. But that's as far as it will go.
And eventually, when the time comes, Gojo will trade her in for a new partner. Or maybe she’d find one herself. But until then, she's satisfied swaying and stretching to the beats and chants she already knows.
Shoko's observing her through narrowed eyes. For once, Utahime cannot decipher the look on her face. She doesn't think her friend is particularly convinced, but their server arrives with their food and, thankfully, the topic is dropped.
It's both colder and darker when Utahime arrives back to Gojo's fancy home. Her fingers are numb as they punch in the numbers to the keypad. Shivering, she waits for the sound of the click before she steps into the threshold. There's an invisible protective barrier at the entrance. Some sort of technique created by a trusted clansmen.
She's easily able to pass it, a fact she'd unconsciously let slip to Shoko during their small shopping trip after dinner. It was a terrible mistake. To escape Shoko's pointed look, Utahime had to walk into a random shop selling music albums. Even then she could feel Shoko's gaze burning her back.
The sound of the television greets her upon entrance. Kicking off her shoes, Utahimes immediately shuts the door behind her. She slides her stockinged feet into her home slippers and heads towards the living room.
Gojo lounges on his sofa wearing only a pair of grey sweatpants. His barefeet hang off the armrest while his hand cushions head. He brightens when he notices her shuffling into the room to place her bags on the table behind him.
"Was dinner good?" he asks lazily.
"Yes,” she replies, taking off her hat.
"Did Shoko ask after me?"
She freezes on the spot. Certain that she never mentioned her dinner companion, she frowns. How could he have known? Placing her bags on the table, her mind tries to determine an answer. Biting her lip, her brows furrow together.
"You checked the calendar?"
Her heart skips a beat at the implied message there. A genuine interest in her life. Gojo Satoru never does anything he doesn't want to do. Him bothering to check the app that he usually ignores speaks to a quiet, gentle care. Maybe whatever Shoko had been hinting at the restaurant was actually accurate.
A tiny flutter appears in her stomach and she twists her fingers together.
"Nah.” Gojo shrugs. “Shoko mentioned yesterday that you were meeting."
Of course.
Deflating, Utahime scolds herself for her momentary lapse in judgement. She can't believe that she's permitting her friend's delusions influence her.
There's nothing serious between Gojo and her. Nothing at all.
"Utahime, come watch this movie with me." The command is tinged with a whine that's fit for a toddler and not a grown man. Sometimes, she would let it grate on her nerves enough to provoke a verbal spar. Heatless, of course, but still enough to cause a flash of thrill to spark in Gojo's eyes.
He liked to be tested. Enjoyed the rush of an argument. Took pleasure in being annoying - likely since it often lead to clash of mouths and a tangle of limbs.
She knows this dance of theirs quite well. On another day, perhaps she would fall in step to the choreography. She’d mutter something under her breath about how she has no time for movies, and then he would retaliate by piquing her interest and then spoiling the events of said movie. By then, her temper would flash and she would yell and chase until he'd suddenly stop running and their bodies would collide.
Today, however, she's still silently berating herself. Licking her pride for being foolish. The sting of her brief expectation is ridiculous, and yet she cannot get rid of it.
"I can't." She pulls a few items out of their bags. "Need to put a way a couple of things that I purchased."
Brillant blue eyes and a mop of white hair peek over the edge of the sofa. Utahime averts her gaze, hoping his intense eyes won't catch anything unusual with her. Fuck, she needs to get a grip.
She focuses her attention on the items she'd purchased that are scattered on the table top. Impulse buys, but ones she thinks will be appreciated. None of the items are for herself so she wants to wrap them into something presentable.
She separates the objects so not to mix them. The photo album and the set of photocards of the pop star Takada are for her student, Todo. The boy's interest in the pop singer is well known, much like the particular merchandise he was trying to get his hands on. When she'd seen them earlier with Shoko she couldn't help but purchase them, even if it meant her wallet weighing a lot less than it should.
Next, Utahime sets out a pair of howling wolves. Black and white, and with some small artistic tailoring, they would perfectly mimic Megumi's adored shikigami. Despite the boy's prickly disposition, he has an inexplicable love for animals.
"That for Megumi?"
Gojo's voice near her is startling and she has to place her hand on her chest to calm down the spike of her heart rate. His stealth is nothing new, just another product of the incredible abilities he'd been blessed with since birth.
"Yes," she answers when her heart rate settles back down. "Stop scaring me like that."
"Not my fault you don't pay attention." He grabs a box out of a pink plastic bag. A dozen assorted cupcakes greet him when he lifts the lid. Plucking one carefully, he examines it at eye level. A vanilla cupcake topped with a large swirl of frosted chocolate icing and sprinkles drizzled on top.
Slowly, a lazy grin materializes on his face. "Is this for me ?"
Surely the question must be rhetorical. As if it could be for anyone else. Utahime abhors sweets, a fact that's known to anyone who's spent as much as an hour with her. And Gojo Satoru, who's dedicated his youth and beyond to shoving himself into her space just to get a reaction from her, knows this better than anyone.
"Duh," she replies, averting her gaze.
Briefly, another memory of Shoko flashes in her mind again. An accusatory glance when Utahime stopped by the dessert shop right before closing to browse the aisles. At the time, Utahime claimed innocence and exclaimed that it wasn't some sort of twisted couple behaviour. If it were to be examined, it was a merely a characteristic of her teacher personality coming through.
The desire to make sure everyone was well taken care of.
Thankfully, Shoko remained silent and the purchase went unmentioned for the rest of the time they were together.
But now, with her heart stuttering at an indolent grin, it's hard to compartmentalize. Difficult to bring back logic and shut away physiological responses into their specified spots. Internally blaming Shoko, she fiddles with the photocards to organize them by colour.
"Aw," Gojo coos, taking a big bite into the frosting. "Is this your way of showing gratitude because I made you come thrice earlier today?"
Her temper rises and she throws one of the plastic bags in his direction. It doesn't land on him, doesn't even get close, as it floats in the air. "Don't be so crude!"
This has always been their dynamic. And Utahime would be idiotic to think it's anything else. Her friend had merely been wrong in her assumption. It wouldn't be fair for her to get wires tangled all because of someone else's presumptions. She just had to put those pesky thoughts away so they wouldn’t bother her.
It would be easier if she had some space.
A woman screams on the television screen. Unfortunately, it's not enough for Gojo to leave her alone, so Utahime straightens her back and places the stack of photocards on the photo album.
"I'm going to wrap these for Todo. I'll cut the giftwraps for the wolves as well, but I want to adjust them at my place before I actually wrap them."
"Hmm, okay. Come watch the movie with me when you're done."
"Maybe," she lies, knowing she'll opt to head to bed to put more of that distance between them. Just for a while, so she can sort out and eliminate the unhelpful thoughts swirling within her.
Moving through Gojo's home is easy and familiar. Its blueprint is imprinted into her brain. Remarkably, the home is neat and tidy. Absent of clutter or chaos. Considering his perpetual laziness and arrogance, Gojo is quite particular about the cleanliness of his space.
She just has to round the corner of the powder room to find the closet. Most of the craft supplies are there, including the wrapping paper, which is likely the same material he used to wrap Megumi's birthday gift, along with an assortment of gift bags, ribbons and scissors. As she makes her way there an object in her peripheral vision catches her eye. Or, to be more precise, the objects.
Photoframes.
Stepping up to the shelf that's attached to the wall, Utahime analyzes the photos. They're nothing new, their shapes always lining up against the wall. She's even glanced at them a couple of times during her first few visits but she'd never taken the proper time to fully look.
The centrepiece is a picture of Gojo and his, for a lack of a better term, wards. Tsumiki smiles toothily, holding onto Gojo's hand. A tiny Megumi is perched on Gojo's other arm, his head nestled in the crook between Gojo's shoulder and neck. There's a sleepy quality to Megumi's expression that's contrasted by the bright, alert grin on his guardian's. It must be a rare, sweet photo capturing a moment where Megumi had first lowered his walls.
The photographs that surround it are bittersweet. A twist of pain and nostalgia goes through her at once; a silly picture of Gojo and his classmates - him giving a bored Shoko and a winking Suguru bunny ears - and another with just Suguru and Gojo smiling broadly with their arms around each other. A shadow of youth, another life, documented into time.
With a sad smile she turns to the last frame. Like the first time she saw it, she cannot remember taking the picture. The day itself, however, is not lost on her. A sunny day and an impromptu beach trip that they had taken as a group. Memories swim to the forefront of her mind.
Blue waves glittering with the sun's rays. Hot sand engulfing her feet. Strawberry juice spilling onto her blanket and her youngest kouhais trying to clean it up. It had been a good day, and she smiles recalling the waves around her shoulders as she passed a ball to Shoko in the water.
What she cannot remember, however, is taking the picture itself.
Suguru has an arm around Shoko while Mei Mei leans towards them in a beach hat. Haibara innocently smiles between Suguru and a serious looking Nanami, a half-eaten watermelon in his hand. Beside Nanami, Utahime scowls in her red one piece swimsuit, glaring at a grinning Gojo behind her. Her elbow is jabbed into his exposed stomach, his unbuttoned white t-shirt flapping in the wind.
Each time she tries to remember the moment, the fuzzy memory fades further and further away. More likely than not, Gojo had uttered something idiotic in his typical fashion and she had retaliated. Perhaps she was annoyed by the way his hands rounded her waist, or she could have easily been insulted by his laugh.
Regardless, the image serves as a confirmation. Their shared history proves that, while not necessarily romantic, Utahime and Gojo have a bond and trust that's been forged over many years. She'd be stupid to ruin it and sour their mutual friendships just because of Shoko's misled opinion. It would be a mistake to break their small remaining circle of friends over nothing.
Clearly, she's thinking too much and allowing some silly notion to interfere with her perfectly solid lifestyle. Everything had been going well. There was no issue until Shoko planted some silly seed into her head and she had foolishly expected something from Gojo.
It's unfair of her to be like this.
Once she's done with her tasks, and finishes cleaning up after herself, she heads back to the sleek couch Gojo's on.
"Ah, gonna watch the movie now," he says with a nod. He pats the seat right next to his thigh, likely hoping for the night to evolve into some skin to skin contact. Unfortunately for him, Utahime needs the opposite of that.
"Heading to bed actually," she replies before adding, "you should finish the movie though."
Instead of spending time with Gojo, she needs space to fully declutter her mind. To mentally box up the treacherous thoughts and reactions that have sprung up today, and lock them away so they do not bother her again. And when that's done, they can return to the status quo.
Gojo twists to face her, his blue eyes calculating and analytical. It's hard to discern what's going on in his mind. Harder still not to squirm with the brilliance of his heritage looking her over. Scanning her as if she's a special grade curse.
"Are you nervous, Hime?" he asks, voice surprisingly soft.
"What?"
He flicks his wrist. "Because you've got that thing with Gakuganji on Monday?"
"Principal Gakuganji," she corrects automatically while attempting to rein in her surprise. This time, however, she won't fall into the same trap and expect anything from him. She won't ask how exactly he'd come to know about her upcoming meeting.
It was already embarrassing enough the first time.
He'd probably heard it through the administrative grapevine. Perhaps a manager keen on gossiping.
Grateful for the diversion, however, she manages a nod. "Yes, quite nervous actually. Just need some time to gather myself and my thoughts."
It isn't a complete lie. The impending meeting does have her anxiety spiking whenever she thinks about it. Might as well use it to her advantage. If it provides a good cover for him to leave her alone while she grapples with her inner conflict, then she will take it.
"Alright," he finally concedes while still assessing her.
Part of her wishes he'd wear that blindfold of his, if only to obstruct the intensity of his eyes. Fearing he will notice anything else, Utahime turns on her heels and heads to the bedroom. Shutting the door behind her, Utahime places a hand on her head.
Utahime and Satoru are not a couple. It's as simple as that.
And still, something rankles deep within her. That raw spark of emotion that she felt earlier when she let herself believe that Gojo had checked their synced calendars. The way her heart had skipped a beat thinking he'd actually cared. Giving it more attention would only be like providing more oxygen to a flame. Instead, she needs to lock it away. Smother it out before it can catch like wildfire.
And for a moment, it works.
She's able to push it all away into the darkest corners of mind. It works perfectly - until she catches sight of one of her ribbons casually laying beside a pair of his dark sunglasses on the dresser. It's nothing serious, she knows that, and yet Shoko's stupid accusations ignite in her head once more.
Frustration overtakes her because what she has with Gojo is good - it works and it's simple. Finding another person with the same physical compatibility, the exact inexplicable chemistry, the precise level of trust and the deep understanding of her life and employment is next to impossible.
Snatching up her ribbon, she shoves it into her pocket.
Neither of them had signed up for anything more than casual. She reminds herself that if she suggests anything else, if he even gets an inkling of her treacherous thoughts and reactions, he'd laugh in her face. Or do something equally reprehensible.
To be fair, so would she.
Still, even as she changes into her pyjamas, she can't shake her discomfort. Who would have a thought an evening between old friends could result in such inner turmoil? As she switches off the lights, she's still unsettled. Getting into the covers of Gojo's large bed only makes matters worse. Smelling the lingering scent of his soap and shampoo on the pillowcase is even worse.
Sleep evades her. Mind racing, she tosses and turns. Frustratingly, she cannot find a comfortable position. Gojo's always preferred the room to be slightly cooler, which makes sense given the tendency for his body to run hot. Or perhaps, it was his way to have her clinging to him in the night to abate the chill.
Burrowing under the thick blanket, Utahime mutters a few choice words. It's unfair that she's only fully comfortable and falls into slumber when the heat of a specific body slips into the space beside her.