Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Utahime wasn’t entirely sure when she first learned about Gojo’s “quirk.”

It might have been just after one of the worst days of her life – the day when special grade Satoru Gojo announced he had formally accepted a teaching position at Tokyo Jujutsu High. She believed it was a joke at first. No way he’d relegate himself to teaching, she’d thought. Gojo? A teacher? What were the higher-ups thinking? It had been a couple of years of peaceful teaching bliss in Kyoto as a teacher herself since she’d last seen him in person, but it was impossible to fully avoid hearing about every little escapade or shenanigan of his that traveled through the grapevine of jujutsu society.

But no, it had not been a joke at all. Several days later Utahime would find herself on the train to Tokyo, morose and wondering what sort of god she had pissed off for her life to have come to this. Gakuganji had already left the week prior to prep for the new faculty convocation, but Utahime couldn’t bring herself to be there early. Leaving at the last possible second was her only option, and she barely managed to make it through the doors as the meeting started.

“And I am grateful, for both schools have gathered here today as we have in years past and will for years to come. We are here to not only welcome the start of a new term, but to also welcome Tokyo’s newest member of its faculty. I am sure all of you are familiar with…”

Utahime could barely pay attention as Gakuganji droned on and on. Her seat squeaked and creaked with every movement she made. The folding chairs seemed more uncomfortable this year. Did they have to set so many out for the Kyoto side? With Gakuganji at the microphone it was literally just her this year sitting alone in the back row with nine other empty chairs around her. She craned her head around the assembly hall to Tokyo’s half and saw the usual familiar faces. Kusakabe, Nanami, Shoko— Shoko!

Utahime wriggled and tried to catch Shoko’s eye, but the doctor stared blankly ahead, vacantly chewing on a piece of gum that she probably wished was a cigarette instead.

Next to Yaga in the front row was an empty seat. Now that she thought about it, where was…?

“…as we do every year.” Gakuganji cleared his throat and gave a pointed look at Yaga, who had already been pressing two fingers to his temples for the last five minutes. “I had thought I would be introducing our newest teacher by now, but it seems… it seems that—” 

He paused. People’s heads had begun to turn to the door where, out in the hall, a faint commotion could be heard growing louder and louder. Only Shoko continued to disassociate in her chair, wholly unsurprised by what was coming.

“—please, sir, the back entrance, we can enter quietly through the back – oh, please, Gojo-san, they’ve already started it’s— it’s rude to just—”

The door flew open with a bang, nearly knocked off its hinges, and Gojo stomped inside. Ijichi, the poor thing, trailed just behind him, wringing his hands and looking as nervous as ever. “So— so sorry, folks,” he stammered. “There was, um, traffic, terrible traffic, and then a— a cursed spirit, yes. Very minor, all handled, nothing to, uh— we came as fast as we could. Our deepest apologies for the— ah, where are you going? Gojo-san? Gojo-san!”

Utahime did have an understanding of what Gojo currently looked like through photos and random Snapchats from Shoko over the years. Still, in her mind, Satoru Gojo would always be the snotty teen who tugged on her pigtails and chased her around campus cackling and calling her names.

So, logically, rationally, Utahime knew that the man who’d come bursting through the door was, in fact, Satoru Gojo. But two-dimensional photos and videos viewed through her tiny phone screen could not prepare her for how he looked in person: grown. Gone was the lanky teenager in her memories, all pointy elbows and gangly limbs. The man that stood before her now was tall. Broad-shouldered. Utahime had to begrudgingly admit that he’d filled out quite nicely, and it was quite evident even under his oversized collared jacket. Stop looking at his jawline, she scolded herself. Did she mention he was tall? He even seemed to be getting taller – was he still growing?— oh. No. He was getting closer.

He was striding directly toward her.

“Gojo-san!” Ijichi yelped. “There’s a spot for you over here, next to Principal Yaga!”

Whether Gojo heard him he gave no notice. Everyone watched as he crossed the room into the Kyoto section and waded through the sea of folding chairs until he reached the back row where Utahime sat, staring up at him slack-jawed and aghast. She knew that he’d taken to wearing blindfolds instead of those sunglasses, and also knew that he could – somehow – see just fine, but it still felt bizarre to make eye contact with a piece of cloth.

“Can you scoot over?” he asked.

“Wh-what?”

“Scoot over.”

Utahime was keenly aware that every single eye in the room was on them – including Gakuganji. Goddamn it, was he really going to try and humiliate her in front of everyone? In front of her boss?

Yes. This was Gojo all right. The same old Gojo. Joy.

Utahime searched for Shoko across the aisle and made a pleading face. Shoko gave her a pitying look and shrugged.

Ugh. Fine. Utahime gritted her teeth, gathered her hakama skirt in her arms, and scooched one seat over.

“Thanks.” Gojo plopped down into what was once her seat.

“It seems our newest faculty member has decided to grace us with his presence, after all,” Gakuganji rumbled. “Please join me in welcoming special grade Satoru Gojo, our teacher for the first-year students at Tokyo Jujutsu High for the new semester.” There was a brief pause for some scattered, half-hearted applause. “Gojo, is there anything you’d like to say?”

“Only that it is an honor to be entrusted with shepherding these innocent, impressionable, bright-eyed young sorcerers into the future of jujutsu society. Rest assured, I take this responsibility very, very seriously.”

Utahime couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

Gakuganji sighed. He looked again at Yaga as if to say “This is your problem-child,” before continuing on with his droning, monotonous speech.

“…year’s mission rotations will be distributed by end-of-week. I ask that…”

Thunk.

Gojo’s knee lightly thumped against Utahime’s. What was this? Utahime cast a furtive glance over at Gojo, who had let his knees swing wide and open. She looked down at her own legs which were politely pressed together. Rude. She decided to lean her legs away.

“…with my hope that cooperation between Kyoto and Tokyo will continue in the same spirit it always…”

Thunk.

Utahime whipped her head around to glare this time. How had he gone even wider? Was this competitive manspreading? The manspreading Olympics?

“What are you doing?” muttered Utahime.

“Doing what?” Gojo whispered back.

“Look at your legs! You’re taking up so much room!”

“Shh, senpai, I can’t pay attention to this very important meeting when you keep whispering at me.”

Utahime clenched her hands into fists on her thighs, balling up her skirt in her fingers. Oh, he knew what he was doing. The asshole knew exactly what he was doing. She angled her body and leaned her legs even further away.

“…—oodwill Event will proceed as scheduled this autumn, hosted this year by…”

Thunk.

Utahime snapped.

“Stop it! Stop it right now!” she hissed, seething. She violently returned her legs to their original position in front of her and all but shoved his leg out of her personal space. “Stop being a jerk and cross your damn legs!”

This was it. Utahime braced herself for some horrible little joke that was surely going to spike her cortisol to levels not yet known to man. It had been years and still Gojo knew exactly how to push her buttons.

“…each school’s faculty to review their assignments promptly and…”

Her heart pounded as she waited for some sort of retaliation. What was taking him so long? She didn’t want to look, just in case that was what he was trying to bait out of her, like some sort of reverse staring contest. But the longer he stayed quiet the more she felt compelled to.

She peeked out of the corner of her eye—

—and he was looking right at her. The blindfold left his face uncomfortably blank. She felt an unexpected surge of relief when he didn’t look upset, though, obviously, it was hard for her to tell. A small part of her had worried that maybe she’d gone just a tad bit too far.

In her periphery, Gojo returned his attention to Gakuganji.

And, slowly, he crossed his legs. He laced his fingers around his knee.

To her complete bewilderment, he didn’t move for the rest of the meeting.

H-huh?

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The incident at the new faculty convocation quickly left Utahime’s mind. The start of the new year meant that she had no time to dwell on Gojo’s stupid little eccentricities – there was always some sort of work to be done. Between lesson planning and coordinating student missions, she was simply too busy.

To her great relief, her daily routine had very little overlap with Gojo’s despite his new teaching position. Outside of the occasional joint faculty meeting, her life remained in Kyoto, and his in Tokyo.

There was only one spectre that loomed ominously over the horizon, and that was the upcoming Sister-School Goodwill Event. It was amazing how knowing that this year she would be facing off against Gojo immediately ruined the event in her mind, curdling like spoiled milk. And with the event lying just around the corner, those “occasional joint faculty meetings” became not-so-occasional.

Today was one such meeting.

It was hosted in scenic Kyoto’s campus, which meant on the bright side, Utahime didn’t have to take the train this time. The main goal of the meeting was to narrow down which curses would be present, how many, when they would need to be collected, choosing which sorcerers would be tasked with wrangling them, etcetera, etcetera.

Gojo had instantly volunteered to round up the designated grade 2 curse for the event, but was shut down by Yaga just as quickly.

“Even at your gentlest you’d just exorcise it,” the principal explained gruffly. “You’d bring us the curse in pieces.” It didn’t stop Gojo from pouting when Nanami was chosen to go.

Utahime was also pouting, but for a completely different reason. Again, for the third year in a row, she’d been designated as the unofficial stenographer. She scribbled her notes furiously while decisions were made for her by all the men in the room.

Unfair, she thought bitterly. It was her students that were going to take part in the event, and here she was relegated to note-taking. She was aware of the expectations placed on women in jujutsu society. She was aware that she no longer had the pristine, un-scarred face of her youth, nor did she have a combat technique their society treasured. But still, she’d thought that by now she’d proven herself as a good teacher, a strong teacher, someone capable of making tough decisions. But when Gakuganji had turned to her and asked if she had a pen and paper to write with, her heart had sunk.

Typical.

During a ten minute break, Utahime squirreled herself away inside the break room, simmering in her disappointment. She was halfway through a cup of tea when Gojo barged his way in.

Great. Could the day get any worse?

“Are you excited to lose to me in a couple of weeks?” he asked brightly, pouring himself a cup of tea. “My kids are gonna smoke your kids. They’re gonna get obliterated. Maybe sit this one out, yeah?”

Yes. Yes it could get worse.

Utahime glared at him over her cup as she forced herself to take a sip instead of simply spitting at him.

Gojo grabbed a fistful of sugar packets and began opening them one by one. “I’ve been wondering, why don’t you say anything in the meeting? You’ve been pretty quiet,” he observed.

Was he serious? “Gakuganji asked me to take notes.” Obviously.

“You don’t have to do what he says, you know. Who cares what that old bag thinks,” Gojo said as he poured his seventh sugar packet into his cup.

Easy for you to say, Utahime thought darkly. The world he lived in was completely alien to her. Of course Satoru Gojo could say no. He could do whatever he wanted – who could stop him?

“Ijichi could take notes instead,” she heard Gojo continue on. “Ijichi loves it. He takes notes for me all the time.”

As if summoned by name, Ijichi rushed inside the break room before Utahime could respond. He looked like he’d just gone on a run – flustered, face flushed, out of breath, clothes rumpled and disheveled.

“Gojo-san— oh, thank goodness, I’ve been looking everywhere for you, you weren’t answering your, um—”

“My phone is on silent,” Gojo said pleasantly.

“The paperwork, sir! The incident report, the one from last week – it still hasn’t been filed. Please tell me you’ve filed it.”

While Ijichi fumbled his way through his words, Gojo had leaned against the counter, taking a sip of his nine-packets-of-sugar tea. He smiled. “Nope!”

“You— you haven't?" Ijichi nervously wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, looking quite ill. “The deadline was yesterday. Yesterday! They’re going to— oh, if it’s late again they’ll— I’ll be the one who— please, I’m begging you, sir, it’s five minutes, it’s just your signature and the— Gojo-san, are you even— please!”

Even in his youth, Ijichi had still been the harried, anxious man he was today, likely no thanks to the special grade in front of him. When Ijichi dropped out of the sorcerer track in school, opting to move into management instead, he claimed it was for his health. But rumors swirled around Tokyo Jujutsu High that the actual reason involved Gojo and a threat to “slap the shit out of him.”

Utahime believed it; she was no stranger to Gojo’s bullying. How many times had he told her she was weak to her face, and laughed? It was why she always had a soft spot for Ijichi, and it was why she found herself speaking up.

“File the paperwork, Gojo,” she snapped. “Today.”

Ijichi winced at the bluntness of her words. “Ah, Iori-san— please, it’s— I’m sure Gojo-san has his reasons, it’s not— actually I can, uh, I can handle it, I’ll just tell them it was my— it’s not really worth—”

“Alright, you heard her,” said Gojo in a soft voice. He had once again fixed his attention on Utahime with that same unusual expression from before (as much as she could decipher behind the blindfold, that is.) He downed the rest of his tea in one large gulp, then clapped Ijichi on the shoulder and began to march him out of the break room. “Where is this dumb incident report? It’s just my signature, right?”

“Oh! A-are you serious? I mean, ah— yes! Yes, I have it, sir, in my, um— in my bag. I brought it with me. I’ve uh— I’ve been carrying it around since Monday—” Ijichi twisted to look back over Gojo’s arm around his shoulder and mouthed thank you to Utahime with something very close to awe sparkling in his eyes just as the door swung shut behind them.

What… happened?

Utahime stared blankly at the closed door, replaying the events of the last three minutes back in her mind. In all honesty she hadn’t expected that to work – Gakuganji had grumbled plenty of times about Gojo’s complete lack of care when it came to the administrative side of being a sorcerer. Ijichi’s pleading and begging hadn’t surprised her in the slightest.

Maybe this was Gojo simply maturing? He couldn’t stay a petulant teen forever, but then if that were the case, he’d simply have done his paperwork when it was due.

But no, he’d only done it when she asked.

I’m reading too much into it. Utahime huffed and shook her head to clear her mind. Yes, she had to be overthinking things. The simplest answer was that Gojo was a strange man, and no one knew what was going on inside that head.

That had to be it… right?

So preoccupied with these thoughts was Utahime that the remainder of the faculty meeting passed by in a blur.

Her page of notes remained empty for the rest of the day.

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The start of the Sister-School Goodwill Event arrived far sooner than Utahime would have liked, on the back of an unseasonably warm autumn.

She believed in her kids. She did. They were plucky, and they were clever, and they’d trained so hard since the beginning of the year through blood, sweat, and tears.

Still…

Utahime paced the conference room chewing nervously on her fingernails. This wasn’t any normal Goodwill Event. This was a matter of pride. This was a matter of ego. This was Satoru Gojo they were up against, and Utahime didn’t know if her heart could take it.

Nanami was here, having been the one to fill the forest up with a bevy of curses, mostly weak grade 4s, the occasional grade 3, and the singular grade 2. And there was Mei Mei – her crow-powered surveillance system made for a richer viewing experience, and was likely making her richer as well depending on the inevitable invoice she’d soon forward to the school. Yaga and Gakuganji sat together near the back, confiding in low whispers.

“The monitors are up and running,” came Mei Mei’s silky voice. “My crows are in place. Are we ready to begin?”

The eight screens at the front of the room buzzed to life with a metallic snap. One of the screens to the right focused on a group of three students— my kids! Utahime darted to the seat closest to it.

Oh, there’s Takumi! Rin is looking a bit scared. Kaede, please take this seriously! Utahime white knuckled the armrests.

“I relocated the grade 2 curse this morning. Northeast quadrant.” A monitor fizzled, and the crow-vision feed of a quiet forest stream blinked into another pointed at the base of a massive tree. A grade 2 curse in the shape of a lumbering mound of mud oozed across the screen. Nasty. Utahime stole a glance at Nanami’s shoes – which were miraculously spotless. How does he do it?

“Someone might want to find Satoru before we start,” Mei Mei remarked. “Or not. I’m paid by the hour.”

Utahime had noticed his absence long before Mei Mei had pointed it out, in the same way one might notice, with relief, that there wasn’t a bear in the room. A tiny part of her hoped it would stay that way.

Yaga grumbled something under his breath, then hauled himself to his feet. “I’ll find him,” he said wearily, and the beleaguered principal trudged out of the room.

No sooner had twelve seconds gone by than Gojo came waltzing in.

“Hello, fellow faculty members!” Gojo sang. “Happy Goodwill day! Is everyone excited? Mei Mei, looking as sharp as ever. Always a joy to see you, Nanami. Gakuganji, have you done something different with your hair? Oh, Utahime-senpai! You look terrible! Did you get enough sleep last night?”

Truthfully, she hadn’t. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Gojo in the darkness of her eyelids, laughing maniacally as his students snatched victory right out of her kids’ hands.

And she knew that was the outcome everyone expected today. It was no secret that the last time Kyoto had ever won a Goodwill Event was when special grade Yuki Tsukumo was a student – and the only competitor for the Kyoto side.

But Utahime would rather crawl through a field of fire ants than tell Gojo he’d guessed correctly. Despite the very obvious bags under her eyes, she turned up her chin and declared, “I slept like a baby.”

“Shall we get started?” Mei Mei drawled.

With a nod from Gakuganji, the 25th annual Sister-School Goodwill Event had begun.

Utahime wished she could say she’d watched with her undivided attention, riveted to the spot. She wished she could say she’d been a good teacher that day and remembered every single thing that happened during the Spirit Bash Race. At least she didn’t miss Rin’s takedowns of three grade 4 curses at the same time, or the excellent teamwork Kaede and Takumi showed during their first encounter with the grade 2, and she certainly didn’t miss a single time Tokyo swooped in for the last hit on a kill her students had all but earned, but everything else felt fuzzy.

And it wasn’t her fault!

Gojo seemed to relish both directly and indirectly getting under her skin. Over the course of the day, “somehow” he’d end up planted directly in front of the same screen she was watching, arms folded behind his head or with his hands on his hips, feet apart, as if trying to arrange himself into the widest configuration for a human body. And when Utahime bit her tongue and seated herself behind a different monitor, inevitably she’d find him there as well, suddenly enthralled by what was happening on the screen.

“One more point for Team Gojo,” he’d crow as his students exorcised another curse, and the curse’s associated talisman would burn red. Utahime couldn’t bring herself to look at the scoreboard, knowing she’d see a scant few blue talismans for Kyoto in a sea of crimson.

By the time day one of the Goodwill Event ended, Team Tokyo clinched a resounding victory.

“There’s always day two,” Nanami told Utahime. She was staring glumly at the scoreboard while everyone else had already begun filtering out of the room.

“I know,” she sighed. She knew better than to get her hopes up. Day two was always more difficult – individual sparring matches. Her kids had excellent team coordination, but fighting alone was a different story. Rin’s technique in particular functioned better as a support buffer.

Just like her.

Not everyone can be a Satoru Gojo, Utahime thought bitterly.

“You haven’t had anything to eat or drink since this morning,” Nanami pointed out. “There are still beverages and snacks left over in the dining hall.”

“I know,” Utahime sighed again, then rubbed her temples. Sure enough, there was a dull ache building behind her eyes. “I just… don’t want to run into him right now.”

“Run into who?” came Gojo’s voice from over her shoulder, and Utahime’s soul briefly left her body.

“Please relay my congratulations to your students,” she could hear Nanami say. Gojo had sauntered up behind them with his hands casually in his pockets without her knowing, looking quite pleased with himself.

“Don’t I deserve a little congratulations too?” he said. “It’s my first year as a teacher and my rascals won. They were like fierce little honey badgers out there. By the way, has anyone seen Yaga?”

“They played dirty,” Utahime muttered under her breath.

“What?” Gojo cupped a hand to his ear. “Couldn’t hear you from all the way down there.”

“Don’t play dumb! There were at least four times one of your students stole a kill from my kids!” She pointed a finger accusingly at him. “I watched them hide in the trees and snipe the curse at the last second.”

“And? That’s jujutsu for you,” he said, grinning. “You think curses are going to fight fair and play nice? You think curses are going to have a code of honor? Nah, a good sorcerer fights dirty to win if they have to, and that’s what my students did. They gotta get a little crazy. Right, Nanami?”

“Don’t answer that, Nanami,” Utahime growled.

Gojo laughed. “You’re just scared he’s going to agree. I’m only giving you some free advice, Utahime-senpai. Fight dirty.”

Nanami cleared his throat. “Perhaps this is a good time to fetch Iori-san something to drink?”

“Uh, she’s got legs, doesn’t she? She can get it herself. What do you think I am, a dog?”

“It’s called being polite to your senior.”

“There’s ‘polite,’ and there’s ‘errand boy.’”

As the two bickered over her head, Gojo’s advice played back on repeat in Utahime’s mind.

Fight dirty.

Fight dirty.

As if she had anything to fight dirty with.

…Didn’t she?

“Gojo,” she ventured. Both men stopped talking. There’s no way this is going to work, she thought nervously. “Get me a drink, please. And… a snack if there’s any left.”

Immediately, she regretted saying anything. He’s going to laugh in my face, she fretted. He’s going to laugh and say this is why I never became a grade 1 sorcerer. He’s going to say I can’t do anything on my own. 

But for all of her predictions, none of them included the strange thrill on Gojo’s face as soon as her words left her mouth. None of them included the surge of cursed energy that flared from his body like a pyre – just a fraction of a second – before he smothered it. It happened so fast that Utahime thought she’d imagined it, until she noticed Nanami curiously turn his attention to the man in front of him.

Meanwhile, Gojo’s attention was focused solely on her. “Anything else you want?” he asked in a low voice. He leaned down, bringing his face closer to hers. “Or is that all?”

Utahime reared back, startled, catching her balance with a tiny step behind her. “T-that’s all,” she mumbled, staring awkwardly into his blindfold.

He remained in place for a heartbeat more, long enough for Utahime to wonder what he could possibly be thinking, until his face finally relaxed into a placid smile.

“We gotta get you hydrated for all the crying you’re gonna do tomorrow, don’t we?”

Any awkwardness Utahime felt evaporated into annoyance. “Oh shut— nevermind, I’ll do it myself,” she grumbled, and pushed past him. At least, she tried to push past him, but his arm came down like a steel trap.

“Ah, ah,” Gojo tutted. “Allow me.” With that, he strolled out of the room, leaving Utahime and Nanami alone once more.

Utahime waited until he was no longer within earshot. “Did— did you see that?” she hissed excitedly at Nanami. “He’s getting me a drink! A drink and a snack!”

“Yes, I can see that.”

“But don’t you think that’s strange? It’s so strange! He’s insufferably stubborn, he almost never does favors for anyone, but then he does this?”

“It is unusual,” Nanami agreed slowly. “I’ll admit I have never seen that man agreeing to anything so easily… but he is an unusual person. Perhaps he felt a rare bout of generosity.”

“No, no! He’s done this before – with me, I mean! Listen, remember the faculty meeting a couple months ago? Ijichi was begging him to do some paperwork, and then, he did it! But only after I asked him to. You know he hates paperwork! And before that, at the convocation, he was annoying me with his knee, and—”

Nanami raised a hand. “Please take no offense, Iori-san, but I have no interest in the emotional lives of my colleagues,” he sighed. “I’m not going to speculate about a man I find exhausting.”

“Ah, right. Sorry.” Utahime rubbed the back of her neck. “I got a little carried away.”

Not everyone was Shoko, apparently. She was going to have to save this bit of gossip for her the next time she visited.

This wasn’t a “bout of generosity.” Utahime wasn’t convinced. Something was going on.

Something was going on with Gojo, she just didn’t know what.

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Months went by.

Though Utahime’s encounters with Gojo were infrequent, whenever their paths crossed she’d sneak in small favors here and there just to see if he would do them.

And he always did.

What was going on? She could ask him. She wanted to ask him! But with the slim possibility that he was only doing all this in some sort of long-term extended prank, she couldn’t take the chance – she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

So she continued to test him.

There was one day when he’d arrived for a faculty meeting and Utahime had overheard him telling a tired looking Kusakabe that he was going to bail after five minutes so he could get in line early for a limited edition MetalGarurumon figurine. Not on her watch! One excellently timed “Where are you going, Gojo? Won’t you please stay for the whole meeting?” later, and he remained slumped in his chair, fixing Utahime with the saddest frown as Gakuganji rambled on.

Another incident involved a casual visit when Gojo poked his head inside Utahime’s classroom after hours, when a special grade mission had taken him to Kyoto. She latched onto the opportunity immediately.

“So glad you could stop by while I’ve been redecorating the classroom,” she gushed, quite visibly not redecorating anything at all. “Can you move all the desks one meter back?”

He’d grumbled, but the next day all her students commented on the amount of space there was at the front of the room.

And then there was the Tuesday she asked him for lunch.

A mission had taken her to Tokyo – a grade 2, nesting somewhere in a subway maintenance tunnel, still needing to be tracked down. It had been a while since she’d been assigned anything, but she was still a proud sorcerer first and a teacher second, despite what Gojo believed, and she accepted it without hesitation.

She’d arrived at Tokyo Jujutsu High bright and early hauling a suitcase filled with enough clothes for a three-night stay, and immediately collided with the last person she wanted to see as she turned down the hall to the teachers’ quarters:

Gojo.

“Hey!” she snapped. “Watch where you’re going!”

“Watch where I’m going?” he whined. “I was just standing here, an innocent man, minding my own business until you ran into my ankle! What’s with the suitcase?”

“You can keep minding your own business,” she muttered, then continued marching down the hall and to the first open spare room she could find.

She’d just started unpacking when there was a knock at the door.

“Yoo hoo! Guess who?” came Gojo’s voice.

“What do you want?” Utahime groaned.

The door creaked open just wide enough for Gojo to peer one eye through. “Are you doing a mission? How long are you staying?” he asked.

It was at this moment that Utahime realized he wasn’t wearing his blindfold, or his sunglasses. She must have missed it when she’d barrelled into him in the hall.

Fuck.

She’d seen them more often when they were both teenagers, and even then she’d believed his eyes were the most beautiful she’d ever seen in her life – ethereally so. She’d never seen that shade of blue before. They were somehow even more uncannily beautiful now, or perhaps it had just been so long that she’d forgotten.

Why do men always get the most beautiful eyelashes, she despaired. It’s not fair. Nothing was fair when it came to Gojo – she wondered if that’s why he irritated her so.

“Hello-oo?” He pushed the door wider. “Cat got your tongue?”

Oh, shit! How long was she just staring at him?

“Yes— I mean, no. To answer your first question, I’m doing a mission. Three days,” she said quickly and returned to unpacking, hoping he didn’t see the flush on her cheeks.

“Is that why you’re so grumpy?”

“I’m not grumpy.”

“Is your mission making you grumpy?”

“I said I’m not grumpy.”

“I could do your mission for you if you want. I’ve got some free time. What is it, a grade 3?”

She saw red.

It took all of Utahime’s strength to resist throwing the sock she was holding at his face, and she rounded on him. “I don’t need your fucking help! I can do my missions on my own, thank you very much. And for your information, it’s a grade 2 mission, you asshole. If you really want to know, I’m tired because I didn’t sleep well last night, then I didn’t get a chance to get a coffee this morning, and now I’m not even sure I’m going to have time for lunch! That’s why I’m grumpy. Happy now?”

Utahime’s chest was heaving. A wave of exhaustion rolled over her, and she sat down heavily on the edge of the twin bed.

“…Actually,” she said slowly, to the sock in her hands, her head low, “could you get me a lunch? For when I get back? Doesn’t have to be anything fancy.”

She wasn’t even asking Gojo for a favor as a test this time. It kind of just slipped out of her before she realized what she was saying. But months of him agreeing to everything she’d asked for didn’t prepare her for the next words out of his mouth.

“Thought you didn’t need my help,” he sniffed. Then without another word, he turned on his heel and stepped out of view from the door frame, leaving Utahime in a stunned silence. His footsteps faded down the hall.

It was… strange. Before he’d forced his way back into her life, Utahime was used to rejection. Not just from him, but from life in general. She’d been denied a promotion to grade 1. Both Kyoto and Tokyo had rejected her teaching applications at first – her non-combat technique was deemed a liability – before she’d finally convinced Gakuganji to give her a chance. And somewhere along the way she’d stopped expecting men to look at her the way they did before she’d been permanently scarred.

Absently, she touched her face.

So many rejections, enough to build up calluses around her heart. Hers had grown thick enough, she’d thought, that nothing could hurt her anymore.

Then why was she fighting back tears?

Whatever, she thought, sniffling, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. I guess Nanami was right. It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t mean anything at all.

At least the rest of the day went more or less according to plan. The assistant manager that drove her to the entrance of the maintenance tunnels was sweet and polite. She briefed her on what she knew about the curse and wished Utahime luck. Though trudging through sludgy standing water and jumping at every rat that skittered at her feet wasn’t exactly Utahime’s idea of a “good time,” she managed to pin down the location of the curse’s nest after only a couple of hiccups.

One successful reconnaissance later, and she was back in the car, returning to Tokyo Jujutsu High.

Despite it all, the excursion gave her brain a much needed break – it was nice not thinking about him. The exorcism could come later. Tomorrow, to be exact. In the meantime, all Utahime wanted at that moment was a nice shower and something to eat.

She’d barely gotten the door to her room shut behind her when there was another knock.

“I swear to God, Gojo!” she yelled. Couldn’t he give her five fucking seconds? “I’m not in the mood to deal with you right now!”

“It’s Shoko,” came her friend’s muffled voice. “I bring gifts.”

Shoko!

Utahime flung the door open, and the good doctor greeted her with a calm smile. She would have waved if it weren’t for the large plastic bag she was carrying in her arms.

“I’ve missed your face,” Utahime wailed. “I’d hug you but I’m covered in… I don’t even want to think about it. I still need to take a shower.”

Shoko chuckled. “I appreciate that. Where do you want this?”

“What is it?” Utahime asked as Shoko maneuvered her way inside.

“It’s your lunch, remember?”

“You got me lunch?” Utahime gazed at Shoko, misty-eyed. “Aw, Shoko, you didn’t have to!”

“I, uh, didn’t.” Shoko deposited the plastic bag onto the bed with a crinkle. “Wait, I thought you asked for lunch? That’s what he told me, at least.”

He…?

Utahime’s eyes widened. “Who told you? What did he say?”

“Oh, come on. Who else? Gojo came flying into my office asking me where you like to get lunch while you’re in Tokyo, so I told him about that one café we love near Inokashira Park. He came back later with all this— oh, yeah, I kept this in my minifridge but you might want to drink it now before the ice fully melts.” Shoko rifled through the bag and pulled out an iced latte.

Utahime’s heart stopped.

“Gojo did this?” she asked, hesitantly accepting the coffee. His name had been written on the side with marker, though it had started to flake off due to the condensation.

“Do you know of any other tall, white haired, blindfolded men?”

Utahime set the coffee down on the desk by her bed and slowly sank into its chair.

“Hmm? What’s wrong?” Shoko asked quizzically.

“Okay, so… remember the new faculty convocation where Gojo showed up late? Then he sat next to me? Well…” Utahime began to describe her series of inexplicable encounters with Gojo that had colored her life over the past half-year.

By the time she’d recounted everything up to the present day, Shoko had snuck into the lunch bag, pilfered a small muffin, and was now sitting cross-legged on the bed, munching thoughtfully.

She’d hummed when Utahime paused, and ooh’d when appropriate, but overall didn’t look the least bit surprised – though Shoko very rarely looked surprised.

“So what’s the problem?” she mumbled through a mouthful of muffin. “Isn’t this a good thing? You guys would bicker all the time when we were younger, so honestly this is a huge improvement.”

“We still bicker,” Utahime muttered darkly. “But that’s not the point. I wish I knew why he was doing this.”

“Really? You can’t guess?” Shoko said dryly.

“I thought maybe it’s some long running prank he’s pulling. Or he’s trying to lull me into, I dunno, a false sense of security or something? Then one day I’ll ask for something stupid in front of everyone and he’ll… humiliate me.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow. “What is it they always say? The simplest answer is usually the right one. Occam’s razor and all.”

“Well what’s the simple explanation then?” Utahime spluttered. “Has Gojo said anything to you?”

“Doctor-patient confidentiality. My lips are sealed.”

Utahime threw her head back and groaned. “You’re no help,” she whined. “First Nanami, now you. No one wants to wildly speculate with me!”

Shoko chuckled, uncrossing her legs and brushing muffin crumbs off her sweater. “I gotta head out. You’ll figure it out eventually, ya big dummy. Or you won’t. Either way, go shower, you smell like a wet dog.”

“Thanks,” said Utahime, who was feeling rather like a pathetic wet dog herself.

“Oh, hey, when you’re done with your mission, we’re going out, ‘kay?”

“Okay.”

With Shoko gone, Utahime’s thoughts had no one to bounce off of and continued to ricochet in her own head until she finally forced herself to her feet and shambled to the shower.

The simplest explanation? What, that he was just being… nice? To her of all people?

Yeah, right.

.

.

.

.

Thankfully, the grade 2 curse (a slippery rat-like thing) was an easy exorcism. Its strength lay in its stealth, so when her planning paid off and she was able to turn the tables, gaining the initiative of a surprise attack, the rest of the fight went by without a hitch.

There was a debrief report and mission log sitting on her desk that needed finalizing, but that could wait until the morning.

Because tonight, she was going to party.

Utahime nearly skipped her way to Shoko’s office in her heels, humming happily, a spring in her step. It’d been so long since she’d had a chance to go out and let loose, especially with her best friend. She’d slipped into a new dress she hadn’t had the occasion to wear yet – a red number, halter, length just short of mid-thigh – and finished off her look with a high ponytail tied up with a ribbon.

“Shoko-oo~” she sang, rounding the corner. “Are you ready? Let’s hit the— what are YOU doing here?!”

Gojo was leaning against Shoko’s desk, scrolling through his phone when Utahime skittered to a halt. He’d also changed into something casual – a short-sleeved shirt, black pants, and a dark aviator jacket with a cream shearling collar slung over his shoulder. He was far more covered up than Utahime, but still, seeing him in anything that exposed skin beyond his hands and face felt… risqué.

It should be illegal, she thought, feeling flustered, that a man this supremely annoying should also look this…

Without his typical oversized collared jacket to hide any semblance of what his body looked like, she could now confirm that it looked good. 

Very good.

Muscled forearms led to a set of broad shoulders barely contained by the simple black shirt he was wearing, and finally to a pair of luminous blue eyes that were already watching her intently.

“Cute dress!” exclaimed Shoko, who’d only taken off her doctor’s coat and considered herself ready to go. “Oh, sorry I forgot to text you – mind if he tags along?”

Did she mind? Of course she minded! She was half-sure that Shoko only conveniently forgot to text her a warning in advance because she knew Utahime would have said no then. But she was all dressed up and the night was young, and she didn’t want to delay the fun any longer by kicking up a fuss.

Besides, he did buy her lunch yesterday.

“…ugh. Fine,” Utahime muttered, crossing her arms.

“Don’t sound so excited,” Gojo said with a laugh.

Twenty minutes later, the three of them were ducking into a bar down one of Shibuya’s narrow, neon-drenched alleys. Shoko had picked a good one – the bass thrummed in Utahime’s bones, people were swaying on the dance floor, and the drinks were strong. They found an empty booth close to the bar and squeezed into the seats. Gojo insisted on sitting right next to Utahime despite her protests. The booths were a tight fit – there was no way to avoid her hips and thighs pressing up against his.

Her face burned. Be professional, Utahime, she chided herself, he’s a colleague. It doesn’t matter if he’s hot – just remember, he’s also supremely annoying.

Whether he felt it too he gave no indication, except for the flicker of a glance down to where her thigh touched his.

“So who’s getting drinks?” Shoko yelled over the music, leaning over the table. “Satoru?”

He shook his head no. “But the first round’s on me. Any requests?”

“Whatever beer’s on tap,” Shoko replied. “And Utahime wants a highball. And a tequila shot, right?”

Utahime giggled. “You know me too well.”

Gojo slid out of the booth. “Be back in a sec. Don’t gossip about me behind my back. That’s bullying and I’ll have to report you to Yaga.”

“Pff, shut up, loser, we’re totally going to gossip about you,” Shoko laughed, and watched him go. Then she turned to Utahime. “Thanks for letting him come, by the way. I was so not ready to deal with him pouting for weeks.”

“I didn’t think he even liked dancing,” Utahime said, genuinely surprised, until Shoko shook her head.

“He doesn’t, usually. He’s a total teetotaller too. I think he’s just bored and lonely.”

“Lonely? Him?”

“Mm.”

That didn’t sound right. Utahime glanced over at the bar. Gojo was easy to find, always a head of white hair above the crowd. She wasn’t blind, or stupid; she could see the way people looked at him. What was he lonely for? She watched a young woman weaving her way through the people waiting at the bar to get to him. She tried to tap his shoulder, only to stare quizzically at her hand, looking deeply confused. 

Was he using Infinity? Oh, right. Hadn’t Shoko said something about that? Something about how he’s managed to keep it running all the time. But then…

Utahime looked down at her legs once more. She was sure she’d felt him. Even on that very first day he’d stepped back into her life again, hadn’t he let his knee touch hers?

The sound of clinking glasses signaled Gojo’s return as he balanced three tumblers and a shot glass in his hands.

“Finally, what took you so long? Gimme.” Shoko made grabby hands for her beer.

Gojo plopped back down in his seat beside Utahime, and once again she felt her face grow hot from the contact as he pressed into her side.

“What’d you get?” Utahime asked quickly, looking at his glass. “Did you just order orange juice?”

“What’s wrong with orange juice!” he protested. 

“I mean I didn’t even see orange juice on their menu, did you beg them to pour you a glass of mixer?”

“Sounds like someone’s jealous of my juice.”

“Kids, kids!” Shoko interrupted. “Stop fighting! It’s time for a toast.” She held her beer out. “Here’s to Utahime and another successful mission under her belt.”

The trio clinked their glasses to a chorus of “Cheers!” Utahime downed her shot and chased it with a swig of her highball. Ah, that’s nice, she thought as she felt the liquor immediately begin warming her up.

She really needed this. When was the last time she’d had a night to let loose and relax and just enjoy herself? The school year so far had been more difficult than most, and the man currently sipping orange juice beside her was no small part of the reason. She eyed the way his hands wrapped around his drink. A bead of condensation trailed down the glass, slowly at first, picking up speed, until it came to a gradual stop above his finger.

What would it feel like to have such power?

Another highball later and she was feeling warm and golden. The night felt so soft and fuzzy around its edges, and by some miracle, Gojo was behaving himself that night. Dare she say she was actually enjoying his company? Never did she think she’d be having a relatively nice time with him. At one point she’d actually doubled over, guffawing at his disturbingly accurate Gakuganji impression.

“Your generation has no discipline. No respect. Do you know how old I am, boy?” Gojo shook his fist.

“Bahaha,” Shoko cackled. “Damn, that’s scary. Do the eyebrows again.”

When a familiar melody kicked in over the speakers, Utahime let out a giddy gasp. “Oh, oh, Shoko! C’mon, let’s dance! This is our song! Move, Gojo! You’re too slow!” She all but shoved Gojo out of the booth so she could squeeze past him. If she’d been more sober, maybe she would have been more patient, realizing that clambering over him would involve pressing her ass against him, something that was decidedly not professional.

But Utahime was determined to get to the dance floor by any means necessary.

“Ohhh, shit! Don’t have to tell me twice,” Shoko said, already bopping along in her seat, downing her beer before she stood up. Gojo gave Shoko a nervous look while Utahime was sprawled on top of him.

“Hurry, Shoko,” she whined, straightening out the skirt of her dress after finally untangling herself from the booth. “We’re gonna miss the first chorus!” Then she whirled to Gojo. “Wanna join us?”

He waved a hand. “Go have fun. I gotta save our booth.”

“Fine! Be boring!” Utahime stuck her tongue out at him, then grabbed Shoko’s hand. “Let’s go!”

Out on the dance floor, the bass no longer thrummed in her bones – it was in her blood. She was standing in an ocean of sound, in this sea of bodies, and Utahime had no choice but to give in to the currents of the music and sway her hips to the beat. Colorful lights pulsed in time, occasionally illuminating the face or neck or chest of another dancer. Songs faded into each other in a never-ending stream of energy, and closing her eyes, Utahime became lost in the noise.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Shoko hugged her from behind, giggling and out of breath. “Hey, girl,” she said over the noise. “He’s been watching you, you know.”

She wrapped her arms around Shoko’s and continued to sway to the music. “Who?”

“Look.” Shoko turned Utahime so she was facing the direction of the booth. As one of the shimmering lights passed over his face, Utahime could see an expression she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen before. His eyes seemed to glow.

“See?”

“Shush, Shoko. No way. He’s not looking at me. There’s probably someone behind me.”

Shoko laughed and laid her chin on Utahime’s shoulder. “Trust me. C’mon, tell him to dance and you’ll see. I’m gonna sit for a little bit anyway, he can tap in.”

“Noo, don’t sit down, keep dancing with me!” Utahime pouted. “Besides I already asked if he wanted to and he said no, I don’t want to—”

“Don’t ask him if he wants to, silly.” Shoko began walking them both back to the booth. “Just ask.”

As they got closer to the booth, Utahime realized Shoko had been right – he was watching her. His eyes were fixated on the sway of her hips, her legs, her chest, until they got close enough that he looked away to take a sip from a newly obtained bottle of water.

Shoko peeled off and returned to her seat opposite Gojo – flushed, tired, but happy. “Aw, did you get this for me?” she asked him, pointing to a fresh glass of beer.

“Nothing but the best for the good doctor.”

Utahime remained standing at the edge of the table, still breathing hard. Hair that had come loose from her ponytail stuck slick to her neck and forehead.

Gojo turned his attention to her. “Oops, I didn’t get anything for you! Must have slipped my mind.” That peculiar expression from earlier was gone now—

No, not gone.

He was just smiling to cover it up.

“Make it up to me, then,” Utahime said breathlessly.

His eyes glittered in the dim light. “What do you mean?”

“Dance with me.”

Utahime held out her hand. If he doesn’t take it, then that’s it. It’s over. She’d misread all the signs, overanalyzed every little interaction. Just a silly, delusional girl.

It took only a millisecond.

His fingers forced their way between her own, more aggressively than she expected, until they were intertwined, like there was a part of him that feared she might pull away unless he could completely fold up her hand in his.

He allowed her to pull him to his feet.

The world had taken on a dreamlike quality as she tugged him to the dance floor. She could feel his eyes on her back where the halter top left her exposed, and faintly wondered if this was the same feeling an animal has when it’s being watched by something dangerous.

Melting back into the crowd, they began to sway together. She didn’t have a choice, really – Gojo pulled her flush to him and seemed quite unwilling to let her go.

Not that she minded. 

“Were you watching me earlier?” Utahime asked him, turning her head so he could hear her.

“Yes,” he said softly, right by her ear, and she shivered.

“Why?”

Gojo chuckled. “It’s hard not to.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Sure it is,” he breathed. “You’ve always been distracting.”

Utahime had to doubt this.

“Always? You know, you were awful to me,” she said. “When we were kids, you tormented me constantly.”

“Oh, relentlessly,” he agreed.

She snorted. “So then wh—”

“I just wanted you to look at me. You didn’t want anything to do with me, and all I wanted was your attention. Couldn’t seem to do it except when I made you mad. It worked, didn’t it?”

“Maybe if you weren’t so mean I would have liked you more.”

“In my defense, my frontal lobe wasn’t fully developed.”

“And now?” she asked. “What’s your excuse now?”

She felt Gojo take a breath. His hands tightened against her hips. “I don’t have one,” he said in a low voice. “I still just want you to look at me.”

Something fluttered in Utahime’s stomach.

This didn’t feel real. It was hard to believe it was happening, even as it was happening. No one had ever looked at her the way he had before, and she’d never expected it especially after the scar. She lifted an arm and pressed her palm flat on his chest above her shoulder. To her surprise, his heart was racing. Was he nervous? Was she making him nervous?

A dark thrill ran through her.

“Do you like my dress?” She gently guided his hands down to her hemline. They were trembling.

“Yes,” he rasped.

“Why have you been doing everything I say?” Utahime asked quietly.

“I don’t know.” He sounded almost helpless. “I just want to. I don’t think I could say no.”

“Really?” Utahime pushed her hips back, grinding into him, enjoying the sting when Gojo hissed and flexed his fingers into her thighs. She tilted her head to the side, exposing the delicate skin of her neck to him. “What if I asked you to kiss me here?”

She didn’t even have a chance to ask herself what the actual fuck she was doing before Gojo curled his body around her and pressed his mouth to the soft curve of her neck like a good soldier. His breath was hot on her skin, leaving trails of kisses up to the hollow of her jaw, and then to her earlobe where he nipped her.

Utahime’s knees buckled.

“Ah—” she moaned softly. “W-wait, maybe we shouldn’t— ah!”

Somewhere underneath the haze of alcohol and hormones, her rational mind was begging her to pull the damn emergency brake before they both careened off the face of a cliff. This was moving too fast – Satoru Gojo, the crown jewel of jujutsu society and the Gojo clan head, had his mouth on her throat, in the middle of a dance floor, in the middle of a very public bar.

And he was very clearly not planning to stop.

Oh, no.

“Wait, Gojo— we’re in public,” Utahime managed.

“I don’t care,” he mumbled into her neck.

“I care!” she protested, then gasped when he nipped her ear again. It didn’t help that she could feel him now, as crushed together as they were – feel exactly what she was doing to him. Something hard pressed against the small of her back. Heat pooled between her thighs as she shut her eyes, fighting to regain control. Focus, Utahime! “I don’t know if this is— ah! —if this is a good idea, I mean, you’re a Gojo, and the higher-ups—”

“They can choke.” He slid his palms further up her thighs, rough against her skin, until his thumbs grazed the soft lace edge of her panties.

“Gojo—!”

“Utahime,” he murmured. “If you tell me to stop, I’ll stop. If you tell me to bend you over and fuck you right here, I will. You just have to say it.”

She could barely hear the music over the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears.

I… I want…

“Alright, alright, break it up, you horndogs!” a familiar voice cut through the fog. It was Shoko, elbowing her way through the mass of dancing bodies. “I go outside for one cig and look at you. You’re gonna get us kicked out, you absolute loons. C’mon, let’s close the tab. Shoko needs her beauty sleep.”

She reached over and began to pry Gojo’s arm off Utahime. “And you’ve been hogging her all night. Go! Tab, now! We’ll wait outside for you.”

Utahime wasn’t sure if she wanted to strangle Shoko or kiss her feet at that moment. Her chest heaved as she sucked in air, trying to clear her thoughts. She felt Gojo reluctantly unwind from her.

“You picked the worst time to go light on cigarettes,” he grumbled at Shoko, already pulling out his wallet. “Fine, I’m going. I’ll call Ijichi while I’m at it.”

“Leave that poor man alone, he’s probably sleeping,” Shoko called after him, “He’s not your personal chauffeur! Damn, I don't know if he heard me.” She sighed. “Well, at least I tried. And how’s my girl doing?” She looped an arm around Utahime’s shoulders and gave her a once-over. “You want some water? You were having a little too much fun out there, huh?”

“I’m, uh, yeah, I’m okay.” Physically, at least. Utahime pressed the backs of her hands to her cheeks – they were burning. Now that Gojo was no longer in her vicinity, adrenaline drained out of her body, and all that was left behind was exhaustion. Suddenly the idea of lying down right there on the sticky floor sounded rather nice.

“Here.” Shoko pushed a water bottle (Gojo’s water bottle, Utahime realized dimly) into her hands and walked them to the exit doors.

To Utahime, the air outside might very well have been a pristine mountain breeze rolling gently down the Swiss Alps compared to the hot stuffy air of that bar, but it was only a dingy Shibuya alleyway an hour past midnight. The autumn air was cold enough to raise goosebumps on her arms, but for now it felt wonderful. She pressed the water bottle to her face and sighed with relief.

“So-o?” Shoko cupped her hand around a cigarette and lit it with a snap of her lighter. “You guys certainly seemed to be enjoying yourselves. Tell me everything.”

Utahime groaned and closed her eyes. “Shoko, please.”

“What! I’m a nosy bitch, what can I say?”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just…” Utahime didn’t even know what to say. A part of her was still wondering if this was just a dream, that she’d wake up and find it was all a hallucination conjured up by her last moments, and that she was still in the subway maintenance tunnels getting munched on by that grade 2 rat curse. “It’s all very sudden.”

Shoko snorted. “For you, maybe, the most oblivious person I’ve ever known. Kusakabe and I placed bets on when you guys would get your act together, which is why I cheated and invited Gojo to our little night out.”

“You what?!”

“Hey!” Shoko raised her hands. “I was not about to lose money over this!”

“Lose money on what?”

Gojo had emerged from the bar, sunglasses back on despite the dark (something Utahime wasn't sure she'd ever get used to) and jogged over to where the women were waiting near the mouth of the alley.

Shoko took a long drag from her cigarette. “Gambling,” she said coolly. “Utahime’s terrible at it. Horse racing, mahjong. She owes me a fortune.”

The maligned Utahime gaped at her. “I do NOT—” she started to protest, but then caught Shoko’s furtive look. “…owe you that much.”

Gojo eyed her suspiciously over his sunglasses. “Were you guys talking about me? I warned you, I might cry.”

“No?” Utahime said weakly.

“You totally were.”

“We were talking about mahjong.”

She felt pinned by his stare. It was so hard to look at him after everything that had happened. Would he have done it? Was he really going to go even further right then and there if she’d called his bluff?

Utahime shivered, and Gojo’s eyes darted to the goosebumps on her bare arms.

Thankfully, Shoko pulled his attention from her. “When’s the cab coming?” she asked loudly.

“Ijichi said he’ll be here soon,” Gojo said to her as he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over Utahime’s shoulders before pulling out his phone. “He’s only a block away.”

Oh. The jacket was so warm. It smelled like him, too. The fact that she had this thought would have embarrassed a soberer, more guarded Utahime, but this Utahime was exhausted and tipsy and mostly felt like he’d wrapped her up in a hug. She pulled the jacket tighter.

Shoko palmed her face. “I told you not to call him! It’s one in the morning, asshole.”

“Well he didn’t say no, so.”

“It’s Ijichi. He never does, that’s the whole problem.” She threw her cigarette to the ground and stamped on it. “That poor man.”

That poor man showed up not even a minute later, looking as though he’d been freshly exhumed from a mausoleum.

“Please, everyone, in the car— careful, Ieri-san! There’s a step— it’s, ah, been a long night for all of us, I think. I’d like to get back to bed before sunrise, if that’s, um, alright with you, Gojo-san.”

By the time they got back to Jujutsu High’s campus, Utahime was fighting to keep her eyes open. She didn’t think she’d ever been this exhausted before, not since her school days pulling all nighters.

Gojo and Shoko had their own apartments in Tokyo, so they remained in the car while Utahime all but crawled out of it. She said good night to them both (“…A-and me, Iori-san,” Ijichi added from the drivers’ seat, a little plaintively) before she finally made it to her temporary room in the teachers’ quarters.

She’d never been so happy to see the cheap dorm room, or to collapse into the thin excuse of a mattress. It was the most comfortable thing she’d ever felt in her life.

She didn’t bother with the blankets, didn’t bother with anything really. She just kicked off her heels, pulled the jacket she’d forgotten she was still wearing a little tighter around herself, buried her face in the collar, drifting off into the best sleep she’d had in years.

And she dreamed of the color blue.