Chapter Text
“So this is a patrol sort of thing.” Utahime taps her pen methodically against the surface of her desk. “Not threat elimination so much as making sure one doesn’t arise?”
“Essentially, yes.” The government bigwig who’s taken it upon himself to act as a liaison between the Jujutsu Tech schools and the few higher-ups who know of their existence coughs into the phone. “We brought in a Window a couple days ago to scout the Village. Apparently he found that curse activity is slightly above average.”
Utahime raises her eyebrows. “Even without any athletes or spectators having arrived?”
“Exactly. It’s odd. And that said, it’s best to be wary of the fact that it’ll probably get worse when the place is packed.”
“Makes sense.” Utahime nods, though the gesture is pointless over the phone. “All of that animosity between competitors, not to mention all the politicking that goes on - they’ll find a lot to feed off of at an event like that. I can see why you’d be worried.”
“Precisely.” The official coughs again. It seems to be his favorite method of verbal punctuation. “Which is why we reached out to one of your colleagues for assistance.”
“So…why are you contacting me?”
“Oh. Well…your colleague wasn’t exactly cooperative.”
Utahime rolls her eyes. It doesn’t take much to guess who that might’ve been. “You wouldn’t happen to be talking about Gojo Satoru, would you?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, it was.”
“And he said he wouldn’t do it, so you’re asking me?” Now Utahime clicks her pen open and closed with far more force than its fragile casing should be able to bear. Typical, typical Gojo.
“Actually, no, he didn’t.”
…oh. “Then why call me?”
“Because Gojo said he wouldn’t agree to the assignment unless we could convince you to partner with him.”
Never mind. “No,” she said flatly. “Absolutely not.” Let me do it myself, if those are the conditions. “I decline.”
“Ms. Iori, if I may-“
“You may not.” Utahime doesn’t care who this man is, how important or how much his rank should command her respect - no one is going to sell her on this.
“Gojo informed us that you are quite the avid sports fan,” he continues, unbidden. “And requested that we inform you that you’d be given an all-event pass as compensation were you to agree.”
She pauses. Her finger stalls on the clicker of the pen.
“ All events?”
“All events,” he informs her solemnly.
“How many days would I be working this job?”
“Well…all of them, I’m sorry to say.”
“But I get a free all-event pass.”
“As I said.” The official sounded like he was trying not to laugh. “You know, it was Gojo who suggested that incentive. He must know you quite well.”
“No comment.”
“Does…does that mean you accept?”
Utahime is going to regret this, but it’s an all-event pass. For free. She half-wonders if she’s drunkenly let it slip to Gojo that attending the Olympics is a lifelong dream of hers.
“Yes.”
**
“You must think you’re real smart, buying me out with Olympics tickets.” Utahime pulls a face and doesn’t particularly care that she’s being patently unprofessional. “Bribery, Gojo? Really?”
“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?”
Gojo hasn’t stopped grinning since she arrived. It’s kind of unnerving.
“That is beside the point, Gojo.”
Unperturbed, he claps her on the back with a little too much force. “Oh, come on, Utahime! It’s not like I forced you to say yes-“
She crosses her arms. “You pettily insisted that you would refuse to deal with a credible threat to the safety of thousands of civilians if I didn’t, and” - she waves her phone, all-access QR code onscreen, in his face - “ baseball, Gojo. You knew baseball was my weakness and you exploited it!”
“Oh, baseball’s today?” His smirk lets her know that he knew that already. “Fun, fun, fun! I’m not a sports kinda guy, but-“
“Save it, Gojo. We have a job to do.”
**
Utahime concludes after a matter of hours that they could’ve called in anyone for this job, and it’s just her awful luck that it happened to be Gojo. And that he happened to ask for her. She could’ve easily dealt with the annoying but largely harmless lower-grades feeding off of the “spirit of competition” or…whatever ridiculous explanation Gojo had come up with for their presence. They’re not doing much more than posing as tourists, admittedly not much of a cover when the opening ceremony’s not even on yet. But competition kicks off a few days early, so apparently they were needed - go figure.
Even so, there’s nothing above a fourth-grade curse lurking around the Olympic Village. Apparently the “spirit of competition” isn’t great curse food, and half of the time Gojo’s exorcised them mid-conversation before she even knows they’re there.
She wishes that didn’t annoy her so much.
“Why did you even ask me, Gojo?” she asks, hot and sick of this job already. “You don’t need help. Even I wouldn’t need help on this job.”
“What, can’t I just enjoy your company?” He absently swipes his hand to the left and a curse hitching a ride on a Gambian sprinter goes up in a puff of invisible smoke. “I miss my senpai sometimes! Is that so impossible to believe?”
“That’s…not a reason, Gojo.”
He drapes an arm around her shoulders as if such a blatant breach of her personal space is nothing notable. “Sure it is.”
She tries another tactic. “If I’m your senpai now, you shouldn’t be so familiar.”
“Nah. Known you for way too long for all that formal crap.” He removes his arm, for which she’s grateful. “Anyway. Why would I want to spend two weeks walking around exorcising fourth-grades by myself? ‘S boring.”
“It’s necessary, Gojo.”
“Please. Satoru is just fine.”
“No.”
“Honestly, this job’s kind of pointless,” he goes on, too breezy and far too casual. “I mean, I get it. Cursed spirits love politicking. But…isn’t all of that over by the time the Games get kicked off? I mean, no one’s arguing over host cities right now.”
Utahime crosses her arms, unimpressed. “You’ve clearly never watched a gymnastics competition if you think there’s nothing political going on here.”
“ Oh?” Gojo tilts his head, and Utahime is truly not sure whether he’s doing this for show or genuinely delighted. “Explain.”
“Oh, please.” She turns away from him with a huff.
“ What? ” Gojo raises his hands helplessly as if he is the victim here. This time he’s distracted enough that Utahime is first to spot the three-legged curse traipsing around at the feet of someone in a Team Canada jacket and she’s a little more smug than she should be when she snaps her fingers and it vaporizes. “I’m just trying to make conversation here. Geez. So touchy!”
“Well, I asked you a question, and I’m not interested in discussing the debatable partiality of gymnastics judging until I get an answer.”
“But I gave you one.” He smirks, utterly self-satisfied. “I wasn’t gonna do this joke of a job by myself, and you kinda happen to be one of the only sorcerers I can stand. So…some light bribery, and problem solved! Partners.”
“Tch. Maybe in your mind.”
“You wound me, Utahime.” He doesn’t look wounded in the slightest. “Don’t you miss me? Don’t tell me you haven’t been hankering for some good old quality time with your favorite underclassman.”
“I haven’t.” Utahime doesn’t miss a beat - never does. She almost wishes he’d give her some credit for that. “And I really doubt that’s why you asked them to rope me in. Of all people - me? Really? The one you’re always calling weak?”
“Ah, c’mon! Even a fourth-grade sorcerer could take care of these guys!” Gojo sweeps his arm in a wide arc across the horizon, nearly hitting a passing staffer as he gestures to the Village. Utahime’s just a little too slow to notice a couple of lingering curses and her lips pucker in distaste when she realizes that aren’t there anymore when he lowers his arm. “I don’t need someone who’s actually good, just entertaining. Really, ‘Hime. Is it so hard for you to believe I thought this would be less boring with you?”
“Yes,” she says flatly. She’s not sure whether his barely-veiled insult should sting or not.
“Then again, I probably could’ve asked Nanamin,” he goes on, pausing to wave cheerily at a group of Chinese athletes who’ve been eyeing them suspiciously for a while.
“So why didn’t you?”
He turns to her and grins. “Nanamin’s not as pretty as you.”
She smacks his arm.
“You are unbelievable,” she mutters after a moment, because she’s got to give the gesture time to sink in.
“So I’ve been told. Plus, no one loves watching people smack a ball around like you do!” Gojo gives her one of his aren’t-I-so-smart? looks. “Thoughtcha might like the whole free-Olympics-tickets thing. Shoko told me you’d been talking about it, so…”
“Oh, so now you’re saying you did this as a favor to me?” Utahime shakes her head, pettily pleased when her ponytail slaps the side of Gojo’s face. “Real funny, Gojo.”
“Hey, hey, hey, I said you could call me Sat-”
She extends an arm sideways and claps her hand over his mouth without even turning. “Save it, Gojo.”
“Bet you’d let go if I licked you,” he says, muffled behind her palm.
“You are such a child.” She scoffs, sadly unsurprised. “How are you allowed to work with children, again?”
He snickers, his laughter a puff of warm air against her skin. She’s grateful that he hasn’t made good on his threat until she feels a gentle pressure against her hand and realizes, face reddining traitorously, that he’s pressed his lips to the heel of her palm. More shocked than she should be, Utahime drops her hand.
Gojo cackles.
Of course he does.
“I had a feeling that would work,” he laughs, gleefully as if he’s just played the most ingenious joke in human history. (He probably thinks he has.)
“You are disgusting,” Utahime spits. She tries not to think about the fact that the imprint of his lips feels like it’s branded into the calloused skin of her palm. “And really? Turning off Infinity on the job?”
“Nah, none of these weaklings can touch me,” he says, throwing out his arms. Again, he nearly smacks a few unsuspecting staffers and two very disgruntled volleyball players, and Utahime mouths a silent apology to each. “Why bother?”
“You know, you really don’t have to remind me how much you look down on me every fifteen seconds.” Utahime swats him with her ponytail again just because she knows she can now. “And I can touch you. I’ve been touching you.” She winces at the unfortunate wording. “I mean, I know what you think of me, but I’m surprised you’re willing to put up with that.”
“It’s not that.” He looks surprisingly serious for a moment before his face breaks into a beaming smile again. “It’s just that I know you’d never hurt your favorite kouhai.”
Utahime huffs. “Keep taking liberties and we’ll see about that.”
**
“What is wrong with people?!?” Utahime bites into a Pocky stick so vengefully that it snaps in half, the latter falling to her lap.
Gojo has no idea whatsoever why she’s so upset, so he shakes his head as if immeasurably disappointed. “What, indeed?”
“This guy,” she scoffs. “Aren’t they paying you enough to get your prescription updated? Those glasses you’ve got on now obviously aren’t cutting it!”
It takes a good minute for Gojo to realize that she is addressing the umpire.
“Outrageous,” he agrees, plucking a Pocky stick from the box they’re sharing even though it’s his and Utahime hates sweets. Apparently she makes an exception for Pocky, and “it goes well with beer.” Whatever. He’s pretty sure alcohol is supposed to be prohibited in the Olympic stadium, but she’s managed to get one in somehow. Fine. If she wants to drink something that tastes and smells like gasoline, she can. It’s not like he resents the loss of his Pocky. Nope.
It’s not like he can’t stop staring at her, even if the way the fading daylight catches the tiny flyaways around her hairline is fascinating somehow and the way her lips close around the opening of a bottle is a little bit too enticing.
It’s not like that scares him, because Utahime isn’t putting up any fronts and nothing terrifies him more than the realization that she is as beautiful when she is stealing his sugar stash and riled-up about a sport whose rules he doesn’t pretend to understand as she is when she’s cool and collected for her students.
Gojo swallows hard. “The...uh, that referee has no idea what he’s talking about.” Never mind that he is never awkward and he knows Utahime notes the change. “And at such a high-caliber event? Truly shameful.”
“ Umpire,” she corrects.
“Oh.”
“Idiot.”
“Not all of us actually enjoy this, you know,” Gojo huffs petulantly.
Utahime glances over at him out of the corner of her eye, too lazy to turn her head and look at him head-on. “You realize that you’re free to go, right?”
“Well, yeah, but why would I do that?”
Utahime looks like she wants to say something, but she turns back out to watch the field - it’s almost intoxicating, the knowledge that he’d taken her attention off of an Olympic baseball game for even a few seconds - and doesn’t reply.
Gojo takes that as his cue to shut up, for once in his life, because this is - after all - the reason he’d asked her and no one else to join him.
It’s fun, just existing in the same space as Utahime. She’s always had a willfulness that makes him laugh, and when she loves something, she’s as excitable as he is, if not moreso. He knew that already, but even if he didn’t, it would be hard not to see it in the way she vociferously argues against nearly every call. She doesn’t know a single thing about either of the participating teams, but that doesn’t appear to matter. He’d known she’d be like this and…
Well. He’d heard the word ‘Olympics’ on that first call from a government official to whom he seriously owes his thanks and all he could picture had been Utahime in the stands.
Sure, this job would’ve been boring, but if that had been his concern, he’d have referred the organizers to another capable sorcerer and called it a day. This could’ve been a nice test run for some of his students, maybe, if he hadn’t had a reason to want to participate. But, as their first choice, he’d had bargaining power, and, as a self-proclaimed expert on all things Iori Utahime, he’d known that Utahime would have loved to have been asked to take this job. So he’d gotten it for her.
Sort of.
The idea of Utahime alone in the stands hadn’t been an appetizing one. Even if it was what she would’ve chosen, Gojo had allowed himself a little selfishness, worked the system, gotten himself roped in with her. She would like this, he’d thought first; I want to be there to see her liking this, he’d thought next. If he’d been trying to be altruistic, he’d have told them to ask Utahime and suggested the all-event pass as an incentive anyway; he wasn’t, though. Perhaps because it is the highly unfortunate truth that he can’t get enough of Iori Utahime.
Even when she’s mocking him.
Even when she’s sneaking alcohol into places where alcohol is not supposed to be, making a ruckus over calls he can’t begin to understand, and calling him an incorrigible man-child because he keeps poking her to ask for explanations of the rules.
Gojo isn’t entirely sure why he finds her company so enjoyable that he’d engineer an obscenely convoluted set of conditions in order to get a chance to work with her. But he does know that she’s a breath of fresh air - she doesn’t let him get away with anything - and she’s sharp and caring and loyal and absolutely, breathtakingly lovely. He likes it when she likes things. (He’d especially like it if she liked him, but that’s so out of the question that he’s perfectly content to accept her tolerance.) He wants her to get riled up over miscalled fouls or whatever it is people get mad about in baseball. For all his blundering and backhanded insulting and emotional constipation, he wants to see Utahime as happy as she knows how to be.
She’s one of the good ones, after all. Maybe his favorite. She ought to be able to watch sports and dip stolen Pocky in prohibited beer and smile.
(And he ought to be able to ask her to dinner like a normal person instead of scheming and bribing and dancing around the subject, but that’s beside the point.
Dinner is for the weak, or maybe those more in tune with their emotions. He is neither.)
In that sense, this is almost too good to be true. There’ll be sixteen more days of this and the Opening Ceremony hasn’t even kicked off yet; there’ll be over two more weeks of tag-teaming, pretending they’re competing to see who exorcises each curse they find first. Two more weeks of sneaking beer and stealing sweets. Two more weeks of watching Utahime have the time of her life (and he knows she is).
At that happy thought, Gojo leans back in his chair, pillowing his hands behind his head, and it’s hard not to give himself a mental pat on the back. He always has thought it was possible to get by without ever reflecting on or acknowledging one’s emotions - this proves it. He needn’t tell Utahime that he’d spend all of his time with her if he could to make that a reality.
“That ball was so far outside that security’s not even going to let it back in , you idiot!” Utahime leans forward and pounds her fist against the railing in front of their row of seats as if it’s going to draw the umpire’s eye from all the way up here, and he smiles.
She’s something, that’s for sure.