Work Text:
“Time falls away, but these small hours,
these little wonders, still remain.”
- Little Wonders by Rob Thomas,
from Meet the Robinsons OST
It all started at the library. Gojo wishes it had been somewhere else. (Utahime does, too, but that comes way later.) Libraries are boring. Lifeless. Nothing much to offer. Besides, why learn curses from books when you can apply the techniques in real life? The library hums in agreement with him. And Gojo's just being practical—always the cunning and brash smart aleck that he already is. If he becomes a teacher someday, he'd make sure his students get first-hand experience on dealing with curses.
But for now, he’s 18, and his major challenge proves to be a Herculean task: classifying curses by grade. On paper. With an essay of 750 words each. No more, no less. He and Getou were given additional homework by their teacher for throwing crumpled paper at each other while in class. Digging into theory and proving why the technique works make him want to throw up.
“Homework is for losers,” Gojo finally mutters while he’s flipping through a textbook, fingers marking dog-ears on each page. Although they're not the only ones there, the library is eerily silent. When Getou doesn’t respond, Gojo continues, “Memorizing is bullshit.”
The sound echoes through the room when Getou whacks him with a copy of his textbook.
“Don’t let the principal hear you say that.”
“I don’t care," Gojo grumbles, "I’d rather do anything else than this.”
Unlike him, Suguru Getou is rational, which makes the non-response from him understandable. Distractions are easy to be dealt with if it ever comes their way. A bird, or a plane—anything, really. Satoru takes out a softball from his bag and starts to squeeze it. Still unsatisfied, he lets it bounce on the tabletop to create a thump-thump-thumping rhythm. It’s an old one, dusty and almost faded. He had stolen it from the workout hall since nobody seemed to be using it anyway.
His hopeful thinking finally comes into fruition when halfway through his homework, Gojo does notice a certain girl running her fingers through the bookshelf nearest to him. He attempts not to mind it at first, but his focus shifts when the student tries to reach for the top shelf, her skirt inching up past her knees.
She fails like he's already expecting it.
"Too short," he murmurs to himself watching her on tiptoes with her incredible lack of height.
He’s about to stand up and help when his friend grabs the cuff of his sleeve. "Don't even bother," Getou tells him once he realizes that Gojo's gaze has gone astray. "She's a senior."
"How did you know?"
"Meimei hangs out with her once in a while." Suguru is referring to the only other senior who keeps pestering them. "I've seen them enter the same classroom before."
There's an unspoken rule that seniors are off-limits to the lowerclassmen. A taboo on its own. Senior students are all so high-strung and uptight that no one in their right mind would have thought of interacting with the graduating batch. Besides, people who are nearing to complete their studies are also at their wit's end.
It would have been wise to drop the subject matter altogether. Maybe pretend he never noticed her in the first place.
But Satoru is Satoru. He's a charmer. Which means a young man like him can't help it. Try to resist it and he’ll only fall even harder. Boys indeed do fall in love too easily at this age.
The senior is now jumping several times to reach the book on her own, only for a split-second mishap to pull two more books along with it by accident. The soft thud of hard bounds hit the carpeted floor. A click of the tongue then a soft cuss escapes her while she's bending down to retrieve them. It amuses Satoru in the slightest bit.
A chuckle from him too late and he realizes his mistake when the senior turns around and frowns. "What?" she spats, her dark hair in pigtails falling past her shoulders.
“Nothing.”
He puts a palm underneath his chin and goes back to this book, believing that the crisis is averted.
The soft thud of footsteps fill his ears when he looks up and sees the senior student looking at him. Satoru’s shades are on his face but the senior’s horrifying expression is on him like a film noir.
“Think it’s funny to laugh at short people like me?”
Beside him, Getou knows the game has started, knows too well enough that Gojo isn’t going to back down so easily, but he’s still not saying anything. Not when his friend is smirking, a taunt enough to be a tease.
"Then you should stop bending that low, senpai,” Satoru finally remarks. “Grandma panties aren't cute. Nobody wants to see your white ones—"
The sound of a slap echoes through the library.
This time, it’s Getou who snickers.
There's a stinging mark on Gojo's face, red as the cheeks of the senior in front of him. His mouth is hanging open in shock, one hand now coming up to his face. Some slight amusement fills him, but he tries not to show it in this girl’s presence.
"Respect your seniors, pervert," she says and walks away without another word.
Second time's the charm, maybe. Gojo Satoru does beeline to the same spot where he first saw her, pretending to be so damn focused on the homework that he has no idea how to answer. Maybe it’s first impressions do count, or maybe not. Regardless, he wants to make up for his seemingly lack of manners from last time.
And Getou, being a good friend, had to find out the senior’s name from the other upperclassmen for him. After several tries, he finally got Shouko to spill the beans when she passed them by along the corridor.
“Her name’s Utahime,” Shouko had told him in exchange for a pack of cigarettes. “Now forget we had this conversation.”
“Utahime. Got it.”
“And don’t ever let Gojo come near her.”
“Too late,” Getou grinned.
Five hours later, Satoru is scratching his head while he’s combing through his white locks, looking so frustrated. Whether it’s about the homework or the hours that have gone by just waiting for her, he doesn’t know.
And Utahime does bump into him again. Something about fates aligning, destinies intertwined. Or maybe just a stroke of luck. She’s heading towards the same shelf when their eyes lock into each other, and Utahime finds the urge to turn around and walk away. Gojo is quicker, though. He grabs her by the hand, almost by surprise.
“Hey,” he starts, “I’m sorry about the other day.”
“Let go.” She tries to pull away from his iron hold, but Gojo is too damn strong.
His face remains unreadable. “Not until you forgive me.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“Alright, already. I forgive you.” Utahime wrings her hand away from his grasp. Of course, she doesn’t mean it. And Gojo doesn’t buy it. “Happy?”
A slight smile cracks from him. “Not yet. Maybe you can help me out with something else.”
"On what?"
With one hand, he flips the textbook to the page that he’s been reading and slides it closer to the edge facing Utahime.
"Help me out here?" Gojo's mystical eyes are peering through his shades. “...Senpai,” he adds, and that’s how he knows he got her.
He’s really smooth the way he does it, because it irks Utahime and amuses her at the same time, the way her mouth slights into a frown and her cheeks redden simultaneously.
"That’s not how you answer the homework,” she says, sitting down and grabbing a pen. Gojo slides into the chair right beside her and rests his chin on his palm. Too arrogant and slick for this senior’s taste, it seems. He learns that Utahime is pretty theoretical, always banking on what the book says, never deciding for herself. It’s a realization that comes to him when Utahime has already gone through the first five items on his sheet.
He peers through one of the questions. "A third-grade curse?"
"No, just a first-grade," Utahime corrects him. It’s cute the way her eyebrows knit together in concentration, her thumb and forefinger picking at her lower lip. Had this been Gojo’s way, he would have just shotgunned his answers, leaving it to the heavens above for his grades to pass.
Gojo runs his finger through the line in the text. "I can barely tell the difference."
"Well, you're not trying hard enough."
"Oh, believe me. I am."
Maybe he means it this time around. However, Utahime is still not impressed. She continues marking each item for him, flipping through the pages of the textbook where he can find the explanation later. While she’s working on it, Satoru takes out the baseball from his bag and starts tossing it up in the air. Utahime’s eyes travel to his face for a split second then to the ball then it lingers on the homework once again. And Gojo pretends not to catch that.
“There, all done,” Utahime says after a few more minutes. To Gojo, it feels like an eternity. “I’ve classified them for you. Just need to explain why you think they belong to that category.”
He bends his neck when she slides back her homework towards him, baseball forgotten on the side. All items are now answered, everything marked accordingly with Utahime’s help.
“Thanks.” He means it, really. “My name’s—”
“Gojo Satoru,” she cuts him off with a click of her tongue, catching him off-guard and slack-jawed.
“How did you know?”
Utahime finally stands up to leave. “It’s not that hard.”
Whether she did try to find it out for herself or if she just happened to come across his name, it’s gotten him all perplexed. Meimei or Shoukou may have told her about him, but really, how much has she figured out about who he is?
Before she heads to the door, Gojo calls out to her once again: “Hold on, I didn't catch your name."
She puts a hand on her hip, one eyebrow raised, and says, "Stop pretending you still don't know. Also,” she changes the subject, “you should probably stop playing with this—” Utahime throws something up in the air towards him and Gojo catches it perfectly with both hands. “It’s a collectible."
When he looks down and opens his palms, he sees the old baseball, slightly cleaner than before, its stitch-linings now more evident. Utahime must have wiped it clean with a moist towelette or so. He gazes up once again, but this time, Utahime is nowhere to be seen.
Then Gojo is left alone.
The library is silent once more, however, it’s quite comforting, more bearable, almost a new kind of atmosphere that fills him with a kindness that he still can’t quite place.
In Utahime’s absence, he smiles to himself.
This is where it begins.
Time is too precious to be wasted on theory, he thinks to himself. As a prodigy, he assumes that talent is innate. Great sorcerers like him are born, not made, anyway. Then again, he’s still hopeful that the next generation isn’t doomed. He learns that Utahime also wants to be a teacher someday, the way she prepares for her classes like she’s about to teach the modules, not learn them herself. A small light of inspiration flickers inside him, not wanting to die out.
As soon as their class gets dismissed, he runs after her in the corridor, pushing past several students.
“Oi, Utahime!”
The small crowd parts halfway to let him through and Utahime’s ears redden at the sudden spotlight. Nevertheless, she’s still frowning, biting her lips so hard it’s almost curling into a pout.
“Stop shouting. And respect your elders.” She shifts the weight of the books to her other arm. “What now?”
In one swift motion, he swipes her books from her arms. Satoru’s smile is so charming no one can really resist it. “You’ll get back pains from carrying all these heavy books yourself.”
"It doesn't matter."
Utahime clicks her tongue, because Gojo is right again. With a flourish, almost boastful on its own, he settles her books by his shoulder, one hand curved up to support their weight. He’s tall enough to see where the rest of the students are going for lunch, but he still tries to keep a conversation flowing by walking slowly.
"I don't get why you bring these books everywhere you go," he says.
He expects her to let out an outburst, but Utahime merely shrugs. "I'm a senior, I just have lots more to study."
A terrible excuse, Gojo knows this.
The senior puts her hands on her back, walking through the corridor. Although Gojo’s legs are longer, he’s trying hard to take shorter strides so Utahime can keep up her pace with him.
So he asks another question: "Aren't you supposed to be out on the field doing missions?"
"Can't be out on the field if you know nothing about the curses you'll chance by."
"Can't deal with curses if you're always sticking your nose in these dusty books," he shoots back.
A group of sophomores pass them by, all of them big and burly, so he puts a hand on the small of Utahime’s back and stirs her to the side. A quick lock of their gazes, and then something sparks in between them, but not before Utahime blushes and it’s damn cute.
They spend time at the library, this time with Gojo enjoying it a little more than he did before. He’ll have to beg for Suguru’s forgiveness later. But Utahime’s companionship does prove to be comforting—the two of them talk about anything and everything: sweet treats from the block down the street, random theories about cursed energy, who’s cooler than the other, and then, more bickering.
“We should try out that dessert from the café,” he says. “They say it’s better than the ones I get from the other shop.”
“Are you asking me out on a date?” Utahime asks him, and then—
“You don’t like it?” His lips curl, almost a tease. “I have a feeling you’re falling for me, senpai.”
There it is again, the glint of Satoru’s smile.
However, it fails to work on Utahime the way she’s grumbling once again. “Don’t push your luck,” she tells him. “It’s too early to be making rash decisions.”
“No, it’s just my theory.”
“Didn’t you say you like being practical?”
Caught in his act, he chuckles, shoves his hands in his pockets, and leans back on the chair. "You're right," he says, "Guess I'll see you on our date."
This is how he wins. He waits for her mouth to curl into a frown, but it doesn't arrive. Satoru thinks he has imagined it, that Utahime may have given him the rarest of her smiles, but it was there, alright. It’s light and effervescent, enough to fill him up for the rest of the day.
Their dates are short and sweet, and it's mostly him pointing out to the treats displayed in front of the shops, Utahime following him like he’s an overgrown child. While they’re strolling around the village outside their campus, Gojo learns that Utahime comes from a family of shrine-keepers, hence why she’s all dressed up like a miko whenever they’re not required to be in uniforms.
Save for their squabbles here and there, she’s quiet whenever she’s near him, and Gojo thinks he might have done something wrong, might have turned her off in some way. That, and she's always reading, always focused on something, anything but him. Perhaps Utahime is just too polite to turn him down, he thinks.
“We should go,” he tells her while they're seated across from each other. Utahime has been reading something from her book and stops.
Gojo has only taken one bite out of his fruit tart.
“Aren’t you going to finish your sweets?”
“I don’t want to bother you any longer.”
If he had been teasing or testing the waters, he would have given her a pout, but no, he's in all sincerity. Satoru may be bold as brass, but he's perceptive, well, sort of.
And it’s compelling enough the way Utahime leans towards him and rests her arms on the surface of the table. “Satoru,” she says his name like a prayer, “if you had been bothering me, I wouldn’t have agreed to go out with you in the first place.”
"So, you don't mind?"
"Mind what?"
"This." He gestures a hand between the two of them.
Utahime licks her lips and looks away for a moment. Outside the shop, people are passing them by, children planting their palms into the glass frame that displays the sweets out front. Two lovers are pointing at the desserts on the menu board outside. Holding hands while walking. Hands swaying as they go.
"I like it. Whatever this is," she says, still looking at the passersby. Only after a few seconds does she face him, her expression reproachful. "Although I prefer not to bore a hole in my wallet every time we go out."
Gojo laughs in relief. Utahime looks at him, and knows there’s nothing funny. He can’t help it, the way her statement makes him breathe once again. He can’t help it that it’s her. He can’t help falling for someone so straightforward and kind.
He can’t help but want her for himself.
All the world is within his reach, and Gojo Satoru only wants Iori Utahime. It’s almost too crazy to think about. He must collect himself, must be calm and composed like her if he tries hard enough. And indeed, he does.
Her words mean a lot to him. It lets him know they’re doing alright.
"Alright then, babysitter." He puckers his lips together and sends up a smooch towards her with his fingers.
It's Utahime's turn to whack him on the head with her book. "You are such a child."
He massages the spot with one hand, still chuckling. "Says the senior who wears pigtails to school."
There it is, that smile. Utahime's, and Gojo thinks this is the best day of his life.
The library proves to be a more convenient location. This time, it's him following Utahime who darts in and out of the aisles, watching her run her dainty fingers through the spines of each cover. He leans over her shoulder to take a peek at the title, and it’s usually either a textbook about reversed curse techniques or a novel about fantasies and romance.
"Go save us a seat," she tells him, "I'm just looking for a book."
He does as instructed and grabs them a table not too far from where she is. Gojo watches her immensely, the way she silently murmurs the book titles. She does it again, that part where she tries to grab a book far too high up her reach, only for a selection of hardbounds to come crashing down upon her. He chuckles, but not before Utahime flashes him a middle finger.
This must be love, he thinks.
Of course, it isn't. It definitely isn't. Not like this, at least, no.
But now, Utahime's back is arched low enough that her skirt has hiked up above the back of her knees. And Gojo's not the only one who knows.
Two other students are snickering from the table across his, their eyes leering at the senior's exposed skin.
So he goes up to them and slams his fist so hard they all jolt back in surprise.
"Oi, stop that. It's rude.”
"That means you were looking too, Gojo,” one of the boys points out.
He grits his teeth as if he can bare fangs. If these assholes weren’t students, he would have punched them right in the face.
It would have been better to just let them off, but the other one has decided to join in: “Didn’t know plain, old-fashioned girls are your type.”
That’s the last straw. Satoru clenches his fist. There it is, that anger fueling him. Although he doesn't understand why, it's just bubbling up inside, ready to pour out of him like molten lead.
“Why the hell do you care who I’m into or not?”
He prepares himself for a fight, until—
"Who's into who?"
When he turns around, Utahime is there, clutching her books to her chest.
“Nothing,” he says. Without another word, he hauls Utahime outside of the library, his firm hand on her shoulder, his face begging her not to speak. And Utahime does get the hint.
They walk in silence along the corridor, past the stone statues and the school gates. Something’s strained between them, but there are no words coming out of their mouths.
“I can handle myself without you,” she finally says something.
“Ah, those bastards, fucking pieces of shit, you wouldn't, no, I shouldn’t, wouldn't have—” he stammers, which is very un-Gojo like. “I should probably just leave you alone.”
Utahime reaches out for his hand. It’s clammy and sweaty, and his palms are rough and calloused compared to her soft and delicate ones. If this is some kind of reassurance to him, then it’s probably working.
“I think it’s nice to have some good company for a change,” she says, squeezing his hand in tenderness.
When she attempts to let go, Satoru takes it as his chance to lace their fingers together.
“Let me kiss you,” he says.
“Nope. I’ll hold your hand for now, but that’s it.”
To prove what she just said, Utahime locks their fingers even more. Satoru doesn’t push his luck further. They’ll have to take this slow, until they’re both comfortable with each other. He has learned that by now. Everything he does with Utahime will be worth it, anyway.
The two of them continue a little bit further, holding hands in the afterglow of the day.
This really must be love, the way Gojo Satoru understands it.
Later on, he assists her in retrieving the books from the taller shelves, his arms having a longer reach. Utahime has lowered her pride, just a little bit for him to goad on.
“What would you be without me,” he chides her. Utahime goes back to reminding him that she could have done it without his help. To spite her, he then raises the book as high as he can, and Utahime has to jump several times to get it out of his grasp. It’s futile, though.
“Give it back,” she says.
“Not until you admit that you like me.”
She kicks him on the shin. “Jerk.”
“Ha.”
“Come on.”
“Still nope.”
Once she finally manages to get it back, she whacks him on the head with it. Playfully, lovingly. Tenderly. Gojo smiles and it’s ephemeral.
Even their friends can tell the difference in their demeanors. Shouko Ieri can definitely notice the subtle changes. Usually Utahime would rather hang out with her, but nowadays she’d invite Gojo along instead. Shouko can tell there’s something new in the air with the way Utahime is laughing and smiling even more. It's too suspicious.
And then there’s Getou, too. Half the time he serves as a chaperon for their dates, half the time he’s a third-wheel. But he lets his friend have his way. Getou can only wait for Satoru to ramble about Utahime once they’re done hanging out together.
There is wonder that passes like leaves changing through the seasons. Gojo and Utahime are spending their afternoon again in the library when their friends leave them to get some peace of mind.
"You think this will end well?" Shouko blows a ring of smoke towards Suguru. Classes are done for the day and the sun has cast an orange glow upon their campus.
"Nothing ever ends well for sorcerers like us."
"I suppose you're right."
She then taps the butt of her cigarette, a trickle of ash falling to the ground.
"...But we can always hope," Getou adds, still watching their friends from afar.
From their line of sight, they witness Utahime chasing Satoru by the library window, her hands flailing as she playfully beats her fists against his chest, her book in Satoru’s hand out of her reach. When she pushes him a bit too hard, he steps back and Utahime falls into him. It all happens quick-paced and fleeting: Satoru catches her in his arms and she doesn't move. When she looks up at him, his expression is soft. They stay like that for a while, their silhouettes draped against the fading sunset.
Utahime is now resting her head against Satoru’s chest, Satoru cradling her in the tenderness of an embrace. If she goes on tiptoes, she can reach for his face, maybe capture his lips with hers. Gojo is thinking of the same thing, too. The seconds tick by. Utahime hesitates and lets this moment slip by.
This can be good. Or maybe not.
Their first kiss happens at sunset. On a corner of the library, where no one can see them. Gojo is bragging about the six-eyes and how he’s the first in his family to gain the long-sought technique. She’s trying to finish reading one of her favorite novels about romance, but Satoru keeps on teasing her about how tough she looks on the outside but how sappy she is deep down inside.
“It’s a shame, though,” Utahime says, eyes still on her book, “that I haven’t even seen your eyes.”
“What about them?”
“They say eyes are windows to the soul," she tells him, flipping to the next page, “I’ve always wondered if it’s the same thing with yours.”
He whistles. “Maybe I’ll let you see them.”
“Really?”
"On one condition," he says, putting an arm around her shoulder. Gestures like this have become normal between them, so Utahime continues reading her book despite her breath hitching.
"What's that?
"Let me kiss you."
Utahime stops. She slowly closes her book shut and looks away into the window for a bit, wistful.
The silence lingers for a minute or two. Gojo thinks he may have crossed the line this time around and rattles his mind for an apology. But Utahime’s hands reach out to touch his cheeks, her fingers resting on the temples of his shades.
“Fair trade,” she whispers and pulls the glasses away.
Utahime stares into his electrifying eyes, his white lashes long and slightly curled. He smiles and leans toward her so she can see the irises even more.
And then he kisses her.
It’s ephemeral the way he does it, soft and tender, almost shy and yet brimming with want. He pulls away for a bit to let her breathe before going for another kiss, this time deeper. There in the corner of the library, where small loves happen. She gets lost in the deep electrifying blue and Utahime pretends not to be swept off her feet. In these small moments, little wonders are fleeting. Immaterial. Full of hope and longing.
The days will pass and they'll steal kisses from each other here and there, with Gojo stealing her breath as if there's no tomorrow. And Utahime is wanting, wanting, wanting while he yearns for her in so many ways possible.
Small loves like this are beautiful.