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Shoko woke up gasping for breath.
Her brain refused her a night of peace, mind swarming with images of bodies on gurneys. Bodies she knew intimately well had been twisted into cold, mangled marble. Too still and too quiet under her gloved hands. Their skin splitting open under her scalpel. A tear in one of her gloves. Cherry red staining her skin, her bones. Smoke streamed out of the cavity, reaching into her lungs, tearing through the tissue, stopping her air.
Just a dream, a rather vivid one.
It was still dark out. Warm bodies were nestled in bed next to her. She listened to Gojo and Utahime’s soft, even breaths. Safe, alive. She dug the heel of her palm into her chest hard enough to bruise but the palpitations didn’t stop. Her heart stuttered, restless and frantic in her rib cage. It only seemed to grow worse under her palm.
Fuck.
Shoko swallowed around the lump in her throat and slipped out of bed, fumbling out of the door. Her breaths shortened, her vision grew faint.
She flicked the switch and winced. Blinded for a moment by the living room light, she tripped on something hard and plastic—her laundry basket, filled with neatly folded laundry that she didn’t remember folding.
Shoko snatched the sheet sitting on top of the pile. Shook it out and threw it over her head, collapsed onto the couch. She breathed in freshly washed cotton and fabric softener, letting it blot out the formaldehyde and the smell of meat.
Too afraid to close her eyes, Shoko focused on her breathing—getting it to settle.
A breath in, a breath out. Over and over until she wasn’t aware of anything. Just the endless weave of white thread over her eyes.
It could’ve been minutes or hours later, she couldn’t tell anymore, but through the sheet, a soft shadow drifted towards her.
Shoko stiffened as someone climbed on top of her, all long limbs. A familiar, comforting weight. She relaxed again.
Gojo’s face pressed against hers, their noses brushing over the sheet.
“Playing dead, Shoko?”
She said nothing. Just tilted her head up a little, played at giving him a kiss and then nipped his nose, tasting cotton. He flinched a little, huffing. Shoko smothered a smile, her face melting into that easy blank mask when he tugged the sheet down.
Summer blue eyes scanned her face. “You okay?”
She hummed. “You should get off me before I asphyxiate.”
He rolled off her, but didn’t leave, wedging himself between her and the back of the couch, nearly shunting her onto the floor if not for his arm curled around her waist, holding her to his chest.
Shoko sighed, raw eyes on the ceiling. “I want a smoke.”
“You quit, remember?” His voice muffled against her shoulder.
“Mm.”
“Why you out here?”
His body stretched out on a gurney flashed in her mind. Twirling a lock of hair around her finger, Shoko spotted a split end. She separated the strand and held the damaged hair between her fingertips under the light.
“Just needed some space.”
“Plenty of space in your bed.”
She turned to eye him sidelong. Gojo was fully dressed, back in his uniform, the bandages for his eyes spilling out of his pocket. “Going already?”
A rueful smile. “Yep, overseas mission. I’ll be gone a little while. You girls have fun.”
“How’s your ass?”
Gojo groaned. The low sound sent a tingle of warmth through her but Shoko kept her face neutral, her body limp. “You went really hard.”
“Sore?”
“A bit.” He squeezed her, grinning into her neck. “Gonna have to stop by, get you to check it out when I’m back. Make sure everything’s all good.”
Her lips tipped into a smile. “We are not fucking in my office again. You broke my favourite mug.”
“Accidentally. And I got you a new one.” His eyes twinkled at the memory. Then after a beat, “Sure, you’re okay?”
Shoko reached up to pat his arm gently then let her hand rest on his wrist, fingers finding his steady pulse.
“I’m okay.”
They fell into a comfortable silence. The kind that she never would have thought possible of Gojo back in high school. Always jabbering non-stop, running on sugar. Shoko learned years later that he could have moments like this—needed them. To just be still and let the quiet hold them, blanket their thoughts for a little while before the world of jujutsu, curses and blood came rushing at them again.
Gojo let out a breath. “I better go.”
Exhaustion caught up with her and pinned her down. “See ya, loser. Don’t die.”
Gojo snorted. “Who do you think I am?” He sat up, prodding her side. “Come on, Shoko, don’t sleep on the couch. Utahime’ll get lonely.”
Shoko heard herself grunt but didn’t move—couldn’t—boneless even as Gojo scooped her up.
He glanced down at her limp in his arms and an odd look flitted across his face. Shoko blinked up at him. Then her sleep-deprived mind made the connection—Amanai Riko. She remembered that—him coming back to campus, to the morgue, blood splattered over his torn shirt, with a girl under a white sheet, gun-shot wound to the head. It was the first time she’d seen him so rattled—eyes wide and hollow, unseeing.
Shoko patted his chest, a weak gesture of comfort. Utahime would have held him close, pet his hair but she knew he'd understand. He got better at reading her after Geto defected, kept a closer watch. Probably worried she might fall down the same path, go rogue maybe.
He returned the gesture with a kiss to her forehead. Her eyes fluttered at the touch. He was too sweet sometimes.
She didn’t hate it.
When they reached the bedroom door, Gojo kicked it open with a bit too much force. Knowing him, it may have been on purpose. The door knob slammed into the wall, jolting Utahime awake. Definitely on purpose.
“Wha?” Utahime slurred, rolling over to squint at the bedside clock. “It’s fucking 4am.”
“Delivery for Utahime!” chirped Gojo, before laying Shoko down next to her like a cat offering its owner a dead mouse. “Do I get a goodbye kiss?”
She scowled, throwing the blanket over Shoko and pulling her close. “No.”
“Meanie,” he grinned. “You weren’t so stingy last night.”
Feeling generous, Shoko pressed a hand over Gojo’s cheek. “Thanks.”
His smile softened, though his eyes still had that mischievous glint. “Alright, bye girls! Don’t miss me too much,” he said. And with a wave, he was gone.
Utahime slung an arm around her waist, replacing Gojo’s warmth. “He’s off early.”
Shoko rolled over to face her, letting their fingers interlace. She leaned forward until their noses touched. “Another mission overseas.”
“Oh.”
“Should’ve given him a goodbye kiss,” Shoko teased, eyes slipping shut.
“He should have mentioned it earlier.” Warm lips brushed over her cold hands. “Are you alright, Shoko? Where’d you go?”
Shoko smiled. “Yeah, I’m alright. Just a bad dream.”